wrmthorne/National_Gallery_style_classification huggingface dataset:
A huge black eagle soars into the clouds with a naked youth clutched in its talons. The boy, grasping his bow and the eagle's black feathers, struggles to escape. The painting illustrates the rape of Ganymede. In Greek mythology, the beautiful shepherd boy Ganymede was carried away by Jupiter in the form of an eagle to the home of the gods on Mount Olympus and made their cupbearer. The sole of the boy's right foot is lit from below and his scarf floats below the powerful beating wings of the bird, creating the impression that the scene is taking place high up in the air.

The Rape of Ganymede was painted for Francesco Assonica, a lawyer from Bergamo, who worked in Padua and Venice and acted for Titian in 1550 and 1566. Although it has been assumed that the picture reflects the sexual orientation of its patron, this is unlikely. The rape of Ganymede was a popular subject for ceiling paintings, interpreted as an example of divine favour, and was often paired with the fall of Phaeton -- an example of Jupiter's wrath -- as both scenes take place in the air. The picture was probably painted to decorate ceiling of the belvedere (open-sided rooftop terrace) of Assonica's house in Padua. Titian may have recommended the Paduan Mazza, who is described in seventeenth-century sources as his pupil.

The painting was originally shaped as an irregular octagon, but canvas was added in the early eighteenth century to make it into a rectangle. Mazza's composition is one of many experiments made by Venetian artists to emulate Giulio Romano's daring ceiling painting of the Fall of Phaeton of 1527--8 in the Palazzo del Te in Mantua, in which Phaeton and his chariot tumble from the cloudy heavens.

The blue smalt -- a pigment that consists of ground cobalt blue glass -- in the sky of Mazza's picture has discoloured to a warm grey. Prussian blue, a pigment that first came into use in the eighteenth century, has been painted on top of it.

The impact of Mazza's painting has been reduced by its conversion from a ceiling octagon to a rectangular gallery picture. Originally, the wings would have been cut by the frame, and the boy's left foot and the bird's beak would have only just been contained by it. This would have greatly enhanced the drama of the composition.

Titian used suspended models made of wood, clay and wax to work out the foreshortened poses for his paintings. Mazza also adopted this practice and, unusually, the bronze figure he used here has survived (Barthélemy Prieur, Statue of Cupid, about 1560, Bronze, Private collection).

From 1664 to 1887 the painting was catalogued as by Titian. After that, it was recognised as by Mazza but still thought to be a copy of an original painting by Titian. The picture was painted quickly and there are lots of areas of over-painting where the artist changed his mind. This makes it very unlikely to be a copy of another picture, as Mazza was clearly making adjustments to the composition as he painted.

Style: High Renaissance
This scene depicts an intimate moment between Christ and Saint John the Baptist, here identified by a camel-skin garment and reed cross -- his customary attributes.  Guido Reni has emphasised Christ's divinity by encircling his head with a golden halo and giving his skin an other-worldly glow.

Paintings of Christ and John the Baptist more commonly show the pair as young children, an apocryphal subject popular among artists in the seventeenth century, or as adults, standing in the river Jordan during Christ's baptism, performed by Saint John. Reni has instead chosen to portray the youths embracing in a focused, tightly cropped composition, against a nondescript brown background. The two figures lock eyes; John clasps his hands in reverence as he turns towards Christ, who looks back with an expression of serenity. The composition, with figures placed close to the picture plane, allows us to share in the intensity of this quiet moment of affection and devotion.

The loose brushwork and pale, limited colour palette indicate that this work was painted late in the artist's career. The figures are rendered in fluid, sweeping brushstrokes, and lack the finish and detail evident in earlier works. Reni's late works typically represent devotional subjects in simplified, half-length compositions, as here.

Reni had painted this subject previously, in about 1621, in a larger full-length picture for the church of the Gerolamini in Naples (now in the Museo dei Gerolamini, Naples). We don't know who commissioned or first owned the National Gallery painting, but it was not unusual for the artist's studio to receive requests from clients for reduced-size copies or variants of his more successful compositions. This painting is likely an example of such a request from a collector who had seen the earlier painting in the Gerolamini.

X-ray images reveal that this canvas was initially used for a different subject. National Gallery conservators have identified traces of a face in the upper right of the canvas, unrelated to the present composition. This work was painted around 1640, in the final years of Reni's life. The abandoned composition, along with the economic reuse of the canvas, is perhaps linked to the artist's mounting debts at this time. According to Reni's biographer, Carlo Cesare Malvasia, the artist began painting more rapidly in an effort to keep up with persistent creditors, and worked on numerous paintings at once. The practice 'wearied and confused' him, and perhaps led to dramatic changes of mind, as is evident here.

Style: Caravaggist, Academic
A young woman sits on a stone bench in a garden. She leans her elbow on a plinth as if trying to be at ease but her bodice, stiffened with whalebone, forbids her to relax. She sits upright, her eyes alert as if expecting someone. Who this might be remains a mystery, since we don't know her identity or her family circumstances.

Soft auburn curls surround her face and hang in ringlets that fall on to her bosom; her breasts are pushed up and almost exposed by the corset top. Her neck is encircled with pearls that show off her almost startlingly pale complexion, and her pale, languid arms appear from a froth of fine white linen. The slender fingers show the influence of the Flemish portrait painter Anthony van Dyck -- look at his  Lady Elizabeth Thimbelby and Dorothy, Viscountess Andover for example -- and demonstrate the gentility of the sitter: these hands don't take on any menial tasks.

Over one shoulder a length of rich blue satin contrasts deliciously with the deep russet colour of the gown and a tiny pointed slipper peeps out from her heavy skirts. The light catches the gleaming fabric, drawing attention to the little bunch of orange blossom on her knee. And here we can begin to find at least a hint of her history.

Orange blossom may suggest that she was a supporter of the House of Orange (in effect the rulers of the Netherlands) but it has a long tradition as a symbol of purity and chastity, and of marriage and fertility. In the seventeenth century orange blossom was usually shown in paintings as a small bouquet, as in this picture. Later on in the nineteenth century it often appeared as a bridal headdress.

Behind the young woman is a stone cherub holding an urn over his head, while two more cherubs, tangled in an embrace, are carved onto the wall. They could also be a symbol of the delights of marriage, though arranged marriages were common among the aristocratic families of Europe at the time, often diplomatic contracts that didn't always guarantee happiness.

Oddly, although she's sitting in a garden, a heavy curtain billows down next to her. It's a theatrical moment that adds a little more atmosphere to Caspar Netscher's portrait of the elegant young woman -- whoever she may be.

Style: Baroque
The Virgin Mary sits on a stepped bench in front of a bed of roses, the infant Christ resting on her lap. He hangs on to his mother's veil, raising his other hand in a gesture of greeting. Both figures make direct eye contact with the viewer, while the angels beside them hold a jewelled crown over the head of the Virgin. It is painted in gold, like the haloes and the eight-pointed star on the Virgin's blue robe. A young Saint John the Baptist, who wears a garment of camel hair, kneels in the foreground, his hands crossed over his chest as he looks on in devotion.

Circular paintings like this were very sought-after in fifteenth-century Florence. Better known as tondi (from the Italian for ‘round’), such paintings often decorated Florentine households, where they provided a visual aid for prayer. The workshop of Sandro Botticelli specialised in their production, as three further examples in the National Gallery's collection demonstrate: The Virgin and Child with Saint John and an Angel, The Adoration of the Kings and The Virgin and Child with Saint John the Baptist.

This tondo is very closely related to one preserved in the Galleria Pallavicini in Rome. Both are probably based on a lost painting by Botticelli, the popularity of which encouraged the production of copies. The motif of angels crowning the Virgin reappears in one of the most famous of Botticelli's tondi, the so-called 'Madonna del Magnificat' (Uffizi, Florence). It is named after the Magnificat (the hymn to Mary that is depicted in an open book in the painting), which may have been read or sung in front of it.

Charles Eastlake, first Director of the National Gallery, acquired this tondo in Italy in 1855, and it was one of the first works associated with Botticelli to enter the Gallery’s collection. With the exception of two paintings by Lorenzo Monaco, the Gallery did not hold any early Italian paintings; a growing number of people felt that the institution should trace the development of Western European painting from its beginnings to the present. But the purchase stirred some controversy at the time: some felt that the painting was not of a high enough quality. While such criticism was justified -- other works made in Botticelli's workshop are of a much higher standard -- the Gallery went on to assemble the most important collection of paintings by Botticelli and his workshop outside the artist's native Florence.

Style: Early Renaissance
Three goddesses stand before a shepherd. Mercury, the messenger god, has brought them to the young man and alighted behind him, his cloak still flying. The caduceus by which Mercury is recognised almost slips from his hand as he gazes at the goddesses. The shepherd is Paris, son of King Priam of Troy, abandoned as a baby because it was prophesied he would bring ruin to the city. He was brought up by shepherds but the gods had other plans for him.

Eris, goddess of discord, was the only immortal not invited to an important wedding. Furious at being left out, she threw a golden apple inscribed ‘To the Fairest’ among all the goddesses at the feast. Three claimed the title -- Minerva, Juno and Venus. Jupiter, chief of the gods, declared that Paris should be the judge, and it is this moment of choice that Rubens has depicted.

In the version of the story by the Roman poet Lucian that Rubens used, Paris was unable to decide on a winner when the goddesses were clothed, so asked that they should disrobe. On the left, Minerva, goddess of war and wisdom, pulls her robe over her head. Her owl is perched on a tree above, her weapons are by her side. On the right, Juno, Jupiter’s wife, lifts her cloak to one side. At her feet, the peacock by which she is recognised reaches forward with a hiss at the sheepdog lying at the young shepherd's feet. For Paris hands the golden apple to Venus, goddess of love, in the centre. She wears her tokens, pearls and roses, in her hair. Her little son, Cupid, god of erotic love, crouches on the ground behind her. Venus clutches her robe to her breast as if surprised she has won, but the goddesses had all cheated. Juno offered Paris wealth and power, Minerva offered wisdom and strength. Venus promised him the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen, who was married to King Menelaus of Sparta -- an irresistible gift.

Rubens has turned the story into a rural idyll, with a far-reaching landscape set in the soft evening sun. The three nude figures each show a different aspect of the female form, painted with a sensitive, almost tender understanding of the body in various states of subtly conveyed emotion. The textures of silk, velvet, feathers and hair brushing against pale flesh glowing in the light are Rubens at his sensual best. Only a few grey clouds and the reflection of the gorgon Medusa with the snakes in her hair in Minerva’s mirror disturb the scene, suggesting that peace won’t last.

And Juno made sure there was no happy ending. Almost hidden in the clouds above the heads of the figures here is the implacable Fury, Alecto. In a jealous rage, Juno commanded her to wreak havoc on the Trojans. She caused Paris to abduct Helen, and the famous Trojan War began.

Style: Baroque
This devotional painting makes us feel as if we are in the same room as the Virgin Mary, who appears almost life-size, praying in quiet devotion. The background is so plain and dark that nothing distracts us from her bowed head framed by a white headdress and her radiant, porcelain-like skin.

This picture is remarkable for its simplicity, making use of swathes of just three colours -- red, white and blue -- with no extraneous details to distract us from the praying figure. The Virgin is so strongly lit and her skin so flawless that she takes on an almost sculptural quality, and feels like a real presence in front of us. The bright lighting combined with the impenetrable dark background makes the blue of the her robes especially brilliant. Sassferrato has used ultramarine for these. Made from lapis lazuli, a semi-precious stone mined in north-eastern Afghanistan, ultramarine was the most expensive of blue pigments, and highly prized for its intense colour.

Sassoferrato specialised in this kind of deeply felt devotional image and, despite also painting large-scale altarpieces, he is now known as a master of painting the Virgin at prayer. He produced at least four different designs on this theme, which exist in several versions both by his hand and by his studio assistants. Sometimes the Virgin has her hands pressed together and her head directed downward towards the left, as we see here; other designs show her facing frontally, turned to the right in a blue headdress or gazing upward. The subject of the Virgin alone and at prayer was developed in the fifteenth century, but it grew in popularity as sixteenth-century reformers of the Roman Catholic Church advocated a more personal approach to worship, placing greater emphasis on individual devotion and contemplation. Sassoferrato capitalised on this growing market, producing relatively small pictures that appealed to private collectors.

Despite his popularity, we know relatively little about Sassoferrato's career and work. He was born in the Marches and baptised Giovanni Battista Salvi, taking his nickname from the town of his birth. He spent much of career in Rome, where he was influenced by contemporary painters like Guido Reni. His characteristic style, however, is indebted to artists such as Raphael and Perugino (both of whom had died around 120 years earlier). In this picture -- and in The Virgin and Child Embracing, which places more emphasis on the Virgin's connection with her son -- the similarities to Raphael are striking in the elegantly coloured robes and sculpted facial features. The National Gallery acquired its two paintings by Sassoferrato in the mid-nineteenth century, when there was a renewed interest in his work, as well as that of Raphael.

Style: Baroque, Academic
Using an animal skin, two laughing satyrs with pointed ears and short tails -- although without the usual hairy legs -- lift a plump man to pick the grapes that dangle above him. To the right a young satyr clambers up a vine and reaches out for another bunch. The man is Silenus, teacher and companion of Bacchus, the classical god of wine. In visual representations he was generally shown drunken, as here, and sometimes riding a donkey or surrounded by a crowd of rowdy revellers.

This irregularly shaped panel was once part of the inside of the lid of some kind of harpsichord. Young Satyr gathering Grapes and Marsyas and Olympus come from the same instrument, or perhaps a pair of instruments. The panels were possibly commissioned by the scholar and collector Fulvio Orsini, librarian and curator to the Farnese family, Annibale Carracci's most powerful patrons in Rome.

The Farnese evidently had a liking for the subject. Silenus is given pride of place on the ceiling Annibale painted in the Farnese Gallery, as well as in a series of drawings on the theme which Annibale did as designs for Cardinal Odoardo Farnese's silverware. Drawings in the British Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, also show Silenus in various states of drunkenness.

Style: Baroque, Academic
A grey and turbulent sky dominates the picture, but our eye is caught by the patch of bright sunlight in the middle ground. And if we look deeper, just to the right of the church, there are other flecks of yellow where the sun has broken through the clouds. This sense of fast-changing light brings the whole landscape to life, injecting movement into what otherwise might have been a static scene.

These brilliant lighting effects may help make it feel as though van Ruisdael has captured a real moment in a real landscape, but he almost certainly hasn’t. Instead, he has brought a fantasy to life. Despite much research, no art historian has managed to establish where exactly this scene might be; no one has convincingly identified the church, nor the ruins in the foreground. Even more tellingly, the National Gallery has two versions of the scene. Significant differences between them suggest that van Ruisdael was more interested in arranging key elements in a pleasing way than in describing a particular place. In the larger picture, one of the ruined buildings in the foreground has been removed and replaced with a group of figures. The woodland and vegetation have been rearranged, the church moved much closer to the ruins, other spires and towers added to the horizon and a windmill placed in the centre of the picture.

It is possible that one of the two versions is a true account of what van Ruisdael saw and the other is an adaptation. But it's much more likely that he was composing an idealised landscape -- based on the countryside around Haarlem -- and reflecting an idea that he and his customers had about how Holland should look and what was important to them. This is a rich pastoral harmony: the harvest is underway and a shepherd tends his flock. It is also a land framed by water. There is a fisherman on the moat in the foreground and, in the distance, a thin band of grey bounds the horizon: the sea. It reminds us of other vital sources of wealth -- the great trading networks of the Dutch maritime fleet.

We seem to be led to understand that all of this represents a bounty offered and protected by God. The church is central to the picture. Its tower and spire stand tall and resilient against an impending storm -- a source of strength when times get rough. Other strongholds, like the ruined medieval castle in the foreground, slowly crumble.

In fact, different ideas of time are central to this painting. While the church suggests eternity and the ruins suggest the long span of history, that flash of sunlight makes it clear that we are witnessing a fleeting moment in the ever-changing weather. A sense of the rhythm of the seasons is strong too. This is clearly high summer. The trees are in leaf and sheaves of corn are lined up in the field, but the heavy grey sky reminds us that soon it will be autumn.

Style: Baroque
Monticelli painted many imaginary scenes of costumed figures throughout his career. Here, a dozen characters are shown in colourful outfits, probably during a torchlight procession. The central figure in white appears to be dressed as Pulcinella, a character from Commedia dell'Arte plays. This subject was also used by Antoine Watteau, whom Monticelli greatly admired.

Nevertheless, the authenticity of this painting has been doubted. Analysis carried out by National Gallery conservators has revealed that its technique imitates Monticelli's, while the picture is painted on pine panel and not on mahogany, which is the wood that Monticelli generally used. For these reasons, it is thought to have been painted by an imitator of Monticelli in the 1870s. Monticelli was admired by his contemporaries, and many of his companion artists were keen to emulate his style and technique.

Style: Impressionist
An officer on a white horse is accompanied by three mounted soldiers to the left of this scene. A group of men sit nearby, awaiting orders; most carry muskets and swords. One of them holds a furled flag, suggesting that the battle has not yet begun. A reclining figure puffs on a long pipe and gazes towards the soldiers and wagons crossing the wide valley below.

Simonini spent most of his career in Venice and during the 1730s and early 1740s he worked for Johann Matthias Graf von der Schulenburg, who was commander of the Venetian army in the war against the Turks. Simonini witnessed these military campaigns, often recording mundane scenes of military life, such as the resting soldiers depicted here.

Painted in 1740--5, this work shows the influence of Venetian painting in the vivid colours and idyllic landscape, which combine the imaginary and the real.

Style: Baroque, Rococo
Meindert Hobbema specialised in landscapes, and particularly woodland scenes such as this. They were not usually modelled on real views, but were composed to capture the atmosphere and harmonies of woodland life. Here the three cottages seem to merge into the underwood. Switches cut from a nearby coppice form a stand in the left foreground, while the rough grey boards on the right are part of an old fence slowly being reclaimed by the woods.

Hobbema often used the device of a winding track to give a sense of depth to a scene. Here, the dark rutted curves lead our eye under the tree, past the red-brick cottage and into the sunny glade beyond. And the illusion of distance is emphasised by the figures, from the two men chatting in the foreground to the tiny walker in a blue coat on the other side of the glade. In fact this is quite a busy scene -- there are ten figures scattered among the trees.

Style: Baroque