There are about 50 national galleries around the world, but only one has the name 'The National Gallery' - without a suffix, like of Australia, of America or of New Zealand. It is a gallery primarily of paintings (one can squabble over the medium categorisation of its Leonardo da Vinci, The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne and Saint John the Baptist drawing). Also, with just over 2300 paintings in its collection, it is one of the smallest national gallery collections in the world with over half of its collection on permanent display. In contrast, the National Gallery of Australia in Canberra has a collection of over 166,000 artworks across many mediums with only a tiny fraction on show at any one time.

The National Gallery in London was conceived as a gallery of 'masterpieces' focussing on Western European art ''from Giotto to Cézanne'' with more recent works held at the Tate and in other mediums at the Victoria & Albert Museum. This touring exhibition of 61 paintings was envisaged as the cultural centrepiece for the Tokyo Olympics and was shown in Tokyo and Osaka, while the Games themselves were postponed and missed the show.

Canberra is the only other venue for this glittering ''masterpieces show'', the largest international touring exhibition to be mounted by the gallery in its 197-year history. Like the great art gallery in Trafalgar Square itself, the touring exhibition is a survey of paintings dating from the Italian Renaissance through to Modernism at the close of the 19th century.

To speak of highlights in an exhibition of highlights is a tall task, as every single painting is outstanding in its own right. Vincent van Gogh's Sunflowers, 1888, the highly promoted ''hero image'' for the show, is undoubtedly and deservedly the number one crowd favourite. A glorious and luminous essay in yellow, it glows on the wall with welcoming tones - originally designed to illuminate the bedroom prepared for Paul Gauguin on his visit to Arles to stay with van Gogh. Although the painting suffers from over-promotion and over-reproduction, it never fails to startle and surprise when viewed in the flesh through its presence, scale and vibrancy.

A personal favourite is another Dutch painting, Johannes Vermeer's Young Woman Seated at a Virginal, c.1670-72, that I always try to visit on trips to London. It is frequently shown with its companion, Young Woman Standing at a Virginal, of similar dimensions and cut from the same piece of canvas. Vermeer often featured musical instruments in his works and here the young woman playing the virginal looks out at the beholder past the viola da gamba in the foreground with a bow suspended between its strings, almost like a phallic symbol. The landscape painted on the lid of the virginal as well as the painting on the wall behind have been identified, yet the imagery remains perplexing and enigmatic. The window suggests that it is dark outside and the painting behind our musician, The Procuress, shows a prostitute with her client suggesting that the figure in this painting may be a courtesan, while the companion painting may allude to fidelity in love. The breathtaking treatment of the sumptuous garments, the painted marbling on the virginal and the rich brocade are all lit with a magic luminosity.

Another marvellous painting is by one of the greatest painters of all time, Francisco de Goya, and his brilliant interpretation of The Duke of Wellington, 1812-14. It is not a flattering portrait and probably painted from life in Madrid in oils on a mahogany panel. Three-quarter profile facing to the right, the general looks out directly at the viewer with tiredness and melancholy in his gaze. When you examine the painting in the flesh, close up, you can see how Goya with a few brushstrokes suggests the military orders, while around the eyes and mouth, the brown primer on the canvas is allowed to shine through to make the other colours jump. Goya apparently finished the work in 1812, and then revisited it in 1814 to add to the awards attained in the interim. It is a challenging portrait of a figure of modest stature and with weak features, one that conveys humanism beneath the military facade.

A personal favourite that can be overlooked in a busy exhibition is Carlo Crivelli's The Annunciation, with Saint Emidius, 1486. It is a painting of amazing detail and the combination of the sacred and profane with a mixture of time zones. The central scene is of the Archangel Gabriel delivering the message that the Virgin Mary will give birth to the Saviour at the same moment as the holy dove inseminates the kneeling Virgin. It was painted for a church in Ascoli Piceno in the Marche region of Italy to commemorate the granting to the town of limited self-government by the pope. Kneeling next to the archangel is the local patron saint, Saint Emidius, with a model of the town, while tucked away on the bridge above; the papal messenger is shown delivering the liberating edict. In the foreground, the apple symbolises the fruit of The Fall and the cucumber the promise of the resurrection. To modern ufologists, the spinning disk from which issues the Word of the Lord is an early representation of a UFO. The mesmerising crispness of detail makes the art of Crivelli such a feast for the eye.

At a time when travel abroad is not a realistic option, this exhibition brings to Canberra a bit of the experience of great art from London.