An obvious, and correct, answer to the question “What makes the portrait the portrait of so-and-so?” is that it is the intention. But if we wish to know what it means “intending this to be a portrait of so-and-so” let's see what actually happens when we intend this. Remember the occasion when we talked of what happened when we expect someone from four to four-thirty. To intend a picture to be the portrait of so-and-so (on the part of the painter, e.g.) is neither a particular state of mind nor a particular mental process. But there are a great many combinations of actions and states of mind which we should call “intending … ” It might have been that he was told to paint a portrait of N, and sat down before N, going through certain actions which we call “copying N's face”. One might object to this by saying that the essence of copying is the intention to copy. I should answer that there are a great many different processes which we call “copying something”. Take an instance. I draw an ellipse on a sheet of paper and ask you to copy it. What characterises the process of copying? For it is clear that it isn't the fact that you draw a similar ellipse. You might have tried to copy it and not succeeded; or you might have drawn an ellipse with a totally different intention, and it happened to be like the one you should have copied. So what do you do when you try to copy the ellipse? Well, you look at it, draw something on a piece of paper, perhaps measure what you have drawn, perhaps you curse if you find that it doesn't agree with the model or perhaps you say “I am going to copy this ellipse” and just draw an ellipse like it. There are an endless variety of actions and words, having a family likeness to each other, which we call “trying to copy”.