Original subtitles

George Stubbs is the greatest painter of horses who ever lived.

He was a sporting artist, but so much more than that.

A man who literally dissected his subject before he felt able to paint it.

He's also a tough, disturbing and complex artist,

but rarely one who also strikes the broadest popular chord.

So in 1977, these two paintings were about to be sold.

Perhaps they were going to leave the country.

And so the Tate Gallery moved in,

but it didn't have the £774,000 required to buy them.

So the public responded.

There was an early form of lottery established.

There was a crossword competition and a writing competition.

And in the end, over six months, the money was raised by the people

in order that the work should remain in the National Collection for the people.

George Stubbs was born in Liverpool in 1724.

His father, who objected to his son's early artistic interest,

was a courier, preparing horse hides for the local tanneries.

So as a boy, Stubbs was made to work for his father,

and only after his death in 1741, when Stubbs was 17,

was he able to make any serious commitment to art.

He worked for a short time assisting the provincial painter,

Hamlet Winstanley, copying prints.

Afterwards, he spent time again at the family home,

drawing and studying anatomy,

relying for financial support from his mother.

And this is the first work that is known to us by Stubbs.

It was painted in 1746, when Stubbs was 22,

a double portrait of Sir Henry Nelthorpe and his second wife.

We don't know how the Stubbs came to be known to the Nelthorpes,

but this was an important first commission,

as the family would prove loyal patrons to Stubbs in the years to come.

Shortly afterwards, he moved to York,

furthering his study of anatomy at the county hospital.

There he came into contact with the obstetrician Dr John Burton,

who asked Stubbs to illustrate a book he was currently writing

on the improvements in midwifery methods.

Stubbs had no experience in etching,

so he went to see a decorative painter in Leeds to pick up the basics.

The 18 plates that Stubbs subsequently produced

were his first published works.

It was around this time that Stubbs met Mary Spencer,

who would remain his lifelong companion and assistant.

They never married, but had a son shortly after meeting.

And then in 1754, Stubbs joined the stream of young British artists

on the grand tour, making their way to what they consider

to be the cradle of Western civilisation, Italy.

Stubbs was one of the first generation of British artists

for whom a trip to Italy seemed a prerequisite for success.

However, Stubbs seemed unmoved by the experience,

staying only a few months and finding nothing to admire,

being quoted as saying,

nature was and is always superior to art, whether Greek or Roman.

And it was this idea of drawing from nature that inspired Stubbs

to study in intricate detail the anatomy of a horse.

And probably with financial help from the Nelthorpes,

he began the project that was to transform his reputation.

For 18 months, beginning in 1756, Stubbs, together with his companion,

Mary Spencer, lived and worked in an isolated farmhouse in Lincolnshire,

where they embarked on a systematic study of the anatomy of the horse.

Able to rely on a constant supply of dead horses from the local tanneries,

Stubbs would suspend the cadavers from the ceiling on a series of hooks,

forming the horse into a lifelike pose,

and then he'd set to work,

slowly removing the layers of skin and muscle,

recording every detail until only the skeleton remained.

His research was both anatomical and archaeological,

delving deep into the recesses of the equine body,

laying it bare in order more fully to understand how it worked

from the inside out,

and all in order to paint it as accurately as possible.

It was the first new study of the subject for over 150 years,

but it was unprecedented in its detail.

Stubbs was determined to publish the anatomy of a horse,

and he brought his drawings to London,

and he showed them to a number of professional engravers.

But no-one would take up the project

because the subject matter was so unusual.

So instead, Stubbs decided to publish his prints himself.

And so, he worked on the project,

part-time while still earning a living from painting portraits,

and it took him eight years.

But finally, in 1766,

the remarkable anatomy of a horse was published.

And it couldn't have come at a better time.

For in 1750, the Jockey Club was founded in England,

made up of wealthy aristocrats

intent on regulating and promoting race meetings.

In addition, they were keen to find an artist

who could depict their prized horses in a realistic manner,

and Stubbs was only too pleased to supply the market.

The first commission was for the Duke of Richmond,

for his seat at Goodwood House in Sussex.

And this is Stubbs' first depiction of the horse in paint,

of the Charlton Hunt.

The Duke, who was 28 at the time of the painting,

an active military officer,

is in the centre of the picture,

sitting tall in his saddle,

wearing the Goodwood Blue,

the livery of the Charlton Hunt,

with his brother, Lord George Lennox,

advancing towards him.

And in the background,

the hunt itself takes place.

The Charlton Hunt kennels

were famous for their thoroughbred foxhounds,

and these, in the foreground,

were the first that Stubbs had the chance to observe,

portraying them with great individuality

and a little affection.

With the backing of such patrons,

Stubbs started the most productive period of his career.

Beginning in 1762,

with a series of paintings of mares and foals,

Stubbs arranges his work

in an almost classical frieze-like composition,

freed from the bridles, the saddles and the spurs of the racecourse,

and they seem almost sculptural in form,

illustrating just how Stubbs was trying to elevate

mere animal paintings to the status of high art.

This combination of drawing from life

and then arranging the horses into an idealised composition

was a potent one.

But Stubbs' painting went a stage further

in perhaps his greatest,

and certainly his most eye-catching, masterpiece.

It's called Whistlejacket,

and it's one of the greatest equestrian paintings ever made.

Now, Whistlejacket was a Palominian stallion

owned by the Marcus of Rockingham,

who'd made his owner a pretty substantial fortune on the racecourse.

But he was retired in 1759,

put out to stud,

but three years later,

Rockingham decided he wanted a painting of his prized possession.

Now, there's all sorts of stories about this work,

not least because Whistlejacket has no background.

There's no context.

Instead, he's set against a void.

And one of the theories is that, in fact,

Rockingham, who was intricately involved with affairs of state

and later, for a brief period, became Prime Minister,

wanted to commission an equestrian portrait of King George III,

and that having got this far,

he decided, along with Stubbs,

that they wouldn't bother to put the king on the horse,

nor would they bother to fill in the background.

Now, that may or may not be true.

What I think is certainly true,

and we know this from Stubbs' records,

is that he always paints the horses first

and then the background second.

And I think that he probably realised, along with his patron,

that this was enough, that it needed nothing else.

But it gives the work a kind of timeless quality

and a very contemporary or very modern feel, too.

It's the kind of painting that, because of its energy,

because of the fact that it's this monumental

or life-size image of a horse,

it really seems to have caught the public imagination

over the centuries and spawned all kinds of stories,

the best of which came about when the work was first shown.

And it was claimed that Whistlejacket himself

was confronted by this canvas

when Stubbs was painting it out in the paddock,

just as he was finishing it.

And the horse saw it, reared up, and tried to kick it.

And together with the stable lad, Stubbs had to restrain him,

and apparently he beat him with his mild stick and his pallet.

I think that's pretty ludicrous, though.

Not least because, can you imagine a canvas of this size,

out in a muddy paddock,

and a painter like Stubbs having to wrestle with it?

I think it's clear that he sketched and drew him

and observed very closely this horse

as it was paraded to and fro in front of him,

but that clearly the canvas itself was completed in Stubbs' studio.

But what we're left with

is this extraordinary image of vitality and vigour,

of a horse that has been very successful on the race course,

but now is out to stud

and has this amazing virility, if you like.

It's also a work that seems incredibly composed.

The image is taut, it's pulled in by its frame.

Look at the tail, the way it lifts up to give balance.

Look at the way the pointed ears are there.

Look at the expression on the face, the flash in the eye.

It's an image of absolute perfect poise,

but at the same time, it threatens to burst out of the frame.

And it's that, I think,

that sense of almost abstract, taut energy

that gives the painting its ongoing power.

By 1762, when Stubbs was 38,

he'd emerged as the leading sporting artist of the day.

The problem, though, was the art establishment,

because for them, painting was an intellectual pursuit

and the result of imagination,

as well as the acute powers of observation that Stubbs brought to it.

The landscape of the racetrack and of the stables

was restrictive, and so Stubbs had to look further afield.

The Creswell Crags are an isolated rock formation

on the borders of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire,

a rugged landscape of limestone cliffs

whose drama and beauty perfectly conformed

to the emerging idea of the picturesque,

and which gave Stubbs a more natural setting

in which he could depict his horses,

but where they could also be exposed

to the more savage forces of nature.

Now, the landscape of Creswell Crags

provided the backdrop for a series

that eventually numbered 17,

of which this is an early example,

that one art historian called Animal History.

And it shows a lion going through various stages

of attacking a horse.

And I think, probably, it could be argued,

that for the first time in his career,

Stubbs puts the landscape in first

before the animals then populate the picture.

And here you see the horse recoiling in fear

as out of the darkness comes this lion.

Now, in the series,

there are four stages of the narrative.

The first is the lion at distance frightening the horse.

Then he's moving in closer.

Then, thirdly, he attacks.

And then, fourthly, the horse sinks under the weight

as the lion puts teeth and claws

into the flesh of the poor horse.

Now, the precedents for this were classical.

In Rome, on the Capitoline Hill,

there was an antique sculpture

of a lion attacking a horse.

It's pretty clear that Stubbs had seen that.

It's also pretty clear

that he's trying to elevate sporting painting

and give it something of the status

of classical art or grand style art.

But he's also, in these works,

putting himself forward

as a painter of the imagination

as well as someone who looks and observes.

Because although it was perfectly plausible

that he'd seen a lion

at one of his patron's menageries,

the menageries, Lord Shelbourne had a lion

at his house on Hounslow Heath.

Nonetheless, Stubbs could never have seen

a lion attacking a horse.

And what he's also trying to do

is put forward an idea

that was philosophically very strong at the time,

namely that of the sublime.

The idea of the sublime,

written by the philosopher Edmund Burke,

published first in 1759,

was the awe and the terror

that human beings feel

when they're confronted

by the awesome power of nature.

This is usually made manifest in storms,

particularly at sea,

and Turner, later on,

became a great exponent

of the sublime in painting.

Here, in something that seems

slightly more populist,

Stubbs has the idea

of the sublime force of a wild animal

and the fear the horse feels

when confronted by it.

And so, in a way,

what he's doing here

is managing to combine high art theory

with the more popular tastes of the day.

And, in fact,

these paintings

and the prints that he made

and a relief he did

for Wedgwood Pottery

of the same subject

were amongst the most popular works

that he ever produced.

Stubbs was also commissioned

to paint a number of other wild animals

which were just arriving in Britain,

the trophies of a newly powerful

and growing empire.

And this image of a cheetah

sent as a gift to George III

from a former Governor-General

of Madras

commemorates an event

that took place

in Windsor Great Park

in which the cheetah

was set loose on a stag

in order to observe

its hunting technique.

In the end,

the experiment was a failure, though,

as the stag easily defended itself.

In Stubbs' painting, though,

there is a sense of the exotic,

both animal and human,

and Stubbs paints

both the cheetah

and its Indian attendants

with equal drama

and attention to detail.

But Stubbs' main source of income

was still painting portraits

of horses for wealthy clients,

and in 1765,

he began a series

set on Newmarket Racecourse,

beginning with an extraordinary pair

of landscapes

populated by no horses

and no human beings,

of which this

is perhaps the most poignant example.

It's a real gem of a painting,

and it shows here

on the left-hand side

what's called

a rubbing down house,

where the horses were bought

after a race

or after exercise,

and they were rubbed down

with either cloths

or bits of straw

to get the sweat off them.

And you have this amazing

sense of distance

where you see

these two viewing stands

and this post in the middle,

like a tower,

which in fact

is a betting post,

but the whole painting

reverberates

with a sense of emptiness.

This is the line,

the track,

of the racecourse,

almost a kind of mythical feel.

But this is also

a kind of formal exercise,

where Stubbs

is establishing the backdrop

and then,

in the next painting,

he puts the horses in.

In Gym Crack

on Newmarket Heath,

Stubbs has shown

both the aftermath

of the race

in the foreground

and the race itself.

So this is a really

archaic presentation

of the subject

in defiance

of the normal unities

of time and place.

In the 18th century,

racing drew enormous crowds

from the many different

stratas of society.

And the racecourse

was the venue

for frantic betting,

boxing and cockfighting.

The crowds would line the course,

leaving only enough space

for the horses

to pass through.

But these elements

are entirely absent

in Stubbs's vision

of Newmarket.

But he was much less

of a documentary painter

and more interested

in the drama

and the spirit

of the occasion.

In 1785,

Stubbs produced

this pair of paintings

that shows just how much

you wanted to broaden

the subject matter

of his art.

This is called

The Reapers

and this is The Haymakers.

And the two works

sit wonderfully well together.

There's a continual line,

if you like,

of action.

And you could reverse them

and create a kind of pyramid

from the trees

Now, there's plenty of precedence

for this subject matter

in art,

but the workers tend

to be sentimentalised.

I don't think Stubbs does that,

but I think what he does do

is idealise them slightly.

They all wear immaculate

and rather smart costumes.

In a way,

Stubbs is trying to affirm

their dignity.

He's also showing,

in an almost manifesto

or diagrammatic style,

the different activities

from the raking

to the reaping

to the putting

on the back of the hay rick.

But at the same time,

he's imposing

this huge sense

of order in the work.

Look at this composition here.

It's a very strong pyramid.

And then the dominant form there

on the right-hand side

of the owner

or the agricultural estate manager.

The idle classes,

just looking over

the workers at work.

And then, in the distance,

there's a spire

also looming large

in the picture.

And these two symbols

of authority

which tower over

the people

going about

their daily tasks.

And I think

one of the things

Stubbs is trying to do here,

apart from choreograph

what's tantamount

to a mechanical

or workers' ballet,

is show

the dignity

and the hard work

that goes on

in the countryside.

And at the time,

there was growing descent

in the countryside,

and certainly

amongst the urban classes,

there was a feeling

that the countryside

was a problem.

And what Stubbs is trying

to do is redress the balance

and show a disciplined

and harmonious world there.

And he showed these

at the Royal Academy,

and he also used them

as a basis

for popular prints,

perhaps to show the world

that, in fact,

the countryside

wasn't much of a problem.

But the response

was critical.

In fact,

people said,

this isn't how

the countryside is.

It didn't reinforce

the stereotypical view.

Now,

if we spin on

a couple of hundred years

to 1977,

when there's a danger

that these works

will be lost to the nation,

but, of course,

the nation rallies,

raises the money,

and here they are now

preserved for posterity.

In the press,

all the talk

is of these works

embodying or capturing

the essence of Englishness,

something that subsequently

is lost.

In fact, though,

that flies totally

in the face

of the response

to those who saw

these works initially,

and there's something

deeply and quite

satisfyingly contradictory

about these paintings.

In 1795,

at the age of 71,

Stubbs embarked

on the systematic task

of exploring and recording

the comparative anatomy

of humans,

tigers,

and common fowl.

Over the next 11 years,

Stubbs produced

more than 120 drawings

and four volumes

of text.

What is proposed

by the comparative anatomy

is that scientific inquiry

could be beautiful

and enlightening,

that science and aesthetics

are not opposed,

but could exist

fruitfully together,

an idea which still

has contemporary resonance.

Stubbs' last great work,

and some would say

his greatest,

now resides

in Northern Ireland

at Mount Stewart,

one of the country houses

of the family

who commissioned it.

Henry Vane Tempest

was a 28-year-old landowner

who was wealthy enough

to indulge in his twin passions

of racing and gambling,

and who,

in 1796,

bought one of the great horses

of his time,

Hambletonian.

You could say

that Stubbs

immortalised Hambletonian,

but in fact,

his place in racing history

was assured.

He'd won the Doncaster Gold Cup

and the St. Ledger,

and then on the 25th of March,

1799,

he took part

in one of the races

of the decade,

together with another

great horse

called Diamond,

whose owner,

Joseph Cookson,

and Henry Vane Temple,

put up a purse

between them

of 3,000 guineas.

The race was staged

at Newmarket,

where Stubbs had painted

over the previous few decades,

and drew crowds

of tens of thousands.

Apparently,

according to contemporary accounts,

you couldn't get a bed

within a 15-mile radius

of the place,

and over 30,000 guineas

were bet on it.

The winner,

of course,

was Hambletonian.

And immediately,

his owner,

Vane Tempest,

mentioned two works

from Stubbs,

and this is the only one

that's left,

and one of his

most celebrated paintings.

What you'd expect to see

is the drama

of the race itself.

Now,

what Stubbs gives us

is a rather private moment

after the most dramatic

public spectacle,

and that's extraordinarily subtle.

What you'd expect to see here

is a horse in triumph.

What you see

is a horse

with its teeth

slightly flared,

it's clearly exhausted,

but still has this

great sense of energy.

It's cantering along,

and it's being rubbed down,

and it's being nurtured

and cared for,

and there's something

very ordinary about that image

that is also rendered

extraordinary

by the background

that seems to be

a general place,

but also some kind

of Arcadia,

but also

in the extraordinary way

that Stubbs wrestles

with the animal itself.

It dominates the canvas.

It's almost spread out

across the entire length

of the canvas,

life-size,

as if it's some

scientific diagram,

and you can only paint

a horse

with that beautiful

glowing sheen

and that musculature

and a sense almost

of an animal breathing

if you've studied

the animal

as Stubbs had

from the inside out.

But there's also

something else

that's odd about it.

Look at the young boy.

His hand seems

far too stretched,

and in fact

it would never reach

quite as far,

and then look at

Hamiltonian itself.

Look how those legs are,

the right legs

and the left legs

could never be

in that configuration.

And we're not quite sure

why Stubbs chose

to paint

with this kind of oddness,

except what we do know

is that he was having

a battle with

Vain Tempest,

and Vain Tempest

refused to pay

the amount of money

that was agreed,

and there was a court case,

and in the end

Stubbs did get

his due fee for it.

But Vain Tempest

also wanted to corner

the market in colour

prints of this image,

but by producing

something so odd

and so ordinary

and such a

behind-the-scenes view,

of course it would

never sell

on the popular market.

So perhaps Stubbs,

at the age of 78,

is calling the shots.

He won't be

controlled anymore.

But it's also as if

Stubbs is feeling

constrained

by the framework

of the genre of art,

the sporting genre,

in which he has painted

for almost all of his life.

And you get a sense here,

finally,

of an experimental artist

who's trying to

break out of all of that

and effectively,

if you'll excuse the pun,

ride roughshod over it.

Stubbs died on the 10th of July,

1806,

in his London home.

He was 82 years old,

and although he'd been

one of the most successful

commercial painters

over the previous six decades,

it was discovered

that he was still heavily in debt.

Stubbs took a popular

but low-regarded form of painting

and gave it gravitas and authority.

He stripped horse painting

back to bare essentials

and then built it up

into a classical form of art.

No British-born painter

has ever had this obsessive attention

to study and detail.

But Stubbs was no dispassionate observer.

Instead,

he brought a weight of feeling

to his work

that sometimes makes the spine tingle

and which began to make human beings

more aware

of their place

in the natural order of things.

Stubbs