Tate Britain, on London's Millbank, is to hold a new exhibition on the British Empire - Artist and Empire - the first major show to explore the artistic legacy of the greatest empire the world has ever known.
The Empire strikes back: This awesome painting of a bloodied British soldier will star in a brave new exhibition of the Empire's most stirring masterpieces. And it will drive the PC lobby hoping mad!
The Tate Britain is to hold the Artist and Empire exhibition in November
It will explore the legacy of Britain's rule through artwork and artefacts
Elizabeth Butler's Remnants Of An Army is one of the starring pieces
It shows one of Britain's great defeats but the exhibition also explores the more positive elements of the age
By Dominic Sandbrook for the Daily Mail
22 July 2015
Daily Mail
Nestled in the dusty hills of eastern Afghanistan, the British sentries on the walls of Jalalabad saw a speck in the distance that afternoon of January 13, 1842.
As the speck came closer, they realised it was a man, bloodied and weary, astride an exhausted horse. It was Dr William Brydon, assistant surgeon in the British Army that had occupied the Afghan capital, Kabul, just over two years earlier.
Brydon was in a terrible state. Part of his skull had been sheared off by Afghan attackers, and it was a miracle he was still alive.
Where, his rescuers asked, was the rest of the British Army? Brydon stared back at them. Then he said hoarsely: ‘I am the Army.’
Remnants Of An Empire: The tale of Dr William Brydon, the only man to return from Kabul after an army of 17,000 was massacred by tribesmen, was immortalised by the Elizabeth Butler painting
The occupation of Afghanistan had been a disaster, and the British retreat from Kabul, in which almost 17,000 were massacred by tribesmen, was one of the greatest military catastrophes in history.
To the Victorian public, the story of Dr Brydon, the lone survivor, became an irresistible reminder of the dangers of imperial hubris.
Years later, his story was immortalised in a stunningly powerful painting by Elizabeth Butler, pointedly titled The Remnants Of An Army — a picture that, in the aftermath of our latest retreat from Afghanistan, is charged with a new poignancy.
For years, Butler’s painting was virtually forgotten. Yesterday, however, Tate Britain announced that it will be one of the key pictures in a new exhibition, Artist And Empire, the first major show to explore the artistic legacy of the greatest empire the world has ever known.
The Tate should, I think, be applauded for its vision and courage in holding this exhibition, which opens in November. The experience of Empire — merchants and massacres, missionary zeal and military glory — played a central part in the making of modern Britain.
Augustus John’s portrayal of T. E. Lawrence — known as Lawrence of Arabia — who played a key role in the liberation of Arabs during World War I
It is our imperial legacy, after all, that explains why (at least on paper) Americans, Canadians, Australians and New Zealanders speak English; why so many people around the world play rugby, cricket and football; and why chicken tikka masala is today the UK’s favourite dish.
Too often, however, museums and galleries have shied away from exploring our imperial history with any depth or balance, while our politicians have often been far too quick to echo the self-flagellating whingeing of second-rate academics who love to blame the British Empire for all the ills of the modern world.
In reality, the story of Britain’s Empire presents a spectacle of almost unparalleled richness, grandeur, tragedy and inspiration. Like any similar construct, it had its fair share of dark chapters and grim episodes.
Even so, no reasonable observer can deny it often represented a tremendous force for good, or that the tale of its rise and fall remains one of the most stirring stories in all world history.
Judging by the publicity, the Tate’s forthcoming exhibition promises to be rich in this kind of melodramatic derring-do.
Among its key paintings is William Barnes Wollen’s splendidly evocative The Last Stand Of The 44th Foot At Gundermuck (1898 ), which captures another tragic scene during the retreat from Kabul — the remnants of the British Forces, surrounded, making their last doomed stand against overwhelming odds. Perhaps surprisingly, personal tragedy and military catastrophe are common themes. One picture by Anglo-American Benjamin West shows General Wolfe, conqueror of Quebec, breathing his last as victory is won.
Another painting, once one of the most famous images in Britain, shows the doomed imperial hero General Gordon making his final stand in Khartoum against a tide of Muslim fanatics — yet another image that, alas, now seems powerfully resonant.
William Barnes Wollen’s splendidly evocative The Last Stand Of The 44th Foot At Gundermuck 1842 (1898 )
Cheetah and Stag With Two Indians by George Stubbs. At the time, the cheetah was one of the great celebrities of the age, being hailed in Britain as a ‘She Tyger’. Initially given as a present to George III, the cheetah ended up as the star tourist attraction at the Tower of London, where she was known as ‘Miss Jenny’
The Death of General Wolfe, by Benjamin West
Then there is Augustus John’s haunting portrayal of T. E. Lawrence — better known as Lawrence of Arabia — who played a key role in the liberation of Arabs from the Ottoman Empire during World War I, only to see his dreams of fully independent, prosperous Arab nations shattered in the aftermath . . . a legacy with which we are still grappling today.
There was more to the imperial experience, though, than battles and massacres. The Tate’s exhibition promises to bring out the weird and wonderful side of Empire — the quirks and curiosities assembled by missionaries and explorers.
Perhaps the finest painting in the show is George Stubbs’s Cheetah And Stag With Two Indians, which was commissioned by the British governor-general of Madras in 1765.
At the time, the cheetah in question was one of the great celebrities of the age, being hailed in Britain as a ‘She Tyger’. Initially given as a present to George III, the cheetah ended up as the star tourist attraction at the Tower of London, where she was known as ‘Miss Jenny’.
Another extraordinary image shows spy novelist John Buchan, best known today as the author of The Thirty-Nine Steps, while he was governor-general of Canada in the late 1930s.
Photographed by the peerless Yousuf Karsh, Buchan stares sternly ahead beneath an extraordinarily vast and lavish American Indian feathered head-dress — a supremely potent symbol of British power abroad, as well as a striking illustration of the Empire’s marriage of different cultural traditions.
It is a relief to see that, on this evidence, the Tate’s exhibition will not present the story of the Empire as a simplistic, hand-wringing tale of wicked British colonialists and virtuous, oppressed natives.
For the truth, as the best historians have shown, is that the Empire was always a collaborative enterprise, in which British merchants, administrators and missionaries often worked hand in glove with local people themselves.
During the heyday of the Raj, for example, barely 20,000 British administrators and soldiers ruled an Indian population more than 300 million strong. As any sensible observer would surely conclude, they could only have done so with the close co-operation of the Indians themselves.
Haunting images: General Gordon's Last Stand, left, by George W. Joy, 1885. Gordon about to be attacked by warriors of the Mahdi. Right is spy novelist John Buchan, the governor-general of Canada and the author of The Thirty-Nine Steps, photographed by Yousuf Karsh, staring sternly beneath a vast and lavish American Indian feathered head-dress
This is not, however, what many Left-wing writers like to believe. They prefer an infantile fairy story in which hard-faced British oppressors went out across the world to steal and murder, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake.
And to their undying shame, some of our less principled politicians have endorsed this twisted view of our history. Tony Blair, for example, loved nothing better than going around the world offering unctuous apologies for Britain’s alleged sins, from our role in the slave trade to the mishandling of the Irish potato famine.
I hope that the Tate’s new show steers well clear of this sort of thing, although it has to be said that a few of its exhibits, including some truly dreadful examples of contemporary ‘post-colonial’ art, do not look very encouraging.
It is, I know, tempting for academics and curators to pander to Left-wing audiences, setting themselves up as moral judges of our supposedly wicked predecessors. But they really ought to know better.
Of course Britain’s Empire-builders made their fair share of mistakes. Yet no fair-minded judge can, I think, deny that it was far better to live under British rule than under our French, Dutch or Portuguese rivals — let alone under many of the violent regimes that followed, from Idi Amin’s Uganda to Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe.
The Empire was not perfect. No institution built by human hand ever is. But at its best, Britain’s imperial enterprise reflected some of the noblest aspirations of the human soul, from the Victorians’ deep sense of philanthropic duty to their commitment to the rule of law.
And if the Tate’s new exhibition captures some of that spirit, then it will not merely have done our predecessors justice, it will have done us all a great public service.
Artist And Empire is at Tate Britain in London from November 25: Artist and Empire | Tate
The Empire strikes back: This awesome painting of a bloodied British soldier will star in a brave new exhibition of the Empire's most stirring masterpieces. And it will drive the PC lobby hoping mad!
The Tate Britain is to hold the Artist and Empire exhibition in November
It will explore the legacy of Britain's rule through artwork and artefacts
Elizabeth Butler's Remnants Of An Army is one of the starring pieces
It shows one of Britain's great defeats but the exhibition also explores the more positive elements of the age
By Dominic Sandbrook for the Daily Mail
22 July 2015
Daily Mail
Nestled in the dusty hills of eastern Afghanistan, the British sentries on the walls of Jalalabad saw a speck in the distance that afternoon of January 13, 1842.
As the speck came closer, they realised it was a man, bloodied and weary, astride an exhausted horse. It was Dr William Brydon, assistant surgeon in the British Army that had occupied the Afghan capital, Kabul, just over two years earlier.
Brydon was in a terrible state. Part of his skull had been sheared off by Afghan attackers, and it was a miracle he was still alive.
Where, his rescuers asked, was the rest of the British Army? Brydon stared back at them. Then he said hoarsely: ‘I am the Army.’
Remnants Of An Empire: The tale of Dr William Brydon, the only man to return from Kabul after an army of 17,000 was massacred by tribesmen, was immortalised by the Elizabeth Butler painting
The occupation of Afghanistan had been a disaster, and the British retreat from Kabul, in which almost 17,000 were massacred by tribesmen, was one of the greatest military catastrophes in history.
To the Victorian public, the story of Dr Brydon, the lone survivor, became an irresistible reminder of the dangers of imperial hubris.
Years later, his story was immortalised in a stunningly powerful painting by Elizabeth Butler, pointedly titled The Remnants Of An Army — a picture that, in the aftermath of our latest retreat from Afghanistan, is charged with a new poignancy.
For years, Butler’s painting was virtually forgotten. Yesterday, however, Tate Britain announced that it will be one of the key pictures in a new exhibition, Artist And Empire, the first major show to explore the artistic legacy of the greatest empire the world has ever known.
The Tate should, I think, be applauded for its vision and courage in holding this exhibition, which opens in November. The experience of Empire — merchants and massacres, missionary zeal and military glory — played a central part in the making of modern Britain.
Augustus John’s portrayal of T. E. Lawrence — known as Lawrence of Arabia — who played a key role in the liberation of Arabs during World War I
It is our imperial legacy, after all, that explains why (at least on paper) Americans, Canadians, Australians and New Zealanders speak English; why so many people around the world play rugby, cricket and football; and why chicken tikka masala is today the UK’s favourite dish.
Too often, however, museums and galleries have shied away from exploring our imperial history with any depth or balance, while our politicians have often been far too quick to echo the self-flagellating whingeing of second-rate academics who love to blame the British Empire for all the ills of the modern world.
In reality, the story of Britain’s Empire presents a spectacle of almost unparalleled richness, grandeur, tragedy and inspiration. Like any similar construct, it had its fair share of dark chapters and grim episodes.
Even so, no reasonable observer can deny it often represented a tremendous force for good, or that the tale of its rise and fall remains one of the most stirring stories in all world history.
Judging by the publicity, the Tate’s forthcoming exhibition promises to be rich in this kind of melodramatic derring-do.
Among its key paintings is William Barnes Wollen’s splendidly evocative The Last Stand Of The 44th Foot At Gundermuck (1898 ), which captures another tragic scene during the retreat from Kabul — the remnants of the British Forces, surrounded, making their last doomed stand against overwhelming odds. Perhaps surprisingly, personal tragedy and military catastrophe are common themes. One picture by Anglo-American Benjamin West shows General Wolfe, conqueror of Quebec, breathing his last as victory is won.
Another painting, once one of the most famous images in Britain, shows the doomed imperial hero General Gordon making his final stand in Khartoum against a tide of Muslim fanatics — yet another image that, alas, now seems powerfully resonant.
William Barnes Wollen’s splendidly evocative The Last Stand Of The 44th Foot At Gundermuck 1842 (1898 )
Cheetah and Stag With Two Indians by George Stubbs. At the time, the cheetah was one of the great celebrities of the age, being hailed in Britain as a ‘She Tyger’. Initially given as a present to George III, the cheetah ended up as the star tourist attraction at the Tower of London, where she was known as ‘Miss Jenny’
The Death of General Wolfe, by Benjamin West
Then there is Augustus John’s haunting portrayal of T. E. Lawrence — better known as Lawrence of Arabia — who played a key role in the liberation of Arabs from the Ottoman Empire during World War I, only to see his dreams of fully independent, prosperous Arab nations shattered in the aftermath . . . a legacy with which we are still grappling today.
There was more to the imperial experience, though, than battles and massacres. The Tate’s exhibition promises to bring out the weird and wonderful side of Empire — the quirks and curiosities assembled by missionaries and explorers.
Perhaps the finest painting in the show is George Stubbs’s Cheetah And Stag With Two Indians, which was commissioned by the British governor-general of Madras in 1765.
At the time, the cheetah in question was one of the great celebrities of the age, being hailed in Britain as a ‘She Tyger’. Initially given as a present to George III, the cheetah ended up as the star tourist attraction at the Tower of London, where she was known as ‘Miss Jenny’.
Another extraordinary image shows spy novelist John Buchan, best known today as the author of The Thirty-Nine Steps, while he was governor-general of Canada in the late 1930s.
Photographed by the peerless Yousuf Karsh, Buchan stares sternly ahead beneath an extraordinarily vast and lavish American Indian feathered head-dress — a supremely potent symbol of British power abroad, as well as a striking illustration of the Empire’s marriage of different cultural traditions.
It is a relief to see that, on this evidence, the Tate’s exhibition will not present the story of the Empire as a simplistic, hand-wringing tale of wicked British colonialists and virtuous, oppressed natives.
For the truth, as the best historians have shown, is that the Empire was always a collaborative enterprise, in which British merchants, administrators and missionaries often worked hand in glove with local people themselves.
During the heyday of the Raj, for example, barely 20,000 British administrators and soldiers ruled an Indian population more than 300 million strong. As any sensible observer would surely conclude, they could only have done so with the close co-operation of the Indians themselves.
Haunting images: General Gordon's Last Stand, left, by George W. Joy, 1885. Gordon about to be attacked by warriors of the Mahdi. Right is spy novelist John Buchan, the governor-general of Canada and the author of The Thirty-Nine Steps, photographed by Yousuf Karsh, staring sternly beneath a vast and lavish American Indian feathered head-dress
This is not, however, what many Left-wing writers like to believe. They prefer an infantile fairy story in which hard-faced British oppressors went out across the world to steal and murder, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake.
And to their undying shame, some of our less principled politicians have endorsed this twisted view of our history. Tony Blair, for example, loved nothing better than going around the world offering unctuous apologies for Britain’s alleged sins, from our role in the slave trade to the mishandling of the Irish potato famine.
I hope that the Tate’s new show steers well clear of this sort of thing, although it has to be said that a few of its exhibits, including some truly dreadful examples of contemporary ‘post-colonial’ art, do not look very encouraging.
It is, I know, tempting for academics and curators to pander to Left-wing audiences, setting themselves up as moral judges of our supposedly wicked predecessors. But they really ought to know better.
Of course Britain’s Empire-builders made their fair share of mistakes. Yet no fair-minded judge can, I think, deny that it was far better to live under British rule than under our French, Dutch or Portuguese rivals — let alone under many of the violent regimes that followed, from Idi Amin’s Uganda to Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe.
The Empire was not perfect. No institution built by human hand ever is. But at its best, Britain’s imperial enterprise reflected some of the noblest aspirations of the human soul, from the Victorians’ deep sense of philanthropic duty to their commitment to the rule of law.
And if the Tate’s new exhibition captures some of that spirit, then it will not merely have done our predecessors justice, it will have done us all a great public service.
Artist And Empire is at Tate Britain in London from November 25: Artist and Empire | Tate
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