For the next in my series of articles on what inspires artist to paint, I have chosen The Nude. This is such a vast subject, that I intend to look at Western Art, exploring only paintings from the Renaissance to the present day. Of course sculpture has a very important part to play in the history of The Nude, but for the most part, I am going to ignore it for brevity’s sake.

Sir Kenneth Clark, as he was then, in his brilliant book “The Nude”, (published by John Murray 1956), begins chapter one thus:

“The English language, with its elaborate generosity, distinguished between the naked and the nude. Naked is to be deprived of our clothes and the word implies some of the embarrassment which most of us feel in that condition. The word nude, carries, in educated usage, no uncomfortable overtone. The vague image it projects into the mind is not of a huddled and defenceless body, but of a balanced, prosperous and confident body: the body re-formed.”

Since classical antiquity, the human body has been central to art. We are mostly familiar with sculpture, as so little painting has survived. During the Renaissance, excavations of ancient sites in Rome, Naples and elsewhere unearthed a vast treasure trove of naked gods and goddesses.

These antiquities invited scholars, collectors and artists alike to embrace a classical notion of ideal beauty and Diana, Venus, Danae, Sea Nymphs and various other creations of Greek and Roman mythology became a rich seam for admirers of the nude to mine. Gods and goddesses seldom wore clothes!

The Bible, too has a store of subjects involving the nude from Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden to Lot and his daughters and Bathsheba.

The obvious potential for eroticism, was reduced by certain conventions in depicting the nude. The bodies, although adult, were hairless and had the look of polished marble rather than flesh – the look of a classical statue, as opposed to a “page 3” girl. This anodyne look, with a few subtle variations, lasted until the mid-19th Century.

There was a convention that allowed little boys to be painted completely naked and they are, frequently, as Cupid and Putti (winged cherubs). Little girls, however, have their lower abdomens covered by draperies. Sometimes adult females are draped too but the folds in the draperies often merely accentuate what is hidden.

The 17th Century ushers in a new aesthetic in Western painting. The dramatic light and shade of Caravaggio’s art in Italy found its way to the North of Europe, via Utrecht artists who worked in Rome. Rembrandt was one who embraced this new realism. When he painted his mistress, Hendrikje Stoffels, as “Bathsheba at Her Bath”, she is very much a woman of flesh and blood. Rembrandt records her rather large feet and hands and slightly tubby torso. He also includes the lump in her left breast, which may have been the cause of her death, aged 39, but her death may have been caused by the Plague, which killed thousands in Amsterdam in 1663. In any event, she is nothing like the classical ideal nude of a century earlier.

With the painting of François Boucher in 18th Century Paris, we return to a notion of ideal beauty. Against a background of political and social turmoil, Boucher depicts a world where elegant and beautiful gods and goddesses float and frolic blissfully.

In the 19th Century painters had a new and potentially devastating invention to contend with, photography. What could a painter do, that a photograph could not? The answer is, interpret the object in front of it, rather than merely record it, which is why, nearly 200 years after the invention of photography we still have war artists.

Édouard Manet’s “Olympia”, exhibited at The Paris Salon in 1865, is partly a return to the ideal, with Olympia’s marmoreal body, but it is also a snapshot of the moment her maid arrives with a bunch of flowers.

In England, three decades after Olympia, John William Godward is painting Campaspe as a living sculpture. She is not as pale as Olympia, but she is definitely statuesque and conventional, to conform with Victorian sensibilities. It is worth remembering that some Victorians draped the legs of their pianos, as legs were suggestive – of what I wonder? Furthermore, librarians separated books by male and female authors, lest they jostle against one another on the bookshelves – I think I know what they are getting at, the possibility of two books turning into a library.

Now we come to the 20th Century, when, as we all know, the rule book is thrown out of the window. There is no norm. Whilst Amadeo Modigliani, is painting an ideal nude, inspired by Italian Renaissance painting, Picasso is producing Cubist nudes in strokes of muted grey and Egon Schiele is producing sexually explicit nudes, which still have the power to shock profoundly and are the subject of censorship in many parts of the world. I’m not going to illustrate one!

Surrealism, of course, has its own take on the nude and Rene Magritte’s “Attempting the Impossible” of 1928 has the artist wearing a brown suit painting a living female nude model in 3-D, standing in the same space that he occupies. It is a witty take on Art imitating Art. The model is little more than a painted statue.

No Study of The Nude is complete without an in depth look at the work of Lucian Freud, a man obsessed with the nude, although he hated the word. In his maturity, he possessed a technique which uses thick impasto (paint) with light scumbles (like light washes) over the top to create a sense of the colour and texture of living flesh. Freud’s sitters are as far removed from the ideal as it is possible to be. The men often appear vulnerable and awkward, as do many of his women.

Sue Tilley, the model for one of his most famous nude portraits, “Benefits Supervisor Sleeping”, became a muse for him in the 1990s. The painting of her asleep on a sofa in Freud’s studio is a masterpiece of observation, empathy and reportage. She is seen from above, lying on his sofa, and the sense of her volume and the space she occupies is breathtaking. She sold at Christie’s for $33.6M, which, at the time, was the world record for a living artist.

The Nude has provoked much thought and inspired the spilling of litres of ink over the centuries. The Guerilla Girls, a group of anonymous American female artists produced a poster of Ingres’ “Grande Odalisque”, a white-skinned female nude seen from behind, with a gorilla’s head and in bold type posed the question: “Do women have to be naked to get into the Met. Museum?” It went on to say “Less than 5% of the artists in the Modern Art Sections are women, but 85% of the nudes are female”.

Through all the convulsions and twists that art has taken from the Renaissance, through Abstraction to the modern day, it is interesting to reflect that Life Classes, drawing the human body using a live model, still go on in every corner of the globe. There are three within a five mile radius of where I live ! To be able to draw the human form is clearly the starting point of all art.

World record prices at auction for the artists mentioned:

Lucas Cranach £9.43M
Cavaliere d’Arpino £325,000
Rembrandt van Rijn £20.2M
François Boucher $2.4M
Édouard Manet $65.126M
John William Godward £1.3M
Amadeo Modigliani $170M
Pablo Picasso $179M
Rene Magritte £59.4M
Lucian Freud $86.2M

It is hard to know what to make of the Old Master Sales at the beginning of July. The totals of Christie’s, Sotheby’s and Bonhams at under £50m were only just above half of what they were last year at £80m.

The wonderful Lucas Cranach (lot 6 in Christie’s evening sale) of the Nymph of the Spring, a naked girl in a rocky river landscape, sold for £9.4m. More than the whole of the Sotheby’s Evening Sale put together (£7.1m).

There were some strong individual prices, just not enough of them. I’ve chosen 3 pictures from last weeks crop of Old Masters to write about, one from each of the major London salerooms.

What these three have in common is that they are all in beautiful state and, to my mind, are attractive images, but they are all slightly old-fashioned English “Country House” taste. It was going to be very interesting to see how they fared, in a market obsessed with the quirky and the novel.

My Bonhams choice was lot 60, a fine horse portrait by James Seymour. It was described as “a brown thoroughbred”, traditionally identified as “Spanking Roger”. I thought the presence of two foxhounds and a groom who looked as if he was wearing Beaufort Hunt livery implied that he was a hunter, but my brother-in-law, Hamish Alexander, who is in the racing world said the horse was too fine-boned to be a hunter. I take his word for it. He is an expert and Bonhams got it right.

Despite a suggestion that the signature and date were added later, he galloped away from an estimate of £30,000-50,000 to a very respectable £157,000.

My Sotheby’s choice was the star lot, a marvellous Willem van de Velde the Younger of “The Surrender of the Royal Prince during the Four Days’ Battle”. Although the subject was war, there was no gore, not too many burning vessels, nor drowning sailors and the composition was well -balanced and harmonious, but it didn’t find a buyer. I think the problem was the estimate; at £4-6m the top end was already a world record for the artist at auction. At half that estimate, it would have sailed away.

We finish on an optimistic note! Christie’s offered, as lot 12 in their evening sale, a Pastoral Landscape by Jacob van Ruisdael, the great Haarlem landscape painter. There was a panel join in the sky, but it hardly showed and the evening sun catching the sandy bank of the stream in the foreground, was just the sort of touch that appealed so much in Jacob’s work to John Constable. He owned four of them and made copies of others. This painting more than doubled the estimate with the price of £3.4m including buyer’s premium. It was painted in oil on a small oak panel, just over 2 feet wide and it was a very gentle subject, but it struck a chord in the hearts of several bidders.

If there is a lesson to be learned from these sales, it is that good Old Masters still command strong prices, but it is difficult for auctioneers to persuade collectors to part with their paintings in a time of conflict and inflation.

The “ones that got away” would be a more apt description of my career! Jan van de Capelle, Hugo van de Goes, John Constable, they have all slipped through my hands.

When you are young, you don’t always back your own judgement: you buy paintings speculatively and then start to research them. This involves showing photographs or the picture itself to whoever is the acknowledged expert. If they come back to you and say: “no, it isn’t by such and such”, you take it on the chin. You would never have the temerity to ask them to justify their opinion. That comes later, when you are older and have seen how fallible scholars are.

The picture I have chosen is a Transfiguration by Ludovico Carracci. I bought it at Phillips Son and Neale (now Bonhams) 40 years ago, catalogued as Italian School. I thought it was beautifully painted and probably Bolognese. It had a noble provenance “The Earl of Darnley” and was housed in a fine, if bulky, William IV carved and giltwood frame, all of which felt very positive to me. My brother, James, still has the frame with a mirror in it, in his hall.

After cleaning, which revealed a surface in remarkable condition, I had it photographed and sent images to the two most eminent scholars on Bolognese Baroque Art, one in the USA and the other in Germany. Their names are available upon request! Sadly, neither of them had a clue who painted my picture, nor did they show any enthusiasm for it. I advertised it in Apollo (Art Magazine) as “Italian School” and there was no response to that either!

Several years passed and I got a call from a friend who had found an old copy of Apollo and wondered if I still had the painting and, of course, I did. By some extraordinary fluke he had been working in a provincial museum Print Room and had come across two 17th Century engravings after my painting where the author was given as Ludovico Carracci, so he immediately realised the significance of what he’d seen. He asked me what the best price was and we shook hands on £6,000. It had cost me £3,000 before cleaning and reframing so it wasn’t a greedy price despite looking as if I had doubled my money.

He was not a rich man so I knew that he must know who the author of my Transfiguration was and that’s when he told me about the two prints. Good luck to him but, why on earth didn’t the two scholars I had consulted know about the prints and, therefore, the missing picture? Anyway, my friend kept it for decades, but in 2007 he sold it to the National Gallery of Scotland where it hangs to this day.

The moral of the story is… be patient and back your own judgement.

Last month I was given the most wonderful treat. I started my morning in the V&A picture rooms, looking at the Turners and Constables in the Sheepshank Bequest. How his descendants must hate his philanthropy; there are hundreds of millions of pounds worth of paintings hanging there.

Then I moved on to the Isabel Constable Bequest. Isabel was the last surviving child of John Constable and in September 1888 gifted the residual contents of her father’s studio to the Museum. There are 395 oil paintings, sketches, drawings, watercolours and sketchbooks in the bequest, of which a mere twenty odd were on view.

However, I had the good fortune to be taken behind the scenes to the secure lock-up, where the others are stored, by Emily Knight, daughter of my old friend Richard Knight (ex-head of Old Masters at Christie’s, London), who curates these treasures for the Museum.

I am particularly interested in Constable’s oil sketches, most of which were painted out of doors and many inscribed with a specific date and time of day, revealing much about his working practices. Here I was, backstage, taking them off the racks and holding them in my hands for a closer look. I have done this sort of thing before, so they were perfectly safe! Nevertheless, to be holding such precious objects in my hands was a great privilege. Sketches by constable can make seven figure sums these days.

Oil sketches were not always so precious, well not in commercial terms anyway. Constable never sold any, but he had been sketching in oil from around 1802, for example “Dedham Vale: Evening” when he was 27 and was particularly active from 1808 onwards. In his lifetime they were not considered independent works of art, by John Constable or any of his contemporaries, but formed a database of scenes he felt worthy of recording, which might be used as inspiration for large easel pictures in the future. He was an inveterate recorder of things around him and travelled with a large and small sketchbook and pencil everywhere he went, even on honeymoon! He is famous for saying that he never saw an ugly thing in nature and no man has ever devoted his life to portraying the landscape of his childhood with as much passion and brilliance as John Constable did. Indeed, it is the brilliance of these vivacious and spontaneous oil sketches dashed off on card, paper, strips of canvas, wood, or whatever came to hand, that chimes so well with modern taste. When trying to catch the play of light, as a rainstorm passes over the sea, as in “Weymouth Bay” of 1816, Constable does not have time to conform to the painting style of his own age, as a result of which, his oil sketches are timeless.

A selection of these dynamic little paintings is about to leave for an exhibition in Romania and then on to further venues in Eastern Europe. I was glad to have the chance to see them before they go and wish them bon voyage.