Sir Edwin Henry Landseer Giclée Fine Art Prints 1 of 3

Scotland is where the story of Sir Edwin Henry Landseer often begins, though he was very much a Londoner by birth. That northern landscape shaped his imagination, filling his canvases with scenes of heather-clad hills and lone stags. When he visited the Highlands in 1824, he found the dramatic settings and bold wildlife that would become central to his career. Paintings such as "The Monarch of the Glen" (1851) capture the brooding majesty of nature itself. He returned there repeatedly in later years, producing canvases like "Rent Day in the Wilderness" (1855–1868) - pictures that revealed a fascination with the ruggedness of rural life. Even his early works, including "An Illicit Whisky Still in the Highlands," gave voice to a realm far from London's manicured galleries.

Yet it is impossible to reflect on Landseer without acknowledging the remarkable hold he had on Victorian Britain as an animal painter. Horses, dogs, and stags all feature in compositions that combined rigorous anatomical observation with a subtle hint of drama. He popularized the black-and-white Newfoundland so thoroughly that the variety came to be officially named "Landseer." Masterworks like "A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society" (1838) and "Saved" (1856) remain powerful depictions of the canine bond with humanity - their emotional weight is felt but never laid on too thickly. Even one of his earliest major pieces, "Alpine Mastiffs Reanimating a Distressed Traveller," inspired the myth of brandy-toting St. Bernard rescue dogs, underscoring his knack for shaping national lore.

Although painting dominated his output, he also left a mark on London's cityscape with his bronze lions at the base of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. Commissioned in 1858, they were wrought in the Kensington studio of Carlo Marochetti. Landseer suffered numerous delays: ill health, protracted negotiations for casts of real lion anatomy, and his own perfectionist streak all conspired to slow the project. Nevertheless, these stately sculptures were installed in 1867. They retain a commanding presence, suggesting both regal grandeur and an unsettling ferocity - qualities that feel entirely consistent with Landseer’s broader artistic vision.

His death on 1 October 1873 drew a public response that was testament to his prominence. In London, blinds were drawn and flags lowered. The lions he had created were draped with wreaths, while crowds lined the streets to observe his funeral cortege. He was buried in St Paul’s Cathedral, a rare honor. The painter John Everett Millais later completed three works left unfinished in Landseer’s studio: "Finding the Otter," "Nell Gwynne," and "The Dead Buck." Each stands as a small tribute to a man whose talents remained formidable, even in the face of personal upheaval.

That personal story began in London on 7 March 1802. He was the son of engraver John Landseer, whose influence and instruction led the young Edwin to develop an unparalleled understanding of animal anatomy. Early on, he studied under Benjamin Robert Haydon, performing dissections to observe musculature and bone structures in detail. By the age of 13, Landseer was exhibiting as an Honorary Exhibitor at the Royal Academy, and his ascent there was swift: he became an Associate at 24, then a full Academician by 1831. During his formative years, the city’s relentless cultural energy fueled his curiosity, and he built a reputation for exactitude and grace in his portrayal of living creatures.

Among his many admirers was Queen Victoria, who famously commissioned works both grand and intimate. It began with royal pets and portraits of the queen’s attendants and extended to images of children - including the young royals themselves, often posed with animals. In a society whose tastes often favored sentimentality, Landseer struck a note that balanced realism with tenderness. Engravings of his paintings reached thousands of living rooms, ensuring that his style - at once candid and pleasing - became more than just a niche delight. He managed to straddle the worlds of the aristocracy and the rising middle class, uniting them through a shared fondness for art that celebrated the virtues of devotion and loyalty.

Beneath the sheen of public acclaim lay a more troubled private existence. An affair with the Duchess of Bedford, significantly older than he, raised eyebrows and pointed to his taste for intense personal entanglements. By his late thirties, he had suffered what many have since described as a profound mental collapse. Recurrent bouts of hypochondria, depression, and a pattern of self-medication through alcohol and drugs haunted him in the decades that followed. He was even offered the presidency of the Royal Academy in 1866, but he declined, and was later declared insane in 1872 at his family’s request.

Ultimately, though, Landseer’s legacy surpasses the torments that dogged him. In capturing the solemn gaze of a stag or the comforting presence of a well-loved dog, he pointed a lens at the British psyche of his time, illuminating both nature’s raw power and the softer ideals of duty and care. His four lions may preside in perpetuity at the heart of London, yet the essence of his artistry is perhaps more fully realized in a painting like "Saved," where an act of quiet rescue speaks volumes about the bond between humans and animals. It is a vision that remains equally haunting and compelling, a century and a half after his death.