Dame Elisabeth Frink
Horse, 1967, Lithograph on paper, 778 × 594 mm, Tate, London; Presented by Curwen Studio through the Institute of Contemporary Prints 1975, P06155, ©️ 2024 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / DACS, London. Photo: Tate, London / Art Resource
He Paws in the Valley and Exults in his Strength
Commentary by Hilary Davies
Verse 18 of this passage from Job continues the overall theme of this chapter, the vanity of human knowledge, by pointing out the surprising fact that the swift-footed, but daft, ostrich, can outrun horse and rider: ‘When she rouses herself to flee/ she laughs at the horse and his rider’ (39:18). These lines introduce a poetic disquisition on the mighty and admirable qualities of a warhorse. The choice of this animal differs from all the others in this chapter, insofar as here the focus is on a clearly domesticated type, albeit an imposing one, demanding respect. This reflects the fact that wild horses were not native to the Near East: when the human populations there first encountered the horse, it was through trade and domestic use.
The fighting horse described by the author of Job shares, however, many characteristics with the fearsome animals of the wild. He is unafraid in the face of the fabricated weapons of humans, ‘he goes out to meet the weapons. /He laughs at fear, and is not dismayed; /he does not turn back from the sword’ (v.22). Indeed, he has supernatural powers; like the eternally charging aurochs of Lascaux (elsewhere in this exhibition), he is unkillable, ‘Upon him rattle the quiver,/ the flashing spear and the javelin’ (v.23). Humans are the enemy, sounds and smells from far off, from an inferior, alien world, there to be defeated, ‘When the trumpet sounds, he says ‘Aha!’/He smells the battle from afar, /the thunder of the captains, and the shouting’ (v.25). It is significant that, unlike in real life, nowhere does he appear controlled by his rider, who remains shadowy, merely a name.
So it is in Elisabeth Frink’s lithograph, Horse from 1967. This image is dominated by the disproportionately large head of the horse, the seat of its intelligence, fearlessness, and power. It has no saddle, bit, or reins; its head and neck are raised, taut, signifying both aggression and apprehension, as do its flattened ears. Yet its eye is wide open, bold, alert, fixing the spectator who, we must understand by virtue of the horse’s body language, is clearly the foe. We are the ones who are going to be trampled here.