Let’s talk about Crispin Sturrock’s painting The Spoils of War, and let’s talk about it the way it deserves to be talked about: raw, complex, and wrapped in the kind of historical drama that usually fills entire history books. Because here, Sturrock isn’t just “doing” art—he’s grappling with one of the biggest questions any artist can ask: What is ownership?

In The Spoils of War, Sturrock isn’t simply painting; he’s diving into the heart of the Four Horses, one of history’s most famous pieces of plunder. The Four Horses, for those who haven’t Googled them yet, are a set of massive, regal bronze sculptures dating back to ancient Greece. Or maybe Egypt—historians still aren’t sure. What we do know is they were created somewhere around the 4th century BCE, a time when the Western world was flexing its muscles and stamping its will on the Mediterranean. These horses are mystery incarnate: ancient, powerful, and, throughout history, irresistible to conquerors.

#021 The Spoils of War - Quadriga of St. Mark, 2020

Acrylic and oilstick on canvas

120 x 180 cm / 47 x 71 inches

Their journey is an epic tale of power and theft. They were plundered from their original home in Greece, hauled off to Constantinople to overlook the chariot races in the Hippodrome, only to be yanked from there by crusaders in 1204, who dragged them to Venice and slapped them on top of St. Mark’s Basilica. But the journey doesn’t stop there! Napoleon, ever the collector of other people’s treasures, grabbed the horses during his occupation of Venice, whisked them off to Paris, and proudly displayed them on the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel as if to say, Look what I can take. And, after his fall, they were returned to Venice by none other than the Duke of Wellington, who, of all things, paid for their safe journey back out of his own pocket.

Now imagine: Crispin Sturrock, an artist from Marlow, Buckinghamshire, steeping himself in all this. The man doesn’t just decide, “I’ll paint these horses because they’re famous.” He studies them, visits them, meditates on them. He becomes a little obsessed. Because these aren’t just objects; they’re symbols. They’re icons of power and desire, and—let’s face it—a reminder of humanity’s unending urge to take and claim.

When you look at Sturrock’s painting, you feel that weight. He’s not telling a pretty story; he’s grappling with a brutal, relentless history. Sturrock’s colours are dark and dense; the horses are looming figures pulled from the past, speaking of the tension between beauty and brutality, cultural heritage and conquest. The Four Horses represent all the beauty of the ancient world—but also all the greed and violence humans have inflicted on each other to claim that beauty as their own. And they’ve seen it all: empires rising and falling, emperors and generals, artists and curators, all vying for their place in history.

And yet, for all this drama, Sturrock’s painting isn’t preaching. It’s reflecting, prodding us to ask uncomfortable questions: Who gets to “own” culture? Who decides what’s preserved, and why does power so often get to call the shots? In The Spoils of War, Sturrock is giving us a mirror. He’s saying, “Look. This is who we are. These horses are a testament to our endless desire to claim and conquer—and the quiet resilience of art to survive it all.”

Sturrock’s The Spoils of War does what the best art should do: it invites us to feel the weight of history and wrestle with it. He’s not here to give easy answers; he’s here to make us look these horses in the eye and confront what they represent. Through these bronze beasts, he’s digging into the messy, layered legacy of cultural heritage and asking us to reconsider what “preservation” really means in a world where beauty so often goes hand-in-hand with conquest.

This painting isn’t just about ancient horses on a church rooftop—it’s a commentary, a challenge, and a celebration of art’s endurance in the face of everything that’s tried to control it. And in Sturrock’s hands, it becomes not just a reflection of the Four Horses’ journey, but a meditation on art itself: its resilience, its vulnerability, and its irreplaceable role in our history.

So go ahead, stand in front of The Spoils of War and let yourself feel that legacy.