Crossing the Bar

Posted in Painting, Poetry with tags , on September 22, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden
Sunset and evening star,
      And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,

      When I put out to sea,


   But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
      Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep

      Turns again home.


   Twilight and evening bell,
      And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,

      When I embark;


   For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
      The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
      When I have crost the bar.
Text: Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Demeter and Other Poems. London: Macmillan & Co., 1889
Image: Edwin Hayes, Sunset at Sea: From Harlyn Bay, Cornwall, oil on canvas, 1894, Tate

Guye Toye In Memoriam



…nothing to be refused…

Posted in Food, Painting with tags , on August 24, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden

1 Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils;

2 Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron;

3 Forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them which believe and know the truth.

4 For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving:

5 For it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer.

Text: 2 Timothy 4, KJV
Image: David Teniers the Younger, De slager, oil on canvas, n.d., Galleria Nazionale D’Arte Antica Di Palazzo Corsini, Roma


Posted in Painting, Philosophy, Poetry with tags , on August 23, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden


The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
‘T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

Text: William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I
Image: Alejo Fernández, La Virgen de los Navegantes, oil on panel, c. 1531–36, Casa de Contratación, Sevilla

I like the grey silences…

Posted in Painting, Poetry with tags , on July 23, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden

I like the grey silences under the arches:
Public prayer, funeral processions,
The affecting obligatory rites and requiems at Saint Isaac’s.

I like the priest’s unhurried step,
The winding-sheet’s expansive bodying-forth,
Lent’s Galilean gloom, like an ancient fishing-net,

And smoke of the Old Testament on glowing altars,
And the priest’s orphaned cry. And royal meekness:
Unsullied snow on shoulders, wild purple vestments.

Hagia Sophia and Saint Peter’s – everlasting barns of air and light,
Storehouses of universal goods,
Granaries of the New Testament.

Not to either of you is the spirit drawn in years of grave disaster:
Here, up the wide and sullen steps,
The wolves of tribulation slink; we’ll never betray their tracks:

For the slave is free, having overcome fear,
And in cool granaries, in deep bins,
The grain of whole and perfect faith is stored.

Text: Osip Mandelstam, Selected Poems. London: Penguin Books, 1991
Image: Lucas Cranach the Elder, St. Catherine Altarpiece (central panel), oil on limewood, 1506,
Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden

The Virgin Soil of Time

Posted in Painting, Poetry with tags , on July 23, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden

Poetry is the plow that turns up time so that the deep layers of time, the black soil, appear on top. There are epochs, however, when mankind, not content with the present, longing for time’s deeper layers, like the plowman, thirsts for the virgin soil of time.

One often hears: that might be good, but it belongs to yesterday. But I say: yesterday hasn’t been born yet.

Text: Osip Mandelstam, Selected Essays, translated by Sidney Monas. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1977
Image: Pieter Bruegel, De val van Icarus, oil on canvas, c. 1558, Koninklijke Musea voor Schone Kunsten van België, Brussel

Hagia Sophia

Posted in Architecture, Poetry with tags , on July 21, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden

Hagia Sophia – here the Lord commanded
That nations and tsars should halt!
Your dome, according to an eye-witness,
Hangs from heaven as though by a chain.

All centuries take their measure from Justinian:
Out of her shrine, in Ephesus, Diana allowed
One hundred and seven green marble pillars
To be pillaged for his alien gods.

How did your lavish builder feel
When – with lofty hand and soul –
He set the apses and the chapels,
Arranging them at east and west?

A splendid temple, bathing in the peace –
A festival of light from forty windows;
Under the dome, on pendentives, the four Archangels
Sail onwards, most beautiful of all.

And this sage and spherical building
Shall outlive centuries and nations,
And the resonant sobbing of the seraphim
Shall not warp the dark gilt surfaces.

Text: Osip Mandelstam, Selected Poems. London: Penguin Books, 1991
Image: Seraph pendentive at Hagia Sophia, source unknown


Posted in Art, Philosophy with tags , , , on July 21, 2018 by Dylan Thomas Hayden

Christian art is always an action based on the great idea of redemption. It is an “imitation of Christ” infinitely various in its manifestations, an eternal return to the single creative act that began our historical era. Christian art is free. It is, in the full meaning of the phrase, “art for art’s sake.” No necessity of any kind, even the highest, clouds its bright inner freedom, for its prototype, that which it imitates, is the very redemption of the world by Christ. And so, not sacrifice, not redemption in art, but the free and joyful imitation of Christ—that is the keystone of Christian esthetics. Art cannot be a sacrifice, for a sacrifice has already been made; cannot be redemption, for the world along with the artist has already been redeemed. What then is left? A joyful commerce with the divine, like a game played by the Father with his children, a hide-and-seek of the spirit! The divine illusion of redemption, which is Christian art, is explained precisely by this game Divinity plays with us, permitting us to stray along the byways of mystery so that we would, as it were of ourselves, come upon salvation, having experienced catharsis, redemption in art. Christian artists are as it were the freedmen of the idea of redemption, rather than slaves, and they are not preachers. Our whole two-thousand-year-old culture, thanks to the miraculous mercy of Christianity, is the world’s release into freedom for the sake of play, for spiritual joy, for the free “imitation of Christ.”

Christianity took its place and stood there in an absolutely free relationship to art, and this no human religion of any kind has been able to do either before or after it.

Nourishing art, giving art of its flesh, offering it in the way of a sturdy metaphysical foundation the most real fact of redemption, Christianity demanded nothing in return. Christian culture is therefore not threatened by the danger of inner impoverishment. It is inexhaustible, infinite, because, triumphing over time, again and again it condenses grace into magnificent clouds and lets it pour out in life-giving rain. One cannot be sufficiently emphatic in pointing out the fact that, for its character of eternal freshness and unfadingness, European culture is indebted to the mercy of Christianity in its relationship to art.

Text: Osip Mandelstam, Selected Essays, translated by Sidney Monas. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1977
Image: Andrea del Verrocchio, Resurrezione di Cristo, painted terracotta, c. 1463, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence