Cometh the Lion Cometh the Lion, cometh the hour. On his head is my name; on his back is my power. The time is narrow, and the world is wide And the Lion comes now with a spear in his side. Look how he bleeds; his flesh is a prize For the cross-hearted hunter with blood in his eyes (Brimming red in the heat of the noon) And vowing to return by the light of the moon. ‘Come follow me,’ the Lion commands, ‘Or the hunter will come and hack off your hands.’

A Song of the Sabbath Sacrifice And so the gods of lead and brass, The idols and their thrones, The teraphim made of fibreglass The mummified skulls and bones, Are tossed inside a whirl of wind And shattered into shells. But deep inside the kellipot The light of Yahweh dwells. And from the pieces Something new arises in the land, A temple of the sabbath king Built by Ezekiel's hand. With cherubim and fan-leaved palms Carved in the walls of paradise, And the air perfumed with

Vir Heroicus Sublimis (1950-51) by Barnett Newman 'It Is a Place, Makom, Where Each Man May Be Called up': Being and Time in Barnett Newman's Art 'Even if you don’t know Newman’s place in art history, walking into a space full of his paintings can inspire contemplation. They give you nothing and everything to look at, these huge canvases whose only subject is themselves, enveloping you in the moment, confronting you with seemingly pure fields of color and contrast.’ (Molly Gl

Onement, 1 (1948) by Barnett Newman The Sublime Art of Barnett Newman The problem of a painting is physical and metaphysical, the same as I think life is physical and metaphysical – Barnett Newman Barnett Newman was born in 1905 to Abraham and Anna Newman, Jewish immigrants from Poland who came to New York City in 1900. Although not religious, Barnett’s father was a passionate Zionist and supporter of the National Hebrew School of the Bronx. As well as attending Hebrew schoo

Baal Tqiah (One Who Blows the Shofar) Baal Tqiah (One Who Blows the Shofar) A storm wind comes from the hidden north filling my mouth, my lungs, with dust and sand from Sinai. Then a great cloud of black, a no-thingness that deprives me of sense, of touch and taste, of sight, smell and hearing. Then a winding of burning. No, not wind, but f

Letter to Iyov Before I had to chance to complete my creation I was cast down by the rebel angels and made to suffer this, my exile. Creation evolved and I was able to converse with man in the ear of his mind. It was I who hid in the fiery tree and called out to the shepherd. I spoke to my people in thunder. There we were, in shadows, in the fog of misunderstanding. I was there when my people fought