Brutus Booth Havelock

Brutus Booth Havelock, begotten nigh unto the great Citie of New York, hath led a life much given to wandering. From the frostie Realmes of Alaska unto the sunburnt walles of Marseille, from the salted plaines of Utah to the busie streetes of Berlin, he hath sought dwelling and vision. Now doth he abide in Antwerp, where his hand and heart doe find their surest labour in the Painter’s mysterie.

In his Workes are mingled the tongues of Fayth and Doubt, of Confession and Revelation. His figures - perched atop walles and towers, or bent at a great River’s edge - reside at the verie crossroads of Dreames. The Cock that crieth, the Dove that ascendeth the Skies, the aged Man that beholdeth - all doe witness the inward tempest of Men. His hues, deep as the night and bright as the dawning, doe call to mind the sacred Frescoes of olde, and the fever’d reveries of latter days.

Havelock painteth not bare Tales, but Meditations - Pilgrimages of the Spirit made visible in colour and forme. Though his path hath been long, and his sojourns many, yet seeketh he ever the self-same Light: that faint yet steadfast Gleame of Meaning which abideth beyond Place, beyond Tongue, beyond Time it selfe.