The Pegasus (Dennis Aubrey)


“Indeed during the Middle Ages there existed a sort of cinema in colors of which no trace has survived; just as in the sudden dawning of a larger hope amongst men who had not forgotten the dark age whence they had emerged but yesterday – a dawning symbolized by the great cathedrals soaring heavenwards – there was a splendid confidence in the future, not unlike that of America.”
André Malraux, “Voices of Silence”

André Malraux observed in Voices of Silence that medieval artists were not creating pictures or statues of Madonnas, they were actually creating a Madonna. They did not think that they were representing the reality, but creating it. They were saying “This is the Madonna” not “This is a picture of a Madonna.”

Notre Dame d'Estours, Eglise Saint Pierre, Monistrol d'Allier (Haute-Loire) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

Notre Dame d’Estours, Eglise Saint Pierre, Monistrol d’Allier (Haute-Loire) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

What must have life been like to create such an understanding. I think that we have made clear in this blog over the last few years that these medieval artisans were not in any way primitive or ignorant, but were instead capable of the most profound appreciations of the world and the most profound representations of their deep inner faith. I have come to suspect that they were capable of this because they understood the promise of that faith, they had Malraux’s “splendid confidence in the future”. In my own way, I came to that understanding on December 9, 1977.

On that night, I experienced an enormously powerful and vivid dream that comes as close to sustaining me with a life-giving faith as anything in my self-absorbed and solipsistic life. I still have the original middle-of-the-night transcription of the dream recorded in my journal, dated December 9, 1977:

“Violence dreams by the dozens lately – but the Pegasus dream made up for it. Having captured two men who turned into white horses, feeling threatened, the first horse leaping over the fence at me, I recognize that the second must be released – he is somehow in my power. The second horse climbs a 50’ wire fence and when atop leaps in the air – a beautiful white Pegasus – silver in the cloud-piercing moonlight. Transfixed by beauty – knowing that I can see it because it is there. The passers-by who mock my reverence cannot see it, but it is truly there – a vision of beauty. Donner, one of he men from the concrete pit, related to the Pegasus- stabs me in the back – it must be done – perhaps because I have seen the Pegasus – no malice. Knowing I will die soon I say – let me live for a week so I can see my parents. Death begins physically within, like an interior collapse. I go into the kitchen and see my father. I cry as I hug him and tell him I love him. The feeling of seeing Pegasus before I die, and when I see it I die … but having seen I can die. Pegasus comes from something I am punishing or lead to punishment … something I think wrong, but in reality it is a vessel for Pegasus.”

Study for Guernica horse, Pablo Picasso (1937)

Study for Guernica horse, Pablo Picasso (1937)

I still shudder with discovery as I read this. This was the last entry in my journal for about 17 months.

In the following nights I dreamt sections of the dream again. The first night the dream was complete, and the nights following I re-dreamt segments of the dream as if I were shooting coverage of a scene in a movie, explaining and amplifying different parts of the original dream – never changing, just amplifying. One of them was seeing the second white horse climb the fence, seeing up close how the wire tore into the living flesh of the horse, close enough that I could feel the hot gusting of his breath on my face.

But throughout this time of dreaming, there was a conviction, an absolute conviction, that this was a promise for my life – that I would see the Pegasus before I die, and having seen it, would be prepared to die. This has been my source of faith for my entire life, for my own “splendid confidence in the future”.

Sometimes in reflecting on my life, I wonder how a sane man can live his life based on such dreams? Where is the rational explanation for this disembodied voice speaking to me? I hear it clearly, but there is no visible source. Is this is a vision or a dream? At such moments I understand the Lakota Vision Quest.

Caravaggio, Conversion on the Way to Damascus, Santa Maria del Popolo (Rome)

Caravaggio, Conversion on the Way to Damascus, Santa Maria del Popolo (Rome)

I always wanted to have my sign, my vision from God to guide me, but have never admitted to it; to be transfixed by light on the road to Damascus where others may see the light but not hear the voice. I want to be in that beatified state where I don’t take photographs, but create churches.

Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada – Guest Post by Jong-Soung Kimm


It is documented that the Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada was built by abbot Alfonso and his refugee monks who fled Córdoba on the site of an earlier church dedicated to Archangel Michael, probably a Visigothic structure, in the span of twelve months in 913, the historical moment when the Kingdom of León was founded. It is located in Gradefes, about 30 km east of León, slightly off the camino francés to Santiago de Compostela. San Miguel de Escalada is one of the best-preserved examples of Mozarabic architecture, a style of architecture created by conquered Christian builders who stayed in the Iberian Peninsula after the Arab invasion of 711, and later by the builders who migrated north but carrying with them artistic traditions of the Mozarabic architecture from the southern regions. After the disentitlement of ecclesiastical properties in 1836 in Spain, the monks had to leave the monastery, but the structures were registered as national monuments later in the 19th century. The extant monastery consists of the restored 10th century Mozarabic church, a tower and the chapel of San Fructuoso built in the early Romanesque style.

Exterior, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada (Castile-León)

The first sight of the Mozarabic church that leaves a strong impression on a visitor is the 12-bay colonnade of horseshoe-shaped arches of the porch, or an outdoor narthex, which was added to the church around 940 on the south façade.

South facade, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The horseshoe-shaped arch is the most distinct design element of Mozarabic architecture. On closer examination, one will discern that the south façade was built in two phases: the western seven bays of the colonnade have alfiz embellishing the arches, while the eastern five bays are left without the additional stonework.

South facade bays, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The last three columns to the east are set on a lower ground, necessitating placement of dosseret over the capitals in order to align the springing level for the arches, even with the slightly taller columns.

South facade arch detail, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

All columns appear to have been recycled, possibly from the nearby Roman city of Lancia, although capitals are not of the Classical Corinthian design, but freely, albeit imaginatively carved by stonecutters for the Mozarabic structure.

The church is laid out as a basilica plan with the porch added to the south as mentioned earlier. The nave and the slightly narrower aisles are divided by five large horseshoe-shaped arches on columns. The choir at the crossing is defined by a choir screen, or an iconostacion, as a Spanish writer called it, built of three somewhat smaller arches than the nave. The rectangular spaces to the north and south of the choir, embryonic transepts, though not expressed on the exterior are distinguished by arches from the aisles. Three apses of horseshoe-shaped plan are carved into a thick mass of masonry at the east end of the structure, all endowed with horseshoe-shaped arches of their own and vaulted in stone.

Elevation and plan, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Courtesy of Wikimedia

The entrance to the church is located at the midpoint of the nave behind the colonnade at south, and there is another entrance to the south transept several steps up from the lower ground.

“The visitor finds himself in an austere but surprisingly sophisticated ensemble,” to quote Kenneth John Conant. “The architectural membering, the proportions, the scale, the management of space and light are all very fastidious.” The nave framed by arcades on both walls and the choir screen is dimly lit from small clerestory windows above. Both the north and south aisles are devoid of any windows, except the door. The nave possesses that immaterial character of a Byzantine space.

Nave, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The view to west from the choir screen shows that the main entrance on the west wall of the church which is indicated on the plan had been walled off.

Nave looking west, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The view of the corner pier where the nave arch and the outer arch of the screen are joined shows that the master builder treated the east-west direction of the nave as primary, then the outer arch of the choir screen was simply brought to the pier without an attached column as it was done for the nave arcades.

Nave detail, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

As the three arches forming the choir screen are smaller while retaining the same proportion of the larger arches, their tops are lower. The master builder obviously judged that the screen needed more wall plane above the arches to achieve the desired spatial definition for the choir. The roof trusses are left without a ceiling, and one can see the church space is a parallelogram.

Ceiling, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The chancel in the central apse has a simple slab of stone as the altar. The cornice above the chancel arch mirrors the cornice over the choir screen.

Apse, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The carving on the capital above the attached chancel column highlights the caliber of the stone cutters, although the imagery is not yet meant to tell a biblical parable as are the Romanesque capitals of a century later.

Chancel capital, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

The high skills of stone cutters is very much in evidence again on a simple block of stone placed as a low partition between the choir and the south transept.

Carved partition, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Monasterio de San Miguel de Escalada, Gradefes (Castile-León) Photo by Jong-Soung Kimm

Another example is this capital on one of the columns supporting a horseshoe-shaped arch.

Location: 42.560000° -5.314722°

For more information about our guest writer, Jong-Soung Kimm, please see this link.

Memories (Dennis Aubrey)


Recognizing truth is a matter of experience because it involves distinguishing the real from the illusory. Experience itself is a product of memory. And memory is even more complex than truth. And so the pattern gets more multi-faceted the deeper we look, like one of Mandlebrot’s mathematical phantasms. What appears at first simple becomes infinitely complicated and intricate.

Side aisle, Basilique Saint Remi, Reims (Marne) Photo by PJ Aubrey

Some memories we remember as dreams, in the present tense; others as historical phenomena that stay safely in the past. Some memories carry their meaning with them. Others mean something because of their relationship with something that occurred in the past. Others depend on the future to reveal their significance. This is the web that is woven back and forth, across and through time.

North side aisle, Eglise Saint-Étienne, Vignory (Haute-Marne) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

Some memories lie dormant until something conjures them up. When my brother David and I were 11 and 12, our family moved back to France from the United States. We had lived in France before and as small boys we spoke the language fluently, but had been in America for the past six years and forgotten all we knew. For the first week or so after our return, we lay in bed in our hotel room at night before going to sleep, counting the French words we had newly learned. One day we might know twenty or thirty, the next day perhaps a dozen or so more. Then one warm summer afternoon we went for a walk in the countryside and passed through a small farming village. While walking along the road we smelled the very particular and very familiar smell of a French farm village. It was so clear to us that we knew that smell from our past. We remarked on it and left the significance behind. That night as we lay in bed, we tried to count the French words we knew, but couldn’t. Words and phrases flooded back to us and we couldn’t keep up with them. That smell of the farms unlocked the memories, and a language associated with those memories.

Side aisle of Notre Dame de Mont-Devant-Sassey (Haute-Marne) Photo by PJ Aubrey

There are certain things that are done to consciously preserve memories, to fix moments in time so that they will never be forgotten. We take pictures, write descriptions and letters, film with a camcorder, and still it is not possible to retain a memory in its entirety. Most of the time, parts are remembered and then the detail is filled in with ideas, interpretations, and transitions that have no relationship to the original. And then other times something happens in a moment that is unforgettable and complete, and as long as there is a portion of that singular memory, the entire memory will be complete. Once, in Los Angeles I was a driving on the streets. I slowed at a corner to make a right turn in heavy traffic. As I did, my eyes momentarily locked with those of a young 20 year old Latino standing on the corner. In the moment of our eyes locking was all the pride of millennia of human breeding; male challenge, virile and powerful, born to rule. As I continued around the corner his girlfriend came into view. We, too, locked eyes, but hers were bruised, swollen and battered. And the look in her eyes was that of utter despair and hopelessness, doomed somehow to be ruled. These two seconds are forever part of my being.

View from crossing, Abbaye Notre Dame de Morienval, Morienval (Oise) Photo by PJ Aubrey

My very first memory is like a black and white snapshot, clear and crisp, but in trying to understand it I fill in blanks for things I didn’t know at the age of 15 months when it happened. It is hard to keep the memory pure. Sitting on a lawn on a summer day by myself. It was not our home; we were visiting. On chairs across what seemed to be an enormous lawn were the adults, perhaps five or six, talking and watching me. My mother was in a sundress, I think. Behind them stood a house with a high front porch where the adults were sitting. In my memory, my parents seemed an immense distance away; it seemed that I had never been so far from them. Attached to the visual memory is a sensation of freedom, of being unfettered. All I did with the freedom, most likely, was to eat rolly-polly bugs and other nonsense I picked up around me, but the feeling is there half a century later.

Basilique Saint Hilaire, Poitiers (Vienne) Photo by PJ Aubrey

Most of my memories are visual, but some have multi-sensory character, like that of my Aunt Dell descending on us when we were children. She came in a wave of perfume, bright red kewpie doll lips, and thick pancake make up. When she lit on our face, we were dusted with dry powder and left with a big red smear of lipstick on her chosen target, usually a conspicuous cheek or forehead. And afterwards, a dry, not-unpleasant perfume lingered for hours. When I think of Dell I remember the red lips, the dusting with powder and the smell of perfume.

North Side Aisle, Notre Dame la Grande, Poitiers (Vienne) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

But few memories are this complete. Most are like the medieval restorations of the 19th century French architect Viollet-le-Duc. He looked at the vestigial forms, the ruins of chateaux and churches, and tried to extrapolate them back to their original construction. In the end, these restorations became more and more the evocation of an imaginary Gothic age guided by his imaginative intelligence. They became fantasies on a medieval theme, until like some, like Pierrefonds, were no more real than the Sleeping Beauty castle at Disneyland. In our human memory, we construct upon the framework of the conscious image and try to fill in the details. But if we are not careful, the details overwhelm the original memory, distort it, and in some cases replace the original with a reconstruction. And like a Viollet-le-Duc restoration, the original is subsumed by the fantasy.

From darkness to the light of Savannah (Dennis Aubrey)


I was diagnosed with Stage IV prostate cancer in late September and as can be imagined, life turned upside down. Oncology treatments started immediately and in March I started radiation.

There is a holistic practitioner locally who has dedicated enormous efforts on helping the “wellness” side of the equation and she has achieved great results, so much so that I felt pretty good through much of the radiation. But the last three weeks was devastating to my system and I was in pretty bad shape. Looking back on it now, it was much worse than I realized.

South side chapel, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by PJ Aubrey

I have one strange quirk when very ill. When I got sick in France in 2015, on our return to Cape Cod I entered a “nesting” phase – I bought new cupboards, a barbecue, a bench for our deck, and lots of other things for our home. I sat on the couch with my iPad and ordered continuously; I even bought a beautiful bronze chiminea! This year, I did the same thing, only it was artwork. I bought three paintings by Salvatore Grippi, prints by Irving Amen, Joan Miró, Pierre Bonnard – statues, glass sculpture by Shahid Khan and Richard Satava, and more, filling our home with beautiful things. We already had a plethora of art, but I filled every available wall, spending far more than I ever would have if my mind worked properly. I never understood why I did this, but during my cancer treatments, I was often up alone at night looking at the works, loving our home, and loving PJ so much. It was painful to see how my suffering hurt PJ and I longed for a way to make it up to her

Side aisle, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by PJ Aubrey

The solution was to celebrate the end of radiation with a road trip to Charleston and Savannah so that we could visit with our great friend Diane Quaid. Diane recently moved from Cape Cod to South Carolina near Hilton Head. Ten days after radiation was completed we started – I was feeling better at the beginning of the trip, but as we moved along, things deteriorated. We had some wonderful moments, but the trip was too much too soon, but I was bound and determined to go through with it.

Altar and south side chapel, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

We loved the Georgia lowlands and ate wonderful meals of fresh local seafood. That was medicine in itself, but the highlight was the opportunity to photograph Savannah’s beautiful cathedral. The cathedral, in the old downtown of the city, is a wonderful structure. It is essentially a large hall church with a nave and side aisles but no transepts. Instead there are chapels on each side of the altar.

Nave, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

The original cathedral was founded to serve a congregation of immigrants fleeing the insurrection in Haiti and the revolution in France. The first parish, the Congregation of Saint Jean-Baptiste, was formed at the end of the 18th century. The original French Gothic-style cathedral was dedicated in 1876 by the Archbishop of Baltimore. In 1898 a devastating fire destroyed everything except the outside walls and the two spires. Rebuilding began immediately and the cathedral we see today was dedicated on October 28, 1900.

Nave vault, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by Dennis Aubrey

The first thing one notices upon entering the church are the paintings, The stained glass windows, executed by the Innsbruck Glassmakers in the Austrian Tyrol, were installed in the Cathedral around 1904. Christopher Murphy, a noted Savannah artist, planned and directed a team of artists in the painting of the murals.

Apse from south side aisle, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by PJ Aubrey

So now it is a month later and I am making real progress in my recovery. We are both back to work – preparing our various exhibitions and now, hopefully, returning to our beloved Via Lucis blog. Thank you all for your patience and your good wishes; you have helped more than you will ever know.

Nave elevation, Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, Savannah (Georgia) Photo by PJ Aubrey

One final note; regular readers of Via Lucis may notice that the photographic credits for PJ’s photos now read “PJ Aubrey” instead of “PJ McKey”. We started this project before we were married and we used her professional name. She has now decided to use her married name. The change does not seem to have affected the quality of her photographs at all!

Happy Easter


We are fortunate in having found yet another medieval sculpture of the patron of secular Easter celebrations, Saint Saliento Lepus.

Saint Saliendo Lepus

Saint Saliendo Lepus

According to our research, Saint Saliendo Lepus was a 3rd century noble Roman rabbit who incurred the wrath of the Emperor Diocletian by hiding colored eggs in the forum. Enraged, Diocletian had him turned over to Plautian, prefect of the praetorium, who tortured him in an effort to force him to stop this practice, but when Saliento persisted, he was beheaded and served in a stew with lentils and onions. Though the legend is an ancient one, it is no more than that.

A Christmas Letter to My Father (Dennis Aubrey)


My mother and father have given me so many gifts that I don’t know how to ever repay them. By their example they imbued their family with a home filled with love and inspiration. For me, they encouraged a love of travel, of culture, and of history. When we lived in Europe they made sure that we knew the French, that we experienced their life and culture. That encouragement opened my eyes, heart, mind and soul to influences that mark me indelibly to this very day. I was so lucky to have them in my life for so long, but as the years passed, thoughts of mortality intruded into the conversation.

On February 7, 2013, I wrote to my father,

Dad, I know in my heart of hearts that some day I will lose you both, but refuse to believe it and try to convince myself that you will live forever. It is so hard to know that one day my life will go on and you will not be there. All that I can do is to cherish the fact that you are both in good health and part of our life. PJ loves you both – you have filled a void in her life, a corner of her heart that has been empty since she was seven years old. I am so proud to be your son.

Chateau d’Harcourt, Chauvigny (Vienne) Photo by Cosmos (CHAUVIGNY DANS LA VIENNE)

Later that year, on June 11, 2013 at 8:13 pm, my father wrote a comment on a post that I had just published on growing up in Chauvigny, France. He wrote:

Dennis: Your mother and I recall another incident in Chauvigny. You remember that dinner time was when we all talked about what had happened that day. It was our time for stories from school or work or car repairs, as when Lucille took our Corvair station wagon to the local mechanic to have the carburetor repaired (it was the alternator). One evening it was obvious that you had something important to share. After we said grace you said, “Mom, Dad, do you realize we live where the Battle of Poitiers was fought?” We recognize that day as the one that began your love of history.

That note meant the world to me, reminded me of so much personal history and so many memories, but I never wrote him back.

Side aisle looking at apse, Église Notre Dame, Chauvigny (Vienne) Photo by PJ McKey

We did lose him two years later, on July 6, 2015 in the same town – Santa Barbara – where he was born on January 14, 1928. In the intervening years he traveled the world over; the Middle East, New Zealand, Viet Nam, Japan, Korea, Africa, and almost every country in Europe, almost always accompanied by his beloved wife, my mother Lucille. She just turned 90 this month and is a force of nature, but she longs to be reunited with her husband of almost 70 years.

Donald Richard Aubrey (1928 – 2015)

So now, perhaps it is about time to write back to him:

Dad, no question that Chauvigny was a turning point for me. I had forgotten about Mom taking the car to get the carburetor repaired! Sounds like something I would do. But I remember the Battle of Poitiers at that time was the Charles Martel victory over the Saracens, and then later, the English defeat of the French and Jean II in the Hundred Year’s War. Later it also included the battle of Vouillé where Clovis defeated Alaric II – the same Alaric who was supposedly buried in the Champs d’Alaric near Vivonne on the Gayet’s property. The Église Saint George in Vivonne was where Ravaillac had his dream to assassinate Henry IV of Navarre. Just up the road from Vivonne is Lusignan, home to Guy de Lusignan, king of the crusader state of Jerusalem during the Crusades. It was as if oceans of history washed over us. And if that was not enough, from the Poitou we moved to Verdun!!!

I think it would have been impossible for me not to love history as I do. I have always cherished the way you encouraged me in this, walking the battlefields and talking to me. I love you and miss you so.

Your son,

Dennis

A Holiday Recommendation


Gordon Stewart visiting our home in Ohio, 2017

For those who might be looking for something calming during this holiday season, I recommend a book written by our great friend here at Via Lucis, Gordon Stewart.

Gordon has been a long-time contributor to the Via Lucis world and his magnificent sermon based upon one of my posts about Vézelay still moves me to tears. Hearing him, it is hard to remember that these are my words. This sensitivity to language and ideas is embodied fully in his blog, Views from the Edge.

He brings this magic to his new book, “Be Still! Departure from Collective Madness” is such a collection of sensitive, deeply felt essays. This link will connect you to his publishers page where the book is available for a discount, a perfect gift for the holidays.