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| Jan de Bray Judith and Holofernes 1659 oil on panel Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Jan de Bray Jael and Sisera 1659 oil on panel York City Art Gallery |
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| Jan de Bray King David playing the Harp 1670 oil on canvas Staatliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe |
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| Jan de Bray King David and the Shew Bread 1662 oil on panel National Trust, Calke Abbey, Derbyshire |
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| Jan de Bray Achilles discovered among the Daughters of Lycomedes ca. 1664 drawing Morgan Library, New York |
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| Jan de Bray Achilles discovered among the Daughters of Lycomedes 1664 oil on canvas National Museum, Warsaw |
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| Jan de Bray Laban searching for his Idols in the Baggage of Jacob 1667 drawing Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Jan de Bray Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard before 1697 drawing Museum of Fine Arts, Boston |
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| Jan de Bray St John the Baptist in the Wilderness ca. 1650-80 etching British Museum |
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| Jan de Bray Caring for Children at the Orphanage in Haarlem (Three Acts of Mercy) 1663 oil on canvas Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem |
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| Jan de Bray Adoration of the Shepherds 1665 oil on panel Mauritshuis, The Hague |
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| Jan de Bray Hermes and Aglauros or Mercury and Herse 1658 drawing Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
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| Jan de Bray Chess Player 1661 drawing Royal Library, The Hague |
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| Jan de Bray Chess Player ca. 1661 etching British Museum |
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| Jan de Bray Shepherd offering Water to Huntress (scene from pastoral play Granida by Pieter Cornelisz Hooft) 1681 drawing British Museum |
from Forgiving the Darkness
Darkness is not about hearts, imperfect as they are,
but what leaks through their incorrigible doors, not the stars
but the glissade or glide of their dust.
Darkness no longer shields the hunters' musk
in search of you, or turns you to animal prey,
it is only a measure of weight or days.
Not something without a beginning or an end,
it is not even – especially not – an end.
Nor is it vertigo, nor the whole, but merely a piece.
No, darkness is but a ghost of an idea, the least
remembered, most estranged prayer, and your fear
but a lingering, limbic fear torn from shreds of forgotten years.
Only that much is clear.
– Alice B. Fogel (I Love This Dark World, 1996)