The Icon Painter

Photo: the interior of the Holy Trinity Cathedral in Jordanville,
showing the iconstasis that separates sanctuary from nave.
For more pictures of the cathedral and monastery, go here.

I find it fascinating when I encounter somebody who thinks in a way that is to some degree fresh and new to me. It is interesting to try and enter in and follow along the path of thought and belief. Probably I am an utter oddball in this, as I notice in this country and elsewhere a great deal of hatred and disgust expressed toward the political, religious, or artistic beliefs of others, often on the part of "educated" people who sometimes appear to have been indoctrinated by their learning rather than having had their heads opened up to new ways of thinking and the refreshing idea that all people do not think alike yet somehow still deserve our respect. I’ve never been able to understand why people can’t enjoy and find interest in variation more than they do (would we want to be lockstep, really?), but it is the way of the world.

Yesterday I heard an icon painter from the Holy Trinity Russian Orthodox monastery in Jordanville give a talk (and he brought loads of icons, large and small, both reproductions of icons from Russia and Bulgaria and Greece and more, as well his own originals) on icons. As I am not quite sure he would like his name mentioned, I shall not mention it!  I’ve heard an iconographer speak previously and encountered icons in college classes long ago and even have a few, but I must say I learned more from this talk than I ever have before.

This talk was part of a six-lecture series on Arts & Theology (Emily Hylden, Marly Youmans, Yolanda Sharpe, Ashley Norwood Cooper, and Roberta Rowland-Raybold were the other speakers) sponsored by Christ Church Cooperstown and Cooperstown IAM. The series has been directed by Emily Hylden.

SEVENTEEN THINGS I LEARNED ABOUT ORTHODOX ICONS, part one

I had forgotten that the Holy Spirit wears green when represented as an angel or personage in icons. (Back to thinking about those foliate heads on medieval churches again…) The icon painter referred to the famous Andrei Rublev icon in which Father, Son, and Holy Spirit appear as three unified figures, referring to the visit of three angels to Abraham and Sarah (Abraham refers to the three in the singular, illuminating the visit as one from God.)

On Orthodox church murals that run from floor to apex, the Pantokrator (God the judge of all) is at the top and the saints are at the bottom level because the church is founded on the blood of the saints.

The icon painter is constantly aware that human beings are icons of Christ; that is, they bear the image of Christ. This is a gift because before Christ, we had no image of God, and to see God in any form was felt to be fearsome.

Coming to have the likeness of God is the struggle. Because we bear the image (no matter how wretched our behavior), even the worst sort of murderer is owed some sort of homage—he may have nothing of the likeness of Christ, yet he bears the image. This idea is interesting, no? It gives a reason to pay a sort of obeisance and respect to the very least and the most degraded among us.The more naturalistic the icon, the less desirable to the Orthodox because the divine aspect is lost or obscured. 

The Orthodox icon is not meant to be prettified.

Traditional tempera paint is composed of egg yolk (and eggs are linked to the resurrection of Christ and new life) and crushed pigments, suggestive of brokenness. (Here I am thinking of a painter friend—Makoto Fujimura and his nihongan paintings that use crushed jewels, and his focus on brokenness and the broken jar of ointment for Christ’s anointing.)

Continued here...