My interview with an iconographer

This is another post in a series on an icon I had commissioned some months ago (here and here). In following the progress of the iconographer's work I was able to ask some questions about his vocational experience and about iconography in general.



When did you first feel called to write icons? How does one go about getting approval to write them?

Actually, I started my journey into iconography in earnest as a means of healing. I found myself contemplating icons as a means of healing painful and troubling memories, a sort of attempt to overwrite a bad computer file, if you will. My call to write was unexpected, though. One day out of the blue, on a visit to the women’s monastery near us, one of the Mothers just gave me some information about how to write an icon. I don’t know why, and I’ve never asked. It’s just one of those things that’s best not over-thought. Anyhow, that was when I started actively seeking out the vocation of iconography.

I say, “actively seeking out” because iconography, ultimately, is a gift that the Church recognizes and bestows. It doesn’t belong to the individual. For this reason it’s necessary to ask for the direction of a spiritual father and for a blessing to study. Even after one has this blessing, even after one has the blessing to fill private commissions, one does not call oneself “iconographer”, nor does one paint for the Church. The final blessing is given by one’s Bishop, who is the only one (in my understanding) who may bestow the title.

On this point let me say clearly that I am still a student myself with a blessing to take private commissions.

From whom did you get instruction?

My daughter’s godmother is an iconographer of our Diocese. She studied in Russia. I don’t really do too much of anything without seeking out her input and advice. She is very honest without being unnecessarily harsh. As I continue I’ll seek out masters who have command of various techniques (as in everything, certain people are more adept at certain skills), but my teacher is ultimately who I refer back to for guidance.

How is writing icons different from other artistic endeavors (e.g. painting, drawing, sculpture)?

That’s perhaps the biggest debate in the field of iconography. In fact, several master iconographers, theologians and iconologists have answered this question in book form. Rather than cite what’s already been said, though, I’ll speak out of my limited personal experience.

First off, let me say that I respect the artistic life deeply, because it’s not an easy one. There is a difference, however, between art and iconography. I believe that the difference lies in the respective creative sources and aims of art and iconography.

The source of the artistic endeavor is, ultimately, the personal creative drive of the artist. Even if the endeavor refers back to some sort of artistic tradition, the final standard of the work is the artist’s personal vision. Also, the primary aim is aesthetic. This is not to say that an artist may not actively seek to convey truth or glorify God. Truth or glorification of the Divine, however, need not be the aim of Art writ large. Art can pursue beauty while it conveys the absurd or glorifies the natural (this includes humanity) or even the demonic. The final standard of the artist’s genius, in my opinion, is the aesthetic standard.

Iconography, on the other hand, is best understood as a liturgical endeavor. The form may be artistic, but the creative source of the content is the Church’s theology and tradition as it has already been expressed iconographically by the Saints. The iconography of the saintly iconographers has become a part of the Church’s common life of prayer and worship, and it is this common life that the aspiring iconographer seeks to enter and express. This is why copying an icon exactly is perfectly acceptable, whereas copying in the artistic realm is generally considered derivative at best. In any case, iconography’s aim is not primarily aesthetic, but dogmatic. It seeks to align itself exactly with the Church’s understanding of Scripture, with the Patristic Tradition, with the Liturgical life, and to be an exact echo in line and color of all these, just as they are exact echoes of each other. As for the creative genius of the iconographer, it is not even a consideration ultimately. The best iconographers work under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and may even be surprised themselves at what comes off the brush.

This is what I believe the difference is.

What process do you follow in the beginning stages of fashioning an icon? Is prayer involved? If so, how?


Well, there is the technical process and the spiritual process. The technical process may vary depending on how traditionally you are working. My own process is fairly, though not purely, traditional, as you can see from the board preparation photos you’ve posted. Besides the preparation of the board, I decide if I’m copying directly or if I’m working from my own drawing. Even if I’m working from my own drawing, I make careful studies of the work of others whose work I seek to emulate, usually Rublev, Theophanes the Greek or Theophanes of Crete. I look carefully at the use of color and line in their work, at the flow of the garments, the inclination of the head, the attitude of the hands. I use all of these as guidelines. I also consult with my teacher on certain points that are not clear to me, as well as with the Handbook of Dionysios, which is the iconographer’s guide par excellence. Also, I learn about the life of the saint or the history of the event being depicted by reading from Scripture, the Menaion, or both. If the saint in question has written his or her own works, so much the better.

Of course there is prayer. Generally, one needs to make regular confession and communion. This puts one’s work on a firm sacramental footing. Personally, all through the work, I use the liturgical life of the Church as a bulwark. Two services in particular are my mainstays, the Small Supplicatory Canon to the Mother of God, and the Penitential Canon to Our Lord. The first serves to clear my mind and help me when I hit a wall in the work. Our Lady is the most preeminent helper of iconographers, and has been since she blessed the image written by Saint Luke in her own lifetime. The second, the Penitential Canon, helps to sustain me until my next confession, since I still sin every day. Finally there is the Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner”, which can be said at all times, even in the course of writing, and little short prayers to the Saint being depicted, which tend to be spontaneous and in my own words. Oh, and of course, there is the common prayer of all iconographers, “O Lord, don’t let me mess this up!”

Iconography is quite en vogue at the moment. Many people are attending workshops all over the country. What is your opinion of this trend?

Well, it’s a mixed blessing. I can’t say anything negative about the fact that people are interested in traditional liturgical worship. In this respect iconography can fulfill a kerygmatic, evangelistic role in keeping with its dogmatic aim. Who is to say that attendance at a workshop isn’t exactly the thing to help someone begin a spiritual journey into traditional, ancient Christianity? In North America and Western Europe some of the best efforts in the iconography workshop trend are being made in Roman Catholic circles, particularly among the Benedictines, as far as I can tell. These are the workshops that are using some of the most traditional techniques, thereby giving the most complete picture of the whole process. I can only applaud such a revival of interest in a sacred art form that is, in fact, common to both Eastern and Western tradition.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking about how the iconographic endeavor, as well as the vocation, springs from the liturgical life of the Church. In this regard, I must point out that a workshop setting, particularly an inter-faith one, might present a problem, at least from the Orthodox point of view and, I think, from the Catholic one, too. Since in writing an icon we are making a liturgical act, are we communing together and participating in what our respective Churches might call a false union? Also, are we allowing a vocation of the Church to be practiced whimsically? I don’t know. These are the questions that come to my mind in any case.

Beyond these questions there is the matter of who is teaching. An attendee at a workshop, if he or she is not of Eastern Christian faith, may be making his or her first contact with Eastern Christianity. An iconography teacher might be bringing to the workshop certain esoteric doctrines that fall outside the generally accepted Tradition of the Church and may thereby misrepresent the Faith to an outsider. Also, a teacher may be making outrageous claims as to how or from whom he or she learned. It’s important to find out about the teacher before you spend your hard-earned money on a class only to be taught by someone who’s unqualified.

These are a few of the blessings and challenges I see in the workshop trend.

What are some surprising things about writing or reverencing icons that people might not know about?

Well, there are many. I’ll talk about just a few. The icon, as you know, is basically flat. Centuries of debate in the East stemming from the iconoclast crisis have given us the final guidelines for how physical dimensionality, as well as perspective, is to be used. Physically, the entire iconographic event falls into one plane.

But it may surprise you to know that the temporal structure of the icon is multi-dimensional. Just as four different perspectives (inverse, linear, axonometric and circular) may coexist in the physical structure of the icon, multiple dimensions can converge in its temporal structure -- historical fact may intersect with eschatology, time may be suspended in eternity. This is why you will see a lot of anachronism in icons, a sort of spherical timeline with historical and eschatological events happening simultaneously. I would say that the historical and eschatological form the “x and y axes” of the iconographic plane.

But I have said that the timeline is “spherical”. This implies a “z axis”, if you will. This “z axis” is where the veneration act comes in. When we venerate an icon we form part of the present dimension of the iconographic event. We enter into a dimension that has been occupied by countless others before us, beginning with the iconographer himself. We join the ever-present worship of the Church as she beholds the grace-filled life of the Saints and the events of her own salvation from creation to the final reconciliation of God and Man. And this brings me to the final astonishing and awesome reality of the icon. Trigonometrically, the z-axis line passes through the x-y plane to the dimension beyond it, yes? In an icon, this line goes beyond the physical dimension of the icon to the very God Himself, Who is beyond the physical bounds of wood and paint, beyond the temporal categories of history and even eternity, Who nonetheless condescends to be incarnate and therefore physically represented. This is what makes the icon, in the words of Metropolitan JONAH, “the sacrament of the Presence”.

In short, writing and venerating meld together into a very real ever-present connection to God.

Tell me about the use and importance of color.

If iconography is a language then color is an important part of the grammar. Particular uses of color have equally particular meanings given a particular context. Use of blue, for example, typically implies divinity whereas red can imply humanity, fire or martyrdom, depending on the usage and context. This is why you see the interplay of blue and red in the clothing of Christ and the Mother of God. We aren’t saying that they never wore other colors, we’re speaking rather of the incarnational mystery. Green can denote the Holy Spirit, new life, youth, growth, all of which are interconnected spiritually. Purple denotes royalty. Black and white are interesting for the fact that you never see them mixed together into gray in the iconographer’s palette. This is because the principles of light and darkness do not coincide. Look carefully for example at rock structures in icons and you will see that they can have green undertones, blue, purple or brown, but not true gray.

Whether the people written are inside or out the background looks the same. Why is this? How can you tell where the scene is actually set?

The purpose of the background is to convey the sense of eternity. This is why in a properly written icon you should not see a naturalistic background such as a sky, but rather a solid color like gold or blue or even white. The actual color may vary depending on the tradition (Russian, Greek, Serbian, etc.) and even the local “school” (Novgorod, Moscow, Crete, etc.). Historically, of course, these colors were often dictated by what minerals were available in a given locale.

Events that take place indoors are typically portrayed in front of a structure, so that one might think the scene is set outdoors. The way to know if the action is to be understood as happening indoors is to look and see if the scene is taking place under a canopy that should resemble a linen suspended between two architectural structures, or beneath a structure that resembles an open-air pavilion.

Are the saints drawn differently than non-saints? How about evil figures?

The obvious difference between saints and non-saints is the presence of the halo, or nimbus. Another difference is the angle at which they are presented. A non-saint may be presented in profile, whereas a saint will usually be presented full-frontal or three-quarter. Also, a figure that is secondary may be considerably smaller than the primary figures in the icon.

The evil figure may be drawn in a similar fashion to a non-saint. The obvious example here is the figure of Satan tempting Saint Joseph to doubt in the Great Icon of the Nativity, where the evil one is shown in profile as a hunched little old man talking to the Saint, who is clearly ignoring him. The most common way to portray the evil figure, though, is as the horned and bat-winged demon, or as a dragon, a serpent or some other frightful, odious creature. This is not mere medieval superstition, by the way. The icon is to be understood as presenting a picture that is ontologically transparent, which is to say that good and evil are presented in clear terms. To put it another way, the icon strips away the psychological obscurity of the fallen human condition with its delusory confusion of good and evil and shows these two conditions for what they truly are.

What are you working on now?

Right now I’m actually writing the Christ Teacher icon for the commission you’ve given. I have to say that I had not intended to write for commissions for another few years, but the opportunity presented itself, I sought out the blessing to take it, and it was given. So, I took this as the will of God.

The Christ Teacher icon is one of my most favorite patterns. It falls into the “Pantocrator” (as opposed to “Kenotic”) category. A Pantocrator icon may show Christ holding a closed or open Gospel. Christ the Teacher is always holding an open Gospel with one of the great “I am” statements written on the pages, and the blessing hand is usually a little more relaxed than in other Pantocrators.

I have a few other things in progress as well. I have a Saint Gregory Palamas I completed for my friend, Fr. Gregory, who has often served as a friend, advisor and confessor, in the altar of the church. I have a board finished for an Archangel Gabriel that I’ll work on for my daughter after I’ve finished the writing of the Christ Teacher icon. I’m planning a very long, very large personal project of the Transfiguration. This will mostly be an experimental project to practice work on landscape structures and full-length figures.