Iconography, Day 1: Emptiness

There is an axiom about the blank page being the most intimidating of all pages – and so this applies to the blank canvas as well, warns our instructor in the first hour of the first day of a weeklong iconography workshop.  The blank ‘page’ in this case is the gesso board, a panel of poplar wood covered by linen cloth and made smooth by a mixture of rabbit glue, ground marble, and talc – a tradition in Russian iconography (called the Prosopon Method) that dates to about 1,000 years ago.  On this gesso board, with no art background or inclination whatsoever, I will follow the ‘rules’ handed down by monks and holies of ancient times to “capture light” which will mysteriously reveal itself as ‘image.’

I am writing an icon – not ‘drawing’ or ‘painting’ it – because in the Greek language from which the original icon was manifested nearly 2,000 years ago, there is no word for painting or drawing.  One writes an icon.  And, to be even more specific, one does not actually write the icon, rather it is believed the writing comes through the hands . . .

There is much contemplation of one’s own life in the writing of icons. Once reserved as the lifetime work of monks in monasteries, the tradition of iconography is now available to the unsanctified as well. I sit in front of the blank gesso board, white and blank and empty, and I contemplate that the thing she has just said is not true for me – about the blank page being intimidating.  I’m not intimidated by a blank page.  I am, however, nearly paralyzed with intimidation by a page that has been coaxed and cleaned and edited and gone over a thousand times (by me), and made ready to be handed over to another set of eyes – anyone – the critic outside of me. I am not afraid of emptiness or blankness, or of my own efforts to fill a page and make it whole. I am afraid, however, of my finest work not being good enough. It’s easier for me to do my finest work and then hide it in a closet . . .

But iconography is not about the ego or individuality or forced creativity. It is about aligning oneself with truths that have been known for thousands of years. Iconography is not about the writer – it is about the listener, the one who can listen and let inspiration speak through.

The so-called “Tenderness Icon” is one of four maternal icons depicting aspects of parenthood. It was first written by the Apostle Luke in the first century A.D.  Luke, a physician, writer, artist and apostle, is said to have written hundreds of icons in his lifetime.  The tradition begins with the Apostle Luke, moves to Greece, arrives in Russia . . .

Trusting in the mystical communication between eye and hand, and having only a compass, pencil, knife, and ruler as our tools, we etch the image of the Mother and Child onto the blank gesso board to symbolize that the truths of this icon have already been marked into our lives.  We are born 'downloaded' with universal truths.  Aligning ourselves, capturing light, and revealing those truths – that is what iconography is about.