The development of the iconographic style
The development of a unique style of Christian art began after Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire under the Emperor Constantine in the 4th century AD. For the first time, artists were able to paint works for public viewing on a large scale. At first, they used the styles that were used for all art in the Roman Empire. Mosaics in Ravenna in Italy that date from AD428, for example that of the Good Shepherd, are indistinguishable in style from that of the Late Antique art that existed in the Roman world at that time. The figures are highly naturalistic: there is a landscape setting for the figure that creates an illusion of depth and a sense of space using a basic perspective. There are other mosaics in Ravenna, that date from only 120 years later that are quite different in style. If we look at the mosaic of the Emperor Justinian and His Retinue, we can see that though clearly derived from the earlier form, the figures are much more stiff and formal. All are portrayed full face, none in profile. The negative ‘space’ around the figures is not devoted to the depiction of the illusion of depth. The figures almost give the appearance of cut-outs pasted onto a flat surface. All this, and other features we shall discuss later, contribute to a deliberate stylization and can be accounted for in terms of the Christian understanding of the human person and our place in Creation. For example, the flat negative space is a visual representation of heaven or the fullness of God, the eternal sphere where there is no time and no space.
ALL mankind is made by God to be united with Him in heaven in perfect bliss. To the degree that we choose to cooperate with God’s grace, every single one of us will have the chance of seeing Him face-to-face and partaking in the Divine nature. The stylistic features of the iconographic tradition were developed to reveal to us this heavenly ideal of mankind. Through the medium of a painting they portray the idea of what saints look like, so to speak, in heaven in a way that we, fallen people, can grasp. Once the new style of iconography had been developed it spread throughout the whole Christian world. There are icons, for example the Christ Pantocrator (below), painted around the same period in Mt Sinai in modern day Egypt. This prototype, what we might refer to as the ‘Byzantine’ and the one we recognise today most commonly the liturgical art of the Eastern Church, was in fact the prototype for all Christian art, East and West, Latin and Greek up to the end of the Romanesque period (about 1200AD).
Christ Pantocrator
While conforming to the iconographic prototype, there have always been identifiable local variations in style usually through a fusion with other traditional forms. Even when various parts of the West became relatively isolated due to the subsequent disintegration of the Western Roman Empire, contact with other Christian communities never stopped altogether. There was a continuous line of contact through warfare, trade and monastic religious communities throughout the Christian world. The monasteries especially preserved culture and learning in the West and even those on the Celtic fringe, in Ireland, were in touch with their Eastern monastic brethren. This is known because of the discovery of Byzantine artefacts in the West. We see Celtic art, Carolingian art (named after Charlemagne) or Ottonian art (named after Otto 1, the Holy Roman Emperor crowned 962) all conforming to the iconographic prototype. These Western art forms incorporated the swirls and flowing lines of their abstract decorative art into a highly stylized figurative art form, but nevertheless they are true to the iconographic ideal.
An 8th century Irish icon of St Luke (above) and a Romanesque icon of Christ in majesty (below)
After 1000AD there was an increase in communication between East and West, much of it through warfare. The crusades and the conquest of Eastern territory affected Western art. What we now recognise as Romanesque art used the greater degree of naturalism (as compared with Ottonian or Celtic art) of the Eastern icons. This period is called Romanesque from a description coined in the 19th century meaning ‘debased Roman’ that referred to architecture retaining columns and rounded arches, before the adoption of pointed gothic arches.
The rejection of the iconographic prototype in the West
The same forces that renewed contact with the Christian East also established contact with the Islamic East and West (in Spain). This contact sowed the seeds for the adoption of a different artistic prototype in the West. It is ironic that the society whose art was epitomised by patterned abstraction due to the rejection of figurative art, Islam, should, through allowing the ‘rediscovery’ of the philosophy of Aristotle, provide a great impetus for a greater naturalism in Western art.
Through the incorporation of Aristotle into Western Christian thought by theologians such as St Thomas Aquinas, people started to look at the world around us in a new way. The force that moved this change in outlook from the scholarly circles into a more widespread change in outlook was spiritual. St Francis of Assisi, who loved the beauty of nature, was a hugely popular and influential saint. Franciscan spirituality created an enthusiasm and love for the natural world that had not existed before to the same degree; and causing the development of the scientific observation of nature as well as an increased naturalism in art. Gothic art and architecture reflects this and is the beginning of a shift in art towards a greater consideration of man’s place in the fallen world that has its culmination in the Baroque. The iconographic, the gothic and the Baroque (‘at its best’) are cited by Benedict XVI as the three authentic Catholic liturgical artistic traditions.
A degenerate Russian icon, 18th century
The art of the Eastern Church was not affected by the gothic, but we see an affect of the Renaissance. Unlike the West, however, this did not result so much in new authentic liturgical forms, but in an inferior iconographic form. The degeneration of the iconographic form was accelerated during the Enlightenment which affected Russia particularly, under Peter the Great and Catherine the Great. The re-establishment of what we think of the ‘pure’ iconographic prototype in the Eastern Church didn’t occur until the mid-20th century under figures such as the Greek Photius Kontoglou, and Russians Leonid Ouspensky and Gregory Kroug. Catholics especially should remember that much of what we read today about the iconographic tradition is in fact generated by a 20th century examination of past icons by these Orthodox figures. As a result it tends to assert Orthodox theology and mysticism very strongly. Sometimes this leads to a downplaying of the Western forms (by Catholics as much as Orthodox) or even the presentation, erroneously, of the iconographic form as the exclusive preserve of the Eastern Church.
The theology of icons
As stated, the ‘ideal’ of man that an icon painter follows, is mankind in heaven where all are purified without trace of sin and in the state of final unification with God. In trying to ascertain what mankind looks like in heaven, theologians and artists looked primarily to their bibles. Man in heaven is seen as described in the book of Revelation. A glimpse of the divine appearance of the body was also seen in Christ himself at the Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-8, Luke 9:28-36, 2 Peter 1:16-18). In this passage Christ, and the apostles Peter, James and John went up ‘on a high mountain where they were alone’. Christ is described in Luke’s gospel: ‘the fashion of his face was altered, and his garments became white and dazzling’; Matthew says that his face was ‘shining like the sun, and his garments became white as snow’; Peter described a ‘splendour that dazzles human eyes’. In John’s vision of heaven, described in Revelation, he says that the saints ‘will see the Lord face to face, and his name will be written on their foreheads. It will never be night again and they will not need lamplight or sunlight, because the Lord God will be shining on them.’ (Revelation 22:4-5).
When the apostles saw Christ transfigured they saw for those few moments as those who are pure see when they are in heaven. The ascent of the mountain is often interpreted as a metaphor for the ascent of their souls towards heaven. There appeared also with Christ two prophets known to be in heaven, Elijah and Moses. The light that was seen is referred to as ‘uncreated’ in the sense that it is the divine light that exists in all time. This is to be contrasted with the ‘created’ light that we normally see in the material universe, such as that from the sun or electric light bulbs.
We know saints in heaven participate in this divine nature in heaven. There are also recorded cases of them revealing aspects of it prior to that as they became purer or holier. In the book of Exodus we read that the skin of Moses’ face shone with an unearthly radiance after he had conversed with God on Mount Sinai; for a time he had to wear a veil because the Israelites could not bear to look to look on this brightness (Exodus, 34:29-35). St Paul refers to this in the second letter to the Corinthians and says explicitly that this transfiguration is open to all of us: ‘It is given to us, all alike, to catch the glory of the Lord as in a mirror, with faces unveiled; and so we become transfigured into the same likeness, borrowing glory from that glory, as the Spirit of the Lord enables us.’ (II Corinthians 3:18).
As a result of the Fall, a level of disorder exists in the world. There is a tension in mankind’s relationship with visible creation, which has become alien and hostile and like man, is now subject to decay. The icon provides a contrast with the fallen world we see around us and portrays creation as redeemed. As the purpose of icons is to give us a glimpse of how things will seem when we are in heaven and man in heaven appears different to man on earth, there is no interest in portraying man naturalistically. This is not to say that man in heaven bears no relation to man on earth. The final resurrection at the end of time will be a resurrection of the body and in the age to come we will be complete in our nature, with both body and soul. We will have bodies with arms and legs and so on that are recognisable as such.
When painting icons, individual style is never sought as an end in itself. Quite the contrary, the artist seeks to conform to the accepted standards. This does not prevent individual styles emerging quite naturally however. The work of well known iconographers is instantly recognisable and given a previously unseen icon, anyone who knows icons well will be able to identify at least the geographical region that it came from and the time that it was painted, perhaps to within 50 years. The appearance of characteristic styles occurs in a different way from that of modern art, in which individualism deliberately sought. The distinctive style of an icon is never sought but occurs through the humble desire of the individual to conform to the will of God. It is a true ‘self-expression’, a reflection of the person God intends us to be; and a realization of the maxim that in self-forgetfulness we find our true selves.
The stylistic elements of icons
The style of the icon reflects our knowledge of the ideal it is portraying. First, some features of the saints are exaggerated. The organs that receive information are slightly enlarged: the eyes, the ears and the nose is lengthened. Those parts of the body that are expressive are slightly reduced in size: the mouth, the hands (the fingers on the hand however are given a gracefulness by being made slightly tapered and lengthened, however). This is to emphasise the saintly qualities of temperance and humility, so the saint always listens and considers information received before acting with wisdom. They are not shown displaying great emotion, but with a controlled and calm demeanour.
Because the saint is a source of light there is no deep shadow, as in Western naturalistic art. A shadow is only cast when there is a light source that is distinct from the object that is casting it. For the same reason, the eyes never have the glint of reflected light on them. If you go into any art gallery that has traditional Western portraits, the chances are that every single one will have a reflective glint painted on the eyes. Also egg tempera, the medium used, has a higher visual register than, for example, oil paint. (Egg tempera is made by making a paste of the pigment with egg yolk and then diluting with water.) One might characterise it as looking like morning light, while oil looks like evening light (and acrylic looks as though it is illuminated by fluorescent strip lighting!). Gold is often used to represent the glow of uncreated light around the saint. The disc of gold around the head is the halo. (The icon to the left is a modern icon of the Archangel Gabriel, and in this the golden background, indicating the presence of God, is differentiated from the light emanating from the angel’s head by a read circular line.) It is interesting to note, therefore, that the halo is not a symbol, as such, of sainthood. Rather, it is a direct representation of uncreated light that emanates from saints. When the halo is depicted as a yellow hoop floating above the crown of the saint, as some Western art does, it is reducing the halo to an arbitrary symbol unrelated in appearance to the reality it portrays.
Saints, such as the Archangel Gabriel, shown right, are depicted full face to three-quarters turned towards us, never in profile, so that we have a sense of seeing them ‘face to face’. This gives them a characteristic look that interacts with those looking at the icon and pulls their attention towards it. Usually the sense in icons is that there is no foreground portrayed; figures always appear in the middle ground. There is always a sense of distance between them and us. So, as fast as their gaze pulls us in, they keep receding into the middle ground. This effect is achieved by controlling the angle of vision; that is the size of the figures portrayed relative to the distance from which they will commonly be seen. This should be contrasted with Western naturalistic tradition of the baroque which, for sound theological reasons, generally places the protagonists in the foreground. In Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus for example, right, (painted at the beginning of the 17th century) which is in the National Gallery in London, the viewer is almost made to feel as though he is sitting at the empty space of the table with Christ and the apostles. He brings the saints right to us.
In iconography, everything is deliberately painted to be two-dimensional; there is very little sense of depth behind the plane of the panel (we will explain why this is undesirable in a moment in the section, Windows to Heaven). This is achieved by the lack of deep shadow, as mentioned before, and by the use of the medium egg tempera, which always appears flat. Oil paint was rejected as a medium because it creates imagery that is too 3-dimensional. When oil paint is used in dark glazes, the painting sinks into the depths beyond the plane of the painting. In contrast, when tempera uses black, for instance, is just sits like soot on the surface. Also, because egg tempera dries in just a few minutes (if it is the first application to the gesso surface, it dries even quicker, in a matter of seconds) blending of tones and colours is difficult and there is little scope for expressive brushwork. Oil, in contrast takes days to dry and so can be blended easily and seamlessly and is a good medium for subtle modelling. These properties mean that oil paint helps the artist to enhance the sense of naturalism, while tempera inhibits the naturalism of the painting and heightens the sense of symbolism in the image, which is desirable in an icon.
There is very little landscape detail or buildings shown in icons; only what is necessary to the events being depicted. These are shown idealised as well, as seen through the eyes of purity. The expulsion from Eden is not a geographical displacement, but a radical change in the relationship with God and creation. Once matter is redeemed as it will be at the final end of all time, it enters into the heavenly realm that is outside time. Although it is a future event when considering things in the temporal sense, those things outside time are in a state of perpetual being so one could almost say that if it will happen, it already has happened. Just as the liturgy of the Church is a temporal participation in the eternal heavenly liturgy – the uncreated light painted emanating from saints portrayed while they were still alive, is revealing a temporal participation in their eternal redeemed state. The icon is the eternal momentarily bursting through into the temporal. When the icon shows redeemed matter other than people, i.e. plants etc, they are shown redeemed and without decay. Also, nature is portrayed so as to emphasize its place in the natural hierarchy and order, with man at the pinnacle, and Christ foremost among mankind, followed by Mary, the Mother of God. Therefore, trees and rocks might be depicted as bowing or bending towards a saint.
Where landscape details or buildings are depicted, it is usual to avoid conventional Western perspective. In fact, there are many types of perspective used in icons help us to emerge from our egocentric worldview and see as God sees, with the eyes of purity. For example: Multi-view perspective, where the front and back of an object is portrayed at once, encourages us to see the world immersed in the omnipresent God. It suggests that when we look at something with purity we can are not restricted in the knowledge of if by our position in relation to it, we can in a sense know it fully. Once, when I was teaching a 12-year old about icons we were painting an icon of St Luke (below) in which both the front and the back were simultaneously portrayed. I described the idea of this to her by saying that in heaven, which is outside time and space, we can be everywhere at once and so it as though we can walk around the back, have a look, come back to the front again, and yet no time has elapsed. Inverse perspective makes us the vanishing point rather than a fictitious place within the image. By moving through the real space between the icon, and ourselves the lines of this perspective convey grace to the area before us. Inverse perspective also gives the sense that the saints are looking at us, that we are the object of the icon’s contemplation. Isometric perspective, where planes and lines remain parallel and undistorted by distance, affirms the integrity of each thing in itself, regardless of how it appears to the physical senses. The general flatness of icons helps us to pass through the image to meet the holy person who is its subject. The related tipped perspective, where for example, a horizontal surface is portrayed at an angle tipped toward us, so the all things on it are clearly visible, allows things to be arranged more freely on the vertical plane than with conventional single point perspective designed to create a sense of depth. This permits greater use of traditional, ‘sacred’ geometry as an abstract system of order so as to lend harmony to the image. It also allows the iconographer to use hieratical perspective, where things are arranged according to their spiritual importance – the more important figures are made more prominent in the composition through variation in size and placement.
In addition, in design terms the lines of the inverse perspective bring the eye towards the saint from all parts of the icon as they radiate out from it. Second, it enhances the sense that everything is taking place in the plane of the painting. If a building is depicted for example, reason tells us that it should occupy a large space beyond the icon plane and our minds will tend to create that space for it to occupy. In the icon, however, every time our minds try to take our attention to occupy a space beyond the icon plane, these perspective systems ensure that we are pushed back; it deliberately works to destroy the illusion of space.
As mentioned above, I was taught to order the composition of icons in accordance with principles of sacred geometry. In common with all figurative art, in order for the artist to be able to arrange the figures without destroying the sense of unity, the geometry employed is relatively simple. I was taught to use simple ratios such as the musically derived harmonies of 1:2, 2:3 and 3:4. These would be applied to the outer proportions of the icon and within, the important events of the compositional theme were placed at positions of approximate a half, a third and a quarter way across the image. However, these were never seen as an end in themselves, simply guidelines that can lead us to a well balanced composition. At the end of the process, I was taught always to look at the painting as a whole and modify according to intuition so that it looks unified and well balanced.
Windows to Heaven: how icons affect prayer
All the elements described combine to create a dynamic process that first pulls the viewer into the icon and then sends the attention beyond the icon itself to heaven. The full-faced gaze of the saint arrests our attention, pulls us in and holds us on itself. Icons encourage us to see them close at hand: the abundance of detail in the painting encourages us to scrutinize and contemplate what is revealed as we get closer. As our eyes scan the painting, the design of it allows us to contemplate each detail, but then pushes us back to the central figures: the two-dimensionality of the icon ensures that we the attention is kept firmly in the plane of the painting, which is occupied by these central figures. Within this plane, the other elements described, such as the radial inverse-perspective lines guide our eyes towards its intended focal points.
Just as there are forces at work that push our gaze back to the central figure or figures, our thoughts and attention are deliberately given one escape route, so to speak, that is, up to heaven. While our gaze is always happiest on the icon itself, there are devices that build in a dissatisfaction and desire to get closer still. First, because the icon is generally painted in the middle ground – it always appears physically distant. No matter how close we get to the icon, the figure depicted will always recede into the middle ground. Second, the sober and calm expression of the icon (called the ‘bright sadness’) gives an emotional distance. We don’t feel emotionally involved with the figures depicted in the way that we do with baroque art. The divide between us, the viewers, and the figures in the icon is one that we want to get close but can’t. Even if our noses are pressed up against the icon the figure always seems distant. Also, the lack of naturalism always jars to a degree: we can never feel contented that we are with the saint depicted; the inbuilt symbolic qualities always remind us that this is an image.
The only way for us to get closer is to turn our attention to the real saint who is at that very moment in heaven. So while our gazes our fixed on the icon of the Mother of God, our thoughts go beyond the image to the real Mother of God who is looking at us from heaven.
There is no hidden mystery to praying with icons, therefore, one simply prays as one would otherwise – chanting, reciting, singing, or praying silently – but allows his gaze to rest upon the icon and be open to the dynamic that the icon involves us in. The well painted icon does the work for us. I have watched many Eastern Christian families praying at home for example, before a meal or when retiring at night, and they turn to the icon or icon corner and chant their prayers out loud while looking.
