“If we understand spiritual things through the words we hear with our physical ears, the contemplation of our physical eyes likewise leads us to spiritual contemplation.”
As the Russian iconographer and art historian Leonid Uspensky wrote in his groundbreaking study: theology of icons. I was reminded of this insight again and again during a visit to the Icon Museum and Research Center in Clinton, Massachusetts, in early May.
Founded in 2006 to house the collection of local businessman Gordon B. Lankton, it is the only museum in the United States dedicated to icons and Eastern Christian art. Russian icons form the core of the collection, but in recent years it has expanded to include works from Greece, Veneto-Crete, and Ethiopia.
Walking slowly through the three-level gallery was as much a prayerful experience as it was an aesthetic one. I started downstairs. The exhibition shows the step-by-step process of how icons are created, introducing viewers to the sacred symbolism behind the iconographer’s techniques.
I was struck by how many elements of the natural world were incorporated into the icons, from the locally sourced wood used in the panels to the red clay mixture called “bore” applied under the gold leaf. We see icons as objects of creation, works that the iconographer shapes and harmonizes with earthly materials, giving them a spiritual atmosphere.
Attuned to the “language” of the icon, I ventured upstairs to the main level. Grouping Greek icons revealed numerous treasures. I lingered in front of his 17th-century spire statue of St. Alypius perched atop a column, observing details such as the acanthus leaves that adorn the column and soften the ascetic atmosphere of the painting.
Such in-depth research is an advantage of encountering these works in a museum setting. The adjacent icon “Mother of God of the Life-giving Fountain” depicts Mary and the baby Jesus sitting at a fountain of water. You can see how the iconographer repeated the blue pattern of Mary’s scarf on the water’s surface, establishing a visual connection between Mary and the redemptive nature of her fountain.
Two galleries on the upper floor house the bulk of the collection. The icons are spaciously spaced and cleverly lit, making it fun to navigate between them.
Themes and motifs reappear throughout the gallery. The icon of the “mandilion” (a Greek Byzantine term meaning “little cloth”, so named because it depicts the miraculously preserved face of Christ on the cloth) is a symbol of healing. It reappears in two 17th-century Russian icons depicting a group of believers worshiping. power.
see icon At the inner Icons create a kind of “nested narrative,” or story within a story. We can see the sacredness of the Mandilion itself and through the imaginative experiences of the characters in the scene.
The narrative effect of iconography is highlighted in a large (57 inch x 42 inch) late 17th century icon of the communal Solovetsky Monastery on a White Sea island off the north coast of Russia.
Iconographers are said to “write” icons, not “paint” them, just as viewers need to “read” icons like they read the words of the Bible. Never have I been more aware of these literary nuances than when I stood before Solovetsky’s icon, whose composition unfolds in the scope of a Russian novel.
The lower two-thirds of the image is surrounded by a band of water. A boat carrying tourists rows on the waves. At the center of the space is the monastery itself. The openings in the architecture are like windows that reflect the life of the monks. One person rings the tower bell, and another greets pilgrims at the entrance.
Above the monastery, the landscape of workers herding livestock establishes the island’s agricultural rhythm. The upper third depicts angels and attendants of saints on either side of Christ. Two saints unfold a scroll like a charter between heaven and earth.
Iconographers are said to “write” icons, not “paint” them, just as viewers need to “read” icons like they read the words of the Bible.
I found my eyes moving upward through these layers of life and stopping on different figures. It was like praying and going back and forth between different realms: the sea, the land, and the end of the world.
As impressive as the grand sweep of Solovetsky’s icons were the small details that conveyed the details of several other icons. In the 16th century symbol of the Dormition, we are reminded of the two apostles resting their elbows on Mary’s chalice and resting their heads in her hands. Using very limited means, the iconographer succeeded in conveying a sense of sadness as we gaze upon the Theotokos.
The Mother of God is on display in the museum’s current exhibition “Sacred Presence: Our Lady of Kazan.” The exhibit features several versions of this famous icon, the prototype of which is said to date back to Byzantine times.
The original icon is believed to have been brought to Kazan from Constantinople in the 13th century. According to legend, it was then lost and rediscovered in 1579 when a young girl saw it buried in the ground. It quickly became an object of Russian religious belief, and copies proliferated.
At the center of the Divine Presence is a large icon of Our Lady of Kazan from around 1650, the crown jewel of the museum’s collection. Maria wears a striking purple cloak with intricately painted fringes. She leans towards her Christ Child, whose prominent forehead and confident expression suggest her wisdom and precociousness.
Mary’s eyes exert a gravitational pull, like the two planets orbiting Christ’s sun. The longer she remained in front of the icon, the more she felt her own eyes enter this orbit and follow her eyes along the path that revolved around her son.
The Vatican was given the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God in 1993. Pope John Paul II kept the icon in his private apartment until 2004, when he returned it to Moscow Patriarch Alexis II as a means of promoting unity among Catholics. And the Orthodox Church.
In the days leading up to Orthodox Easter, with war raging in the Holy Land and the Russian Orthodox tradition of nonviolence tragically obscured by the invasion of Ukraine, I was pondering this icon. , I found John Paul II’s message to the Patriarch particularly poignant: She prays to Our Lady with confidence because she knows that Our Lady begs us and all nations for the gift of peace. ”
