What is Iconography?

I’ll never forget the first time I received an icon. During the pandemic, a friend of my mom’s who is Coptic Orthodox let me pick any icon I wanted from her icon corner and keep it. I ended up choosing a very small two-panel icon, one side had St. Mary tenderly holding the Christ Child while the other had Christ holding scripture and giving a blessing. All of her icons were so beautiful; I didn’t understand how she was ready to part with any of them. But because of her generosity, I was able to experience the blessing of receiving an icon.

This episode was one of several instances during the pandemic where I encountered icons. I’ve always loved art and painting. I’ve always loved theology and early church history. But they weren’t worlds that interacted much or when they did, there was little substance, at least in the Evangelical world I was familiar with. So, when I learned that iconography is the combination of these two worlds, I really dove straight in.

Icons are visual theology, packed full of symbolism, and are meant to teach the viewer about theological intricacies and concepts. As my iconography teacher would say, icons are “the gospel in light and color.” This is why painting icons is called “writing” and interpretation of icons is called “reading.”

There are various styles of iconography distinctive to the different streams within Orthodoxy. The Coptic Orthodox and Ethiopian Orthodox Church each have unique styles. Within the Eastern Orthodox Church, there are styles such as Russian and Byzantine. All of these styles developed from the symbolic language of the early church. As Christianity grew and eventually became legal in the Roman Empire, the church continued to develop a robust visual language, which has evolved into the iconographic tradition the church uses today. Church history and tradition have asserted the goodness of iconography. Particularly at the 7th Ecumenical Council, iconography was determined to be an outworking of the incarnation—God becoming man. St. John of Damascus summarizes the point well:

“In former times, God, who is without form or body, could never be depicted. But now when God is seen in the flesh conversing with men, I make an image of the God whom I see. I do not worship matter; I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake.” [First apology against those who would attack the divine images 1.16]

In the Orthodox Church today, iconography is always present in the iconostasis, which is a screen in front of the altar that plays a part in the natural flow of their liturgy. Some Orthodox churches have icons from the floor to the ceiling, depicting scripture’s grand arc and reminding the congregants that they are part of it.

Iconography is also found in the homes of Orthodox Christians. One might set up an icon corner somewhere in their home as a special place where they will say morning and evening prayers. In both places, the congregation prays alongside all the saints, who also pray simultaneously. Iconography is a reflection and reminder of the reality of the communion of saints.

It’s helpful here to make a distinction between veneration and worship. We do not worship icons.

Icons are visual representations that point to “the real thing.” When we look at an icon of Christ, we know it is not Christ Himself but a representation of Him. So we venerate icons. Veneration means to treat something with respect or reverence. We venerate icons of Christ, the saints, or moments from scripture or church history because we respect and revere what or who they point to. Because of this icons are incredible tools for prayer and reflection on the gospel and the lives of the saints.

When I sit down to write an icon, it’s best to begin the task with prayer—for my skill, for the icon itself, and for all who will stand before the icon in prayer. I’ve come to think of each icon as a kind of offering. In Mass, we offer oblations of bread and wine back to the Creator to perform a miracle with, which He gives back to us. In iconography, wood, stone, and other materials are set apart for the purpose of being used to create a tool for prayer. I never know who will look at an icon I’ve written and pray, or how the Holy Spirit will move long after the icon has left me.

The icon begins as a wood board that has been carefully prepared with a sheet of linen and several layers of marble gesso. Marble gesso creates a smooth surface that will also last a lifetime—similar to the surfaces of ancient Egyptian tombs, which still retain their illustrations today.

After a sketch or underpainting of the image is drawn on the board, the background, or at least the saint’s halo, is gilded with sheets of gold leaf—usually real gold that has been hammered into extremely thin sheets. Gold represents the light of heaven since it’s a precious metal and an extremely reflective material. The light of heaven is reflected back onto the one gazing at the icon, which serves as a reminder that Christ and the saints reside in heaven and that they are alive and praying for us.

In addition to gold, other colors have symbolic meanings. For instance, red represents blood, humanity, and sacrifice and is often seen on icons of Christ or martyrs as indications of their sacrifice. White represents purity and the light of Christ—pointing back to the reality that the saints are in heaven. The figures themselves also communicate symbols. If you want to understand what an icon is about, a great place to start is at their hands. Figures in icons are frequently gesturing toward the icon’s focal point. St. Mary often has her hands outstretched in prayer. Christ or the apostles are usually shown extending their right hand in blessing.

Once the gold leaf is applied, the painting begins to take shape. Iconographers use an ancient painting technique called egg tempera which is a mixture of powdered pigments blended with egg yolk and vinegar. I begin with the darkest tones and carefully add layers of light. Starting with the dark tones represents how Adam formed from the dust of the Earth (Gen 2:7). Each layer of light represents the light of Christ. I like to think this whole process symbolizes our sanctification—Christ’s light gradually shines brighter through us as we walk through this life until hopefully, we are saints one day.