[scrierile] Iconografie [2]: Photios Kontoglou
Kyrill
What Orthodox Iconography Is
by Blessed Photios Kontoglou
"Be ye not conformed to this world, but be ye transformed by the
renewing of your mind ... " (Rom. xii.2)
The religion of Christ is the revelation, by Him, of the truth. And
this truth is the knowledge of the true God and of the spiritual world.
But the spiritual world is not what men used to-and still do-call
"spiritual."
Christ calls His religion "new wine," and "bread that cometh down from
Heaven." The Apostle Paul says, "Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he
is a new creation. The old things have passed away; behold, all things
have become new.
In a religion like this, one that makes the believer into a new man,"
everything is "new." So, too, the art that gradually took form out of
the spirit of this religion, and which it invented to express its
Mystery, is a "new" art, one not like any other, just as the religion
of Christ is not like any other, in spite of what some may say who have
eyes only for certain meaningless externals.
The architecture of this religion, its music, its painting, its sacred
poetry, insofar as they make use of material media, nourish the souls
of the faithful with spirit. The works produced in these media are like
steps that lead them from earth up to heaven, from this earthly and
temporary state to that which is heavenly and eternal. This takes place
so far as is possible with human nature.
For this reason, the arts of the Church are anagogical, that is, they
elevate natural phenomena and submit them to "the beautiful
transformation." They are also called "liturgical" arts, because
through them man tastes the essence of the liturgy by which God is
worshipped and through which man becomes like unto the Heavenly Hosts
and perceives immortal life.
Ecclesiastical liturgical painting, the painting of worship, took its
form above all from Byzantium, where it remained the mystical Ark of
Christ's religion and was called hagiographia or sacred painting. As
with the other arts of the Church, the purpose of hagiographia is not
to give pleasure to our carnal sense of sight, but to transform it into
a spiritual sense, so that in the visible things of this world we may
see what surpasses this world.
Hence this art is not theatrically illusionistic. Illusionistic art
came into being in Italy during the so-called Renaissance, because this
art was the expression of a Christianity which, deformed by philosophy,
had become a materialistic, worldly form of knowledge, and of the
Western Church, which had become a worldly system. And just as theology
followed along behind the philosophy of the ancients-so, too, the
painting which expressed this theology followed along behind the art of
the ancient idolators. The period is well named Renaissance, since, to
tell the truth, it was no more than a re-birth of the ancient carnal
mode of thought that had been the pagan world's.
But just as those theologians were wading around in the slimy
swampwaters of philosophy, and were in no position to taste and
understand the clear fresh water of the Gospel, "drawn up to life
eternal," so, too, the painters who brought about the Renaissance were
in no position to understand the mystical profundity of Eastern
liturgical iconography, the sacred art of Byzantium. And just as the
theologians thought that they could perfect Christ's religion with
philosophy, since for them it seemed too simple, they being in no
position to penetrate into the depths of that divine simplicity; just
so, the painters thought that they were perfecting liturgical art, more
simply called Byzantine, by making it "more natural."
So they set to work, copying what was natural-faces, clothes,
buildings, landscapes, all as they appear naturally-making an
iconography with the same rationalism that the theologians wanted to
make theology with. But the kind of theology you can get out of
rationalism is exactly the kind of religious iconography you can get
out of copying nature.
This is why their works have no Mystery, nor any real spiritual
character. You understand that you have before you some men
masquerading as saints-not real saints. Look at the various pictures
of the Mother of God, "Madonnas" who pose hypocritically, and those in
tears, weeping, which are even falser yet! Corpses and idols for
shallow men! Our people, who for centuries have received a great and
profound nurture from Christ's religion, even though outwardly they
seem uneducated, call a woman who pretends to be respectable but who is
really not, a Frankopanayhia, a "Frankish Virgin," thus making a clear
distinction between the "Frankish Virgin" and the true Virgin, the
Mother of Christ our God, the austere Odogitria, Her "more precious
than the Cherubim, and beyond compare more glorious than the Seraphim."
In other words, in the simplest way possible they make a neat, sharp
distinction between the art of the world and the art belonging to
worship.
Western religious painters who wanted to depict the supernatural
visions of religion took as models certain natural phenomena-clouds,
sunsets, the moon, the sun with its beams. With these they tried to
portray the heavenly glory and the world of immortality, calling
certain things "spiritual" which are merely sentimental, emotional, not
spiritual at all.
In vain, however. Because the blessedness of the other life is not a
continuation of the emotional happiness of this world, neither does it
have any relation to the satisfaction the senses enjoy in this life.
The Apostle Paul, talking about the good things of the blessedness to
come, says that they are such that "eye hath not seen, and ear hath not
heard, neither have entered into the heart of man."
How, then, can that world, which lies beyond everything a man can grasp
with his senses-how can that world be portrayed by an art that is
"natural" and that appeals to the senses? How can you paint "what
surpasses nature and surpasses sense"?
Certainly, man will take elements from the perceptible world, "for the
senses' sake," but to be able to express what surpasses sense" he must
dematerialize these elements, he must lift them to a higher plane, he
must transmute them from what is carnal into what is spiritual, just as
faith transmutes man's feelings, making them, from carnal, into
spiritual. "I saw," says St. John of the Ladder, some men given over
with passion to carnal love, and when they received the Light, and took
the way of Christ, this fierce carnal passion was changed inside them,
with divine grace, into a great love for the Lord."
Thus, even the material elements which Byzantine iconography took from
the world of sense were supernaturally transmuted into spiritualities,
and since they had passed through the pure soul of a man who lived
according to Christ, like gold through a refiner's fire, they express,
as far as is possible for a man who wears a material body, that which
the Apostle Paul spoke of, "which eye hath not seen, neither hath
entered into the heart of man."
The beauty of liturgical art is not a carnal beauty, but a spiritual
beauty. That is why whoever judges this art by worldly standards says
that the figures in Byzantine sacred painting are ugly and repellent,
while for one of the faithful they possess the beauty of the spirit,
which is called "the beautiful transformation."
The Apostle Paul says, "We (who preach the Gospel and live according to
Christ) are ... a sweet savour of Christ unto them that are saved and
unto them that perish. Unto them that have within them the smell of
death (of flesh), we smell of death; and unto them that have within
them the smell of life, we smell of life."
And the blessed and hallowed St. John of the Ladder says, "There was an
ascetic who, whenever he happened to see a beautiful person, whether
man or woman, would glorify the Creator of that person with all his
heart, and from a mere glance his love for God would spring afresh and
he would pour out on his account a fountain of tears. And one
marvelled, seeing this happen, that for this man what would cause the
soul of another to stink had become a reason for crowns and an ascent
above nature. Whoever perceives beauty in this fashion is already
incorruptible, even before the dead shall rise in the common
Resurrection."
Translated by Holy Transfiguration Monastery, Brookline, MA. For more
on Photios Kontoglou, one of the most important iconographers of the
20th century, www.orthodoxinfo.com
Kyrill
Photios Kontoglou
PHOTIOS KONTOGLOU (1896 - 1965), a Greek Orthodox iconographer and
author, was born in Aivali, Asia Minor. After traveling around the
world he eventually returned to his homeland, but was forced to leave
after the Asia Minor catastrophe in 1922 and moved to Athens, Greece.
His writings and icon painting distinguished him as a soldier for
Christ and struggler for the spirit of Orthodox "Romeosini." His
writings reveal the Christian-Roman/Byzantine Orthodox spirit of the
neo-Hellene. His dedication to the traditional Orthodox Byzantine
Iconographic Art form, at a time when even iconographers on Mount
Athos were using Western prototypes, was instrumental to the
reawakening of Orthodox liturgical art forms that was to occur, which
we now enjoy.
His article, "The Mystic Zion," reveals how the psaltic liturgical
art
form of the Church partakes of the same spirit. The purpose of the
liturgical chant is one and the same with iconography, to be
apocalyptic; to reveal God's presence and to bring us into His
presence.
The Mystic Zion
by Photios Kontoglou
Byzantine art (techni) is for me the art of arts. I believe in it as I
do religion. I do not deny this, but it even gives me great pleasure
when, most of the time, someone uses it as an accusation. Only this
art nurtures my soul with its deep and mysterious powers, it quenches
the thirst which I feel in the dry desert which surrounds us. Next to
Byzantine Art, all other art seems to me light, "distracted by many
things," while only "one thing is needful." That one thing, when
it is
perceived by someone, it is understood.
Many times I question myself how man was made worthy by divine grace
to reach the unteachable, to express the inexpressible, and to express
it with means so practical and simple: neither vain wisdom, neither
foresight, neither false transcendence with soft delicateness, neither
sentimentalism, theatrical and meaningless. Everything is serious,
contemplative enough, mystical worlds revealed under phenomenal
worthlessness and simpleness. A trigger descends to the depths of the
oceans of the soul and, at the moment when most think it cannot
descend another fathom, it reaches a world no one can measure. "Let
no
profane hand touch" (Canon of the Feast of the Annunciation; Ninth
Ode, First Troparion.) Whoever does not understand that mysterious
language "setting aside all worldly cares," will not understand
even
till the end of his life. The root of his soul will remain dry of the
dew of heaven.
The sweetness of this art is apocalyptic. Men who have need of
triviality, cannot find anything other than-would be-rational
comments, about crooked feet, unnatural bodies and the such, but how
can its deep human content, which is the holy of holies, be weighed
with such means? And when they praise it, then they say the worst,
idiotic comments, generalities.
For man to commune with that which "is a fire and burns the
unworthy,"
no one benefits from those bulky tools which are called: smartness,
education, rhetoric, diplomacy, analysis, etc., but something more
honorable is needed, something which is usually found in the simplest
man and is some magical characteristic, that reveals to man the depth
of the divine harmony of the whole. "What do I look upon? None other
but the gentle, the humble, and the quiet!" Souls which are deep and
closed have the hidden privilege to be initiated into this revelation.
So, he who has this grace, only he understands the mystic and
unearthly tongue which the East speaks, Byzantium. In the works of
this "mystic Zion" he finds the fount and quenches his thirst,
whosoever burns from the thirst for the original.
When he enters into a Byzantine chapel, he expects to find something
apocalyptic in its paintings, something original, something which
presents mystical things, while he can pass by a great European
gallery, without satisfying this type of desire. It is, however, in
the first drawer who drew "without prototype"-according to the
image-where the true prototype is found, where the combination of
colors and forms are not new, within a perception appointed from
before nature, but it is the presentation of worlds and feelings by
totally spiritual means, with the indefinite pulse of the hand, a
bowing of the head, clothing where the threads disappear in an air
which blows beyond the earth, a color which reminds of the depth of
the sea, an exotic rock, a wild tree which brings you the mystical
composition of the world. The colors and the forms retain their
evocative power because they are not recreated by the artist to
represent something natural, but they are utilized in such a way that
their identity and their apocalyptic power becomes more intense.
Whoever feels this will be left passionless to the external charms and
pointless perfections.
The works of Byzantine art are the most apocalyptic man had done,
architecturally, poetically, musically and artistically: the "O
Gladsome Light," poem of Athenogenous the martyr, the rolling melody
of the Cherubic or Communion Hymns, immerse the soul into the mystical
half-light of the East. This mysticism has no relation to the infirm
mysticism of the North, but is full of health, happiness and richness,
even as it is ascetic and austere.
One rich example of apocalyptic drawing is the icon of Saint John the
Forerunner. This scene was created during the years of Turkish
occupation (Turkocratia), that is, a period condemned by art history.
Nevertheless, it is the most astonishing accomplishment! Saint John is
shown as a wild bird, a bird of prey, bony, with hands and feet of
sticks, sun-baked, with some great wings of a vulture. He stands
perched in a deserted place, on soot and dry rocks, in one hand he
holds the mystical hand blessing, and in the other he holds a paper on
which he writes his complaint, as if telling it to Christ who bends
down from heaven. In one corner, planted on a dry rock , is a wild
tree which is troubled, tortured, like the Forerunner, an oak tree
with a hatchet stuck into its trunk. His clothing is as green oil, a
symbolic color made to match the face that wears it.
How many times, I ask, was man made worthy to create such sights, such
fearful works as the Forerunner and the "O Gladsome Light," poem of
Athenogenous the martyr!
Original article in Greek is © "Astir," Athens,
Greece, and found in Volume 3 of the WORKS of Photios Kontoglou.