Iconography: Breath and Gold



St. Clare is under construction









I just wanted to reflect on the process I've been learning so far. My teacher, Betsy Porter, has been coaching us in the Byzantine style of iconography, which uses simple images and all natural ingredients. Her website includes extensive instructions, examples, and resources.


Betsy Porter with two of her icons

 So here is what I've learned so far, just in terms of the practical process.

First, choose an image. Betsy had a bunch of photocopies of simple line drawings of Maddonas, Christs, angels, and saints. I was wondering which to choose when she said to me, "You know, you can choose a generic saint and adapt it to whatever saint you like, by adding different symbols." I ended up choosing a female saint wearing a habit. My first thought was to make this into St. Clare of Assisi, as a way of getting to know my patron saint better. So I worked on replacing the original image's elements with details that reflect St. Clare. I decided on giving her the white  lily to hold in her right hand, and the book of the Gospel to hold at her chest in her left. Both are traditional elements for Clare. Betsy reminded me that what I was doing was rather unusual, since I'd be painting an Italian saint in a Byzantine style! We both thought that it was appropriate for a modern woman like myself.

After choosing and adapting the image, I used a photo-copier to size it to the wooden board, which is made of poplar and reinforced with oak rods to keep it from warping. The white gesso is made of natural pigment and rabbit hide glue. The surface is smooth as silk, and I am careful to keep it wrapped up when it is not being worked on, and not to touch the surface with my oily fingers. The next step is to trace the image onto the board using carbon paper, and measure out and trace the 3/4" border around the inside of the board. After that, you apply the red clay paint called 'bole' to the border and the halo area. Bole is of a thick heavy-cream consistency, and some iconographers make their own from clay, water, and animal hide glue. Betsy gave me a mixture of store-bought prepared bole mixed with her own clay. She added a drop of honey to the mixture on my palette, tellling me that the honey would help the gold leaf stick to the halo later on.

Betsy demonstrates cutting the gold leaf into triangular shapes
for application to the bole halo.

The spiritual significance of the bole is that the icon, which represents heaven, is grounded in the creative soil of the earth. The red bole border is the earth which the iconographer handles while creating the image of the Heavenly.

I was especially intrigued when it came time to apply the gold leaf to the halo, which was lesson number two. First, you must sand and polish the bole of halo to a mirror finish. I used waterproof 420-grit sand paper for this, and then Betsy let me borrow her burnisher, which is a beautiful tool with a wooden handle and a curved piece of polished stone on the end.

I apply the gold leaf with a soft brush.

You rub the sanded bole with the burnisher until it literally gleams. It is a very satisfying process, making the earthy red clay paint shine like a mirror.

Then, you stick the icon in the fridge for a few minutes, until the surface is cool. Betsy commented to me that the day I was applying the gold leaf was very appropriate, since it was a wet and stormy San Francisco day, and you don't want the air to be too dry or the gold will have a hard time sticking. Meanwhile, prepare your gold leaf by taking the small squares from their tissue paper booklet and sticking them to small squares
of waxed paper, cut to shape for this purpose. Then you cut the wax/gold sheets into small triangular shapes with little tails of paper. Now here's the cool part: you take your icon from the fridge. Sit down, get everything ready, and then lean in and blow from the bottom of your lungs (like you're cleaning your glasses) onto the surface intended for the gold. Condensation will form, and you quickly lay the gold over it before it dissipates, and the cold surface sucks the gold onto it. It looks amazing up close--I can't really describe it. I asked Betsy about the spiritual significance of this part of the process, and she said that the iconographer's breath is the creative breath of God blowing over the surface of the deep, like in Genesis. Reflecting back on this, I think it's fascinating that in this "drama" of icon creation, the iconographer is playing the "role" of God!

A stipling tool adds detail to the soft gold.

 The next step is to lay 2 layers of gold leaf, returning the board to the fridge as needed. Use a brush to adhere the gold to the surface, and brush flakes of gold toward the center of the halo. Afterward, use stipling tools or nail-setters to decorate the gold with a pattern, before it hardens into the paint. I had a fabulous time marking out a circular kind of rose-pattern on Clare's halo.


I guess that's it for now. See my previous post for a description of the most recent class, where I laid the first pigments to the image.

The finished decorated halo.

The results of last Sunday's work: all foundation colors
have been laid.

Iconography: "Smile, Jesus!"

I just completed my third lesson in iconography with teacher Betsy Porter at St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal this afternoon. Betsy was taking some pictures of students' icons in various stages of washes, floats, and highlights. She asked me to hold up one icon she just recently finished, of "Christ in Glory." I held it up, Betsy pointed the camera at it, and she said with that little wry smile of hers, "Smile, Jesus!" It didn't occur to me until I was on the train back to Davis that her commanding her icon to smile when she photographed it was a rather unusual thing. If the icon is usually understood to speak the unspeakable of the Divine to the gazer, can the icon also incorporate an earthly demand or two into its performance repertoire? I'm sure Jesus smiled for Betsy. All of us students always do what she tells us--Jesus should be no exception.

Today I laid the foundational tempera paints in large swaths over the board according to the design I had already drawn out. At first Betsy mixed the paints for me, but then after two or three colors, allowed me to scoop the tiny grains of natural pigment into the palate, add the egg yolk and white wine base, and dilute with water to the proper consistency. She showed me how to test the paint on a piece of white paper first, using the proper circular brushstroke. I'm not yet sure why, but the base paints need to be rather grainy. Betsy added iron red and sandy yellow orchre to the tones that will lay under the flesh and garments of St. Clare. Perhaps this is so the finer colors adhere to the board later on?

My lesson in brushstroke technique was economic but unforgettable. Betsy took the brush from me and said, "An iconographer never makes a stroke like THIS" (she sliced a straight line through the air). "That's not humble. Little circles. Little circles." She showed me how to fill in the color in a motled pattern, laying the paint so that it created a smooth, wet surface, with the granules of iron or clay spread evenly beneath. I immediately understood what she meant about not painting defining lines. The pigment will leave a streak on the board if you paint in long strokes, where what you want is the illusion of no strokes at all. Be self-effacing. This is not about you and your ego making a mark. This is about embracing the labor of the process, being patient.

I grew to rather enjoy the scent of egg yolk and white wine. Reminded me of French cuisine.

Pictures when I get my camera working again.