The board upon which I am to write my icon of St. Francis sits on the table in front of me. It is blank like a clean slate. Prepared with prayer, layer upon layer of plaster gesso has been applied to this board made of birch wood and sanded to a smooth silky finish. White as snow, the board is unblemished and the work of creating a beautiful icon on it is daunting. Daunting because I am not an artist. Daunting because I know the story of this saint. I know that Francis was called by God to rebuild the Church. I fear that call and the demands of it. From my reading I know that Francis was converted through the power of the cross and that through prayer the sign of Christ’s suffering appeared on Francis’ hands, feet and side. I shiver at the thought and do not want to feel the suffering of Christ’s passion in such an intimate way. I also know that Francis transformed those around him with sacrificial love but I am afraid to love so deeply and with such abandonment. So it is with fear and trepidation that I sit at this table waiting.
The time to begin arrives. The class reads together the ancient rules for icon writing. “Before starting work, make the sign of the cross. Work with care on every detail as if you were working in front of the Lord. Pray in order to strengthen yourself physically and spiritually. Avoid above all useless words and keep silence. Pray to the saint whose face you are painting. To choose a color ask the Lord’s counsel. Do not be jealous of your neighbor’s work. When your icon is finished thank God for his mercy and grace to paint the Holy Images. Have your icon blessed on the Altar and be the first to bless it before giving it to others.” After the rules and to begin writing our icon we then say the prayer iconographers have prayed for centuries. The petition to “guide the hands of thine unworthy servant” resonate deep within me. At the end of the prayer silence fills the studio. I linger for a few more minutes mustering the courage and faith to begin writing this icon.
Taping the sketch to my board I take pencil in hand and using carbon paper begin to trace a broad outline of this ancient icon of St. Francis. Experience from writing my first icon last year has already taught me that this step of tracing the lines is important. I take my time. A thin ghostly outline begins to appear positioning the saint in the middle of the board. The shape of his head, the narrowing of his waist from the cincture, the length of his robe is now clearly established. Lifting the tracing to see the image I pause and take a deep breath. Before me lies the holy image of St. Francis I will paint and pray into being.
Icon writing is more like taking pen to ink than paint brush to palette. The strokes are small and intentional. Filling the brush with water and paint, a thin line of paint at the tip of the brush is desired. Layer upon layer of paint is applied with subtle strokes adding depth and dimension. And just as with the gesso, prayer soaks through it as well. Swirling my brush into a dab of paint the robe of St. Francis is the first to receive color--a dark earthy brown, mixed from black and red earth. The color Sankir is applied to the face and hands casting an ethnic hue. The shadowy figure lays flat and one dimensional. Teresa Harrison, our teacher, guides us through the next step of using varying shades of brown to give the robe texture and definition. Folds in the fabric start to appear. The marks of the stigmata in his side become faintly visible. From dark to light the robe begins to breathe. I can see the bend in St. Francis’ elbow. The collar of his robe brushes against his neck. The sleeve of his robe falls just above his wrist. This faceless icon is slowly coming into being.
The following day details of St. Francis form more fully. The gold oxide and Napthol red applied to the book of Holy Scripture Francis is holding in his left hand is a sharp contrast to the earthiness of his robe. Painting the cincture around the waist is challenging, the knot difficult. The twists and turns of the rope created from small “s” strokes do not allow the cincture to fall naturally against the robe. Mistakes are made. I forget to pray. I see no way out. But one of the great teachings of icon writing is that every error can be redeemed. It is possible to paint over your mistake and try again which is what I do. By doing so I remember and give thanks for the many times in my life when I have been given the grace to try again. With the gentle guidance of Teresa the cincture finally falls into place. A prayer of gratitude is said and I smile with satisfaction.
Choices about the halo now need to be made. Pondering my theology of suffering and glory I have to decide how much glory and how much suffering I want to see in this icon. I decide both are equally significant to the life, death and sainthood of St. Francis. The halo will be prominent and the stigmata obvious. Tracing the lines for the halo also establishes the borders and boundaries of the gold leaf that will later be applied. My hands tingle at the thought of applying the gold and hurt at the thought of painting the stigmata.
On the third day of icon writing our hands are blessed by Anne Bridgers, our Chaplain, and special prayers are said because on this day we will be painting the hands and face of our saint. This is the most holy of work and Anne reminds us of this. We start with the hands. Shades of flesh are applied giving them substance. Five fingers form as thin strokes of black oxide paint separate the thumb from the index finger, the middle finger from the ring finger, the ring finger from the little finger. Subtle bones appear beneath the flesh as faint lines of warm white and yellow light paint are applied to form knuckles and the wrist. I use my own hands as a model for how human hands are made by God. Stroke upon stroke the hands of St. Francis come to life. They are gentle and strong. The left hand holds Holy Scriptures. The stigmata on the palm of his right hand is visible as it is raised to bless. I feel this blessing and can sense the presence of God in these hands.
After tracing the lines of this saint’s face to establish hair, beard, nose, mouth, eyes and ear a smaller brush is used to distinctly define his features. The nose is straight and the mouth is closed. Hair, moustache and beard are neatly trimmed. The eyes which are the window to his soul open when careful strokes of paint are applied to the upper lid, lower lid, and iris. The brown of the iris, the whites of his eyes and the black of his pupils bring the eyes of St. Francis into focus. Gazing into these eyes it is as though St. Francis can see me and I can see this saint. Such awareness takes my breath away and causes my hands to hurt. Several tears fall unchecked down my cheek. This icon of St. Francis is beautiful and I cannot help but be captured by it. Whether I desired it or not I am being drawn into the life of this saint.
The remaining two days of icon writing are spent adding the details of shading, defining and applying the gold leaf. Black paint has been applied as a base for the halo so the glue for the gold will adhere. The way I see it there’s something theological about this. The gold when applied brings richness to the icon and burnishing the halo with a cotton ball makes it shine with glory. Five circles form the halo and when thin lines are etched deeply into the gold leaf with a sharp pick a black outline of each circle emerges.
The black of suffering and the gold of glory surround St. Francis in his halo. Based on Teresa’s icon I then create my pattern of a bird’s head which when repeated encircles St. Francis’ head and upper body. The effect is powerful. This saint who is famous for blessing animals is so identified by these birds. With thought and prayer I now know to choose antique green with swirls of pine green for the background. Adding the green sharpens the effect and adds the dimension of nature that I am also looking for in this icon. The color of raw sienna is applied to the edges and sides of the icon and Teresa adds a straight pencil thin black border with her special tool to perfectly frame it.
As I understand it an icon is not complete until it is named. I have some options but decide that name and place are important so I inscribe this icon with gold lettering “Saint Francis of Assisi.”
My usual tendency is to continue tweaking and working with something to get it just right but with this icon I have been prompted by the Spirit all week to seek simplicity. The icon does not need any of my finishing touches. By making fewer non-essential modifications and unimportant corrections this icon is done. I have done my work with it, prayed it into being, and now I must put down my paint brush and stop. This is harder than it sounds but I discipline myself to simply sit still and be with this icon as it is. It is good enough. It is finished. Before sealing it with a coat of polyurethane I offer this icon to God and give thanks for the mercy and grace experienced while writing it.
On the final morning of our workshop we gather in the Transfiguration Chapel to bless our icons and share together in receiving the body and blood of Christ at Communion. We place our icons before the Altar. Each one is holy and each one is unique. As our gift to one another and to God words of thanksgiving and affirmation are spoken aloud. Truly this week of icon writing has been transformational. We would all like to stay on this mountain top forever. But this is not the work we have been given to do. We are being sent out into the world. We must go back to being whoever it is that we are, wherever it is that we live. But we will not forget this week.
Now back at home my icon of St. Francis sits on a shelf in our living room. I place a votive candle in front of it. I light the candle. Flickers of light illumine the face of St. Francis. I sit gazing wondering what this saint has to say to me and my church and how God will speak through St. Francis to us in the years to come. The answers don’t come instantly and for now I know it is enough to simply sit and pray with St. Francis.