Icons

 

I am not religious.  But I am.  I don’t believe in God.  But I pray every day and if I see a church, I stop inside, light candles for loved ones and say a prayer.  I can’t imagine that there is an entity that set down a moral code for a bunch of over-thinking apes.  But I read books about reincarnation, life-selection, and karmic lessons.  I knock on wood all the time to prevent horrible things from ever happening, to the point it annoys my fiance.

I took a test.  The test said I should be a neo-pagan.  But I just love going to Catholic churches and Orthodox ones too.  I am not a fan of the austere in religious places –  I want to see a lot of detail – ornate beauty, carvings, gold everywhere, stained glass, different styles and different ages mixed.  Giotto next to Caravaggio…  Naples is heaven to me. So is Rome…

When I was at one of the low points in my life, having left a relationship because I couldn’t settle down, couldn’t accept being in my life and feeling lost, I started using a lot of adderall to get through the day.  So much so that it eroded the remaining part of my connection to friends and work and I just sort of collapsed.

I went to Wisconsin and spent about 10 months there.  At first I fell further down the rabbit hole.  I had NO friends.  I did talk to my mother and stepfather, but pretty much nobody else. And I was kind of relieved. I just turned 30, and I felt the world was not for me. I wanted the spirit in my body to leave, because I thought it was just not ready to be in this life, and I wanted a “walk in” spirit to come in and take over. There was just too much strife in this human being I had become and not enough strength and will to get to the other side of the troubles I had. I implored God to give me a stronger spirit to manage.

Then I started creating images – images that got me through. First it was flowers. And then the forest. But shortly after that, I started creating images of Jesus. And after practicing with all that color and joy of the flowers and the forest, Jesus ended up looking like this:

It wasn’t like I started believing in Jesus, but it was more like he was a reference for me. A starting point of someone who signified a savior- an indestructable source of strength. But somehow goofy. He had a sense of humor, hence all the color. I guess I believe that if Jesus is just grim, that’s a problem. Love means light and color and enjoyment of life along with caring about each other through suffering. God is Love. God is not just suffering.

The Dali Lama said if you want to reach an enlightened state, start with the religion you were born into. There are lots of roads to enlightenment. Best to begin with home, or what feels familiar. But if that doesn’t work, then Buddhism is a wonderful option if you so choose. I was christened Episcopallian. My dad is an athiest Jew. My mom’s mom was Italian Catholic, my mom’s dad was German Lutheran. They compromised. They chose the Church of England for their children. So, without having a drop of English blood in me, I ended up one of the frozen chosen.

As I have gone through rough times in the past, I have often turned to praying. It probably comes from my mom. When her brother died in the late 70s, we started going to church. Before then, we never went. I did get christened, but never confirmed. Then in 1978, all of a sudden, my sister and I were going to church on Sundays and even to Sunday school. I don’t remember really enjoying it, but I do remember before going to bed at night, obsessively saying good night and blessing God, Jesus, The Archangels, The Angels and then all the people and probably the animals the plants and microbes. Before bed. Or else.

I imagined the holy spirit was watching over me at night – a bearded old man spirit, undefinable, praying over me…

When I hit problems in life after that major falling apart, I seemed to always end up in churches. Almost always Catholic churches. Sometimes Episcopallian ones, but I was drawn to Catholic churches more because of their energy and the art of them. And IN them.

I got really really depressed in 2013. Or rather, I ALMOST got really really depressed. I wasn’t working and I hit this huge emotional wall where I just knew a round of serious beating myself up would occur, probably followed up by a collapse of will, disinterest in everything, isolation and low self esteem that could have potentially been a big downward spiral – except for that I just said NO. As soon as I felt the wave cresting, I got on the internet and out of the blue, just because I always wanted to… I bought a ticket and booked a hotel in Rome. And a day and a half later I was in Rome. For 16 days. By myself. With no agenda.

And I went to about 1000 churches and museums and got on trains to Florence, Naples and Venice for day trips. I saw the Sistine Chapel, all the Berninis and Caravaggios, and hopped a hydroplane to Procida to sit on a cliff overlooking the Tyrolean Sea.

And I did NOT get depressed. What I got was a renewed fascination for art. And life.

I wasn’t exactly art-illiterate when I went to Rome, but I didn’t know much. I couldn’t tell you when things were made, or who were contemporaries exactly, or anything about the methods that the artists I knew employed. I knew some works, and some names of schools or periods. While there, I got my curiosity piqued. I learned what I could there, but came away with the understanding that there was a whole world I knew very little of and wanted to know more.

I saw a lot of religious art – because that was what art was for a long time. And a lot of the religious art was of icons. And the icons were old, kind of scary, but also kind of beautiful. The expressions on the people were not our saccharin images of loving saints looking on us endearingly. They were often intense or even cold expressions. Expressions of suffering. The people also were not particularly beautiful or appealing… or realistic. God wasn’t being presented as a loving huggy Barney kind of guy and his saints were not social workers comforting wayward children. Made me think of how we got to believe in the general idea of a kind, sweet God and a nice, clean Jesus. Saints that are good people who do nice things. Because in reality we shouldn’t have those images at all… Christian God is not really that nice, Jesus will send a hell of a lot of people to, well, Hell… Forever. Because of things most of us actually do. And don’t really have a problem with. And most Saints, when you really look at them, maybe aren’t people you want to hug.

But what do I think? If I take an honest look, who do I venerate? And why? I realize that I am afraid of God. If there is an all powerful being who has a lot of power over me and controls my destiny, I really don’t want to piss him off. But does that mean that I hold that scenario to be sacred? Do I love that idea of God? Honestly, no.

In order to examine my feelings about Religion and Art, I have been creating a series of “Religious” paintings. Often small Icons (5”X7”) that are to be displayed together. Here are just a few of them:

This is an image of a saint of agriculture and fertility. He is inspired by an ancient Middle Eastern artifact of a man holding a staff that is turning into vines symbolizing the power to grow things.

Thinking about death brought me to this guy. St. Michael is generally know as the patron saint of death, but St. Joseph is the patron saint of a peaceful death – given to someone who lives a life dedicated to serving others. So, here is St. Joseph coming to greet you at the gate.

This Angel below is inspired by the idea of allowing yourself to experience strong raw emotion – an angel there for you to help you experience your feelings, all the passion, and yet be protected. This is the strength to get through sadness, pain, etc without running away from it. This is NOT an angel of denial.

This is an image of a simple man who recognizes that he needs a lot more help getting through his life than our culture recognizes. A man looking up with humility. I did this version first, quickly, as a sketch for a larger version. In this version he has the same gold halo as a traditional saint. I think that anyone who shows humility brings something to interactions with other humans that is so healthy and good. Therefore, for me, he’s a saint.

Here he is again, in a much larger version, but without the gold. This is an unfinished canvas, but I just had to stop – he seemed perfect as he is. He doesn’t need the halo.

The final image below is not exactly an icon, but is treated as such. It’s a portrait of Rasputin. He’s often talked about as one of the most vile people who lived – a self-serving, sex-obsessed huckster who wormed his way into the Russian royal family shortly before their downfall and controlled them, manipulating politics and causing mayhem. But maybe not.

Upon further research, it turns out that he often took from the rich (Boylars who he had information on or whom owed him favors) and gave to the poor… He emphatically urged Nicholas not to participate in a war with Germany – unheeded advice which took the lives of 4 million Russians. He also believed that all races and religions were equal in the sight of God and was outspoken against anti-Semitism. He does appear to have been woefully self-serving, and somewhat of a sex-fiend and possibly alcoholic, but he wasn’t Manson hypnotizing the royals and getting them to do his murderous bidding.

And, apparently, he often saved Nicholas and Alexandra’s son, Alexi. Somehow he had powers that really aren’t disputed or explained. A near dead Alexi, dying from hemophilia, just miraculously heals – not once, but several times, due to Rasputin? And he predicted the downfall of the ruling class of Russia and the deaths of all the members of the Royal family. I am not sure that is a bad thing… From what I have read, the Tsar and his wife come off as provincial, almost simple-minded autocrats with almost no compassion for anyone but their friends and family. Kind of like the rich Manhattanites who step over homeless people their companies fired for no cause on their way to the limo to the Hamptons. Not particularly likeable.

This image to me is this holy, powerful outsider – St. Rasputin. A carnal, yet mystical being who came into the royal family’s life able to protect them… if they listened. And they didn’t. Alexandra is shown in the afterlife  with Rasputin, in an expression of anguish, mourning her son, who died not from his illness which Rasputin protected him from, but from a gunshot wound by anonymous Bolsheviks… those homeless people who took power and anihilated the rich.

Portrait of Rasputin (24″ X 24″) Acrylic, charcoal and dye,  Silk and canvas board on Wood.

This series of icons is unfinished and I plan to show a lot more of them in an upcoming show, which I will write about next time…