I once thought that icons were painted like paintings. Quickly, with energy, with imagination guiding the artist’s hand. I thought that talent, technique and skill with the brush were the most important things.
Only later did I understand how wrong I was.
An icon is not simply painted. An icon is written. This is what the old masters repeat, and this is what tradition teaches. But what does it actually mean in practice?
It means that an icon is not created in a hurry. It is not an ordinary painting or a decoration. It is a path. Every layer of paint, every contour, every light on the face and every fragment of gold requires focus, silence and inner presence.
Writing an icon begins long before the first brushstroke. It begins with preparing the wooden panel, the ground, the drawing, the pigments and the egg tempera. It also begins with stillness. With accepting that this process cannot be controlled as easily as we might wish.
What is the difference between writing an icon and painting a picture?
In painting, the artist often searches for their own language, individual gesture, emotion and interpretation. In an icon, it is different. Here, the creator does not stand at the centre. The icon is meant to lead beyond itself, toward what is spiritual.
This is why we speak of writing an icon, not only painting it. It is a process close to prayer, meditation and attentive craftsmanship. You mix egg yolk with water and pigment. You apply thin layers of egg tempera. You correct the same contour many times, not because you are searching for photographic realism, but because you are searching for light.
In an icon, light is not only a painterly effect. It is a symbol of presence. It reveals the face, orders the form and gives the whole work its spiritual dimension.
The spiritual dimension of writing an icon
Writing an icon teaches patience. Levkas must dry. Egg tempera does not like haste. Every layer needs its own time. The process cannot be rushed without losing its depth.
It also teaches humility. An icon is not only a personal expression of the artist. It is an image rooted in tradition, prayer and symbolism. It is not about demonstrating one’s artistic skill, but about serving an image that is meant to lead toward silence, focus and contemplation.
It also teaches joy. A quiet, deep joy that appears when, after many hours of work, light begins to emerge on the face, when the halo starts to glow gently, when the whole icon slowly gains presence.
In the silence of the studio, among pigments, wood, gold and brushes, a person begins to slow down. The mind stops rushing. One begins to listen. Not only to what is happening on the surface of the icon, but also to what is happening within.
What changes while writing an icon?
Writing an icon often changes the way we see. Not only the image, but also ourselves.
You stop judging every movement of the hand. You begin to understand that imperfection does not cancel beauty. Every icon has its own path, its own rhythm and its own quiet process of becoming.
You learn to wait. For the layer to dry, for the right moment, for the calmness of the hand, for the light that appears only after many stages of work.
You discover that less is more. Sometimes a delicate shadow, one well-drawn line or a subtle highlight on the face can say more than an excess of details.
This process is not about perfection understood as flawlessness. It is about presence. About focus. About meeting silence.
An icon is not created in a hurry
In a world that has accustomed us to speed, writing an icon becomes a completely different experience. It asks us to stop. It asks us to put aside haste. It asks us to accept that not everything depends on an immediate result.
It is precisely in this slow rhythm that depth is born. In successive layers of egg tempera, in light gradually drawn out of darkness, in gold that does not dominate, but gently surrounds the whole with a quiet glow.
An icon matures together with the person who writes it. It requires patience, focus and delicacy. It does not allow mechanical action. It invites attentiveness.
Why write an icon?
Not in order to create an ordinary painting. Not in order to prove artistic skill. Not in order to see a quick result.
Writing an icon is a path. Sometimes difficult, sometimes demanding, but deeply beautiful. It teaches us to look more deeply. It teaches silence. It teaches that light does not appear immediately, but is born slowly, layer by layer.
Perhaps this is why icons have moved hearts so deeply for centuries. They do not shout. They do not impose themselves. They remain in silence.
And in this silence, we may hear more than we expected.
Final paragraph with gentle CTA
Each hand-written icon is created slowly, with focus and respect for tradition. If you would like to see more of my icons created in egg tempera, with gold leaf and natural pigments, I invite you to visit the Monnci Art gallery and contact me about available works or individual commissions.
