Early narratives: Nessebar, Bulgaria / Portrait of an icon painter

Contributed by Joya Stevenson / Like an icon, which shines forth the divine presence, so the village of Nessebar provides a window into a lost and magical world. Here, in southern Bulgaria on the Black Sea, not far from Istanbul (once Constantinople), Nessebar housed a cluster of some 40 churches dating from the 5th century to the 16th century CE, of which 15 have now been reconstituted from their archaeological remains. Some churches look like mini-fortresses with towers, decorated by concave arches and four-leafed flowers; others are plain, like rectangular houses. Inside, they are teeming with art. On the walls are frescoes illustrating gospel scenes. At the main apse in front of the altar, the Mother of God (theotokos), rather than Christ, is commonly found. 

Icons play a pivotal role in the Orthodox tradition, and Nessebar holds a splendid quantity dating to medieval times. Indeed, a renowned icon school was established there with its own distinctive aesthetic. In Nessebar church museums today, the visitor meets popular heroes: John the Baptist (winged like an angel, holding his own head on a platter since, historically, John was beheaded); Marina with her hammer (who demolishes dark demons); Constantine and Helena (who legalized Christianity in the empire); and Mary. The Madonna with child is copiously reproduced, with many stylistic iterations; in the Eastern Church, so is the Dormition, that is, her “falling asleep;” the scene suggests a death by direct ascent to heaven without the mundane agonies. 

Theological discussions, laced by Neoplatonism, describe an approved chain of transmission for iconography, vertically from God to the icon painter. A divine revelation is first given to a holy person, who paints a religious scene, generally based on the Bible, a saint’s life, or a pious legend. This original piece of art sets the pattern or prototype for the icon. The ordinary icon painter, in turn, paints a type from the prototype icon – like a copy – on wood. The prototype itself does not vary, while the icon (the type) transmits the divine revelation derivatively. The prototypes, stylized subjects and scenes, are canonical in the Eastern Orthodox Church. Icons are anonymous; no artist’s signature is allowed. In worship, icons facilitate theosis (divinization) inasmuch as the icon at its best facilitates an encounter with God.

While theosis sounds agreeable, theological concepts pale in comparison to the icons themselves, with their colorful vibrancy. In Nessebar, I came to appreciate the distinctive moods and personalities of the various icons. They evoked in me a nostalgia for childhood, when we used to inhabit the imagination fully, and images in art, like characters in story books, came alive as friends. 

Portrait of an icon painter: Sonya 
I met a contemporary icon painter named Sonya, whose icons are traditional in format yet richly expressive in color and style. Her career as an artist is intriguing, given her fortuitous call to icon painting and her persistence in developing her craft even when it was illegal in Bulgaria to do so. I present to you the highlights of our conversation, with thanks to Sofia, Sonya’s daughter, also an artist, who translated Sonya’s remarks from Bulgarian to English on her behalf. 

Sonya’s parents and grandparents arrived in Nessebar as refugees from Greece during the forcible migration after World War I under the Treaty of Neuilly-sur-Seine. Bulgarians and Greeks were required to live in separate national territories. “Bulgaria got smaller,” Sonya explained. “If you were Bulgarian, you went to Bulgaria, and if you were Greek, you stayed where you were, because now it was called Greece.” This was a political and not a cultural boundary; in antiquity, Nessebar had belonged to Greece. 

In their family house in Nessebar, as a young child, Sonya discovered by chance an old icon of St. George, patron of Bulgaria, and St. Nicholas, the wonderworker – who did indeed work a kind of wonder. “It was a very old house, and I found the icon under the stairs. I kept it and started trying to imitate it.” 

This lucky discovery ignited her fascination with icon painting, which she pursued secretly at home during Soviet control of Bulgaria from the end of World War II to 1989.  Christianity was outlawed; it was illegal to teach or make icons. Sonya taught herself by copying icons from catalogues or photographs sent to her by friends. In the meantime, after specializing in porcelain and glass at art school, she worked as a window dresser, designer, and decorator at a department store in nearby Sunny Beach. Dozens of her icons are now displayed at an art gallery, collectively owned, on Ivan Aleksandar Street, in Old Town, Nessebar. She continues actively to make icons today.

Regarding technique, icons are painted with tempera mixed with egg, the images sealed in wax. In Bulgaria, it is common to paint on thick, rectangular planks of wood left over from old houses. The wood is treated to prevent brittleness and decay. To render the subjects, Sonya absorbs herself in a single scene or portrait until it becomes vivid in her imagination. “It’s not crazy religious,” she says, “but the truth is, it is a very spiritual thing to do, like a ritual. I don’t pray to the icons but I look at them and meditate on them and they do become real.”

About the author: Joya Stevenson is a scholar of early Christianity and a writer on religious and spiritual topics, currently traveling and exploring the world.