If you listen to NPR on Saturdays you might hear the word puzzle show called Says You!. On it, panelists are asked to guess the definitions of obscure words. Saturday, one of the words was "ophthamolophilia" -one panelist guessed it meant being in love with your eye doctor, but in fact it means love of being stared at. I'll be on the lookout for chances to drop this in conversation.

The panelists would have had fun with some of the terms I've learned reading about icons. Virgin Glykophilousa? It's a term applied to certain icons classified as Virgin Elousa in which Mary bends tenderly to touch her cheek to the cheek of the infant Christ. Glykophilousa is from the Greek and means "sweetly kissing." There are seven different descriptors, all of Mary icons, each referring to a special way she is posed. This is Virgin Hodegetria - image of Mary holding the infant Christ on her left arm with Christ grasping a scroll with one hand and make a gesture of blessing with the other. This dates from the 13th century and is actually tempera and silver leaf on panel with pigmented glazes over gesso and parchment on panel. Scholars think this was made as a personal devotional piece and brought to Sinai during a pilgrimage, and then offered as a gift to the monastery. (Icons from Sinai, Robert Nelson and Kirsten Collins, J. Paul Getty, p. 141)

How about this one, below? The inspiration for Led Zeppelin perhaps? This dates from the late twelfth century and is based on St. John's Climacus' writings, "The Heavenly Ladder." As you can see, climbing those thirty rungs isn't that easy, with devils tempting you and causing some to fall along the way. As you can see, in the lower right a group of intercessors send up prayers to help the strugglers. And the guy second from the top in the fancy clothes? Evidently, it's the archbishop Holy Antonios who might have been either the donor or the recipient of this icon. (Didn't quite get the message about not being concerned with worldly things, I guess.)



One more thing - while it's obviously made to inspire, not entertain, you have to get a kick out of the devil giving this poor guy a rap on the head with his mallet.



I'll get back to more recent artworks later in the week, but I couldn't help but spend a little more time enjoying these creations. The time, the patience to make these amazes me. What do you think?

While museums are great places, there is something to be said for seeing art in the place it was created, or at least NEAR the place. Maybe your appreciation is enhanced when more of your senses are involved (bus fumes, aching feet, coming in from the heat of the streeets). I remember the excitement of visiting Akrotiri in Santorini, and being so disappointed to learn that the mosaics uncovered there had all been moved to the museum in Athens. When we followed up a week later and saw them there, somehow they had lost a little of their enchantment.

Have any of you been to Sinai? I have not. Above is the monastery of St. Catherine's which houses the world's most important collection of Byzantine icons.

Get ready for this title: Archangel Michael with Donor Monk. I found these images in a beautiful book called Icons from Sinai by Robert Nelson and Kirsten Collins, but I have to say I chuckled to come across this description of the icon, depicting "the relatively diminished scale of the anonymous monk" who kneels before the archangel. Relatively diminished? I'd say so.

Although this dates to the 13th century, there does seem to be something contemporary about it, don't you think? What is it? The flatness, the expressionist lines of the wings and tunic, and I suppose that interesting way of playing with scale. What do you think?

It is fascinating to read about the details I'd never have noticed. Evidently archangel Michael is often depicted in court garb, but here he wears a purple tunic, dark blue mantle, and red shoes, which apparently are usually reserved only for the Byzantine emperor. Apparently Michael was important enough in Byzantium to have two feast days set aside for him.

Two possibilities are offered for the archangel's pose - the stance may call to mind the angels at Christ's baptism, who hold the clothes he will wear after he emerges from the Jordan; or the icon-maker was referring to the participants at the Divine Liturgy (Byzantine tradition) who receive the Eucharist with covered hands. (p. 151)

I'm not sure it matters that we'll never know what the intention was. It's just remarkable that something made with tempera on wood is still here at all.