The
Gold – for all the Icon Painters.
Creativity
is a path to silence, reflection, spirituality
Being
in touch with my soul
Trying
to express God’s creation in paint
Abstract
landscape
Weather
Trying
to depict infinity
A
quick path
To
this concept
Is
Flat
gold
This
is too easy
On
an icon
Gold
equals Infinity Space
Palimpsest,
proplasmos
Ah
such an easy answer
Although
it took someone else to tell me this
I
have spent a year and a day
Ever
since that fog bank in Orkney
Trying
trying trying
To
depict liminal space
Perhaps
I have been looking for Purgatory?
The
space between Heaven and Earth
Between
dying and reaching Heaven
A
place of purification
Like
the court of the Gentiles outside the Temple in the Old Testament
Like
standing next to the veil of the Temple
Trying
to look through it but not being able to
The
Sanctuary doors in Orthodox Christian churches
The
rood screen in the Cathedral
hiding
my Daughter from eyes so she may sing un-gazed upon apart from by God
Impenetrable
like the fog bank
In it
yet unable to touch it
Between
two solid states of being but not at either one.
Anyway
all this head scratching has led where exactly?
Flat
Gold
That’s
where
I’m
angry.
Is
this a joke?
A
mythical year and a day odyssey?
Searching,
painting, experimenting, drawing, glazing trying
And
may I say failing?
To
create the perfect fog bank
The
perfect cloud
The
perfect Smokey light
The
perfect untouchable unapproachable light of God – light of Heaven
Infinity
space
The
perfect balance of play between shadows and light
What
is it?
Its
flat Gold
Easy
peasy – no skill in that
Stick
on the gold - et voila!
Infinity
space
I
could scream
Why
exactly have I spent a year and a day playing with light?
Just
paint it gold.
It’s
so tacky
It’s
so easy
So
skill-less
So unimaginative
So trite
So
bling
And
yet on an icon its none of those things
It’s
perfect
Its
perfection
It
reflects the sky
The
dark
The
light
The
mist
Then
shadows.
It reflects
me
O
It
reflects me
Looking
at it, looking into it
It
really is infinity space.
The
creator looks back through the golden light through the reflection of their
creation.
Bonkers
amazing wonderful
But
what am I now going to do with eighteen painted boards filled with unfulfilling
infinity space?
Perhaps
I can paint icons on them?
Ah
this is painful,
This
hurts
This
is sore
This
is miserable
I’m miserable
I’ve
spent a year and a day
In
black
Pretending
to be miserable because I’m not miserable
Dad
is dead
And I’m
ok
I
don’t have to be frightened any more
I
don’t have to watch what I say
I
don’t have to be judged or criticized
I
don’t have to be kind or polite
or
never ever say what I think
I
don’t have to deal with and work round his obsessive compulsive locking and keys
His
accusations and delusions, his depressions his autistic behavior, his rudeness.
These
things which I must never, ever, ever say out loud.
I do
not ever have to circumnavigate him ever again.
My
spirit sighs with relief
I
can relax he is not here and he will never be here again.
He’s
gone,
He’s
really, really gone.
And I’m
free to be me
Damascene
moment.
God
is in the Gold.
I am
free to be me.
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