Opening that very first icon was like COMING HOME.
Chinese Art. Japanese Prints. French Impressionism. Native American Art. German Expressionism. I studied them all, tried them all, learned the styles. But no matter how good I got at, say, Chinese brush painting, I was not and never would be Chinese. I was aping some other culture’s artistic leanings from the outside. Always from the outside. Then I found icons.
The icon resonated deeply within me, not only a cultural coming home, but a spiritual one as well. It is the heart and soul of my own ancestors ways and beliefs, and mine as well.