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The following article originally appeared in the ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS on July 1, 1991. It was written by Gary Massaro. It is printed with permission. Painter prays for strength to persevere Multiple Sclerosis stills the brush of Denver Russian Orthodox icon artist Thirty years ago, Lev Lominago knelt in prayer and received his first sign from God. Today, he sits in a wheelchair, waiting for his second. The walls of his south Denver home are filled with his work -- portraits, Russian folk art, icons. All are unfinished, awaiting the last layers of paint to be applied as carefully as the first, feather-soft strokes. Lominago, 47, worries that he'll never be able to finish. Advanced stages of multiple sclerosis have stilled his brush. Lominago worked on only one icon last year, but was unable to finish it. "It's a burden," he says. "I was born to be an artist." Lominago, who fled religious persecution in the Soviet Union, has painted icons at Denver's All Saints Russian Orthodox Church. He was trained at a monastery near Pskov. He also was trained at a Soviet state school, but fell in disfavor when he wanted to paint religious themes. "There was only one real way," he says. "I was working for God. I had money. I was doing the right thing." He and Natasha, his wife, left in 1973. If Lominago were still in the Soviet Union, the state would care for him. Here, he must get by with help from friends. "I pray every day to find the right answer," he says, selecting his words as carefully as he once did the natural pigments when he was able to mix paint. It was prayer that led Lominago to become a painter of holy pictures. In 1961, he was kneeling before a crucifix in Leningrad, praying for guidance. The cross was draped with a shawl, which brushed across Lominago's head. It was symbolic as well as spiritual - when Russian Orthodox people go to confession, their priest offers forgiveness by placing his shawl over their heads. Lominago went on to learn the art of icons. Russian authorities accused him of "religious fanaticism." Natasha also prays. "Maybe a miracle will happen - a new drug - and he will finish his work," she says after wheeling her husband's wheelchair into the family room. His legs tremble so the metal chair rattles. Natasha places a hand on each knee until the shaking stops. Then she drapes a plaid blanket over his legs. "It is very hard for us to believe this is the end," she says. "He should be in the prime of his work."
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