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The following article originally appeared as the cover story on Sunday Magazine in the ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS on April 15, 1990. It was written by Terry Mattingly. It is printed with permission.
The Icons and faith of Lev Lominago The hands of Lev Lominago use paint to create windows into heaven, for those who share his faith and vision. "What I do is like theology and scripture in colors and paint, not words . . . It is not like what some people call real art," said the Soviet émigré, America's only artist trained in the ancient, monastic traditions of Russian Orthodox iconography. "You can't paint whatever you want to paint, whenever you want to paint. It's like you are using a holy language." For members of Denver's All Saints of Russia Church, Lominago's presence has been both a blessing and a spiritual challenge. The congregation's tiny sanctuary at 3274 E. Iliff Ave., just east of the University of Denver, has a special radiance because of Lominago's art, which offers a symbolic link to Mother Russia. The interior includes his best-known work -- a glorious ceiling-to-floor iconostasis, or "image screen." But the church family also has seen Lominago wracked by Multiple Sclerosis and has wrestled with a question that cannot be avoided: Why would God let disease threaten such an artist's ability to create holy icons? No one, of course, has wrestled with this question more than Lominago and his wife, Natalia. On many days, he cannot even move his fingers. "Sometimes, this can go on for days," Natalia said. "When that happens, I just do not know how to describe such fear." Lominago gazed at his wife. He lay curled in a nearby reclining chair, covered with blankets in a chilly room containing dozens of his paintings. "Maybe what happens with the body is only a mirror of the soul. Perhaps this is a sign that Lev has some spiritual weakness," Natalia said. "But that is such a hard answer... "Lev is so weak. Maybe God wants to do a great work through him, because then people will have to see that it is of God . . . That would make it even more clear that Lev was just an instrument being used by God." RUSSIANS RARELY address such issues in public, preferring to hide such fears and faith in their hearts, said the Rev. Justin Feodorovich, pastor of All Saints parish, which is part of the Russian Orthodox Church in exile. "There always is a sense of the tragic in the way Russians see life . . . This can make them all so close-lipped," he said. "Often, Lev slides into a state of mind in which everything is simply God's will and that's the way it is . . . He has suffered so much in his life. You get the feeling that God has allowed him to pour that into his art." An almost mystical desire drives Lominago to pick up his brush whenever possible. Yet he also must paint for reasons that are as down-to-earth as medical bills. As a self-employed artist, his illness threatens his family's present and future. It is painful, he said, to think that these years could be spent painting only scenes of folk art, which sell quickly. So Lominago prays that God will send him sponsors to commission icons. He dreams of creating a final masterwork -- a large panel focusing on the life of Nicholas II, the czar killed by the Bolsheviks. The exiled church has canonized Nicholas as saint and martyr. The weeks before Easter are rich with images of discipline and suffering, but the season is also about hope, Lominago said. An iconographer has to believe that God has called him to create icons. This means believing that God can hear prayers for healing, for a period of remission. "Someday I believe God will untie me," Lominago said. "Someday, God will set me free from my chains and my weakness." EACH ROOM IN the Lominago home has been touched by Russia, paint and pain. Even the telephone nook of the south Denver home holds images of Russian saints and the Holy Family of Joseph, Mary and Jesus. Notes in the kitchen are scribbled in Russian. The den doubles as a studio, where a large west window often bathes a drawing table with sunset light that blends with the golds, reds and browns common in Russian art. The right light is even more crucial for Lominago than for most artists, since multiple sclerosis also has affected his eyes. Over the fireplace is a self-portrait. In the Russian style, Lominago's face is surrounded by a cloud of scenes from his life -- the first meeting with his wife, their wedding day, his work in the monastery. Lominago was born on July 17, 1944, in Sverdlovsk, in the Ural Mountains. He often reminds friends that his birth fell on the anniversary of the date that Nicholas II was executed in Sverdlovsk in 1918. Lominago's family moved to Leningrad in 1946 and, at age 11, he was admitted to the city's prestigious Academy of Art School for Specially Gifted Youth. He graduated from the Leningrad Art Institute in 1963. But it was in 1965, under the tutelage of the abbot of the Perchersky Monastery near Pskov, that he began clandestine studies in the art that changed his life. Iconograpy, in the Russian tradition, is learned one-on-one - with a student serving a master who is spiritual dirctor as well as instructor. At first, the techniques seemed easy, like plucking blossoms in a garden, Lominago said. Later, this mix of piety and paint felt like "working in a casket." But the panic passed. Today, he uses the artistic techniques of iconography in all his work, adding the rigors of prayer and fasting when he creates icons. Practicing true iconography in the Soviet Union, especially in the decades before glastnost and perestroika, was a shortcut to trouble. Thus, the Lominago family emigrated to the United States in 1974, aided by the International Rescue Committee. Lev married Natalia in 1968, and they have a daughter, Alina. Days after arriving in the United States, he was asked to undertake the iconostasis project in Denver. It took two years to finish the 38 icons, and some, he decided, had to be repainted. "Remember, I had just come to the United States," he recalled. "Life for me seemed surrounded by a kind of danger. I had no language. No money. No home. No nothing . . . "Then I am asked to come to this church. It was like I had been given a gift . . . It was like a miracle, a sign from God. I had done the right thing in coming to America. This was the right work for me." LOMINAGO'S STORY is impossible to understand without facing the complex symbolism and traditions behind Orthodox icons. An iconographer is much more than a painter, Feodorovich explained. It is an insult to say that they produce "religious art." For Orthodox believers, icons are seen as closer to scriptures than to mere paintings or sculptures, the priest said. Thus, the Orthodox insist that iconographers "write," not "paint," icons. "No matter where you look in a Russian church, you will see an icon that . . . serves as a reminder of what we can hope the heavenly kingdom will be like," he said. Some of the paintings in the iconostasis are 5 feet tall, with the three tiers of images leading to the crowning icon in any Russian Orthodox sanctuary - the icon called "Christ In Majesty." The faces are surrounded by gold and the features are drawn with no shading or shadows. "We believe this represents otherworldly light and there are no shadows in the kingdom of heaven," Feodorovich said, noting details. "The eyes are large, because these are people who have seen God. The noses are narrow and the mouths are small, because there is little need to breath, eat or drink in the presence of God." Lominago's role in this sacred scene is almost impossible to put into words, Feodorovich said. The iconographer's goal is truth, not realism. He seeks to preserve holiness, not his own talents. "We believe icons are like windows into heaven. But you don't so much look through an icon as it looks out at you," Feodorovich said. "These faces look out at us from another world and they have much to tell us, about ourselves and the world to come." The priest looked up at the icons, shaking his head in wonder. "How can we even imagine," he said, "what Lev is going through? Writing magnificent icons is part of his faith, as well as his art." Natalia Lominago said she has no doubts that her husband will be able to continue his work. She cannot imagine his life without this calling. "It is like I say to people -- Lev's life, right now, is on the tip of his paintbrush," she said. "His work is keeping him alive." But the artist himself said he believes there is one experience higher than the act of creating icons. Sometimes, he explained, he is able to use his own icons as windows to peace and hope. "Of course, I can look at these images and see all of my mistakes. I can see every brush stroke that is the slightest bit out of place," Lominago said. "But then there are times when I see them only as icons. For me, that is true joy. Sometimes, I can look up and I do not even see that they are mine. Those moments are a gift from God."
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