The Composer as Iconographer:

Art as Worship

by

Kenneth L. Field

Fall 2001

1. Introduction

The poet enters into himself in order to create. The contemplative enters into God in order to be created. [1]

In this paper I will explore the concept of the composer as iconographer. The end goal of the composer as iconographer is to let LOGOS be revealed through his music; in other words, to create a sound icon. The sound icon is discovered, or heard, in the practice of contemplative listening - a discipline of solitude, silence, and prayer. It is revealed through obedience, by letting the sound icon speak for itself. Arvo Pärt is a good example of the composer as iconographer. I will conclude this paper with a discussion of my own work.

2. LOGOS

In the beginning was the Word [logos], and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. [2]

This passage begins the Gospel of John in the New Testament. The disciple John, the author of this gospel, equates the Word, or LOGOS, with God. He also describes how the Word is the source of all creation. This passage’s similarity to the Genesis creation account, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…” [3] is unmistakable and clearly intentional. It should also be noted that John personifies the Word by using the personal pronouns “he” and “him” and not the impersonal pronoun “it” when referring back to the Word. A few verses later in the Gospel of John, the author specifically identifies the Word as Jesus: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.” [4] In his letter to the Church in Colosse, Paul identifies Jesus as the Creator:

He [Jesus] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by him all things were created … all things were created by him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. [5]

The IVP Bible Background Commentary describes how the word logos was understood in the Gospel of John:

The Greek term [logos] translated ‘word’ was also used by many philosophers to mean ‘reason,’ the force which structured the universe… By calling Jesus ‘the Word,’ John calls him the embodiment of all God’s revelation in the Scriptures and thus declares that only those who accept Jesus honor the law fully… Jewish people considered Wisdom/Word [logos] divine yet distinct from God the Father, so it was the closest available term John had to describe Jesus. … By declaring that the Word [logos] ‘was’ in the beginning and especially by calling the Word ‘God,’ … John goes beyond the common Jewish conception [that Wisdom/Word was created] to imply that Jesus is not created. [6]

The New Bible Dictionary states that the word logos was used by the Greeks, “to signify the divine power of function by which the universe is given unity, coherence and meaning… man is made in accordance with the same principle, and is himself said to possess Logos, both inwardly (… reason) and expressed in speech.” [7] So it is believed that it was this sense of logos that John was using when he equated Jesus with the Word. In other words, the Word, LOGOS, Jesus, and the Creator are all considered to be one and the same. In this paper I will use the term LOGOS to refer to this concept.

It is this LOGOS for which the composer as iconographer listens. LOGOS is the impetus for all sacred art. The late Henri J.M. Nouwen, a well respected Christian author and Catholic priest, puts it this way: “The Word [LOGOS] of God is born out of the eternal silence of God, and it is to this Word out of silence that we want to be witnesses.” [8] Understood in this sense, the artist is not truly creating anything but rather restating LOGOS through the filter of his own life experiences and giftings. [9] The message may emerge unclear and distorted; this is because the artist is human and imperfect. But if the artist has had a true encounter with LOGOS, then the light of this encounter should be discernible in his or her work. If the light of LOGOS is discernible in a created object, then that object is considered to be an icon. Leonid Ouspensky, an Orthodox theologian and the author of Theology of the Icon, goes as far as to equate the icon with the Word, or LOGOS. He writes, “… the ‘icon,’ according to the teaching of the [Orthodox] Church, corresponds entirely to the ‘word’ of Scripture.” [10] In the next section, the theological foundations of the icon will be examined.

3. Theological Foundations of the Icon: Revealing LOGOS

Paul Hillier, singer, biographer of Arvo Pärt, and conductor of Pärt’s choral music, writes that, “An icon asserts the interpenetration of God and the world.” [11] In other words, an icon proclaims the very presence of God among us. Therefore, one way that LOGOS is revealed is through the icon.

For the composer as iconographer, his hope is that his music can serve as an aural icon, or a ‘sounding icon’ as Hillier calls it, [12] through which the light of God can shine so those who hear it can have a deeper understanding of the knowledge of God and be ushered into his presence. I will refer to this type of icon as a sound icon.

Henri Nouwen, author of Behold the Beauty of the Lord, a devotional concerning four Russian icons, says:

… icons … are created for the sole purpose of offering access, through the gate of the visible, to the mystery of the invisible. Icons are painted to lead us into the inner room of prayer and bring us close to the heart of God. [13]

For the composer as iconographer, this could be rephrased in the following manner: sound icons are created for the sole purpose of offering access, through the gate of the audible, to the mystery of the inaudible. Sound icons are composed to lead us into the inner room of prayer and bring us close to the heart of God.

There are at least four different perspectives from which the icon can be better understood: 1) it is a window through which we get a glimpse of the creator and the world beyond; 2) it is a symbol of the divine; 3) it is a way of prayer and it is a prayer itself; and 4) it is liturgical art. I want to look at each one of these concepts briefly.

3.1 The Icon as a Window

Icons date from the first centuries of the Christian Church. Likenesses of Jesus, Mary, and the disciples were painted on wood for the purpose of worship. But it wasn’t the icon itself being worshipped but what the icon represented or pointed to that was worshipped. It was a window into heaven. Nouwen writes, “An icon is like a window looking out upon eternity. Behind its two dimensional surface lies the garden of God, which is beyond dimension or size.” [14]

The icon is central to the Orthodox faith. Although icons do have a place in Catholicism, it is in the Orthodox Church where they perform a central role in the Orthodox liturgy. One of the differences between the Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church is that the Catholic Church fathers emphasize listening while the Orthodox Church fathers emphasize gazing. [15] By gazing at the icon, we are in effect looking through a window into heaven. We are getting a glimpse of the divine, of the eternal LOGOS. It is not the icon that is divine, it is through it that the divine is beheld. Similarly, “The beauty of an icon is the beauty of the acquired likeness to God and so its value lies not in its being beautiful in itself, in its appearance as a beautiful object, but in the fact that it depicts Beauty.” [16]

C.S. Lewis explains how focusing on the window itself, in this case books or music, is missing the point:

The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it is not in them, it only came through them, and what came through was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited. [17]

By understanding the icon as a window, we are more concerned with whether the window functions properly than we are with the beauty and construction of the window itself. Rather, the primary concern should be if the window freely allows the light of God, LOGOS, to shine through.

3.2 The Icon as a Symbol

Ouspensky states, “We contemplate not only the face of Jesus Christ, but also His glory, the light of divine Truth made visible to our eyes by the symbolic language of the icon …” [18] In this way, the icon can be understood as a symbol, not a sign. The icon is a symbol of the divine. It is a pointer aimed at heaven, showing us the way. Ouspensky and Lossky put it this way in their book, The Meaning of Icons:

The symbol is not in the iconography, not in what is represented, but in the method of representing, in how it is represented. In other words, the teaching of the Church is transmitted not only by the theme, but also by the mode of expression. [19]

So for the composer, the question is whether the mode of expression makes a difference and if it does, what mode of expression should be used. How should the sound icon be constructed? What materials should be used? Ouspensky and Lossky also address this problem:

Both theology and iconography are faced with a problem which is absolutely insoluble—to express by means belonging to the created world that which is infinitely above the creature. … Therefore the methods used by iconography for pointing to the Kingdom of God can only be figurative, symbolical, like the language of the parables in the Holy Scriptures. (Italics mine.) [20]

If we follow this reasoning, then we must come to the conclusion that a sound icon must be constructed using symbolic and/or figurative language. How is this symbolic language different from language which simply signifies?

Everyday language frequently confuses the ideas of ‘sign’ and ‘symbol,’ as if they were identical. In fact, there is a necessary spiritual distinction between them. A sign only portrays reality; a symbol always qualifies it in a certain way, bringing forth a superior reality. To understand a symbol is to participate in a presence; to understand a sign is to translate an indication. (Italics mine.) [21]

Due to the symbolical nature of the icon, it is able to reveal God’s divine nature. This became possible because of the Incarnation, God becoming Man in Christ Jesus, who is both fully God and fully human. This is what made it possible for icons to exist. [22] That is why icons are so revered in the Orthodox tradition.

Thus the icon is placed on a level with the Holy Scriptures and with the Cross, as one of the forms of revelation and knowledge of God, in which Divine and human will and action become blended. Apart from its direct meaning, each alike is a reflection of a higher world; each alike is a symbol of the Spirit contained in them. Consequently, the meaning both of the word and of the image, their role and significance are the same. (Italics mine.) [23]

We see from this that the icon is considered on equal par with the Holy Scriptures and the Cross. It is one of the ways that God is revealed to us. If one is going to understand the relationship of icons and Orthodoxy, one must understand this central tenet.

3.3 The Icon as a Prayer

In prayer, in the creative process, these two parts of ourselves, the mind and the heart, the intellect and the intuition, the conscious and the subconscious mind, stop fighting each other and collaborate. Theophan the Recluse advised those who came to him for counsel to “pray with the mind in the heart,” and surely this is how the artist works. [24]

The very existence of an icon is a form of prayer. This is because it is created as a form of worship. And for it to be created as a form of worship, the creator of the icon, the iconographer, must be a worshipper—someone who acknowledges the Lordship of God; not just any god, but the God of the Old and New Testaments: the Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit—each Person of the Trinity reflecting a different aspect of the One God. [25]

But how does one worship God? It is by giving God glory in everything that we do, whether it be by singing songs of praise to him, by dedicating our lives and family to him, or by acknowledging his active presence in our mundane lives. There are many ways to worship God.

The icon is often venerated or prayed through, not prayed to. Many people carry a small icon with them to assist them in their quiet worship time with God. Ouspensky writes, “… the icon is both a means and a path to follow. It is itself a prayer.” [26] Arvo Pärt also feels that it is important to create an atmosphere that encourages reflection.

I think we must concern ourselves far more with pauses and reflection, and evoke this reflection and this condition of stability for people for whom we create our art. [27]

So by taking something material from our finite world, we are able to construct something that is both a prayer and a prayer guide.

Thus the Church gradually creates an art new both in form and content, which uses images and forms drawn from the material world to transmit the revelation of the Divine world, making this world accessible to understanding and contemplation. (Italics mine.) [28]

3.4 The Icon as Liturgical Art

Icons are central to the liturgical worship style of the Orthodox Church. They are considered liturgical art or sacred art revealing divinity, the eternal LOGOS. Ouspensky says, “The icon, in fact, is art, but it is above all liturgical art, a part of the liturgy.” [29] An icon is not simply a painting of a holy person. Ouspensky also says:

The icon is distinguishable from the portrait by its very content, and this content creates specific forms of expression which are characteristic of the icon alone and which distinguish it from other images. The icon indicates holiness in such a way that it need not be inferred by our thought but is visible to our physical eyes. [30]

Later on he goes on to say that, “A saint is a living icon of God. The painted icon is an external expression of this holiness, the representation of a man sanctified by the grace of the Holy Spirit.” [31] So if the painted icon can be an outward expression of holiness, it would seem that a sound icon should be able to accomplish the same thing.

Icons are meant to have a place in the sacred liturgy and are thus painted in accordance with the demands of liturgy. As does the liturgy itself, icons try to give us a glimpse of heaven. [32]

It is true that the icon of the Orthodox tradition is created under guidelines and rules that have been passed down for generations, but the iconographer still has some freedom within these boundaries.

The contemporary iconographer must rediscover the internal outlook of the iconographers of old and be guided by the same living inspiration. He will then find true faithfulness to Tradition, which is not repetition but a new, contemporary revelation of the internal life of the Church. Indeed, an Orthodox iconographer faithful to Tradition always speaks the language of his time, expressing himself in his own manner, following his own way. [33]

One of the claims of the Orthodox Church, is that icons are not understandable outside the context of the Church.

It is understandable that the basis of sacred art, its meaning and its content, can only be a subject of theology similar to the study of the Holy Scripture. Therefore, one can neither understand nor explain sacred art outside of the Church and its life. Such an explanation would always be partial and incomplete. In relation to sacred art itself, it would be false. [34]

Of course, this experiential explanation is difficult to prove with empirical evidence. Can those who are outside of the context of the Church or who are not familiar with the gospel story experience the divine? Another word for this type of revelation is grace. But for the Orthodox, the icon has a special place and authority.

It [the icon] unites two realities in itself: the historical, earthly reality and the grace of the Holy Spirit, the reality of the world and that of God. The purpose of sacred art is precisely to bear witness visibly to these two realities. It is realistic in these two meanings, and thus the icon is distinguishable from all other images, just as the Holy Scripture is distinguishable from all other literary works. [35]

3.5 Non-Traditional Perspectives of the Icon

In her book, Walking on Water, Madeleine L’Engle talks about icons from a slightly different perspective. Influenced by her Episcopal background, her views probably would not correspond directly with strict Orthodox theology; but they are valuable because they offer a wider perspective on the concept of the icon.

What is a true icon of God to one person may be blasphemy to another. And it is not possible for us flawed human beings to make absolute zealous judgments as to what is and what is not religious art. I know what is religious art to me. You know what is religious art to you. And they are not necessarily the same. Not everybody feels pulled up to heavenly heights in listening to the pellucid, mathematically precise structure of a Bach fugue. The smarmy picture of Jesus which I find nauseating may be for someone else a true icon. [36]

The Orthodox perspective would probably argue here that what is religious is not necessarily sacred. From L’Engle’s perspective, however, anything that causes one to worship, to have a deeper understanding of the One God, or to simply get a glimpse of the eternal mystery is an icon.

Since, L’Engle is an author and a storyteller par excellence, it is not surprising that she believes stories can be icons.

Stories, no matter how simple, can be vehicles of truth; can be, in fact, icons. It’s no coincidence that Jesus taught almost entirely by telling stories, simple stories dealing with the stuff of life familiar to the Jews of his day. Stories are able to help us to become more whole, to become Named. And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos we see despite all the chaos. [37]

Arvo Pärt, an Orthodox himself, expresses a similar view about other art forms:

I think there is a shared synaesthetic consciousness among painters, musicians, and choreographers. I am confident that one thing stands for all. One is all. [38]

Perhaps the Orthodox viewpoint is not as restrictive as it would seem. In the following quote, Ouspensky and Lossky seem to extend the net to cover other art forms as well, but it is unclear whether they would consider these icons or not.

Architecture, painting, music, poetry cease to be forms of art, each following its own way, independently of the others, in search of appropriate effects, and become parts of a single liturgic whole which by no means diminishes their significance, but implies in each case renunciation of an individual role, of self-assertion. From forms of art with separate aims, they all become transformed into varied means of expressing, each in its own domain, one and the same thing—the essence of the Church. In other words, they become various instruments of the knowledge of God. (Italics mine.) [39]

4. The Composer as Worshipper: Listening for LOGOS

A figure on the icon is not meant to represent literally what Peter or John or any of the apostles looked like, nor what Mary looked like, nor the child, Jesus. But, the orthodox painter feels, Jesus of Nazareth did not walk around Galilee faceless. The icon of Jesus may not look like the man Jesus two thousand years ago, but it represents some quality of Jesus … and so becomes an open window through which we can be given a new glimpse of the love of God. Icons are painted with firm discipline, much prayer, and anonymity. In this way the iconographer is enabled to get out of the way, to listen, to serve the work. [40]

Above all else, the composer as iconographer must learn how to listen. Bombarded daily with the voices and noises of television, radio, movies, music, our neighbors, our enemies, and the world outside our front door, we are not accustomed to putting ourselves in a position just to sit and listen to the silence.

It is a frightening thing to open oneself to this strange and dark side of the divine; it means letting go of our sane self-control, that control which gives us the illusion of safety. But safety is only an illusion, and letting it go is part of listening to the silence, and to the Spirit. [41]

And from this silence comes the eternal Word, LOGOS, the voice of the One God speaking directly to our hearts. True inspiration comes from this silent place, and the art that is birthed in this place truly comes from the heart and speaks more than we know. As L’Engle puts it:

… when the words mean even more than the writer knew they meant, then the writer has been listening. And sometimes when we listen, we are led into places we do not expect, into adventures we do not always understand.[42]

For the composer as worshipper, I would call this process contemplative listening, which in fact is a type of prayer. The prayer I am talking about here is where you listen for the still small voice of God (not where you bring a list of needs and requests to God, although this kind of prayer is important too). Contemplative listening is rooted in a disciplined spiritual life. Henri J.M. Nouwen points out that, “A spiritual life in the midst of our energy-draining society requires us to take conscious steps to safeguard that inner space where we keep our eyes fixed on the beauty of the Lord.” [43]

In order to take these conscious steps, one must decide to sustain a spiritual life and a worshipful attitude amidst the clutter and chaos of our lives. This is no easy task, but it involves spending time alone with God and tending that inner space. In his short book The Way of the Heart, Henri Nouwen describes this kind of spiritual life in terms of solitude, silence, and prayer.

Solitude shows us the way to let our behavior be shaped not by the compulsions of the world but by our new mind, the mind of Christ. Silence prevents us from being suffocated by our wordy world and teaches us to speak the Word of God. Finally, unceasing prayer gives solitude and silence their real meaning. In unceasing prayer, we descend with the mind into the heart. Thus we enter through our heart into the heart of God, who embraces all of history with his eternally creative and recreative love. [44]

If we actively seek out solitude, silence, and prayer, the daily pressures will lessen and we will become more free to listen. Madeleine L’Engle says, “When I am constantly running there is no time for being. When there is no time for being there is no time for listening.” [45] So in order to listen, we need to take time to just be.

I am going to look at the spiritual disciplines of solitude, silence, and prayer as described by Henri Nouwen in his book, The Way of the Heart, because I believe this kind of spiritual life leads to more sensitive hearts and minds that are ready and willing to listen.

4.1 Solitude

Solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self. Jesus himself entered into this furnace. There he was tempted with the three compulsions of the world: to be relevant …, to be spectacular …, and to be powerful … There he affirmed God as the only source of identity. [46]

These three compulsions — to be relevant, spectacular, and/or powerful — are some of the greatest temptations for the composer. For the composer as iconographer, giving in to these temptations lessens the iconic quality of the sound icon. To give in is to deafen oneself to the voice that is heard in silence.

Nouwen writes, “The iconographer’s first concern is not to make himself known but to proclaim God’s kingdom through his art.” [47] So we can see that solitude, “… is the place of conversion, the place where the old self dies and the new self is born, the place where the emergence of the new man and the new woman occurs.” [48]

In solitude, we close our ears to the many voices of the world outside, and put all our attention on the One who loves us. [49] “In solitude we listen and wait to ‘hear’ the voice of the One who loves us and who calls us to deeper love.” [50] In solitude we are purified and transformed and the result is a heart filled with more compassion for our fellow travelers. [51] Nouwen concludes this section with:

The goal of our life is not people. It is God. Only in him shall we find the rest we seek. It is therefore to solitude that we must return, not alone, but with all those whom we embrace through our ministry. [52]

For the composer as iconographer, his ministry is not only to the poor and needy, but it is in letting the LOGOS that God speaks to us in solitude be birthed.

4.2 Silence

Silence is solitude practiced in action. [53]

Out of silence, out of the void, God spoke the Word, LOGOS. [54] As Henri Nouwen writes, “Silence is the home of the word. Silence gives strength and fruitfulness to the word. We can even say that words are meant to disclose the mystery of the silence from which they come.” [55] So the Word spoken out of silence is like an icon pointing us to the mystery of silence. Silence teaches us to speak. The word spoken out of silence is more powerful than the one that is not. The word spoken out of silence is more fruitful than the one that is not. [56] “… our ministry must also point beyond our words to the unspeakable mystery of God.” [57] For the composer as iconographer, the music must point beyond itself to this unspeakable mystery. For this to be accomplished, the composer must be willing to step out of the way, and let the music speak for itself. That is why a spiritual discipline of solitude, silence, and prayer is necessary. If the music speaks for itself, in other words, if LOGOS is being revealed in the work, then the listener may be able to hear past the music and find an inner place deep is his or her heart where it is safe.[58] If the listener is able to get a glimpse of LOGOS, then:

… it can indeed shatter huge walls of fear and open up unexpected perspectives. Such a word then brings with it the divine silence from which it came and to which it returns. [59]

In this way, the word spoken from silence can bring healing. It is a necessity that we curtail some of the busyness that overwhelms us so that we are more able to hear the Word spoken in silence. [60] This kind of silence is not necessarily an absolute silence that we impose on ourselves, for this is difficult to achieve in our noisy world, but it is essentially a “quality of the heart” that is present with us always. [61] Nouwen concludes this section with:

It is to this silence that we all are called: words are the instrument of the present world, but silence is the mystery of the future world. [62]

4.3 Prayer

Solitude and silence are the context within which prayer is practiced.[63]

Prayer is standing in the presence of God with the mind in the heart; that is, that point of our being where there are no divisions or distinctions and where we are totally one. There God’s Spirit dwells and there the great encounter takes place. There heart speaks to heart, because there we stand before the face of the Lord, all-seeing, within us. [64]

We are so used to thinking of prayer as a wish list from God. In fact, this kind of prayer is often from God, because he is motivating our hearts to ask for the things which he desires for us. [65] But this kind of prayer is only a glimmering of what real prayer is about. Another misunderstanding is to think that prayer is primarily an intellectual activity located in the mind. This kind of prayer often reduces us to thinking about God rather than praying to God. [66]

Henri Nouwen points out that, “The crisis of our prayer life is that our mind may be filled with ideas of God while our heart remains far from him. Real prayer comes from the heart.” [67] If we are praying from the heart, then it becomes difficult to hide our fears and inadequacies, and we are forced to accept the unconditional love that is freely offered. We come to see the truth with a clearer vision and the falsehoods about ourselves, others and God fall away. [68] What this leads to is real communion with God. And as the falsehoods fall away about ourselves and others, our compassion and love for them is elevated far beyond what we are capable of in ourselves.

To summarize, the composer as iconographer must avoid the temptations to be relevant, spectacular, and powerful, but rather make a choice to practice the spiritual disciplines of solitude, silence, and prayer. This conscious choice cultivates what I call contemplative listening. It is in this place that LOGOS is heard. Once LOGOS is heard, the composer must decide whether this word should be proclaimed, and if so how. This is accomplished through obedience.

5. The Composer as Iconographer: Proclaiming LOGOS Through Obedience

It is in silence where LOGOS is heard. Once it is heard, the iconographer must be obedient to it. Madeleine L’Engle writes at length about the relationship of faith and art and about the interaction between the art and the artist. She says:

Obedience is an unpopular word nowadays, but the artist must be obedient to the work, whether it be a symphony, a painting, or a story for a small child. I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of genius or something very small, comes to the artist and says, “Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.” [69]

It is in this process of enfleshing, of giving birth that the iconographer must be obedient to the Word. If we don't obey the Word we have heard in silence, it is likely to disappear forever like a dream not written down on paper. Madeleine L’Engle writes about her own experience.

If the work comes to the artist and says, ‘Here I am, serve me,’ then the job of the artist, great or small, is to serve. … Over the years I have come to recognize that the work often knows more than I do. … When the artist is truly the servant of the work, the work is better than the artist … When the work takes over, then the artist is enabled to get out of the way, not to interfere. When the work takes over, then the artist listens. … Getting out of the way and listening is not something that comes easily, either in art or in prayer. … We must work every day, whether we feel like it or not; otherwise when it comes time to get out of the way and listen to the work, we will not be able to heed it. [70]

As was discussed above, an icon must be created with symbolic and figurative language. This is because the iconographer must use the finite to point to the infinite. Ouspensky states, “Man can … create an external icon, making use of matter which surrounds him and which has been sanctified by the coming of God on earth.” [71] For the composer as iconographer, this “matter” consists of pitch, duration, tempo, rhythm, articulation, timbre, form, and countless other particulars that are audible to the human ear. But it is in the way these elements are combined that makes the work iconic. LOGOS is “transmitted … by the mode of expression,” [72] not the notes themselves. Are there particular modes of expression that are more iconic than others? What modes of expression have other composers who see themselves as iconographers used? This will be explored in the next section.

For the composer as iconographer, he must write music with the mind in the heart. This is the only way to obey LOGOS and work out of the true self that finds its identity in the One God.

In art we are once again able to do all the things we have forgotten; we are able to walk on water; we speak to the angels who call us; we move, unfettered, among the stars. We write, we make music, we draw pictures, because we are listening for meaning, feeling for healing. And during the writing of the story or the painting or the composing or singing or playing, we are returned to that open creativity which was ours when we were children. We cannot be mature artists if we have lost the ability to believe which we had as children. An artist at work is in a condition of complete and total faith. [73]

6. Composers as Iconographers: Pärt and Field

In this section, I will look at the work of two composers who consider themselves to be iconographers: Arvo Pärt and myself.

6.1 fratres (1977, 1983, revised 1991) — Arvo Pärt

I have discovered that it is enough when a single note, or silent beat, or a moment of silence, comforts me. I work with very few elements, with one voice, with two voices. I build with the most primitive materials—with the triad, with one specific tonality — Arvo Pärt [74]

Arvo Pärt developed his new tintinnabuli style after converting to Russian Orthodoxy in the mid-seventies. [75] fratres was originally composed in 1977. There have been many versions that have been published since then. This one, the version for string orchestra and percussion, was first published in 1983 and revised in 1991. [76] fratres, which means ‘brethren,’ [77] is an early example of this new style. Concerning this work and his new style Arvo Pärt and his wife Nora say:

Nora Pärt: While other composers habitually include all possible—and impossible—musical means into their composition from the very start and paint with ‘colors,’ Arvo draws…
Arvo Pärt: …in black and white.”
Nora Pärt: And this is also the reason for the existence of so many different versions of Fratres. Right from the beginning, the concept of Fratres was not conceived with a particular color in mind. [78]

This work exhibits the basic characteristics of the tintinnabuli style (which means ‘small tinkling bell.’): [79] 1) a drone in the bass; 2) a T-voice (or tintinnabuli-voice); 3) an M-voice (or melodic voice); and 4) homorhythmic movement of the T-voice and the M-voice. [80]

Symbolically, there could be many interpretations of Pärt’s tintinnabuli style. Hillier gives the following interpretation described by Pärt himself.

In one of our discussions about tintinnabuli, Pärt described to me his view that the M-voice always signifies the subjective world, the daily egoistic life of sin and suffering; the T-voice, meanwhile, is the objective realm of forgiveness. The M-voice may appear to wander, but is always held firmly by the T-voice. This can be likened to the eternal dualism of body and spirit, earth and heaven; but the two voices are in reality one voice, a twofold entity. [81]

fratres starts with a drone (see Figure 1) [82], a perfect fifth played on A and E, is played by the contrabasses and the cellos. This roots the tonality solidly in A minor. This drone seems to assert the eternal presence of God, never ending and unchanging. At the same time, the claves and a bass drum beat out a rhythmic introduction that is repeated every time before the 6 measure phrase of the work. The claves and bass drum also end the work with the same pattern.

The six measure phrase mentioned above is played nine times altogether. It’s construction is very simple. There are descending and ascending scales (this is the M-voice) played in tenths by the first violins. The ‘pitch center’ [83] of the M-voice in the first phrase of fratres is E for the high divisi first violins and C# for the low divisi first violins. In measure 3 of Figure 1 you will see the M-voices move down from their pitch centers by one scale degree, and then approach their pitch centers from above by one scale degree. In measure 4, the M-voices move down from their pitch centers by two scale degrees, and then approach their pitch centers from above by two scale degrees. In measure 5, this same pattern continues with the M-voices moving down by 3 scale degrees and approaching the pitch centers from above by three scale degrees. Measures 6 through 8 are similar except the pattern is reversed. In measure 6 the M-voices move up by one scale degree and then approach the pitch centers from below by one scale degree. And so on.

Figure 1: First page of Arvo Pärt’s fratres

The scale that is used by the M-voice is an harmonic D minor scale, but it sounds modal played against the A minor tonality that has been established with the drone and the T-voice.

The T-voice outlines the A minor triad is played homorhythmically with the M-voices. Usually the relationship of the T-voice and the M-voice(s) is consistent. Some examples are 1) use the closest appropriate pitch below the M-voice; 2) use the closest appropriate pitch above the M-voice; or 3) use the closest appropriate pitch but alternate above and below the M-voice. There are many other variations on this theme. [84] In this work, the T-Voice is stuck in between the two M-voices.

For each repetition of this phrase the pitch centers begin a diatonic third below the previous pitch centers, so the pitch centers for the second phrase are C# and A. By the time this cycle reaches phrase 9, the pitch centers are C# and A again.

With every additional phrase there is added intensity. The first phrase is muted, the second phrase is not. The third phrase adds violas and so on until everyone is playing. The dynamics start double pianissimo and are arranged in an arch style so that the climax is reached in phrase numbers 6 and 7 which are both fortissimo. In phrases 8 and 9 the dynamics are terraced downwards more quickly than the earlier phrases so double pianissimo is reached again.

As voices are added the T-voice is doubled. The added M-voices always double one of the other lines or play at the octave.

The overall effect of this piece is of a huge downward gesture, starting in the high strings moving down into more sonorous regions. This is like a huge heavenly sigh. At the same time the dynamics add another layer with their simple arch design, in effect moving from silence back to silence. The use of the claves and bass drum give time for reflection between each phrase. If one is looking for development of these ideas, there is none. If one is looking for different tonal centers there is only one. This simplicity is one aspect of Pärt’s mode of expression. Another aspect is his organization. Nothing seems left to chance. Everything fits where it should.

For me, this piece works on many levels. Musically it is very simple, but it seems to contain something very deep and serene that touches my innermost being. For me, it is a sound icon revealing LOGOS. I believe that Pärt sees his music in this way as well. Expanding on the quote from above, he says:

Tintinnabulation is an area I sometimes wander into when I am searching for answers — in my life, my music, my work. In my dark hours, I have the certain feeling that everything outside this one thing has no meaning. the complex and the many-faceted only confuses me, and I must search for unity. What is it, this one thing, and how do I find my way to it? Traces of this perfect thing appear in many guises — and everything that is unimportant falls away. Tintinnabulation is like this. Here I am alone in silence. I have discovered that it is enough when a single note is beautifully played. This one note, or a silent beat, or a moment of silence, comforts me. I work with very few elements — with one voice, with two voices. I build with the most primitive materials — with the triad, with one specific tonality. The three notes of the triad are like bells. And that is why I called it tintinnabulation. [85]

So for Pärt, LOGOS is spoken out of silence as well. His mode of expression, tintinnabuli is his obedience to this Word. He does not try to be flashy or bombastic. He simply writes how he feels he was created to write.

Pärt has said with respect to the simplicity in his art:

Unfortunately, however, composers often think that because they think a lot they have something to say. Underneath all this complexity there is only a lack of wisdom and no truth. The truth is very simple; earnest people understand that to be so. Those who are not earnest, or who are utterly mistaken, don’t understand it and they translate their mistakes into their music. — Arvo Pärt [86]

This truth which Pärt speaks of is LOGOS, so for him, this speaking of the truth is more important than complexity for complexity’s sake. He is concerned with transmitting truth in his music, and that’s why his tintinnabuli works, including fratres, are icons.

6.2 Meditation: Ex Nihilo (2001) — Kenneth L. Field

Meditation: Ex Nihilo (2001) was completed in the spring of 2001. It is an instrumental meditation, a sound icon, based on the creation account in Genesis. The first rendition was a recorded piano improvisation. The improvisation was in effect a recorded meditation, a conscious choice to enter into a state of contemplative listening and then let the music speak. This improvisation was then transcribed note for note with some, but not much, poetic license and arranged for piano and string quartet, utilizing every possible combination of the five instruments. This “coloring” of the original idea is not unlike the many versions of fratres that Pärt has composed. This added complexity, I feel, serves to draw the listener deeper in, listening for the timbre changes and the dialogue which is taking place between the piano and the string quartet. The idea of adding the Scripture of the Genesis creation account as a subject for meditation came later, especially as I looked back at the opening bars of the work. Verses from Genesis chapter 1 through Genesis chapter 2 verse 3 are associated with each section. The music is not meant to be descriptive of these verses. It is only meant to help the listener or musician meditate on that particular passage of Scripture.

As Henri Nouwen alluded to above, the word spoken out of silence is more fruitful than the one that is not. [87] Meditation starts in silence as it should. [88] After 20 seconds, the 2nd violin enters ex nihilo “out of nothing.” The other members of the quartet enter separately on the same note and follow each other in canon style as the phrase finishes. (See Figure 2 below.) Just as the first word, LOGOS, is uttered by God in the void, the first note emerges out of silence. Silence plays a large role in this work. Almost every phrase is followed by silence, giving the listener a moment to reflect. The musicians are free to wait as long as they wish at these grand pauses. These are meant for periods of reflection on what has just occurred. Pärt also has short silences built into the structure of fratres.

The string quartet is treated as a single entity with the phrase passing freely from one instrument to the other. This requires much listening and concentration. The musicians, in fact, must read the work from score so they know what each other is doing.

There are a few motives that return. One is a short four-note phrase that is shared by the quartet in section A. It is the fourth phrase of the work. Another motive is the E flat - B flat chord that reoccurs at the beginning of each new section other than section A. Initially, it is played in fourths in the mid-treble register of the piano, bracketed by silence. This is the first entrance of the piano. The notes seem to ring forever. Every subsequent instance occurs in the bass. Its function is like that of the drone, establishing a constant harmonic center. This is similar to Pärt’s use of the drone in fratres.

Figure 2: First page of Meditation: Ex Nihilo

Rhythmically, the piece is very free. Note durations are meant to be taken as relative with no strict values attached to them. The only section that should feel like there is a pulse is found in section I, about midway through the work. Although this is not a characteristic of Pärt’s fratres, he does resort to it in many of his tintinnabuli works, especially his choral works where chant is inferred.

One of the ways to understand this work is to see it as a dialogue between the piano and the strings. At first the piano is not present at all. Eventually the piano comes in, but only in short solo phrases. In section I, however, the piano and strings come together in a complex passage that moves a long with almost a steady pulse. (See Figure 3 below.)

Figure 3: Meditation: In the middle of section I

Meditation starts in E flat minor Dorian (with the sixth scale degree sometimes flatted and sometimes not) and stays there. Otherwise there are only a few accidentals employed for color here and there. This is similar to Pärt’s music where he rarely strays from the established tonality. This is true for fratres.

Meditation is basically a homophonic piece. When more than one instrument is playing, it is usually playing in unison, in octaves, or in harmony with another voice. Sometimes a phrase is passed from one instrument to the other, but its basic texture is homophonic. This is similar to Pärt’s fratres, which is all homophonic (one of the characteristics of tintinnabuli).

The work ends with the strings ascending into heaven, eventually fading out into silence. The pieces ends as it began, the Word returning to silence.

This piece, in my opinion, works as a meditation It encourages the listener or audience to take time and listen. I feel the unencumbered pace of the piece, it’s homorhythmic quality, and it’s harmonic language can produce a state of peace for the listener. As an icon, there are clear moments when it seems that LOGOS is audibly present: the first entrance of the strings, the first entrance of the pianos, and the change from the slower meditative first section to the faster section that occurs after rehearsal mark I are a few examples. That the whole piece is not full of these moments is not a problem, in my opinion. For anyone who has spent time in contemplative prayer, there are high points and low points, dry points and points of exhilaration. It is also very reflective of how the ups and downs of our daily walk with God feel.

7. Conclusion

In the words of St. Simeon the New Theologian: “God can be known to us in the same way as a man can see an endless ocean by standing at the shore at night with a dimly lit candle. Do you think he can see much? Not much, almost nothing. And nevertheless, he sees the water well. He knows that there is an ocean in front of him, that this ocean is huge and that he cannot see it all at once. The same is true of our knowledge of God.” [89]

My desire is to let LOGOS shine through my art. My hope is that those who listen to my works will get a glimpse of the “ocean”, which is God in all His Glory, and that they will desire more of Him. My intent is that my music is an icon, a window through which the light of God, LOGOS, is allowed to shine. I know that whatever light may be seen in my art, is only a glimpse of the true glory of the world beyond. As C.S. Lewis so aptly put it:

Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each one of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendor which she fitfully reflects. And in there, in beyond Nature, we shall eat of the tree of life. [90]

My own life has been drawn to the concept of icons through reading Henri Nouwen, and the music of Arvo Pärt. This has fanned into flame the part of me that desires to spend time in contemplative prayer in the presence of my Father. And it is here that I feel most at home, most myself. It is this “presence” which I hope to communicate in my art. This presence often speaks through me in my music. I did not know the music was there until it emerged fully formed. This often happens for me in a burst of improvisation. Sometimes the music has a structure all its own which I did not consciously impart.

I am learning now how to obey the Word that is spoken in silence. I pray that as I experience greater degrees of solitude, that my music will speak for itself, that LOGOS will be revealed.

References

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Field, Kenneth L. “Meditation: Ex Nihilo.” Score. 2001.

Fisk, Josiah. “The New Simplicity: The Music of Górecki, Tavener, and Pärt.” Hudson Review 47, no. 3 (1994): 394-412.

Ford, Andrew. Composer to Composer: Conversations About Contemporary Music. St. Leonards, Australia: Allen & Unwin: 1993.

Haydon, Geoffrey. John Tavener: Glimpses of Paradise. London: Gollancz, 1995.

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Keener, Craig S. The IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament. Downer’s Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1993.

L’Engle, Madeleine. Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art. Wheaton: Harold Shaw Publishers, 1980.

Lewis, C.S. “The Weight of Glory.” In The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses, Revised and Expanded Edition. Edited by Walter Hooper. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1980.

McCarthy, Jamie. “An Interview with Arvo Pärt.” The Musical Times 130, no. 1753 (1989): 130-33.

Merton,Thomas. Seeds of Contemplation. Norfolk, CN: New Direction Books, 1949.

Nouwen, Henri J.M. Behold the Beauty of the Lord: Praying with Icons. Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1987.

________. The Way of the Heart. New York: Ballantine Books, 1981.

________. Clowning in Rome: Reflections on Solitude, Celibacy, Prayer, and Contemplation. New York: Image Books, 1979.

Ouspensky, Leonid. Theology of the Icon. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1978.

Ouspensky, Leonid, and Vladimir Lossky. The Meaning of Icons. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1982.

Pärt, Arvo. fratres: für streichorchester und schlagzeug. Austria: Universal Edition, 1977, 1983, 1991.

Smith, Geoffrey J. “Sources of Invention: An Interview with Arvo Pärt.” The Musical Times 140, No. 1868 (1999): 19-25.

Stone, Kurt. Music Notation in the Twentieth Century: A Practical Guidebook. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1980.

Tavener, John. The Music of Silence: A Composer’s Testament. London: Faber and Faber, 1999.

________. The Protecting Veil. London: Chester Music, 1987.

ENDNOTES