A Full Training in Sacred Art Wall Painting Suitable for Catholics

Writing the Light’s 2-year Certificate, Starts Fall 2026, Applications Open Now.

If we want to see a genuine and widespread flourishing of sacred art in our churches, artists must learn to paint church interiors.

To participate authentically in the sacred liturgy, the environment in which we worship must foster an encounter with Christ in the Eucharist. This requires beautifully celebrated liturgies, as well as music, art, and architecture that harmonise with the actions of the celebrants and the congregation.

The frescoes at St Francis of Assisi, Baddesley Clinton, England, painted by contemporary English Catholic artist Martin Earle. See here for more infomation.

If the sacred art is to play its part in this, we need artists who can paint well and on a large scale, directly onto the walls and ceilings of our places of worship, creating sacred spaces that draw us powerfully into the encounter with Christ.

The Writing the Light School of Byzantine artist practice, under the internationally known icon painter George Kordis, now offers a full 2-year Certificate program. I would encourage all Catholic students who want to learn wall painting to consider this, regardless of the style they eventually hope to paint in. They will come out of the program with a facility in drawing and painting that is so great that they will be able to adapt what they learn to their chosen style. George, who is Greek Orthodox, is exceptionally open and friendly to non-Orthodox students. I attended an icon painting class with him in Crete in the summer of 2025, and about a third of the students were Catholic.

Although preserved most clearly in the Christian East, the Byzantine visual system is not foreign to Roman Catholicism. In fact, it formed the common artistic DNA of the undivided Church, which extended well into the second millennium in the West. Romanesque frescoes, early Gothic cycles, illuminated manuscripts, and even elements of early Renaissance sacred art all share its underlying principles:

● Rhythmic structuring of form

● Archetypal proportions

● Ordered movement of line

● Hierarchical composition

● A focus on theological meaning over naturalistic imitation

For contemporary Catholic artists seeking to recover a unified, theologically grounded approach to sacred imagery, this system offers a way forward. 

The Sacred Space program embraces this shared heritage, offering Catholics a way to reconnect with the structural principles that once shaped the visual identity of Western sacred art.

Dr. George Kordis, who heads the program, is regarded as one of the top contemporary master iconographers working in this specialized field today, and it is at the interest and urging of many students around the world that Writing the Light has formed a separate 2-year program for those students who wish to include a special focus on church wall painting in their training. With exposure to a deeper understanding of the role of church painting and the elements of design on a larger scale, students will enter into a two-year program that encompasses theory, methodology, materials, professional best practices, and firsthand apprenticeship experience working with Dr. Kordis, select expert faculty, and learning in real time alongside Kordis’s church-painting team. The select group of students in this limited cohort will engage in the practice of techniques both online and in in-person residencies, culminating in an opportunity to paint a chapel in Greece alongside Dr. Kordis, as well as options for various internship and work/study opportunities.

Dr George Kordis

For more information on the entrance requirements, go to https://writingthelight.com/church-wall-painting-program/.

Download this PDF, written by Writing the Light, especially for interested Catholics who are coming to this from a range of Western artistic traditions.

And watch this video of George painting a church in Hungary. Note the extraordinary facility with which he draws from memory:

Signs of Hope in Cuba: the Iconography of José Garcia Cortés

A talented artist’s journey from atheist misery to joy in the Faith, and the discovery of his personal vocation,

When my wife Margarita and I checked into the Orthodox Academy of Crete this past August for an iconography workshop taught by Greek master iconographer George Kordis of Writing-the-Light (a full training in iconography offering classes in the US and Europe), Margarita noticed on the list the name of an art student from Havana, José Garcia Cortés. Margarita is Cuban American; her mother came to the United States as a young woman over 60 years ago, so she immediately noticed José’s name. The address José gave was just a few blocks from her mother’s family home. She quickly connected with this young man, whom George described to us as the ‘best iconographer in Latin America’, and wrote about him and his story in detail here in her Substack, The Graced Imagination.

I am delighted to present works by José, still not yet 30. This wonderful painting of the Hospitality of Abraham hangs in our own home in Princeton, New Jersey! 

In brief, his remarkable story is as follows: 

He was born in 1997 into a family that was totally separated from the Faith, and which subscribed to the state ‘religion’ of Marxist-inspired atheist materialism. At 16, he faced a total life crisis – he had no purpose in life or even any dreams and was morbidly depressed. By chance, he entered San Juan de Letrán Catholic Church in El Vedado (run by Dominican Friars) and, through contact with them, converted and was received into the Church. His atheist parents, who might have ordinarily opposed such a move, supported his conversion because they saw how he was transformed and how much happier he became. As he put it, “I knew nothing about Catholicism, but I knew that I, alone, could never make myself happy. I had a hunger for God I just can’t explain.” With the encouragement of those in the Church both inside and outside Cuba, he applied his natural talent and interest in beautiful art to the creation of sacred art. He has since attended workshops in Europe and taken commissions both inside and outside Cuba. Most recently, he has been studying under George.

José García Cortés, Our Lady of Charity. Catedral Ortodoxa Rusa Nuestra Señora de Kazán, Havana

The Early Life of the Theotokos

His dream is to remain in his home country and draw Cuban youth to the Faith through his art. “So many young people have stopped dreaming. They need community. They need inspiration. They need God.”  

Commission work from José: I encourage people here to consider commissioning work from this talented artist so that it will grace more homes and churches and further his mission! For details on how to do so, please visit my wife Margarita’s Substack, The Graced Imagination, here.

Here is a poster of a recent exhibition of his work, featuring his St Joseph with the Child Jesus.

Eastward Ho! How the Western Church Looked to Eastern Iconography For Inspiration in Sacred Art

If I had been writing about sacred art 100 years ago for a Catholic readership, I would have ignored entirely any reference to traditional Byzantine art. Until the middle of the last century, the Roman Catholic world was largely unaware of or, at the very least, uninterested in Byzantine iconography. Anyone who knew about this style was as likely as not a historian specialising in Byzantine studies, who considered it a throwback to a medieval past, anomalously preserved in Orthodox and Byzantine Catholic liturgies.

In recent decades, however, there has been a surge of scholarly and popular interest in the history and development of Byzantine and Eastern Orthodox iconography. This renewed fascination crosses religious boundaries, with Roman Catholics and Protestants also incorporating these sacred images into their homes and places of worship. To fully appreciate this change, we must first establish a clear understanding of what exactly the term “icon” means.

The Lancaster Martyrs, by contemporary Catholic iconographer, Martin Earle

If you read a contemporary book on iconography or attend an icon painting workshop, you will likely encounter what is generally referred to today as a “theology of icons”, and will often get the impression that this explanation of iconography, along with the iconographic style itself, has not changed since it was first developed in the 5th century. But this is not so.

The theological justification for the stylistic elements of the iconographic tradition - the “theology of icons” - was developed relatively recently by Russian Orthodox intellectuals who were worried about the Westernisation of the traditional art being produced in Orthodox churches, and were seeking to re-establish a purer style of sacred art that corresponded to the ancient Russian tradition. The leading figure in this Russian “renaissance” was the Orthodox priest and polymath Pavel Florensky (1882–1937). Despite being an Orthodox Christian priest, Florensky never left Russia (and Stalin eventually executed him in 1937).

However, a prominent group of Russian theologians and painters, who were influential within the intellectual milieu of Orthodox Christian theology, left after the Bolshevik Revolution and ultimately settled in France. I am thinking here of the writers Leonid Ouspensky (who also painted icons), Vladimir Lossky, and Paul Evdokimov, as well as Gregory Kroug, the icon painter. Florensky’s writings were circulated amongst this group.

The goal of these expatriates was to re-establish traditional art forms of the Orthodox Church by creating a set of principles to guide contemporary artists. The result of this was that they took Florensky’s ideas and further developed them, leading to the emergence of a new theology of icons. This was a great achievement. The success of their work is evident in the surging number of people painting icons, which continues to this day, and has influenced other Orthodox churches, such as the Greek Orthodox Church, the Coptic Orthodox Church, and the Byzantine Catholic churches. The best of these contemporary iconographers paint as well as any of the past masters. It is the beauty of these contemporary icons that stirred interest and made the iconographic style fashionable outside Orthodox and Byzantine Catholic circles today in the West.

The Harrowing of Hell (Anastasis), by Gregory Kroug

Painted by Ouspensky

Painted by Kroug

While the Russo-Byzantine style, as seen in Russian and Greek Orthodox churches, is perhaps the most well-known form of iconography, it is not the only variant. The Coptic, Armenian, and other Eastern Christian churches have all developed distinctive iconographic traditions, and the general picture is one of a renewal and flourishing of these associated iconographic traditions too.

By Isaac Fanous, Egyptian, the father of neo-Coptic iconography, who studied under Ouspensky in the 1960s.

The incredible beauty of these new icons caught the attention of Roman Catholics (and Protestants). Western churches were experiencing a crisis of beauty and seemed unable to produce sacred art that wasn’t either ugly modernist or cheesy kitsch. Consequently, there was a hunger for authentic liturgical art. French Catholics, in particular, became aware of the hub of this iconographic renewal first, which was centred in Paris, France. Soon, Catholics and Protestants began to create icons as well.

But this renewed enthusiasm for icons in the West has led to certain misconceptions, and iconography is often enshrouded in an artificial mystique.

As Catholics, while acknowledging the validity of iconography and the theories that underpin its resurgence as a style, we should be cautious not to adopt all that these Russian theorists wrote. They were strongly prejudiced against Western naturalistic styles of art and baked this into their ideas. Catholics should not feel bound to accept, for example, the assertion that the iconographic style is the only valid form of liturgical art. As Benedict XVI wrote in his book The Spirit of the Liturgy, and as I explain in my book The Way of Beauty, the Gothic and Baroque styles, which are certainly not iconographic in form, can also be considered authentically liturgical forms. What the story of the successful reestablishment of the iconographic tradition in the East reveals is that the West can do something similar with its own artistic traditions. Following their method, we should choose a canon of great images and analyse them in such a way that we develop a set of defining principles that can guide artists today.

Furthermore, the notion that iconographers “write” rather than “paint” their works is a contemporary idiom with no basis in tradition. Most iconographers, including those within the Orthodox tradition, simply refer to their craft as painting without any sense of diminishing its spiritual significance. As my teacher (who is Orthodox) put it to me: “When I dip a paintbrush into paint and apply it to the surface, it is called a painting. It doesn’t demean my art to describe it as such.” Also, painting is not prayer, and prayer is not painting. They are two different activities... do I really need to explain that one?

Nevertheless, this resurgence of interest in icons has been an overwhelmingly positive development, challenging the historical marginalisation of Eastern Christian art and enriching Western art.

Our Lady Seat of Wisdom, by contemporary Catholic iconographer Martin Earle. 

The Manuscript Illumination, Calligraphy and Icons of Nicholas Hughes

Nicholas Hughes is an Antiochian Orthodox monk living as a hermit in West Virginia; he tells me that he has been a monk for over 40 years. He contacted me because he had questions about a traditional story about the time spent by the Holy Family in Egypt, perhaps apocryphal, which concerns a miraculous wheat. He wanted to know if there was an original source for the story, which appears in many books of hours from the Middle Ages. He is looking to produce a series of contemporary illuminations of the story and sent me images of his work so far.

I had never even heard of the miraculous story before and couldn’t help him, so if any readers can supply some details, please do contact him at monkworksmanuscriptsandicons@gmail.com. In the meantime, I was so taken with his work that I asked if I could feature it here.

Nicholas is taking commissions and can be contacted at the same email address given above: he is a calligrapher, illuminator and icon painter.

Be Precise When Drawing a Line, and You Can Be Expressive in the Application of Color

Here are a few more examples of work by the Greek artist George Kordis, whose work was featured here just a couple of weeks ago. I was intrigued by his style, and present these examples today with a slightly deeper analysis of his work, but for the most part, simply for your enjoyment. Kordis is always precise in his use of line, and it is this precision that allows for some looser, more expressionistic (and I use that term guardedly, it is never slapdash) application of paint.

The Three Women in the Garden Find the Empty Tomb

I don’t know with certainty what method that Kordis uses, but that is not the object of the exercise here. As an artist, I am primarily interested in how I might attempt to replicate or incorporate the effects and stylistic elements that I like into my own work. Accordingly, what I am going to describe is the method that I would use if I was to try to adopt aspects of his style, based on analysis of the photographs I have seen. I have a reason for doing this: my iconography teacher, Aidan Hart, would instruct us on how to paint or draw the icon as one might expect, but very often, he would also describe how he worked out the use of a method by analyzing past works of art. Through this additional instruction, I was being taught, in effect, to teach myself, by looking at the work of any artist that appealed to me. When using past masters as a model for my own painting, the motto that I was given was, “Think twice, paint once.” In other words, consider carefully what you think the artist did, then decide what you are going to do, and then do it! This couldn’t be further from the idea of stream-of-consciousness expression, which seeks to disengage from rational thought and be guided solely by the emotion of the moment. In the method I was instructed in, even loose and what we might term expressionistic brushwork is premeditated, however spontaneous it might appear.

This ability to teach oneself is important for artists today, I feel. 

First, in the field of sacred art and especially iconography, most people will not have access to a fully integrated six-year program of instruction that teaches how to paint from soup to nuts, so to speak. Most will have random and varied access to individual workshops. It is for the student, therefore, to choose a range of workshops among those that are available, perhaps from several different teachers, so that they form an integrated pattern of education in art. It is very unlikely that these will combine to give the student everything that is needed. It will be essential, therefore, for the student to be able to fill in the gaps by undertaking focused, self-directed study. The student who has the capacity to learn from a painting without any other direction will always be at an advantage. 

This capacity for self-directed study by analysis of Old Masters’ work can be adapted to any style. So for example, although I learned it in the context of iconography classes, I might then use it to learn to paint in the manner of a 13th-century Sienese Gothic artist like Simone Martini.

Simone Martini: St Louis of Toulouse crowing his brother at Anjou

There is another reason for developing this habit, and this is an antidote to what is almost the opposite problem (although much rarer at the moment), that is, too much hands-on direction from the teacher. This is a risk of attending one of the few schools that teach the naturalistic method of drawing and painting, which is based upon those developed in the High Renaissance. It is called the Academic Method, because the first schools that taught it, 500 years ago or so, referred to themselves as “academies”, attempting to connect themselves in people’s minds with Plato’s Academy, and Greek learning in general.

The 21st-century versions of these academies are steadily establishing themselves; there are a few that have permanent studios and offer a more stable, long-term art education, albeit typically without the advantage of working within mainstream universities. (There are a few which now offer degrees, e.g. The Florence Academy). The form of teaching that is offered is highly prescriptive and systematic. This is appropriate for such a training that aims to give the student a high level of skill, but there is an accompanying danger that goes with this, that students become trapped in the teaching studio because they are so reliant on the teacher’s directions that they are not able to work independently apart from the studios of the school. The capacity for self-study can help give students the confidence to break free and start to work independently, at an appropriate stage of course.

You don’t need to follow Kordis’ color palette. I am aware that he takes risks here. For me sometimes it works spectacularly and sometimes it misfires a bit, but it is always interesting. 

1. Draw the line

2. Describe basic form in monochrome as an underpainting. The goal is to produce, in effect, a grayscale version of the painting in all the detail intended for the finished painting. The color used here is a brown ochre or avana ochre.

3. Then place transparent washes of flat color over the underpainting. This is the stage in which application can be loose. Mottled effects, multiple colors, areas left so that only the underpainting can be seen, are options to be considered. Resist the temptation to use too much opaque color. As you paint this stage, it will feel as though more color is needed, but hold your nerve and keep to layers of diluted and therefore transparent paint. Generally, we want the tonal values of the underpainting to be visible. If multiple layers of transparent washes are used, they will introduce a beautiful optical effect when the icon is later illuminated, especially in flickering candlelight. The light will be partially transmitted and partially reflected at each interface of color. The reflected light emerges from the icon and is seen by the observer as the color of the surface it most recently reflected off. Where there are multiple layers of different colors, you will see light of many colors emerging. This creates a jewel-like effect in which the icon appears to be a source of glistening light.

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Hold the Line! The Iconography and Workshops of George Kordis

Now that Covid restrictions are slowly being lifted - well, in the UK, Ireland, and Greece at least, and who knows, even California might follow at some point - I thought it might be worth planning to attend some in-person icon painting classes in the coming year, even if you have to go to Greece to find one.

George Kordis, a Greek native and Orthodox iconographer, has a reputation for being an excellent teacher, especially of drawing icons. Ordinarily, he visits the US regularly, and offers workshops in both Greece and the US. His US workshops are on hold for now, but he is offering classes in Athens and Crete this summer in English: see his website writingthelight.com. For those who don’t have the resources and time to get to Greece, he is now offering online courses at iconographytoday.com/en.

Kordis is renowned for his style of draughtsmanship, which incorporates rhythmical, sweeping lines that embed a dynamic and harmonious proportion into his compositions.

Iconography primarily uses line to describe form. This is distinct from Baroque art, for example, which uses tonal contrast to describe form. In order to draw with the line, we must understand what a line is representing in a drawing, which is the perceivable edge of an object. This might seem to be a statement of the obvious, but it is not, because there are no lines in nature, only contrasting edges.

We are able to perceive an object because it stands out from the background that surrounds it. The contrast between the background and the object will be either a contrast of color or contrast of tone. If there is no contrast, then the edge is invisible to us. (This fact is used to make a soldier wearing camouflage disappear in the dappled light of the woods, for example). 

Artists represent this contrast either by drawing a line to represent the contrasting edges, or by painting the conjunction of an area of dark tone and an area of light tone. Leonardo da Vinci always used the method of adjacent areas of different tones, and set the standard for naturalistic art up until the beginning of the 20th century. For example, in this painting by John Singer Sargent, there are barely any lines at all. What we perceive as a line is typically the conjunction of two contrasting areas. This is actually closer to what we see in nature. A line, therefore, is a partial abstraction of what is seen. It is interesting that children will instinctively draw with lines and not tone. Typically we have to be taught to draw and paint as we actually see things.

When the artist uses line to describe form, he will use some tonal and color variation as well, but these are always supporting players in describing form - the work has been done by the line, so to speak - and so the use of color and tone becomes more decorative and symbolic of form than descriptive. The artist therefore has much more freedom in this second phase if he understands what he is doing.

If we look at Kordis’ line drawings, they are distinctive by virtue of the wonderful grace and flow in the use of line, certainly, but nevertheless are still conventional iconographic drawings.

When Kordis adds color, however, he is much less conventional and loose in its application. This gives his icons a modern feel, but because his draughtsmanship is so precise, he stays within the bounds of the iconographic tradition. When I look at them, he achieves an effect by which the figures are not only radiating uncreated light, they are so saturated with light, it seems, that the light almost seems to be dripping off them. This is an effect I would want to master! If this were me, I might change the color palette slightly (just my personal taste, you may differ from me on this front), but I would love to have the opportunity to study with this master iconographer so that I could learn his techniques and observe how he uses this freedom in the use of color. I would then probably adapt this to my own particular taste.

Theophany - the Baptism of the Lord

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The Frescoes at St Francis of Assisi, Baddesley Clinton, England, Part 3: the Chancel Arch

Here is the third posting about the fabulous frescoes at little St Francis of Assisi Catholic Church, in Warwickshire, England, in the Archdiocese of Birmingham, the works of the artist Martin Earle. (To see previous parts click here: part 1, part 2.)

Before showing photographs of the third and final section, the chancel arch, I want to explain why I think this is so important. First, this is a schema that is intrinsically liturgical (as distinct from devotional) in its conception. Second, while it is painted in a contemporary English iconographic style, absolutely appropriate for its time and place, it incorporates discerningly other more naturalistic styles of liturgical art and statues inherited from past communities of this parish, and therefore, one presumes, particularly dear to them. In regard to this Martin told me:

The rather dark and intense colour scheme (though the orange is less saturated in real life) was dictated partly by the pre-existing oil painting. Trying to find a way that the new paintings (which the parish asked to be in a sort of neo-Romanesque style) wouldn’t clash too badly with the old was a headache. In the end, I opted to paint the new murals dark enough so that the oil painting didn’t pop forward, as it would have against a lighter background. We also reflected some of the colours - especially of Christ in Glory - in the new works.

Obviously, the oil painting is incorporated thematically as well. In the end, a curious and good effect is achieved by having the heavenly scene below the nativity. Earth gone up to heaven and heaven come down to earth.

My hope is that every person in this parish is catechized, perhaps through the homilies, so as to understand the images they see and how to engage with them as they pray the Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours. Then, when people visit the church to see the paintings, as they surely will, any parishioner can be a docent who takes them on a tour of the church, and in so doing becomes an evangelist for the Faith.

The Chancel Arch

On the chancel arch, the liturgical hymn Gloria in excelsis Deo (Glory to God in the highest) repeats the idea that what is sung in the earthly liturgy echoes the praise of the heavenly liturgy, and the themes of both the First and Second Comings of Christ are both repeated and lead into what is displayed in the sanctuary.

At the apex is the Lord’s Cross, seen as an object of glory and veneration, triumphant, bejewelled and containing the sacred monogram ‘IHS’. Below this, and over the altar, is suspended the crucifix, akin to the Rood in medieval churches, suspended between earth and heaven, the point of entry from one to the other, and contrasting with the triumphant cross above, but also positioned so that, from the nave of the church, Christ in glory on the east wall is seen below it, the bottom of the cross in line with the head of Christ.

Surrounding the cross are angels of the apocalypse, as St John relates in his Revelation, one with a trumpet, the other rolling up the moon and stars; the clouds behind them are red and blue, representing the sunrise at the end of time. The same clouds are repeated on the east wall, surrounding the Hand of God, showing that he is Lord of time and of history.

On the spandrels of the arch are stylised representations of Bethlehem and Jerusalem, the two poles of salvation of Incarnation and Redemption, with sheep representing the apostles who continue the saving work of Christ. Jerusalem, of course, is not just an evocation of the earthly city, but also of the heavenly Jerusalem, described in the liturgy of All Saints and in the Dedication of a Church as ‘our mother, where the great array of brothers and sisters gives you eternal praise’ and representative of the Church, the Bride of Christ, ‘mother of countless children.’

Beneath these are four Old Testament prophets, holding scrolls that tell of both Comings of Christ, the Second Coming already foreshadowed in the First Coming, which is completed in the Second Coming:

Isaiah 7, 14 - ‘Behold the virgin will conceive and bear a son [and shall call his name] Immanuel’

Malachi 3, 1 - ‘The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple’

Ezekiel 34, 12 - ‘I will rescue my sheep [from all the places where they have been scattered] on a day of clouds and thick darkness.

Zechariah 9, 9 - ‘Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you, the Just One and Saviour’.

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Beautiful New Frescoes by Martin Earle, Part 1

I was thrilled recently to receive pictures from the artist Martin Earle of these beautiful frescoes which he has lately completed in St Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in the Archdiocese of Birmingham, in the West Midlands, England. They have been done as part of a continued re-orientation and renovation of the interior in order to correct the iconoclasm of the 1970s, a phenomenon with which most of us are, sadly, so familiar.

The exterior is unassuming though pleasing late 19th-century Gothic...

but the interior is spectacular!

Mr Earle, who painted them along with a significant contribution from his assistant Lisa Abbot, contacted me with the photographs. He told me:

“As I mentioned to you a while ago, I spent the first lockdown painting murals in a church in Warwickshire. We completed the works in August. The parish priest, Fr John Sharp, also commissioned me to design new stenciling and marbling in the nave and baptistery. There wasn’t a surface in the church that didn’t get a fresh coat of paint. We also uncovered the original, and beautiful, quarry tile floors which were also restored. Quite a transformation.

The frescoes are rather intricate - containing around 40 different persons from the Old and New Testaments. Our aim was to create a visual liturgical hymn to make present invisible realities. Fr Sharp has prepared a text about the paintings. (I will post this next week) The color scheme is as intense as the early medieval frescoes were in their heyday!”

The style is inspired by a mix of Byzantine and Romanesque elements which has become characteristic of English iconography in the modern era (under the influence of Aidan Hart). 

It is interesting to me that the schema consists of the recently completed frescoes, which are in the iconographic style incorporate paintings, but also a crucifix and paintings that belonged to the church prior to this. All have been handled in a harmonious fashion despite the differences in style. 

Here are some details. First on the east wall behind the tabernacle:

Christ in Majesty

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