Yes, you can. But iconography isn’t a craft project, it’s prayer.
The Orthodox Church has always understood icons as theology in color and line. They’re not religious decorations or spiritual art prints. When you write an icon (we say “write,” not “paint,” because icons communicate truth the way Scripture does), you’re doing something liturgical. You’re creating a window to heaven, a means by which the faithful encounter the person depicted. That’s why the Church treats iconography as a spiritual discipline, not just an artistic skill.
Anyone can learn. You don’t need to be a monk or have a bishop’s special permission to start. But you do need to approach it seriously. Icon-writing requires instruction in traditional techniques, study of canonical forms, and spiritual preparation. Most iconographers learn through workshops, classes, or apprenticeships with experienced teachers. The Antiochian Archdiocese and many parishes offer icon-writing courses that teach both the technical aspects (egg tempera, gilding, proper inscriptions) and the theological foundations.
The spiritual side matters as much as the technical. Iconographers are encouraged to pray before, during, and after their work. Fasting is common while writing an icon. Confession and humility are part of the process. You’re not expressing your personal artistic vision, you’re serving the Church by creating something that will help others pray. The best iconographers work in silence, avoiding idle talk, keeping their focus on God rather than on their own cleverness. It’s ascetical work.
Here’s where people often get confused. Not every religious picture is an icon. If you’re painting a pretty image of Christ for your living room wall because you like watercolors, that’s fine, but it’s not an icon. Icons follow canonical prototypes. They use specific forms, colors, and compositions that have been handed down through centuries of tradition. An icon of St. George looks like St. George has always looked in Orthodox iconography, not like your personal interpretation of what a dragon-slayer might’ve worn. This isn’t about stifling creativity, it’s about faithfulness to the Church’s visual theology.
The question of blessing comes up constantly. Most Orthodox parishes routinely have icons blessed by a priest before they’re used in church or placed in a home prayer corner. Priests often anoint them with holy chrism. There are even special services for blessing icons, and you’ll find these in OCA and Antiochian service books. This is normal pastoral practice, and if you write an icon or buy one, you should take it to your priest for blessing.
But there’s a theological nuance here that’s worth knowing. Some scholars and theologians point out that the practice of formally blessing icons is actually a later development. Historically, the Church recognized an image as an icon through the faithful’s veneration of it, not necessarily through a priestly blessing. Ancient Faith has published discussions of this debate. The Seventh Ecumenical Council, which settled the question of icons once and for all, doesn’t mandate blessing services. So there’s some diversity in how Orthodox Christians have understood this over the centuries.
That said, the common practice today across Antiochian, OCA, and other Orthodox jurisdictions is to have your icons blessed. It’s pastoral wisdom. It connects your personal devotion to the life of the Church. It’s a way of saying, “This image is set apart for prayer, not just decoration.” So even if the historical picture is complicated, the practical answer is simple: yes, get your icons blessed.
If you’re thinking about learning iconography, talk to your priest first. Ask if there are classes in your area or if he can recommend a teacher. St. Michael’s might even be able to host a workshop if there’s enough interest, iconography is experiencing something of a renaissance in American Orthodoxy right now. Read about the theology of icons. Metropolitan Kallistos Ware has written beautifully on this. So has Leonid Ouspensky.
And be patient with yourself. Writing your first icon will be humbling. Your lines won’t be perfect. Your gold leaf will wrinkle. That’s fine. You’re learning a language that takes years to speak fluently. The point isn’t to produce museum-quality work right away. The point is to enter into the Church’s tradition of prayer through image, to participate in something that connects you to iconographers in Constantinople, Moscow, Antioch, and right here in Southeast Texas across fifteen centuries.
One more thing. If you write an icon, be the first to pray before it. Let it be a gift to God before it’s a gift to anyone else. That’s the heart of it.
