In art, the Nativity of Christ as an event of sacred history is best conveyed in the language of the icon. In general, the iconography of the Nativity of Christ is a very expressive example that can speak about what an icon is. Here, events that are different in time are shown simultaneously: burial shrouds are seen in swaddling clothes, and the cave of the Nativity resembles the Holy Sepulcher... An icon is always about eternity.
St. Andrei Rublev. The Nativity of Christ, 1405 But the Nativity of the Lord was when God visibly and clearly became close to people, revealed Himself to us in earthly reality, and literally united Heaven and earth. Therefore, it is understandable and explainable when from century to century artists try to depict not only in iconography but also in the language of visual art, how everything was then in Bethlehem. This includes of course Russian artists. Let’s look at some of their works.
In the works of Alexander Ivanov (1806–1858), as in many of his other biblical sketches—conceived for translation into wall paintings rather than church frescoes—a distinctive luminosity emerges, even a conscious striving toward light. In Joseph’s Dream (1850s), the artist vividly contrasts human doubt and the mind’s struggle to comprehend what has occurred with the indisputable clarity, self-evidence, and grandeur of the miracle of the Incarnation.
A. Ivanov. Joseph’s Dream
Another of Ivanov’s works is The Shepherds’ Praise (1840s–1850s). The fact that the action unfolds within a rather narrow space, enclosed by walls, further enhances the dynamism of the movement, which seems to begin in Heaven and then pour downward, flowing like a rushing river. In the rhythm of the raised heads of the figures and their uplifted hands—which appear almost to touch the rays descending from above—we see the joy and exultation of those carried along in this human stream, and we can almost hear their jubilant praises.
I. Repin. Christmas Ilya Repin (1844–1930) painted Christmas (1890) for the church on the Tartalei estate, which he loved to visit in the Nizhny Novgorod province. Even so, the language of academic painting, rather than iconography, is clearly present here; which is why the work is perceived precisely as a painting. It is a painting in which the artist strives to show in detail how everything took place in our earthly world.
Through color and light, Repin highlights the main compositional center of the work—the manger with the Infant lying in it. The head covering of the Theotokos is close in color to the swaddling clothes in which her Son is wrapped. The Mother of God embraces the Infant, their gazes meeting… In the dark blue sky beyond the window, the Christmas star is visible. This detail clarifies and confirms that what is depicted is not merely an intimate family scene, but an event of universal significance—the coming of the Savior into the world.
Everything in The Nativity of Christ (1890–1891), a sketch for a fresco for the north aisle altar of St. Vladimir’s Cathedral in Kiev, by Mikhail Nesterov (1862–1942), is built around the Infant lying in the manger. Everyone and everything is grouped around Him, toward whom the light of the Christmas star is directed. The action is set not inside the cave, but, as it were, on the boundary between the outer world and the space in which the miracle of the Divine Birth has just taken place. It is as though the Mother of God brings the manger with her Son out to meet the people—for whom He came into the world.
M. Nesterov. The Nativity of Christ I have an ambivalent view of Geliy Korzhev’s (1925–2012) works on biblical and Gospel themes. There is undeniable skill here, the thinking of a seasoned master, yet there is almost no Gospel spirit and no evident desire to draw closer to it (this is, of course, only my personal opinion). When one looks, for example, at the artist’s early Scorched by War series, it becomes clear that Korzhev was painting something that came from the very depths of his heart—something he felt with particular intensity. Here, however, that feeling is absent.
In the 1990s, the artist created many works—sometimes grotesque—on acute social themes, and in a certain sense tried to comprehend modern reality through paintings devoted to biblical history. In 1999, he painted Mary and Her Son. This work possesses a palpable, almost tactile materiality—that is, a strong sense of the physical reality of the depicted world. As in many of Korzhev’s works, we almost literally feel and touch what the jug is made of, the material of the basket in which the Child lies, the texture and weight of the fabric of Mary’s garments…
The Virgin Mary is depicted as a middle-aged woman, with the hands of someone who has labored hard for many years. Perhaps, by portraying the Theotokos as older than She truly was, the artist was reflecting on the fate of Russian women, for whom centuries pass, yet “the horses keep galloping and galloping, and the huts keep burning and burning,” as the poet Naum Korzhavin (1925–2018) wrote in 1960.
G. Korzhev. Mary and Her Son
Perhaps, however, we may try to look beyond the social layer. The massive figure, the aged hands—all of this underscores the burden of responsibility for the whole world that the Most Holy Theotokos accepted when She uttered the words: Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word (Luke 1:38). The dark—though warm—background, the muted gray of the Mother’s garments, the austerity and poverty of the surroundings...
The Light of Christmas in the World Around Us and on the Pages of Books
Artists depict not only the Nativity itself, but also the way the radiant feast of Christmas is celebrated in different countries and in different eras, as it is understood through particular literary works. They strive to speak of the feast through portrait, landscape, still life, book illustration…
Z. Serebryakova. Katya in Blue at the Christmas Tree If one does not look at the dates of Zinaida Serebryakova’s (Lansere; 1884–1967) works Katya in Blue at the Christmas Tree and Portrait of Tata’s Daughter (both 1922), they are perceived simply as beautiful festive portraits. It is as if nothing has happened—as if neither the world at large nor Serebryakova’s personal world had collapsed; as if her beloved Neskuchnoye estate (in what is now the Kharkiv region of Ukraine) had not been devastated and destroyed; as if her husband were not dead; and as if she were not painting her own children—two of whom she would later be separated from for the rest of her life—as cheerful and serene, rather than constructing a fragile house of cards.
By decorating the Christmas tree and dressing her children in festive clothes, the artist seems to be attempting to recreate what once was, to hold on to it, to resist the disintegration of her world. Yet this is not merely about everyday details; it is a Christmas tree—the tree decorated in honor of a feast inseparable from the history of the salvation of humankind.
A concentrated and quiet sense of anticipation fills Sergei Smirnov’s (b. 1954) work Christmas Eve. The Hour of the First Star (1997). The red of the setting sun is echoed in the small red flame of the icon lamp—only here the light is more intense. Sunset itself is a transitional state of nature. The viewer’s gaze would slide past the dark interior if not for that small, persistent light. Christmas, which is about to come, is not merely a family celebration, as suggested by the Christmas tree in the lower right corner of the painting. It is an event of universal significance, a fragment of which is revealed beyond the large window.
S. Smirnov. Christmas Eve. The Hour of the First Star
Maria Vishnyak (b. 1960) titled her 2008 winter landscape Christmas, immediately emphasizing what is essential: this is not simply a winter scene, but a world illuminated and sanctified by the feast of the Nativity. This is conveyed through the image of the sun flooding the entire pictorial space, shining upon the snow-covered forest and warming the cold landscape—not only through the contrast of warm and cool colors, but in a deeper, inner sense.
M. Vishnyak. Christmas
Olga Ionaitis (b. 1965) created remarkable illustrations for the book Christmas Tree. Stories by Russian Writers, published by Rosman in 2016. The artist faced a complex task: to unite visually stories whose action unfolds in different eras and in different countries, and to gather them into a single, coherent space.
One such story is The Gifts of Artaban by G. Petrov—a parable about a Persian sage who longed to worship the Christ Child and offer Him his gifts, but was unable to do so during his lifetime. Along the way, he performed many acts of mercy, yet never reached the Infant and died without meeting Him. Only in the afterlife did he encounter the One he had sought and learn that his gifts had, in fact, been accepted. The story contains direct Gospel references, and in her illustrations the artist visually reminds us both of the Nativity of Christ and of the Parable of the Good Samaritan…
O. Ionaitis’ work
An excerpt from The Year of the Lord by the writer Ivan Shmelev (1873–1950) already presents Christmas in Russia—with snow and bitter frost. All the illustrations for the works collected in this book are united by a shared, joyful sense of festivity. Each time they open before the reader, they appear as though through a window covered with hoarfrost, revealing that Christmas joy is not always about a decorated tree; above all, it is about the warmth that lives in the human heart.
O. Ionaitis’ work
The high school students—the characters in Alexander Kruglov’s short story Before Christmas Eve—experience this same warmth when they sacrifice an elegant festive tree so that an elderly woman, unknown to them, might go and bid farewell to her dying son…
I. Oleynikov’s work I would like to conclude this brief overview by mentioning the deeply moving illustrations by Igor Oleynikov (b. 1953) for A Christmas Story by the Franco-Uruguayan poet Jules Supervielle (1884–1960), published by Nikea in 2013 with the approval of the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church. Supervielle introduces an element of fairy tale into the reality of the Gospel narrative—yet at the end of the story, one of the central fairy-tale figures, the ox, dies.
The book is marked for children six and older, and is a fine, though sorrowful, Christmas reading for children. But we, as adults celebrating the Nativity of Christ, remember that the Infant is destined to suffer the Passion on the Cross—and that very soon, by Herod’s command, many innocent children will be slain. The essence of this literary work—holding together both the true light of Christmas and its tragic dimension—is conveyed with great care and precision in the illustrations.
