The origins of the Vladimir Mother of God are shrouded in mystery. The master who painted it did not sign his work; he did not believe in taking credit. All we know is that the icon was painted in Constantinople some time shortly before 1131 and given as a gift to the Russian Prince Mstislav Vladimirovich. According to tradition, the image was painted after an icon of the Theotokos done by St. Luke himself. Today, we call this particular iconographic type, the one with the Mother and Child in a tender embrace, Eleussa or Tenderness. 

In Russia, the icon had an interesting life. After a 200-year stay in Vladimir, it was moved to Moscow. The procession took ten days, and all along the road people stood on their knees, praying to the Theotokos. In Moscow, the inhabitants joyously came to meet it at the place where the Monastery of the Meeting (Sretensky) now stands. Three times the icon saved Moscow from the invading Tartar hordes. With the passing of the centuries, it became part of the Russian consciousness, a Russian Holy Thing. In December 1941, as the Germans approached Moscow, Stalin had the icon flown around the city, perhaps to keep it safe from the Germans, or maybe, just conceivably, to keep the city safe by the intercessions of the Theotokos. Today, the icon, still formally the property of the Tretyakov Gallery, resides in a private church of the Moscow Patriarchate in a bullet-proof, climate-controlled glass case. The faithful venerate it; priests serve liturgies in front of it. Visitors to the museum can see it by going through a short underground passage. This is where I venerated her too and looked into her unfathomable, sorrowful eyes.

The icon is perfect, a masterpiece. It is also a Presence. In it, genius and faith meet. Countless words have been said about the artistic excellence of the work. Mother and Child form a perfectly triangular composition. The head of the Theotokos is covered by a deep burgundy-red maphorion, chastely virginal and relieved by a sparkly golden fringe suggestive of royal dignity and three bright stars representing her virginity. The Child has a very childlike expression on His face, and the little upturned sole of His foot can break your heart. (This, the theologians tell us, reminds us of Christ’s incarnation in the flesh and His suffering on the Cross.) The Virgin has long eyebrows and beautiful almond-shaped eyes, a slender elongated nose, and a small mouth. But her gaze! Here, the heart of the unknown master was touched by the Holy Spirit, and he expressed something that can’t be expressed in volumes of theology. Her gaze has been described in many ways — sorrowful, melancholy, afflicted — but the truth is there are no words to describe it. The word “knowing” comes to mind. The Virgin knows full well what awaits her Child. She is aware of His future suffering on the Cross and of all the suffering in the world, and yet she is not hopeless. She is completely centered, within herself, but at the same time her gaze invites us, caresses us, reassures us. Her image is utterly transcendental and utterly approachable. It makes us feel like little lost children, and therefore moves us to pray, softening those hard hearts. For Orthodox Christians, Vladimirskaya is an image of the ICON itself.

Every single Tenderness icon in Russia after the 12th century has been a copy, an interpretation, of the Vladimir Mother of God. Hence, I, too, mustered the courage to render her in colored stones. Please, honor the intention and overlook the deficiencies of skill and faith in my work. It is still the Mother of God. It is a presence.

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