Macedonian Icons and Renaissance Choral Music

I went to the city of Utrecht again a couple weeks ago to see a wonderful exhibition of Macedonian icons at the Catharijneconvent Museum.  The figures have a deep solemnity and reverence about them.  Many people comment in particular on their large, sad eyes.  Even in icons of the Virgin and Child, the Madonna's sorrowful gaze looks forward prophetically to the sacrifice of her Son.

Icon artists do not have much room for innovation.  Centuries of tradition prescribe their compositions, materials, and colors.  The likenesses of Christ and the saints should only be painted on natural substances made by God--usually wood and sometimes paper.  Icons are painted with little depth, ambiguous light source, and awkward proportions so that you feel like you are gazing into a different world, a world infused with the golden light of heaven.

Eastern Orthodox Christians believe that when an icon is painted correctly and blessed it will function like a "window," through which they can look to communicate with the personages depicted.

Any of you recognize this icon?  I have a copy of it on the wall of my apartment!  I was pretty surprised to stumble into it in the museum.  The exhibition plaque said it is one of the most famous Macedonian icons.

After I finished in the museum, I went to the old cathedral to hear a free Saturday music performance.  The last time I was in Utrecht I went to one of these as well and unfortunately got stuck in a pretty uninteresting concert that went on and on and on and on.  This time, however, the choir sang one of my favorite pieces of Renaissance music--"Miserere," by Allegri.  "Miserere" means "Have Mercy," and the text comes from the Psalms.  The first lines of each verse are in Gregorian chant, and then the different voices come in, and the music unfolds into the most beautiful plea for God's pity.  At the end of each verse the soprano soars above all the other singers, and the final words reverberate hauntingly in the acoustics of the cathedral apse.  It used to be that this "Miserere" could only be sung in the Vatican, and the musical score was carefully guarded.  Then Mozart heard it during a visit to Rome, memorized it, wrote it down, and stole the Vatican's prize composition!  After the concert was over, I found myself once again running to catch the train, just like my last trip to Utrecht a month ago.  And just like that last time--unbelievable as it may seem--I once again missed my train by seconds!  Fortunately this time I didn't have to sit on a bench in the freezing wind, and in fact, I found another train in minutes that would also take me home.