One Day They Mistook the Queen of All for Queen of Wars
One Day They Mistook the Queen of All for Queen of Wars / Един ден за тях Светата Майка и Свещената война бяха едно и също
pencil drawing on 300lb Fabriano Artistico paper, 56, 5 x 38 cm, Anton Terziev, 2024
Title credit: Svetoslav Todorov - writer, editor, correspondent
Collaborating since 2019
Photo: © the artist
Courtesy the author
material used: Icon of Panagia Odegetria, 3rd quarter of the 14th century
Anton Terziev’s pencil drawing, *One Day They Mistook the Queen of All for Queen of Wars*, is a provocative work that merges the reverential aura of Eastern Orthodox iconography with unsettling contemporary allusions to violence. By depicting the Holy Mother—often referred to in Orthodox tradition as the “Queen of All”—with disfigured, cauliflower-like ears, Terziev invites viewers to reflect on the grim realities of our conflict-ridden age. Through its blend of delicate draftsmanship and jarring imagery, the piece underscores the fragility of the human condition while questioning the sanctity and inviolability typically associated with sacred art.
In Eastern Orthodox Christianity, depictions of the Virgin Mary (Theotokos) occupy a central role in devotional practices. Icons of the Holy Mother, especially those referred to as the “Panagia” (Greek for “All-Holy”) or “Queen of All,” convey not only her compassionate maternal qualities but also her status as a powerful intercessor. Traditionally, these icons feature stylized faces—long, slender noses, almond-shaped eyes, and solemn expressions—conveying a sense of spiritual gravity.
Terziev’s pencil portrait adheres to certain stylistic hallmarks of Orthodox iconography:
- The figure’s head covering (veil) is reminiscent of the maphorion worn by Mary in traditional icons.
- The elongated facial proportions and stoic expression suggest the calm yet sorrowful countenance often attributed to the Mother of God.
- The subdued palette—relying solely on graphite—evokes the austerity and focus on line found in early icon sketches or preparatory drawings for frescoes.
However, Terziev departs from tradition by introducing cauliflower ears, a feature more commonly associated with wrestlers or fighters who have suffered repeated trauma. This unexpected twist ruptures the typically serene and unblemished visage of the Holy Mother, calling to mind the physical consequences of violence and conflict.
Despite its unsettling subject matter, the drawing demonstrates a refined pencil technique. Terziev employs varied tonal gradations, crosshatching, and fine textural details to shape the contours of the face. The layering of graphite reveals a nuanced grasp of light and shadow, which lends depth and volume to the figure’s features. The close framing—focusing on the Virgin’s head and upper shoulders—heightens the sense of intimacy, as if the viewer is drawn into a direct and potentially disquieting encounter.
The cauliflower ears themselves are rendered with subtlety, emerging from the surrounding darkness as a stark detail of distress. This juxtaposition between the softness of the shading and the abrupt, rugged texture of the ears mirrors the broader thematic tension in the work—between the sanctity of the Holy Mother and the raw brutality of war.
In Orthodox tradition, icons of Mary are revered as windows into the divine, a conduit for prayer and veneration. By depicting the Holy Mother with a deformity associated with violence, Terziev disrupts the usual sense of sacred invulnerability. He transforms a symbol of peace and compassion into a haunting emblem of suffering, implicitly suggesting that not even the “Queen of All” remains untouched by the ravages of conflict.
Cauliflower ears are typically a result of repeated blunt trauma—an unmistakable sign of physical struggle. Their inclusion on a holy figure speaks to the notion that war leaves its mark on everyone, including icons of hope. It echoes the sentiment that, in times of widespread violence, even symbols of solace and maternal protection bear the scars of collective suffering.
The title, *One Day They Mistook the Queen of All for Queen of Wars*, underscores the confusion and tragedy of modern conflict. Terziev may be pointing to how quickly messages of love and unity can be twisted into rallying cries for aggression. It also suggests a broader critique of how religious symbolism can be appropriated for nationalistic or militaristic purposes, blurring the line between spiritual reverence and ideological fervor.
Terziev’s drawing can be situated within a lineage of modern and contemporary artists who challenge religious iconography to comment on social or political crises. While reminiscent of the bold reworkings of traditional subjects seen in the works of Georges Rouault or Pablo Picasso’s religious sketches, Terziev’s approach is distinctly contemporary. He avoids overt coloristic drama in favor of a quiet, monochrome intimacy, using subtle distortions to convey the trauma of warfare rather than overtly shocking imagery.
The nuanced pencil work also calls to mind Käthe Kollwitz’s depictions of grief and suffering—where expressionist linework underscores the emotional toll of violence. However, Terziev’s focus on a venerated figure sets his piece apart, highlighting how sacred iconography can bear new significance in an era defined by perpetual conflict.
Viewers may find *One Day They Mistook the Queen of All for Queen of Wars* deeply unsettling. The tension between the reverence traditionally afforded to the Holy Mother and the blunt reference to war’s brutality can provoke strong emotional reactions—ranging from empathy and sorrow to disquiet or even offense. This ambivalence is precisely what lends Terziev’s work its power: it demands that viewers confront the dissonance between ideals of peace and the harsh realities of our time.
In *One Day They Mistook the Queen of All for Queen of Wars*, Anton Terziev merges the sacred language of Eastern Orthodox iconography with an unsettling symbol of physical trauma. The delicate yet haunting pencil rendering challenges assumptions about the inviolability of religious imagery, suggesting that no symbol—however revered—remains untouched by the specter of violence. Through its potent blend of technical skill and provocative subject matter, Terziev’s drawing stands as both a lament for the ravages of war and a stark reminder that even our most cherished icons are not immune to the wounds of a world in conflict.