IRINA PANDEVA

Toma Vishanov, known as Molera, was never one to simply follow the rules. Born around 1750 in the mountain town of Bansko, he carried within him a restless spirit—a vision that stretched beyond the rigid traditions of Orthodox iconography. His journey took him far beyond the borders of Bulgaria, to the grand cities of Austro-Hungary, where he immersed himself in the dramatic flourishes of Baroque and the delicate realism of European masters.

It was there that he earned the name Molera—from the German Maler, meaning painter—a title that would follow him for generations.

But when he returned home, his newfound artistic style was met with skepticism, even outrage. His saints had too much life in them. Their eyes held sorrow, their hands clenched with emotion, their robes swayed as if caught in an unseen wind. To the Orthodox Church, this was too much—icons were meant to be divine, distant, untouchable. Vishanov’s figures were too human.

Nothing shocked his contemporaries more than his depiction of the Holy Mother—not just as a saint, but as a woman. In his controversial painting, he adorned her with earrings and a necklace, a choice that sent waves through the icon-painting world. When questioned, accused of disrespecting the sacred image, he simply replied, "But she is also a woman." It was a statement both simple and radical, one that cemented his place as an outsider in his own craft.

Despite the backlash, Toma Vishanov’s work could not be ignored. His frescoes in the Rila Monastery and the Church of Pokrov Bogorodichen stood as testaments to his genius, blending traditional themes with the movement, depth, and emotion of Western art. He became the founder of the Bansko Art School, an institution that would carry forward his rebellious spirit for generations.