An Introduction to Medieval Romanesque Sculpture and Architecture

The Romanesque marks the beginning of what historians call the High Middle Ages, a period of tremendous growth and transformation in Western Europe. During this period, towns expanded, trade routes were revived, and monastic communities flourished. The church wielded immense cultural and religious power. Christian beliefs shaped every aspect of life. In the arts, this was the moment when monumental architecture and sculpture returned in a big way to Western Europe for the first time since the fall of the Roman Empire. Inspired by Roman engineering, builders constructed massive churches with rounded arches, thick walls, and vaulted ceilings. These architectural feats functioned as destination points along pilgrimage routes, as well as symbols of divine power. And art and architecture of the Romanesque period were meant to instill awe and belief. The term Romanesque was not used during the Middle Ages, but rather later applied by art historians in the 19th century to describe these works which utilized many Roman architectural elements. By the year 1000, Western Europe had begun to stabilize after centuries of chaos and unrest after the collapse of the Roman Empire. The relative political and economic stability which followed led to growing urban populations. The economic and cultural power of the church and its monasteries played a major role in this transformation also. The result was the construction of large-scale architecture and a proliferation of sculpture and painting that had not been seen in Western Europe for 500 years. One of the most popular texts of the time was the 13th century work The Golden Legend that collected the miraculous stories of the saints and helped standardize their cults across Europe. Spurred on by this devotion to saints and filled with the desire to visit the holy relics of these saints, many people were compelled to take pilgrimages. Major pilgrimage routes led to Santiago de Compostela in Spain and the cities of Rome and Jerusalem. Along the way, towns and churches flourished as they cared for pilgrims and displayed their relics. To accommodate these large crowds, builders had to expand the size of their churches and cathedrals. Using Saint-Sernin in Toulouse, France as a model, we can see some of the major components and stylistic attributes of the Romanesque style. First, you'll notice that it's laid out in a Latin cross plan, which is fairly typical of cathedrals from this period. The church consists of a large nave to hold the massive crowd coming into the church, but it also includes an ambulatory or walkway around the perimeter to account for the overflow of people coming to see relics. To make this work, builders essentially removed the back wall of the apse, which is the semicircular area at the end of the church, and they extended the walkway around it, creating an ambulatory or, once again, walkway. Branching off this ambulatory were small chapels called radiating chapels, and each contained a sacred relic. This was a kind of architectural crowd control. These churches were designed to move the crowd in highly specified, intentional ways. In many ways, this kind of construction is no different than how modern buildings like theaters and sports arenas are laid out to accommodate large crowds and direct the flow of traffic towards certain areas. Romanesque churches, a name invented by later historians in the 18th and 19th centuries, are called such because they incorporated key architectural elements inherited from ancient Rome, primarily the rounded arch and the barrel vault. While these stylings certainly evoke the grandeur of Rome, they were also incredibly functional. Romanesque cathedrals were massive buildings capable of accommodating thousands of people, and builders had to utilize techniques that could support these large structures. These ancient devices, common to Roman construction, of which models were scattered throughout the Western European world, served as perfect templates for medieval builders. Rounded arches distribute weight efficiently, and barrel vaults provide a strong, fire-resistant ceiling made entirely of stone. However, unlike the Romans, who often relied on concrete, medieval builders constructed these forms out of stone and brick masonry, which required precise craftsmanship and massive supporting walls. To manage the scale and complexity of these vast stone buildings, Romanesque architects developed a modular approach to construction using bays. A bay is a repeated architectural unit defined by a set of arches and supports, like a section of the nave between two piers. At San Sernan, and other churches, these bays give the interior a steady, rhythmic structure. They allow the massive building to be broken down into smaller, repeatable sections that can be constructed with relative consistency. This rhythmic repetition of architectural sections is a hallmark of many Romanesque structures. Supporting the weight of these heavy stone vaults required a specialized system of supports. The sheer scale of Romanesque architecture could not be supported by simple, flimsy little columns. To hold up these enormous walls and roofs, builders had to put their supports on stairwells. And San Sernan uses compound piers, which are large vertical supports built up from multiple shafts and columns and pillars bundled together. These piers rise up from the floor and continue into the vaults above, channeling the immense weight of the roof down into the foundation. But the use of these elements are not merely structural. They also create a sense of permanence and monumentality that reinforces the power of the church and allude to the stability of faith. These massive compound piers also help divide the main nave from the side aisles, creating a clearly organized interior space. The piers act like a row of stone pillars, rhythmically separating the central processional area from the outer walkways. And this layout creates a strong visual axis that leads the eye towards the altar. And because even more people were entering these spaces, builders began to stack vertical levels. Above the side aisles, they added galleries, which are essentially upper walkways or second story spaces that provided additional room for worshippers and choirs or monks. These galleries helped accommodate the flood of pilgrims and gave the church interior a taller, more layered appearance. For centuries, large-scale sculpture had all but disappeared in Europe. During the Romanesque period, large-scale sculpture returned. Romanesque churches were often densely decorated in relief sculpture, both inside and out. And these images offered stories and instructions to the faithful, illustrating biblical figures, passages, and images of saints. An early example of the Romanesque style can be seen here in Saint-Sonnet by the artist Bernardus Gweldinus and his Christ in Majesty. Here we see Christ sitting in a mandorla, which is an almond-shaped gateway opening into the heavens, surrounded by the symbols of the four evangelists, Matthew the Man, Mark the Lion, Luke the Ox, and John the Eagle. As is typical of this era, the figure is abstract. The feet appear to float, not touch the ground. The drapery of Christ's garment, with its weirdly linear folds, is, well, more decorative than naturalistic. Although the proliferation of large-scale sculpture evokes the ubiquity of sculpture in ancient Rome, the style and imagery is purely medieval. The human figure in Romanesque art is highly abstract and unrealistic, but a fear of idol worship certainly played a part. Also, a rejection of Greek and Roman humanism and paganism is another. By the 12th century, the art of Western Europe had strongly rejected the naturalism of its Greek and Roman forebearers. Images were not meant to be worshipped, they were meant to educate. So instead, Romanesque artists leaned into clarity, symbolism, abstraction, making sure their images taught lessons, not tempted worship. Romanesque art often even used the smallest architectural spaces to tell stories. A cloister, for example, is a covered walkway surrounding a central courtyard. These are typically attached to a monastery or a cathedral. It served as a space for meditation, study, and quiet movement between different parts of the monastic complex. At the cloister of Saint-Pierre at Moissec, column capitals are carved with biblical narratives and moral lessons, and also fantastical creatures. These are called historiated capitals because they are essentially miniature sculptures telling a story perched atop these columns. And as with so much ecclesiastical art of this period, it is equally parts decorative and instructional. And so, like, picture yourself as a monk walking through the cloister. You would be confronted by images that are meant to provoke thought, reflection, or maybe even sometimes amusement. It was a way to infuse the daily environment of monastic life with a constant reminder of spiritual truths. And speaking of monasticism, monasticism and monks played a large role in the proliferation of Christianity throughout Western Europe. It was monasticism that began the slow conversion of the pagan populations of Europe to Christianity. And once established, monasteries became important centers of learning. Many monks, because of their education, were also important influences in the political realm, too. By the 11th century, thousands of monasteries were scattered throughout Western Europe. Many of them held tremendous power and owned lots of land. The Monastery of Cluny, for instance, had its height controlled somewhere around 3,000 monasteries. And Cluniac monasteries often displayed their considerable wealth through the construction of elaborate and highly decorated churches. For instance, the cloister at Wossak is a showcase of this deeply symbolic and narrative style and reflects the intellectual culture of the Cluniac monks, who valued ornamentation as a form of meditation and teaching. It is important to note, though, that this extravagance was not everywhere. It was not ubiquitous. It was not embraced by all brands of monasticism. In contrast, there were other orders, such as the Cistercians, who rejected this kind of decoration in favor of strict simplicity and austerity. So like any historical era, art is not a monolith. There are always variations, and the Romanesque style varied from culture to culture according to different local practices and purposes. But at Wossak, in a Cluniac monastery, every surface speaks. Many of these historiated capitals, facades, and other surfaces contain images of the strange and terrifying. Cloisters and church exteriors were often populated with grotesques, monstrous hybrid creatures, wild animals, and demons. These were not just flights of artistic fancy, but they served as visual metaphors for sin, chaos, and the dangers of straying from Christian teaching. Church portals in the Romanesque period became monumental preaching tools. These sculpted entrances served as dramatic visual statements, guiding the faithful from the secular world into the sacred world. Oftentimes, the most important sculptural imagery in a Romanesque church was placed in the tympanum, the half-circular area above the portal. And think about this, this makes sense, because this is going to be the most visible place for descriptive imagery if you are a pilgrim approaching and entering a church. These portals often function then as a transitional or liminal space. For instance, the south portal at Moissac presents the second coming of Christ in a majestic and ordered composition. At its center, Christ is shown in majesty, presiding in calm authority, surrounded by the 24 elders of the apocalypse, as revealed in the Book of Revelations. The figures are arranged in a rhythmic symmetry, emphasizing Christ's cosmic rule and sort of a divine cosmic order and justice. It portrays an image of order and beauty that awaits the faithful after the time of judgment. So the function of this image, of this portal, is to remind the pilgrim, before they enter the church, the reason that they're there, that they are transitioning now from the secular world into the sacred world. But at another church, at Auton, the message shifts. The artist Gisla Bertus' Last Judgment on the tympanum of Saint-Lazare is a terrifying scene. Here, Christ returns not as a serene ruler, but as a stern judge. Angels weigh souls. Demons gleefully drag the dam into the monstrous jaws of a hellmouth, the gateway to damnation. And nude sinners cower in fear. This was art designed to literally put the fear of God in you, to make you think twice about your sins and the eternal consequences of your actions. So what we're seeing here are portals functioning as a kind of a sermon in stone. Because, think about it, the population is mostly illiterate. The narthex of Isolae Abbey features a dramatic scriptural program centered on the Pentecost, the mission of the apostles. Christ appears in the center, sending his disciples to spread the gospel to the ends of the earth. The peoples they are sent to convert are shown as grotesque, monstrous figures with twisted bodies, strange faces, almost caricatures. This visual language prioritizes a Christian worldview, where those living outside the realm of Christendom are literally pictured as monstrous or even non-human. And this reflects the crusading spirit of the 12th century. Visolae was the site where Bernard of Clairvaux preached the second crusade in 1146. And so the portal presents Christian expansion as a kind of a divine mission, to carry light into the darkness, to civilize the barbaric and the monstrous, and to convert the unconverted. And this way, again, sculpture once becomes a tool of persuasion, justifying violence with a sacred purpose. At the heart of the pilgrimage experience was the relic. Now these sacred objects, bones or clothing, or sometimes possessions of the saints, were believed to be imbued with a divine power. They could heal the sick, offer protection, and serve as intercessors or intermediaries between heaven and earth. The belief in the power of relics was widespread and deeply rooted in medieval Christian thought. Reliquaries were the containers that housed these holy objects, and they came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Some took on the form of the bones and the body parts they contained. So there are arms and feet and head-shaped reliquaries, while others were designed as jewel-encrusted boxes or miniature cathedrals even. But these aren't just containers. They are meant to sort of represent the divinity of the object within. One of the most striking examples is the Reliquary of St. Foy at Caen. It holds the skull of a young Christian martyr and is shaped like a seated figure covered in gold and gems. Her eyes are wide. They confront the viewer. They suggest almost like the living presence of the saint herself. Some of the materials for this reliquary and many others were donated by pilgrims. But in this case, a large part of the relic was scavenged from earlier Roman objects in a practice known as spoila. I guess I should have given some sort of spoila warning before. You see this a lot with early martyr saints who lived during the time of the Roman Empire. And in the case of St. Foy, the reliquary was constructed out of an old Roman helmet. But St. Foy was just one example of many, many relics. All relics were understood to possess some measure of sacred force. And visiting them was a way of encountering the divine in a physical form. And to stand before a relic, and really any relic, was to be reminded of the holy, to the miraculous, and the eternal gift of salvation by God. So Romanesque art reflects a moment in history where faith and fear and awe were carved into stone and cast into gold. From the crowded pilgrimage routes to the thunderous Last Judgment portals, every element was part of a larger system designed to shape belief and behavior. Architecture managed the movement of bodies. Sculpture managed the movement of souls. So whether through the rhythmic bays of Saint-Sonan, the grotesque of Moissac, or the glittering reliquary of St. Foy, Romanesque art was a visual theology for a world that was mostly illiterate. It offered order in a chaotic world, reminders of sin and salvation, and above all, a powerful sense that the divine wasn't that far away. It was here, right in front of you. That's all I got for you this time. Please click like and subscribe, and hopefully I'll see you in the next video. Take care.