The art of the Middle Ages is hard to appreciate because it lacks the monumental, realistic, and imposing figures crafted by the Romans.  Furthermore, it appears to be almost cartoon-like and childish when compared to Renaissance art that recaptures the splendor of Classical art with perspective and life-like anatomical representations of the human body.  To illustrate this point in an admittedly oversimplified way, a well known sculpture of the Greeks, the Nike from Samothrace from ca 200 BCE, shares much more in common with Michelangelo’s imposing sculpture of David dated ca. 1501 than a series of four sculptures surrounding a column dated to the late 12th century. 

And yet, when I visited the Musee de Cluny in Paris where I saw this series of sculptures, I was reminded of why I have spent much of my academic career studying, thinking, and writing about medieval art. There is substance and depth to medieval art that has gone unappreciated, and until we take time to read it and understand it properly, we will miss the beauty and richness of this art—a lesson I needed to be reminded of especially in today’s world where style seems to trump substance.  So, this article will walk through a couple readings of medieval art in an effort to illustrate why I think it is worth considering on its own terms.  

The columns that held up medieval monasteries such as the one from San-Pierre de Rodes were often decorated in a variety of ways including vegetation, animals, and stories from the lives of saints or the Bible. The four scenes from this column are admittedly tricky to decipher for a number of reasons.  First, we are not as familiar with the stories that were drawn on to decorate columns, churches or other media. We have to learn the stories these artists drew on and then read the visual clues in the art. A second challenge is that this sculpture was designed to be viewed from below as we look up to the top of the column.  Thus, many of the features of the figures are a bit exaggerated and are perhaps visually confusing to see from a museum display case.  

This particular column has four scenes from the Old Testament book of Genesis that adorn it.  The first is the creation of Eve as she is pulled out of the side of Adam. In the sculpture, God holds the wrist of Eve as she seems to emerge (in a somewhat awkward presentation) from the side of Adam.  The artist has captured Genesis 2 where, “the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man.” It is worth noting that the scene is meant to signal Biblical memory. The story is meant to prompt deeper consideration and reflection of the scene, especially in light of the other scenes. As noted above, it does not focus on the creation of Adam or any of the other days of creation.  Instead, the artist has narrowed my attention to the moment when God addresses the lack of a suitable helper for Adam. Indeed, being alone was the only thing in the creation story that God deemed not good, which He remedied through Eve.

The second scene moves the narrative forward to Genesis 3 as the serpent, which is wound around some vegetation in the center of the scene, has just finished tempting Adam and Eve.  In fact, we can isolate the moment of the story to after Adam has eaten from the tree as Adam holds the fruit in his right hand close to his mouth. His left hand covers himself in a manner similar to Eve to the left of the scene where she may be trying to cover herself.  Another common medieval artistic convention is utilized here to conserve space and tell more of the story as two moments are captured in one scene: Adam has just bitten from the fruit and they both cover themselves after they realize they are naked. It is a clever narrative tool but one that can confuse a reader unfamiliar with the practice.  This scene builds off of the previous scene and interestingly shifts the attention to Adam who eats from the tree rather than Eve who ate first according to the Biblical text. I am further encouraged to consider shame and hiding that accompany this original sin. This scene theologically and visually focuses not on the creation of the first scene but on the fall of Genesis 3.  

The third scene captures another moment from Genesis 3 when God confronts Adam and Eve about eating the fruit.  Adam and Eve are seen to the right where Adam, again bearded, stands in front of Eve while God, taking up half of the entire scene is to the left and holds out His right hand pointing to Adam and his forehead.  The artist has captured the moment when God asks Adam, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?” (Genesis 3:11) The extended arm and accusing finger visually capture the question directed to Adam.  Another moment is also included as Adam also extends his finger, pointing and accusing Eve as he responds to God by saying, “The woman you put here with me—she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it”. (Genesis 3:12) The elongated fingers of God and Adam emphasize their accusations but also are likely exaggerated to ensure that the viewer from below can make out these crucial visual details.

The fourth scene that surrounds this column focuses our attention on Adam and Even, now fully clothed and carrying tools.  Also from Genesis 3, this scene captures when God clothes Adam and Eve and also announces the punishment for Adam will be painful work and the sweat of his brow that will accompany his work of the land.  It is an interesting visual presentation because Adam with his right hand and Eve with her left both seem to hold a farming tool. Another tool seems to have been broken off that Eve holds with her right hand.  This scene clearly depicts the consequences of original sin.

The four scenes weave together an interesting narrative line from the first three chapters of Genesis.  The two scenes across from each other have an interesting complementary composition as both include a similar presentation of God reaching out, though in the first scene it is to create while in the third scene it is to inquire directly.  The second and fourth scenes also provide a complementary composition as the serpent and the tools are in between Adam and Eve. The entire narrative line also suggests an interesting complementary and perhaps even more egalitarian reading of Eve. She is the focus of the first scene as she is created from Adam and then is presented always in relationship with Adam.  Perhaps a way to see this further is by what is not presented here—Adam is not the sole focus of creation and Eve is not shown as the antagonist but rather is presented relationally with Adam. Furthermore, the emphasis seems to be more on Adam’s deflection than on accusing Eve as God and Adam consume most of the visual space. Finally, the consequence of toil and working the land is shared by Adam and Eve, while the punishment of childbirth is not emphasized. While this may or may not have been the original artist’s intention, contemplating the scenes in this way and making visual and theological connections is absolutely at the heart of medieval art.  Many of the designers and producers of medieval art were theologians who reflected deeply on the Bible, faith, and theological truths. These are woven into the fabric of medieval art and Christians today who have built a foundation of Biblical literacy and theology are well equipped to approach this art.  

However, the art also serves those of us without that type of foundation or familiarity with the lives of saints, another focus of medieval artists.  These works of art were the books of the Middle Ages. The vast majority of people in the Middle Ages were illiterate and art served as the way that the common people could access the stories of faith from the Bible and the lives of the saints that inspired deeper spirituality.  

This quick reading of one medieval sculpture can begin to illustrate an overlooked complexity to the art of the Middle Ages.  When artists began to create fresco cycles that adorned churches, they made very deliberate and thoughtful choices about what scenes to include, how to compose the scene, and what order to present the scenes.  Larger spaces often demanded more scenes and offered even greater opportunities for artists and thinkers to create visual and narrative connections. For example, a narrative line might circle four walls but the artists included visual, theological, and thematic connections in scenes that faced each other on opposite sides of the walls and/or in scenes in close proximity.  These connections spurred an active reading of art and encouraged a type of contemplation and thinking that is often not exercised in viewing art. Experiencing this for myself awakened a deep appreciation and gratitude for medieval art as I considered the sculptural decoration from San-Pierre and other works of art in the medieval museum.  

Learning to read medieval art requires a different lens, patience, and a willingness to read something that is literally and figuratively foreign and distant from our own experience.  The process of learning how to read this art has pushed me to think more deeply and appreciate art that may not initially be attractive to me for one reason or another. Moving beyond the style of art to appreciate deeply the substance of medieval art holds invaluable lessons for me as a scholar and as a person.

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