SPRING
2002 • VOLUME 6, NUMBER 3
BY
BONITA SENNOTT
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After
taking exhaustive measurements of the church of Saint-Urbain
in Troyes, France, professor of art Michael Davis created
this geometrical analysis of the cross-section of the church.
It shows the structure and interior space. |
The
mysteries of the Gothic cathedrals have long fascinated both scholars
and the general public. Just how were these soaring structures
of stone and glass erected in the days before motors, generators,
and power tools? Who created and hoisted into place those intricate
stained-glass windows and stone sculptures? And what did these
buildings—alive with an encyclopedia of images, from gargoyles
to the life of Christ—mean to the religious and lay people of
the time?
Over
the centuries, much has been learned about the cathedrals, and
in recent years books like David Macaulay’s Cathedral: The Story
of Its Construction have popularized the subject. But mysteries
remain. How, for example, did a medieval master mason—the equivalent
of today’s architect—develop his design? What processes and guidelines
did he follow? Answers to these questions are gradually materializing,
thanks to the innovative research of Mount Holyoke Professor of
Art Michael Davis, who teaches courses on the art and architecture
of the Middle Ages, the history of modern architecture, and the
arts of Islam. Along with his colleague Linda Neagley, an associate
professor of art and art history at Rice University, Davis has
been employing high-tech tools to shed new light on French Gothic
architectural design of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.
Although
nothing resembling a blueprint for a Gothic cathedral survives,
Davis was curious about references he’d encountered in various
historical documents to “learned treatises” on cathedral design.
In the absence of these long-lost “learned treatises,” however,
any evidence about cathedral design would have to be gathered
from the buildings themselves. So he and Neagley began their research
project, launched in 1992 and supported by a grant from the National
Endowment for the Humanities, by taking exhaustive measurements
of two French Gothic structures—the church of Saint-Urbain in
Troyes and the abbey of Saint-Ouen in Rouen. Davis and Neagley
focused on these buildings because they were constructed quickly
and thus were most likely the work of a single master mason. They
also aimed to connect their work with other building surveys—Neagley’s
study of the Late Gothic parish church of Saint-Maclou in Rouen
and the investigation by Stephen Murray of Columbia University
of Amiens Cathedral—to create a bank of accurate plans upon which
other scholars could draw.
After
the mountains of data were compiled into ground plans, Davis then
used a sophisticated computer program known as CAD (short for
computer-assisted design) to analyze the design of Saint-Urbain,
Troyes, a church built by Pope Urban IV on the site of his birthplace
between 1262 and 1285. This analysis might have been daunting
were it not for the assistance of Peter Zieja and Russell Boudreau
in Mount Holyoke’s Office of Facilities Management. Not only did
they have the latest CAD programs on hand, says Davis, but “they
taught me everything I know about CAD.”
And,
though CAD is sometimes scorned by architectural traditionalists
as a “mechanical tool with no soul,” Davis says, its “rigor as
an analytical tool” allowed him and Neagley to discover previously
hidden geometrical relationships in the churches’ designs.
At
Saint-Urbain, CAD analysis revealed, the master mason first set
the dimensions of the external walls, or the building envelope,
within the limits dictated by the physical site. Then, he delineated
the central square, from which the building’s plan and elevation
unfolded. Further, Davis discovered through CAD’s precision that
this central square measured 36 Roman feet per side, a dimension
with theological significance (a Roman foot equals approximately
29.5 centimeters or 11.6 inches). According to Saint Augustine,
says Davis, “six was the perfect number because the sum and product
of its factors—one, two, and three—are the same.” Thus, a thirty-six-foot
square, derived from a multiple of the number six, bestowed a
kind of divine perfection upon the building, which was understood
by contemporaries as a manifestation of the Kingdom of God. The
same geometry defined Saint-Urbain’s elevation, locking plan and
structure together in a scheme of elegant simplicity that resonated
with celestial meaning.
Traditionally,
art history is taught by means of slide lectures in darkened classrooms.
But when teaching his students about Gothic architecture, Davis
has gone beyond the classroom, taking them outdoors for a hands-on
learning component meant to convey “a sense of how a church was
designed.” On a bright day last autumn, for example, students
in his course Age of the Cathedrals: The Art of Gothic Europe,
1100–1500 took advantage of the open space of Skinner Green to
investigate the master mason’s job for themselves. Taking measurements,
working out dimensions, and staking string with Davis’s guidance,
they experienced firsthand the genesis of a cathedral’s design.
Currently,
Davis is writing a book on the work of Jean Deschamps, master
mason of the Cathedral of Clermont. His aim, he says, is to “understand
Gothic structures as human products, the results of the dynamic
interaction of traditional craft training and the inventive decisions
of individual masters.” By analyzing the results of his painstaking
research with high-tech, “soulless” computer programs like CAD,
he continues to reveal the very soul of medieval architecture,
bringing to light the intentions and methods of its master masons.
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