About two weeks ago, I spent several days at the British Museum, where they have several carved stone works from Yaxchilan that I teach in my art history and humanities classes. These include relief carvings and architectural elements that are often described as “canonical” examples of Classic Maya art.
I have to get this out of my system first: they were taken by Britain, and they should be returned. Full stop.
That said—yes, this is hypocritical—seeing them in person, like the Parthenon metopes, is genuinely moving.
What really struck me was the scale. These carvings weren’t decorative wall panels. They functioned as ceilings over very short passageways leading into small yotoot—palace or elite residential spaces. Standing in front of them, you realize how low and narrow these entrances were. You would have passed directly beneath the carving, almost brushing it with your head.
The carving itself surprised me. It isn’t as sharp or crisp as I expected from textbook photos. That’s likely due to a mix of erosion, age, and wear, rather than lack of skill. The details are still impressive, especially the figures and glyphs, but the surface feels softened by time.
What I liked most was how intimate the space must have felt. These carvings are much narrower than I imagined, and that changes how I think about their function. This wasn’t art meant to be seen from across a plaza. It was meant to be encountered up close, in a confined space, probably by a small and very specific audience.
I wish I could read the glyphs. Even without that knowledge, you can feel how much meaning is packed into a tight physical space—political power, ancestry, ritual, and authority, all compressed into a few feet of stone.
If you want a deeper breakdown of the symbols, inscriptions, and historical context, I cover these works in detail in a video in my Udemy course.
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