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The Daily Triptych066 / 365
A painted interior wall showing multiple figures in elaborate headdresses and regalia. Captives sit on stepped levels below standing lords. The dominant colour is a vivid turquoise blue.

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Oleksii0, CC BY-SA 3.0
CC BY-SA 3.0

III · THE WORK · ART HISTORY

The Bonampak Murals

Maya civilization · Late Classic period, c. 580–800 CE · Fresco on lime plaster

▶ Listen · narrated

For decades the Maya were described as peaceful stargazers. Then three painted rooms were found in the Chiapas forest, showing captives bleeding on temple steps and glyphs naming the men who took them.

At a glance

Culture
Maya civilization
Date
Late Classic period, c. 580–800 CE
Location
Chiapas, Mexico
Medium
Fresco on lime plaster
Discovery
1946, led by Lacandon Maya

Look closer

  1. Maya blue, still vivid after twelve centuries

    The pigment that dominates the murals is a brilliant turquoise blue, applied to robes, headdresses and background fields. Maya blue is a synthetic colour—a compound of indigo dye and a particular clay mineral, palygorskite—that resists fading, moisture and biological decay in ways that organic pigments do not. The chemistry was lost after the Spanish conquest and not reconstructed until the twentieth century. At Bonampak the blue survives in sections where other colours have flaked or darkened, which is why so many of the figures appear to float in fields of saturated cyan.

  2. Captives arranged on the stepped platform

    Room 2 shows the aftermath of battle. Prisoners sit or kneel on the steps of a pyramid, some with blood running from their fingers—evidence of ritual fingernail removal. One figure at the centre of the composition is already dead, slumped forward. Above them stand the victors in full regalia. The spatial arrangement is clear: the captives occupy the lower registers, the lords the upper, and the architecture itself—those stepped levels—organises the hierarchy. This is not a snapshot of chaos but a composed statement about power and its consequences.

  3. Glyph captions naming individual figures

    The murals are annotated. Glyphs run beside and above the painted figures, recording names, titles and calendar dates. Some identify the captives; others name the victorious lords. This is portraiture in the documentary sense: specific people, at a specific moment, doing specific things. The presence of these texts is what allows the murals to be read as history rather than allegory. It also means that when the glyphs were deciphered in the late twentieth century, the paintings became evidence for political relationships between Bonampak and the larger centre of Yaxchilan, under whose authority Bonampak appears to have operated.

The story

The site now called Bonampak lies in the Lacandon forest of Chiapas, near a tributary of the Usumacinta River and close to the border with Guatemala. It was a secondary centre, politically subordinate to the larger city of Yaxchilan some thirty kilometres to the north. Its architecture dates to the Late Classic period, roughly the seventh and eighth centuries, and most of it is unremarkable by Maya standards—modest pyramids, residential platforms, the usual plaza arrangements.

What makes Bonampak significant is a single building, Structure 1, now called the Temple of the Murals. It contains three vaulted rooms, and the interior walls and ceilings of all three are covered with painted scenes executed in fresco on lime plaster. The pigments were applied while the plaster was still wet, which allowed them to bind chemically with the surface. This technique, combined with the particular chemistry of Maya blue and the protection offered by the forest canopy and centuries of soot deposits from ritual fires, preserved the murals in a state that is extraordinary for Maya painting, most of which has not survived.

The three rooms form a narrative sequence. Room 1 shows a courtly ceremony: elaborately dressed figures, musicians, dancers, and what appears to be the presentation of a young heir. Room 2 depicts a battle in a jungle setting, with warriors in animal headdresses and padded armour seizing captives. Room 3 shows the aftermath—lords on a pyramid performing a ritual that involves the captives, some of whom are visibly injured or dead. The scenes are densely populated and carefully composed, with overlapping figures, architectural settings and hieroglyphic captions.

The glyphs name individuals and record dates. They identify the principal lord as Chan Muan II, ruler of Bonampak, and place the events in the late eighth century. The inscriptions also name several of the captives, which is unusual; typically the defeated are anonymous. The level of specificity suggests that these were not generic images of warfare but records of particular events, perhaps commissioned to commemorate a military success or to assert Bonampak's status within the regional hierarchy.

The murals were seen by non-Maya in 1946. The circumstances are disputed. Two American travellers, Herman Charles Frey and John Bourne, may have reached the site first, but it was the photographer and explorer Giles Healey who was shown the interior paintings by Lacandon Maya guides who still visited the ruins for prayer. Healey's photographs brought the murals to scholarly attention. Within a few years they had been studied, copied and published, and their implications for Maya studies were being debated.

What made the murals disruptive was their content. Mid-twentieth-century scholarship had constructed an image of the Maya as a civilisation of peaceful theocrats—astronomer-priests who built pyramids for calendrical observation and whose art depicted gods and cosmic cycles, not human conflict. The Bonampak murals, with their explicit scenes of battle, captive-taking, torture and sacrifice, contradicted that narrative entirely. They showed that Maya lords fought wars, took prisoners and performed violent rituals as public theatre. Combined with the decipherment of Maya glyphs in the following decades, which revealed that most inscriptions recorded dynastic politics and military victories rather than astronomical data, the Bonampak murals helped dismantle the peaceful Maya myth and replace it with a more accurate picture of competitive, warring city-states.

Why it mattered then

For Bonampak in the late eighth century, the murals were a political statement. The site was small and subordinate, operating under the influence of Yaxchilan, and Chan Muan II's reign coincided with a period of instability in the region. Larger centres were competing for control of trade routes and tributary relationships, and warfare was a tool of diplomacy. By commissioning a detailed record of a successful battle and its ritual conclusion—complete with named captives and calendar dates—Chan Muan was asserting his legitimacy and his ability to fulfill the expected roles of a Maya lord: warrior, captor, ritual performer. The murals were not private; Structure 1 was a public building, and the paintings would have been visible to anyone permitted inside. They were meant to be read by other elites, to reinforce alliances and warn rivals. The specificity of the glyphs mattered because the audience knew the individuals named and could assess the political meaning of their capture.

Why it matters now

The Bonampak murals matter now because they corrected a scholarly error that had shaped public understanding of an entire civilisation. The peaceful Maya was a comforting myth, and it persisted in part because the evidence that contradicted it—inscriptions, murals, fortifications—had not yet been found or deciphered. Bonampak provided visible, undeniable evidence of warfare and ritual violence, and it arrived at a moment when scholars were beginning to read Maya glyphs as history rather than religion. The murals demonstrated that Maya art could be documentary, that it recorded specific events involving named individuals, and that those events included organised violence. This shift in interpretation had consequences beyond Maya studies; it challenged assumptions about what non-European civilisations were like and how their art should be read. It also raised ethical questions about how violence is represented and remembered. The murals are beautiful—technically accomplished, vividly coloured, carefully composed—and they depict acts that are difficult to look at. That combination forces a confrontation with the fact that aesthetic sophistication and political brutality are not opposites, and that the art we preserve often memorialises the exercise of power over others.

The surprising detail

The murals were protected for centuries by the very thing that usually destroys paintings: fire. The Lacandon Maya continued to use the ancient temples for ceremonies long after Bonampak was abandoned, and they burned copal incense inside the rooms. The soot from these fires coated the walls in a black layer that was difficult to see through but that also sealed the painted plaster beneath it from moisture and biological growth. When the murals were first photographed in 1946, much of the detail was obscured by this dark film. Early efforts to clean it were cautious, and some areas were left untouched for decades. The irony is that the ritual use of the building—the smoke from offerings—acted as a preservative, even as it hid what it preserved.

What is disputed

Who first saw the murals in 1946 is disputed. Two Americans, Herman Charles Frey and John Bourne, may have reached the site before Giles Healey, but Healey was the first to be shown the interior paintings and to photograph them. The sequence of events is not definitively documented.

Remember this

The Bonampak murals named the captives and dated the battle, turning Maya art into evidence that the peaceful civilisation was a myth.

Test yourself

Why did the presence of hieroglyphic captions in the Bonampak murals change what the paintings could tell us, beyond simply identifying who was depicted?

Go deeper

Image: Oleksii0, CC BY-SA 3.0. Licence: CC BY-SA 3.0. Source.

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