The Bayeux Tapestry: Curating Threads of Power, Propaganda, and Perspective

It is not a painting. It is not a scroll. It is not quite a tapestry, either. And yet, the Bayeux Tapestry, nearly 70 meters long and stitched with wool yarn on linen, remains one of the most cinematic works of medieval art ever created. It unfurls like a storyboard, chronicling the events leading up to the Norman conquest of England in 1066, culminating in the Battle of Hastings. But this is not just about war. It is about vision, spin, and the way art becomes authority. Can a thread tell the truth? 

A Chronicle in Needle and Yarn

Made in the 11th century, likely within a decade of the conquest, the tapestry tells the story from a Norman point of view:

• Harold Godwinson is crowned King of England.

• William of Normandy claims betrayal.

• William invades and defeats Harold.

But what makes it extraordinary is not just its narrative scope, but its medium:

1. 50+ scenes

2. 600+ human figures

3. 200 horses

4. 500+ mythical and real animals

5. Latin text captions that act like subtitles

This is not embroidery as embellishment. It is embroidery as information architecture.

Museum directors, take note:

• Visual storytelling is not a modern innovation.

• Text and image can coexist, but they also compete.

• Narrative can be wielded like a weapon, or a bridge.

A Document, or a Display of Power?

Traditionally believed to have been commissioned by Bishop Odo of Bayeux, William’s half-brother, the tapestry has long been interpreted as visual propaganda, a justification of the conquest.

But it is also filled with ambiguity:

1. Scenes of oaths and omens, leaving room for interpretation

2. Harold is neither fully villainized nor sanctified

3. Women appear in surprising moments—sometimes as victims, sometimes as agents

This duality is the curatorial challenge:

• Whose version of history is being embroidered?

• Can art be both celebration and critique, documentation and myth?

• What does it mean when victory is stitched in soft material?

The Bayeux Tapestry is not neutral, but neither is it entirely reliable. It is a curated conflict in cloth. Despite its medieval origin, the tapestry feels remarkably modern:

• It uses sequential visual language, like graphic novels or film storyboards

• It employs satirical elements (yes, it includes a man dropping his pants)

• It elevates a textile format typically associated with women’s labor into a state record

This is a call to museums:

1. Rethink hierarchy of materials, textiles are not secondary media

2. Recognize how gendered practices (embroidery, weaving) have always been forms of political expression

3. View “craft” as narrative technology

Sometimes, the future of interpretation lies in the past’s softest materials.

Preservation Across Centuries and Borders

• Survived Viking raids, rev-43olutions, world wars

• Been displayed, hidden, moved, and nearly looted by the Nazis

• Sparked international negotiations (including a potential loan to Britain, symbolically loaded with history)

Its survival is a miracle of conservation and a testament to cultural resilience.

What curators must consider:

1. Fragility doesn’t mean weakness, it often means longevity through care

2. Mobility of artifacts carries emotional and political charge

Artifacts that cross borders may become bridges or battlegrounds. To borrow the tapestry is to touch the fabric of European identity. The Bayeux Tapestry is not just a record of conquest. It is a reminder that history is stitched, not sculpted, fluid, fraying, and open to reinterpretation. Museums don’t just protect the past. They must ask: Whose story are we threading into the present?