What Is a Polyptych?

Ghent Altarpiece van Eyck polyptych opened
Jan and Hubert van Eyck, the Ghent Altarpiece, completed 1432 (a polyptych, opened)

A polyptych is a painting made of many separate panels joined together, usually as an altarpiece. The word means many folds. Most often the panels are hinged so the whole structure can be opened and closed, showing one set of images when shut and a richer set when opened for feast days.

It is not a single picture.

It is a piece of furniture that happens to be a masterpiece.

Polyptych at a glance

  • What it is: an altarpiece of many joined panels.

  • The word: from Greek, many folds.

  • The trick: hinged wings that open and close.

  • The two faces: a plainer outside, a glorious inside.

  • The family: the two panel diptych and three panel triptych.

A painting that opens

The defining feature of most polyptychs is movement.

The central panels are fixed, and side panels, called wings, are hinged to fold over them. Closed, the altarpiece shows a quieter image, often in muted grisaille tones or a simple Annunciation. Opened, on holy days, it blazes into full color and gold. The same object could be two completely different experiences depending on the day of the church calendar.

It is sacred theatre with a curtain you can fold.

The family of folds

Polyptych is the big word in a small family.

A diptych is two panels. A triptych is three, a center with two wings, the most common altarpiece shape of all. Anything with more than three panels is a polyptych, and the grandest could run to dozens of compartments stacked in tiers, with saints, scenes and predella panels along the base. The more folds, the more story it could tell.

Two, three, or many. The principle never changes.

Duccio Maesta multi panel polyptych
Duccio, the Maesta, 1311 (a vast multi panel polyptych)

Built to be opened and shut

These were working objects, not just pictures.

Painted in egg tempera and gold on wood, a polyptych had to survive constant opening and closing, candle smoke and centuries of use. Many were later sawn apart by dealers and sold as separate paintings, which is why panels from one altarpiece are now scattered across different museums. Curators still work to reunite, at least on paper, polyptychs that were broken up long ago.

A single altarpiece can now live in five cities at once.

The whole world on an altar

At its grandest, the polyptych tried to hold everything.

Duccio's Maesta for Siena Cathedral packed the life of the Virgin and Christ into dozens of glowing panels, front and back. The van Eyck brothers' Ghent Altarpiece opens to reveal a whole cosmos of figures around the Lamb of God. These were the most ambitious paintings of their age, less a picture than a painted universe you could fold shut at night.

The bigger the faith, the more panels it took to hold it.

Piero della Francesca profile portrait Federico da Montefeltro
Piero della Francesca, Federico da Montefeltro, around 1474 (Uffizi, Florence)

Two great polyptychs survive in museums. The Demidoff Altarpiece by Crivelli is in the National Gallery, and Gentile da Fabriano’s Valle Romita Polyptych in the Brera.

Common questions about the polyptych

  • What is a polyptych? An altarpiece made of many joined panels, usually hinged to open and close.

  • What does the word mean? Many folds.

  • How is it different from a triptych? A triptych has three panels. A polyptych has more than three.

  • Why do the panels open and close? To show a plainer image when shut and a glorious one when opened on holy days.

  • Why are many now split up? Dealers often sawed them apart to sell the panels separately, scattering them across museums.

The masterpiece you could fold away

We think of a great painting as one fixed image on a wall. The polyptych imagined something stranger and grander.

It was a painting that changed through the year, that opened like a book and closed like a cupboard, that could be carried, hinged, stacked and unfolded into a blaze of gold. It is a reminder that for centuries the most ambitious art was not a single window onto a scene, but a vast, moving machine built to hold an entire faith.