CRAFT STORY | EUROPE | TRANSYLVANIA | WOOD
The Craft of Transylvanian Churches
For centuries, the remarkable wooden churches of Transylvania have depended on the hands of skilled craftspeople to keep them standing. In the Sălaj region, where many date from the 17th and 18th centuries, generations of carpenters and roofers developed an intricate knowledge of local timber, traditional joints and wooden shingles, passing these techniques from master to apprentice. Today, masters such as Vasile Pop and Gheorghe “Ghiță” Bonta, together with his relatives Tudor and Vlad Bonta, are among those carrying this knowledge forward, working alongside volunteers and conservation specialists to ensure both the craft, and the historic churches, survive.
The landscape of north-western Transylvania is often enveloped in a fairy-tale mist, from which the spires of ancient churches emerge, sharp and spectral. The rural communities, separated from one another by vast forests that have changed little since Patrick Leigh Fermor described them in Between the Woods and the Water, would regularly gather there for Mass and religious festivals, while also undertaking the demanding upkeep required by these wooden structures.
Much as certain Japanese shrines are dismantled and rebuilt every 20 years, so too has there always been a clear awareness here of the need for the carpenters entrusted with restoration work to pass their craft down from one generation to the next, ensuring that traditional techniques are not lost.
In the Sălaj region, where the oldest churches date from the 17th and 18th centuries, timber was traditionally favored over masonry for a combination of reasons: its ready availability and affordability, the expertise of local craftsmen in working with it, the lingering influence of medieval legislation that in certain circumstances prohibited the use of stone, and, quite simply, the esteem in which it was held as a material, regarded as symbolically bound to the land itself.
Oak trees, which were plentiful, were used most frequently, and many legends tell of churches built on the spot where a tree had fallen. It fell to the master carpenters to read the timber and select the appropriate pieces, which were then fitted together by means of interlocking joints. The absence of hinges and iron fittings testified to the remarkable sophistication of local building techniques. The joints themselves were often ingenious in conception and striking in their aesthetic appeal.
The steep, distinctive roofs were designed to facilitate the flow of water during rainfall, but they also symbolised an ascent towards the divine. Beneath them, the interior architecture followed a consistently unchanging sequence: the narthex (known colloquially as the ‘women’s church’), followed by the nave (‘the men’s church’), with its high vault symbolizing the sky, and, to the east, the altar apse – the most sacred space in the church.
Wooden churches of this type continued to be built, particularly in poorer or more remote villages, until the first half of the 20th century. Their construction was a collective undertaking involving the entire community. Master carpenters and other craftsmen relied on the assistance of fellow villagers for the heaviest or least specialised tasks, while local landowners financed the enterprise by supplying timber or modest wages for the workers or donating the land on which the church was to be built.
The work was not based on architectural drawings: the so-called “architectural plan” rested simply on tradition and accumulated experience. Only occasionally, from the late 19th century onwards, did the intention to build a church begin to be formalised through the submission to the ecclesiastical authorities of documentation that included cost estimates and sketches. (It was during this same period that wooden churches also began to emulate their masonry counterparts in both form and scale, sometimes even covering their façades with stucco).
The scarcity of documentary evidence prevents us from reconstructing the various stages of the building process in detail, but it is known that construction generally took one or two years, with the bell tower and porches being added at a later stage. The final touch was provided by the frescoes.
Repair and maintenance work was carried out regularly, since the average lifespan of a wooden shingle is around thirty years. It was precisely this constant need for replacement that ensured the survival of the essential technical knowledge. From the beginning of the 20th century onwards, some churches began to adopt metal roofing, which had become more affordable and readily available.
This gradual transition marked the decline of the traditional craft, and by around the 1960s the last shingle-makers in the Sălaj region had ceased their activity. Even so, skilled craftsmen, supported by groups of volunteers, continue to safeguard and transmit this body of knowledge.
Vasile Pop, who specialises in roofing, and Gheorghe “Ghiță” Bonta, assisted by his relatives Tudor and Vlad Bonta, are emblematic figures in the current state of the craft. Although they received no formal training, decades of practical experience have led them to become the leaders of the teams responsible for restoring the churches. Their careers reflect a broader transformation in the practice itself, which is now more systematically organised and carried out through carefully planned interventions.
Daily life on the site is demanding, but also deeply communal. Work is physically intensive, involving the assembly of scaffolding, the removal of old roofing, the replacement of battens, and the installation of new shingles, often under difficult conditions. At the same time, social interaction, cultural activities, and engagement with the local community transform the restoration site into a shared living space rather than merely a workplace.
The Ambulance for Monuments programme is central to this process, bringing together craftsmen, volunteers, and specialists to preserve historic buildings. Volunteer camps, such as the one at the wooden church in Păușa, function as informal schools where participants contribute to the restoration while learning traditional techniques through practice.
Today, the survival of this craft depends less on the existence of individual craftsmen than on the creation of opportunities to pass on knowledge. Restoration sites have therefore become both places of intervention and centres of training, where the traditional relationship between master and apprentice has expanded into a wider community committed to preserving these skills.
To the passing visitor, the wooden churches of Maramureș are perhaps the most spectacular, owing to their monumentality and soaring verticality. In the Sălaj region, however, the churches possess a more human scale that lends them an intimate and distinctive charm. It is here that those interested in the restoration process can admire some of the most recent interventions carried out by the “Ambulance for Monuments”. At Păușa, Inău, Derșida and Cehei, roofs clad with pale wooden shingles, not yet darkened by time and rain, stand as visible testimony to the dedicated and painstaking work of the latest generation of craftsmen.
Words by Sara Pierdonà
Images from Patricia Marina Toma & Sara Pierdonà
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