The David
Five years ago when I first saw Michelangelo's David, I was relieved to find the bench skirting the wall behind it, and I sat there, studiously examining everything except his... um, let me say it another way. I sat there studying his feet, and his legs, his back and his head. It wasn't that I thought it was perverse that the only thing he wore was his sling, I just wasn't sure the gluteous maximus was all that beautiful.
A lot happens in five years, and by the time we turned our backs on the slaves wrestling themselves out of the marble that birthed them, I was excited to see what Michelangelo saw when he first ransomed the flawed piece of marble.
And there David stood in the center of the room, shorter than I remembered him, but not a disappointment. His brows furrowed in concentration and his hand tensed as he fingered the rock, and yet his legs were relaxed as he gazed out at the giant before him. Such amazing life like beauty carved from breathless stone!
But the longer I stood there, the more aware I became of an indignity, something that made me want to borrow David's rock to bring down what towered over him. For once again, insults hung in the air and men, consumed with their own self worth, issued a challenge.
What I speak of was a painting, hung high over a doorway in the name of honoring Michelangelo. How grotesque! How putrid! How utterly offensive. The naked, leering figure of a man far past his prime was superimposed on a copy of Michelangelo's The Last Judgement. By far the worst insult, yet there were others, too, such as a foot perhaps made from nailing two pieces of scrap lumber together.
The foot may have been interesting in someone's back yard, and the nearly life sized photographs of tourists viewing the David served as a sort of mirror, but the painting seemed to be on the same level as the David boxers sold on the street: a junior high joke, but never art. To treat it as art, to hang it in a place of honor is an insult to the artistic genius of Michelangelo, an insult against art, and an insult against all that is Beautiful.
Another giant has come to taunt and where is the David that will prove it a fool?
A lot happens in five years, and by the time we turned our backs on the slaves wrestling themselves out of the marble that birthed them, I was excited to see what Michelangelo saw when he first ransomed the flawed piece of marble.
And there David stood in the center of the room, shorter than I remembered him, but not a disappointment. His brows furrowed in concentration and his hand tensed as he fingered the rock, and yet his legs were relaxed as he gazed out at the giant before him. Such amazing life like beauty carved from breathless stone!
But the longer I stood there, the more aware I became of an indignity, something that made me want to borrow David's rock to bring down what towered over him. For once again, insults hung in the air and men, consumed with their own self worth, issued a challenge.
What I speak of was a painting, hung high over a doorway in the name of honoring Michelangelo. How grotesque! How putrid! How utterly offensive. The naked, leering figure of a man far past his prime was superimposed on a copy of Michelangelo's The Last Judgement. By far the worst insult, yet there were others, too, such as a foot perhaps made from nailing two pieces of scrap lumber together.
The foot may have been interesting in someone's back yard, and the nearly life sized photographs of tourists viewing the David served as a sort of mirror, but the painting seemed to be on the same level as the David boxers sold on the street: a junior high joke, but never art. To treat it as art, to hang it in a place of honor is an insult to the artistic genius of Michelangelo, an insult against art, and an insult against all that is Beautiful.
Another giant has come to taunt and where is the David that will prove it a fool?
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