Your Michaelangelo Self

Has art ever moved you to tears?

Two summers ago came close for me.

Florence, Italy. A two hour wait. Line stretching three city blocks. Thousands of sightseers from across the planet, scrolling their phones, tapping their feet, slowly inching forward, all for a glimpse of the greatest statue ever carved.

Finally, our turn. We round the corner and behold: down a long hall, rising above the tourist masses, the ideal vision of man.

Until you see Michelangelo's David in person, you don't realize its size. It's colossal. Goliath's killer stands seventeen feet tall, more demi-God than shepherd boy. That first glance so captivates that you miss the half-dozen statues lining the hallway in the foreground. 

But as we press forward, weaving through bodies, these side statues catch my eye. I stop for a look. Woahhh. What?!. I'm split between awe and disgust. They’re all unfinished. 

That’s right. The entire corridor is lined with half-finished sculptures. Human shapes twist out of marble blocks, eternally trapped in their stone prisons. As I stared at these lesser artworks, something inside me shivered. An unsettled feeling arose, a sense of pity for these grotesque figures. They had so much potential to be magnificent works of Renaissance art, world-famous Florentine figures. But instead, for lack of focus or commitment or simply running out of time, there they stay, the ugly hors d’oeuvre before the main event.  

On I stared. I couldn’t shake the gross, uncanny feeling of the unfinished human form. It bothered me unreasonably. Finally, my eyes swung away, upward, to the magnificent David statue rising high above the rest. What a contrast! A perfect depiction of man, carved to the finest detail. Not even a speck of excess stone. That’s when it hit me: 

We are the unfinished statues, shackled by excess stone: that fast food fix, gobs of time spent swiping glass, swirling worries that drain us of presence. Michelangelo’s David stands tall as our ideal self: who we know we could be in our best moments, stripped clean of our sticky vices. Close your eyes and admire your Michaelangelo Self: standing tall and purposeful, free from the icky nonsense our abundant age throws our way. 

It’s so easy to get stuck in the stone. Excess marble grabs at us, tugs us down, swallows some of us whole. But maybe, just maybe, the visceral disgust of the hall of prisoners and the magnificent David statue can help you in those modern battles with screen time, anxious thoughts and trans fat. Maybe this image can help you step into your Michaelangelo self.