He was prickly. And he was paranoid. He was courageous in and for his art yet was a coward in the face of physical threat. He was less concerned about money than fame. He was secretive and had few friends. He could be disingenuous and prone to sarcasm.
That pretty much ends any similarities with the reviewer. For Michelangelo was a true genius, imaging things unlike anyone else.
This is a superb biography and also an art study. The life of Michelangelo is told but there is also an analysis of his six (in the author's opinion) greatest works: the Pieta, David, the Sistine Chapel Ceiling, the Tombs of the Medici, The Last Judgment and St. Peter's Basilica. So there is Michelangelo: painter, sculptor, architect; and there is Michelangelo: son, brother, uncle, a man of Florence. He loved the nude male form, and lived in torment. He was subject to changing politics and power. His unfinished works are as prized as those he completed. His greatest sculptures have been vandalized; his greatest paintings retouched by lesser hands; his buildings finished in competing styles.
This life is well-told here, a book both instructive and entertaining. There's beauty in the telling.
Of the Pieta:
This symbolic function helps explain Mary's calm demeanor, for Michelangelo's Pieta is not meant to conjure the moment in history when Christ's body was taken down from the Cross and placed in his mother's lap, but rather the entire arc of history in which Man's fall was redeemed through the death that makes possible our eternal life.
Of David:
David, for all his self-assurance, is a verb, not a noun; he represents a state of becoming rather than of being, defined by a supreme act of will. His identity is not complete but forged in battle driven by a fierce spirit.
Of the Sistine Chapel Ceiling:
Michelangelo is an artist, not a pedant, a conjurer of sacred mysteries rather than a transcriber of received wisdom. He is a profound but unsystematic and unorthodox reader of Scripture, reveling in the unexpected, flirting with heresy, celebrating his own illicit passions and exploring morbid pathologies.
Of the Medici Tombs:
Michelangelo plays a kind of conceptual peekaboo throughout the chapel in which he cuts against the grain of our expectations. His fascination with visual paradox extends to sculptural elements that are deliberately unresolved, strained, or even contradictory. Perhaps the most obvious example involves the strange costumes he has chosen for the two dukes. Despite the fact that both wear ornate cuirasses, their chest muscles and the fleshy creases of their bellies are clearly delineated as if their armor were nothing more than a sheer, skin-tight fabric. Such garments have no historical or practical justification, but they reinforce that disquieting sense that we have entered a realm where the laws that govern everyday life no longer apply. Like the false doors and broken pediments, the ducal armor exists as pure symbol, stripped of any functional role, as if to highlight the fact that these two men are warriors in name only, their battles more metaphysical than real.
Of The Last Judgment:
Before the Protestants and the Catholic reformers revealed that grace could not be bought, the path to heaven had been well marked; it was even supplied with toll booths that allowed the faithful to proceed onward and upward after the payment of a nominal fee. The clergy served as both toll collectors and traffic cops, and the rites they administered constituted rules of the road that all could follow. Michelangelo has done away with this neat, well-regulated scheme. All is chaos.
Of the Basilica:
Nowhere can Michelangelo's unmatched feeling for sculptural form -- for imparting to obdurate matter an almost sexual element of tumescence as stone seems imbued with pulsing life -- be seen to greater effect, as the great stone vaults yearn skyward in a climax that is equal parts sensual and spiritual.
And so, Felix Unger's structural device here helps explain the subject and his works. Michelangelo soars once again.