He sculpted for sure, and for sure he painted, and maybe he made love to both men and women: versatile guy. I didn't know he was also a prolific poet, producing more than 300 sonnets. One, extended six lines longer than standard, describes his extreme discomfort while he painted the Sistine Chapel. Now I'm thinking not only about the painting but about what it felt like to be up there on your back or your side or kneeling or crouching as Michelangelo was in 1509 when he wrote: "...My haunches are grinding into my guts, my poor ass strains to work as a counterweight..." Paint dripped onto his face, his skin both stretched and wrinkled, his back bent and he feared he was developing a goiter. (Likely not.)
He was just a man in a vulnerable, aching body. Just a man!
The exhibit is up till February 12.
Days Three through 100…maybe when the beloved Met opens again fulltime.