Annno Domini 1492
The two of them stood around the statue in the middle of the room, regarding it closely. It was a stunning artwork: the statue of a young, athletic Greek in the act of throwing a discus.
He wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.
The old woman – unlike the statue, she was richly attired – nodded to her companion, a young artist with long, curly black hair and beard.
“Very well, Signore Michelangelo. Let's see what you can do.”
The young man bowed deeply. Then, his artistic locks flying in all directions, he marched towards the masterful artwork in the middle of the room and placed the chisel at the wrist of the young Greek.
The hammer came down on the chisel in a powerful stroke, and the hand clattered to the ground, separated from the body. Questioningly, the young artist looked at his client.
“No, no,” the old woman said, shaking her head. “You have to go higher – at the elbow, or, better still, at the shoulder. The more of the arm is missing, the better. And make the end of the stump look nice and ugly, with lots of cracks. Remember, it's over one-thousand years old.”
“Si, Signora.”
With another bow, Michelangelo proceeded to hack the right arm of the statue to bits. Stone shards clattered to the ground. Dust welled up. Soon, the young athletic Greek had become a young, arm-amputated, athletic Greek.
Michelangelo wiped the sweat from his face.
“The other arm too, Signora?” he inquired.
“No, of course not!” She waved her hand disdainfully. “Don't be silly. That's the arm he holds the discus with. How are people supposed to know it's the statue of a discus-thrower, if he doesn't have a discus?”
“But you said the statue is supposed to have been buried in the ground for over a thousand years,” Michelangelo reminded her. “If one arm broke off in the process, why not the other? The arm with the discus is the more fragile one, and thus likelier to break off.”
The old lady gave him a cold look.
“Signore Michelangelo, I have been in the Art Business for twenty years, and my father thirty years before me. I can tell you that when rich noblemen come into my shop to buy ancient art, they will be enraptured by a young, Greek discus thrower. They would be less enthralled by an artwork I would have to call 'Statue of a young man who maybe was throwing a discus, or kneeling down to relief himself, we are not exactly sure because both his arms are missing'. This is art, ancient art, not logic. Do you understand?”
Michelangelo grudgingly bowed his head.
“Si, Signora.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I am going to make the statue as you tell me to, Signora.”
“Good.” With her fan, the old lady pointed to the hand that was holding the discus. “As I said, leave the arm. But chisel off one of the fingers, will you? Just so it looks convincingly old.”
“Si, Signora.”
“And... maybe a bit more of the bottom...”
“... so that it looks old, I know.”
“No, no, just so it looks more... interesting.”
Michelangelo frowned. “Interesting how?”
The old lady rolled her eyes. “Just chisel off a bit. And a bit of the hips, too.”
“Si, Signora. Immediately, Signora.”
The sound of metal on stone reverberated in the workshop. When he was done, Michelangelo turned, and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. Thoughtfully, he looked at the statue, and then at the old lady.
“What do you think, should I also chisel off the... you know; chisel, too?” Michelangelo pointed at the lumbar region of the arm-amputated Greek and wiggled his expressive artist's eyebrows.
“No, no.” The merchant lady shook her head energetically. “Peoplelove to look at the chisel. Especially the young ladies at court. It's the whole point of classical statues, you see, so that young court ladies can look at a chisel while feeling incredibly cultured.”
Michelangelo nodded slowly.
“Oh, I see.”
“It's not your fault that you don't know better,” the old lady said, generously. “You're young and can't know that much about real art.”
“Well... I...”
“You will learn in time. You broke that arm off quite skillfully, you have promise.”
Michelangelo ducked his head.
“The Signora is too kind.”
“Now,” The old lady rubbed her hands together. “There's only one thing left to do. Do you have dirt?”
Michelangelo frowned. “Scusi, Segniora?”
“Dirt. Muck. Mud. Horse-dung would do, too.”
“Err... there's dirt in the yard outside. It still hasn't been paved, although I paid that devil Ferrero three months ago.”
“Excellent! Don't ever let it be paved over. You have an invaluable resource right in front of your door. Not everyone in Rome can say the same.”
Michelangelo didn't look as if he understood. Quite the opposite, in fact.
The old lady sighed. It was clear she was despairing at the young man's lack of artistic knowledge.
“Bring in some dirt and I'll show you what to do,” she directed.
Still puzzled, Michelangelo did as asked. With the help of a wheelbarrow, he brought a large load of dirt into his workshop.
“Now fetch a tub of water,” his client commanded.
The tub was duly fetched.
“Now pour the dirt into the tub, and stir.”
Michelangelo stirred, until the mixture was a nice, deep brown.
“And now?” he asked, the insecurity in his voice betraying his beginning doubts of his client's sanity.
“Simple. Take the tub and throw the contents over the statue.”
“And... why exactly?”
The old lady rolled her eyes. “Dio Mio! The thing is supposed to have been buried in the ground for a thousand years, ever since the Romans made it!”
“I made it.”
“But nobody is supposed to know that, are they?”
“No.” Michelangelo didn't sound very happy with the fact.
“Very well, then. Ever since the Romans made this statue, it has been buried in the ground, for hundreds and hundreds of years. Do you expect it to look all nice and polished when I discover it buried in my back yard?”
“I... suppose not.”
“No, indeed. It must be dirty. This is real art we're making, Signore Michelangelo, not just some marble statue by a young country lad form Caprese.”
Michelangelo bowed once again, and sighed.
“Si, Signora. I understand, Signora.”
Taking up the tub with the dirty water, Michelangelo let his arm swing back, then forward again. Brown water flew in an ark and splashed onto the statue, splattering everything in the vicinity, including the artist, with bits of wet mud.
The old lady had wisely retreated behind a column. Now, she emerged again, spotless.
“I gather this is not the first time you do this, Signora?” The mud-stained Michelangelo inquired sourly.
“Of course not. I told you, I have years of experience. Now look at what you've created. Isn't it wonderful?”
Michelangelo looked.
The statue stood in the middle of the room: dripping brown slush, several fingers and one arm hacked off, the stumps covered by rough marks.
“It certainly looks very... different,” he said, carefully. The old lady was paying him, after all.
She beamed. “A True work of art! I hope you have learned something today, Signore Michelangelo?”
“Si, Signora.”
“So, what are the rules for great art, my young friend?”
The sculptor counted on his fingers:
“One, always break the arm off; two, dump mud and poo on everything; three, never chisel the ladies out of the chisel.”
“Very good.” The old lady nodded. “We'll make an artist out of you yet.”
“To be honest...” The young artist looked a little uncomfortable.
“Yes?”
“I've been thinking about going into a completely different direction with my art.”
“Different?”
“You know... maybe not imitating ancient art. Maybe doing a statue that still has both its arms?”
“Both arms? Still attached?” The old lady looked as though the concept mystified her exceedingly. “Why would you want to do that?”
“To do something original for a change!” Michelangelo's eyes began to glow with an inner light. “I was thinking, maybe I could do a statue of the ancient biblical warrior David. I already have plans for it, you see, here...”
He grabbed a pile of papers, but the old lady shook her head, laughing. “No, thanks. I'm not really interested. You stick to copies of famous artists, Signore Michelangelo. That's what brings money in, I tell you.”
“But...”
“Ancient art is what sells, Signore Michelangelo. Not your modern trash.”
The young artist proudly raised his head. “Trash? Ha! One day you'll see. One day I'll be famous and people will be copying my artwork!”
“Yes, of course.” Still chuckling, the old lady opened the door to the dusty streets of Rome. “Will you bury the statue behind my shop or should I have my men do it?”
“No, no, delivery included, as always,” Michelangelo grumbled. “But you'll see, one day I will...”
The old lady didn't hear any more. She had already left the shop and was marching down the street, still laughing to herself.
“A statue of David! And with both arms attached! What an idea. The poor boy has no clue of true art...”
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Greetings, Milords and Ladies! :)
I hope I managed to surprise you with my little Christmas Present? Several of you have been suggesting to tell another amusing little tale such as 'The Saxon's Seven Shirts', and I thought a Christmas surprise would be the perfect opportunity. :)
Believe it or not, this story is based on a true historical event. One of the works of Michelangelo, today seen as maybe the most famous sculptor of all time, was once passed off as a Roman sculpture to increase its value and successfully sold. The buyer eventually discovered the forgery, but was so impressed by the workmanship of the artist, that he hired him to do another piece of art :)
The method used to make the statue look old - throwing mud all over it - is also not of my invention. It was successfully used by the British forger Shaun Greenhalgh who used it to make a couple of statues he had carved in his garden shed look as though they had come from ancient Egypt. (He succeeded, and sold the statues to the Bolton Museum for almost half a million pounds.)
I hope you have enjoyed this little historical tale which gives a slightly unusual perspective on one of the world's greatest artists. To the right you see a picture of Michelangelo's statue of David :)
Until we meet again, or Arrividerci, as Michelangelo would say ;)
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Caprese: Michelangelo's place of birth
Michelangelo: full name Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, was together with Leonardo DaVinci one of the most famous and significant artists of the Renaissance. His most famous works include the marble statue of David, the images on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and the Pietà (a statue of the Virgin Mary mourning the dead Jesus).