I want you to think about a large piece of marble weighing around 9000 pounds.
A man was contracted to produce a work for a Cardinal in the church in 1498 and complete it by 1499.
He was twenty-four and finished it on time.
A few days after completion, it was placed in the old Basilica of St. Peter, and he went at night to admire it.
He heard strangers praising it but attributing its artistry to others.
A night or two later, he shut himself off in the chapel and chiseled his signature on the band across the Virgin’s chest.
MICHAEL ANGELUS BENAROTUS FLORENTINUS FACEIBAT
Translation: MICHELANGELO BOUNARROTI OF FLORENCE MADE THIS
This was the last time he signed his name to any of his creations.
One can imagine Michelangelo’s rage to go back and put his name on Mary’s chest. A blatant, somewhat arrogant center placement of the script, where a day earlier he gave this classical beauty up to society, expecting his linear life and art to be known as his without having to sign it.
His rage led him to take back his creation and in a graffiti-like, destroy what he initially presented and created.
This linear life I mention, is similar to those who had a near-death experience and saw their entire life flash before them. Artist, poets, writers, discover and explore it without a near-death experience.
There is an expectation their beauty and genius is singularly seen and always developing; the voice of a writer heard through his words, brushstrokes on canvass, or how a chisel meets marble.
Parents know the first creative act of a child is when they take their first crap in the toilet. They call everyone in to see what they have done. Perhaps this is the first creative act of humans
All crap is not alike.
When Michelangelo signed this work, he told the world he shits bigger then all of them.