I’ve seen pictures of the Sistine Chapel for so many years now that I’ve grown tired of them, and critical of Michelangelo’s general painting style. The fat forearms, pudgy toes, slapping boobs onto guys so he can call them gals … I knew if I was going to be in Rome & the Vatican anyway, I couldn’t just ignore the place and not go, but I really wasn’t expecting very much.
But then I am inside. An Italian guard is calling for silence. Reverential organ music is thundering quietly (you would have to experience that to know what I mean). It is one huge, open room. Botticelli figures dance and flow along the walls.
And there – everywhere above you; like the Milky Way over farm country on a clear summer night – is the Creation, and Judgement Day; a plethora of great spiritual beings and moments as envisioned and expressed by Buonarroti.
And tears come.
And joy flows.