Artist-in-residence
In "The Palace" (chapter 3), of Irving Stone's The Agony and the Ecstasy, Michelangelo is invited to a dinner party at the palace of il Magnifico:
He was surprised to find himself in a severe room without a single work of art . . .
Stone continues to describe a scene which may be familiar to readers—from cinema and life—as typical of festive Italian dining arrangements. Except for one, striking, detail: no art? One would expect the walls to be covered with paintings or, at least, traditional tapestries -given the importance of art to Florence's greatest patron of art. Lorenzo de Medici epitomizes "connoisseur of art." And yet (according to Irving Stone's description), there's no art—nessuno—in the Magnifico's dining room.
The reader is, as Michelangelo (presumably) was, left to ponder the enigma da solo. My narrative, too, sticks at this detail because, if we are to have an academic discussion of art, there must in some sense be an absence of art -of its negation. The rule applies to everything. It needs no further definition. It applies to all and, in this instance, to art. To justify the invocation of negation, let us recall the wisdom of "a season for all things" (a right time and a place), and thus (for the Magnifico), dinnertime is not the time for art.
What dinnertime was (for Lorenzo) is an enigma. Almost as important as his contributions to art, was Lorenzo's patronage of philosophy. Dinnertime was his school. It is where he schooled his favorites in the culture of Humanism. I'm satisfied concerning the historical accuracy of Irving Stone's description of the grand dining room as an art-free zone. I'm not aware of any fact that contradicts it. Are you? Stone's book is more than a reconstructed biography of Michelangelo's life. The Agony and the Ecstasy is wholistically about the circumstances that made an artist such as Michelangelo possible.
If Michelangelo had existed in any other time and place, it is not impossible to imagine he would have been ignored, as an outsider painter of religious themes. He was an unique product of his epoch; was, himself, epic. My knowledge of Michelangelo, personally, is that he wasn't much to look at. That's saying a lot, because there is a popular stereotype of Italians looking like movie stars. My first impression of the man was his broken nose. It unsettled me. I don't believe my aversion requires justification. I must surmise he was a man of bold opinions.
Back to the book. A couple of pages before the banquet scene, "The Palace" (chapter 3), begins with Michelangelo's reception by Bertoldo to his personal quarters. Bertoldo was, at the time, the palace's resident sculptor. Without explicit narration by Stone, it is apparent to the reader that the aging Bertoldo is on the way out -and (the youthful) Michelangelo, destined to replace him. What honor Michelangelo must have felt to be the chosen one! In the humanistic cultural environment in which Michelangelo was becoming immersed, honor was the epitome of virtue.
It is a brief, but tender scene. Like a pair of artisans humbled by the magnificence of their charge, the two resident sculptors share a wry observation on fickle Fortune:
"But, Bertoldo, sculpture isn't measured by how many pounds it weighs"
"By any measurement it is a modest contribution. Talent is cheap; dedication is expensive. It will cost you your life."
"What else is life for?"
The exchange calls to mind the belief of simple folk in the devil. An advocate for such simple folk might feel compelled to excuse their suspicions that Michelangelo had signed a pact with one.