MICHELANGELO

b. March 6, 1475     d. February 18, 1564

Michelangelo was born Di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni in Tuscany, Italy, and the creator of such masterpieces as, 'The Statue of David', the painting of the 'The Sistine Chapel' ceiling, designer of St. Peter's Basilica and many other things. He was also a gifted poet.

Michelangelo became an apprentice of painter, Domenico Ghirlandaio at the age of thirteen. He then went on to study sculpture and human anatomy, and produced two sculptures by the age of fifteen; The Battle of the Centaurs, and Madonna of the Stairs. He onced disliked a sculpture he had been working on so much, he attacked it with a hammer, breaking off an arm and a leg from a figure of Christ, and one of the hands from the Virgin Mary.

The only work he ever signed was his Pieta sculpture. He signed it only because he had overheard a remark that the figure had been created by another artist (Christoforo Solari). He later regretted signing it in a 'passionate outburst', and refused to sign any of his further works. Some say that the Pieta was his greatest work ever.

Michelangelo was once quoted with- "I am a poor man and of little worth, who is laboring in that art that God has given me in order to extend my life as long as possible". (January 1542)

Da Vinci oftened clashed with Michelangelo, debating over whom was the better painter. Once, they both painted similar battle scenes across from one another, but neither artist finished either painting. Michelangelo's style was realistic and dark in color.

Not many know that Michelangelo was also a talented poet, writing many poems for women, even though many considered him to be homosexual. One woman imparticular, Vittoria Colonna, he had bonded with both spiritually and religiously. He wrote the poem for her below entitled, 'To Vittoria Colonna'. It was translated from Italian by Longfellow.

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TO VITTORIA COLONNA

WHEN THE PRIME MOVER OF MANY SIGHS

HEAVEN TOOK THROUGH DEATH FROM OUT HER EARTHLY PLACE

NATURE THAT NEVER MADE SO FAIR A FACE

REMAINED ASHAMED, AND TEARS WERE IN ALL EYES

O FATE, UNHEEDING MY IMPASSIONED CRIES!

O HOPE FALLACIOUS! O THOU SPIRIT OF GRACE

WHERE FOR ART THOU NOW? EARTH HOLDS IN ITS EMBRACE

THY LOVELY LIMBS, THY HOLY THOUGHTS THE SKIES

VAINLY DID CRUEL DEATH ATTEMPT TO STAY

THE RUMOR OF THY VIRTUOUS RENOWN

THAT LETHE'S WATERS COULD NOT WASH AWAY!

A THOUSAND LEAVES, SINCE HE HATH STRICKEN THREE DOWN

SPEAK OF THEE, NOT TO THEE COULD HEAVEN CONVEY

EXCEPT THROUGH DEATH, A REFUGE AND A CROWN.

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