David Di Michelangelo

The train sighed and its doors slid open, beckoning Liam to enter. He cautiously stepped onto the tube and into his coach, the room’s walls the color of cream with a drop of coffee. It had been twenty-six minutes since he left the apartment he shared with his mother: nine minutes to walk to the station, four to grab a snack from one of the vending machines, and thirteen anxiously waiting for his train, which was early by two minutes. Liam was unsure of where to sit- there were eight empty leather chairs, all adorned with polished wood handles and a folded table. He eventually chose the one farthest away from the entrance, hoping this would make it less likely someone sat across him.

As he sank into his chair, the young man slid on his headphones and selected his newest playlist, appropriately named “Train Ride I”. His preference of roman numerals was often ridiculed, yet he still chose to use them privately.

As the train creaked into motion, music flooded Liam’s ears. He specifically chose songs that made him drift into the atmosphere, the guitar so slow and so resonant that it nearly made him cry. His favorites were Sisyphus by Andrew Bird, Marigold by Nirvana, and Here by Pavement, each with such unique beats and melodies that vibrated deep in his abdomen. He slowly ripped open his pack of Wotsits, praying it wouldn’t make too loud of a noise. After devouring all of the cheesy puffs, he fell asleep, slipping into quiet dreams he would soon forget.

As the train squeaked against the tracks, Liam sat up with a start before wiping drool from his lip. The speakers blared that he had arrived, causing him to hastily pack up his things and run off the train before the doors closed. Catching his breath, Liam looked around in awe. Jesus christ. He was here, in Italy, he was standing on the very floor Michelangelo and Bernini had walked upon. As he strode out of the station and towards his hotel, he turned his head every which way, taking in the locals, the beautiful architecture, the compelling stores that he made a note to visit. Liam ran over his to-do list in his head over and over- eat gelato, pizza, pasta, wine, visit the statue of David, the Sistine Chapel (if he could afford it), buy some souvenirs and maybe even a leather jacket. Liam was excited, yes, but he felt anxiety building up at the thought of being alone in a country where he didn’t know the native language. The only Italian he knew was “thank you”, “hello”, “goodbye”, and “excuse me”. What if his phone died, and he got lost, and no one knew english, and they robbed him and murdered him- Slow down. You’re in Italy, the most beautiful place in the world. Shut up and check into your room.

He opened the doors to the hotel and greeted the person at the desk in Italian. Something about him must have given away the fact he was American- perhaps his fidgety, overwhelmed demeanor- as the woman spoke in English. Guiding him towards his room, she explained the landmarks adjacent to the hotel, most of which Liam missed due to her thick accent. The room itself was beautiful, the ceiling painted meticulously to depict Apollo and the star signs with a sun radiating from the middle. He took note of the elementary color theory applied on the outside, flat and dead, but at least the center was more professional- taking advantage of depth and rim light, blue bouncing off the skin in its brightest and deep orange in the darkest spots.

The bed was small, but this didn’t bother him- his body wasn’t very large anyways. After unpacking, he headed downstairs with his headphones, sketchbook, pencils, and book before sitting down at the closest café. After he stammered through his coffee order, Liam slipped his headphones back on and started his “Reading” playlist. The book he started was about the Greek warrior Achilles and a romantic relationship with his male companion. Being both cisgender and straight- as far as he knew- Liam wanted to branch out and put himself in others shoes, especially with everything going on lately in politics and his best friend starting to medically transition. He got lost in the book, sipping slowly from his mug, startled back to reality by his phone alarm. He paid, packed up his things again, and started walking towards the Accademia Gallery of Florence. The ticket he had purchased was (surprisingly) fifty dollars, low compared to the masterpiece it held.

Liam had never been away from home before. His whole life he had wanted to be an artist- get out of his town, attend university in London, teach at a residential facility, publish a graphic novel, then start his career as a sculptor. It was appropriate, given his dreams, to visit Michelangelo’s David. He hoped to sketch the famed statue and possibly a few others, too, such as Cyparissus or Spirit of Industry. He didn’t have enough room in his backpack for oil paints or watercolors, so he planned to use his fanciest camera and color David back home. Liam’s favorite form of expression was through clay and stone, but he needed to master everything first. In a way, he was in love with art. Sculptures such as Ugolino and His Sons, Laocoön, Apoxyomrnos, the pain and sorrow and love bursting out of the stone. When he first went to The Met, his heart had rushed so fiercely he thought he might have to call an ambulance. He could hardly imagine what it would be like seeing what may be the most famed, most stunning statue in all of humanity.

Liam started up the steps to the museum and through security. Legs stiff and achy, hands twitching at his sides in disbelief, he scanned his ticket and made his way through. He watched the crowds of tourists flooding through the halls, approaching three twisted bodies titled Rape of the Sabines. His throat tightened at the title, but it was appropriate, and heartbreakingly common. The amateur artist examined the stricken faces: the woman’s helplessness, the rapist’s hunger, the other man’s shock. How long had it taken to make this? How long did the models have to stay there, in that position, if there were models at all? Was it based on a real event? He prayed it wasn’t, prayed this woman hadn’t needed to go through this, but he knew the brutal truth- this happened every day, everywhere.

After having stared at the piece for over twenty minutes, a guard tapped him on the back and said something in Italian. At his incomprehension, the guard switched to English and asked him to please move away from the statue- Liam hadn’t even realized how close he was leaning in and apologized profusely.

He ripped himself away from the initial room and started making his way to the next space. There were rough, half-completed prisoners captured in the stone, drawing his attention, only to be interrupted by a gasp beside him. Liam looked up, curious, only to realize the end of the corridor opened into a large dome- featuring David. He was caught by surprise, stumbling backwards, to the annoyance of the crowd. It was there, in front of him. A giant, smooth, precarious, polished, legend a few hundred feet away. He was walking towards it, drowning, flying, sobbing because Jesus Christ it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, that anyone had ever seen. He was Abraham, so ready and so willing to do anything, blinded by the power of his god. Michelangelo had chipped away at this, his hands had grazed every molecule, every bone and muscle and fragment crafted to perfection. Liam was torn apart by the pure detail of the masterpiece. Raw, naked, vulnerable, stunning David. His eyes flitted across everything, drinking it in, starving. The elbow, the veins in his hand, the thick neck, the curl of his hair. Liam knew he could only dream of depicting something so accurately (except the hands and feet being just slightly bigger than average, though this was largely overpowered by everything else).

Liam’s inspiration, his idol, his dream, his love. He didn’t know what to do. Sketch, take pictures, simply admire? Yes, that seemed most appropriate, he was still fairly rattled. David. He saw it- he saw it, right in front of him, and it burst him open. It was stunning, it was everything. It was life, death, something beyond. It was the peak of art, he was sure of it. Michelangelo’s David, David Di Michelangelo, the most beautiful sculpture in all of time. Liam would never get close- no one would. But he could still make something that shattered the earth like all the old sculptors did, he just needed to work hard. He would get into Goldsmiths, earn his BA in Fine Arts, teach at Ascend Healthcare for a few years, make a graphic novel, then spend the rest of his time on a true masterpiece. He dreamed of the day he would stand back and marvel at the life he helped spring free from a simple lump of rock.

He really could do this, couldn’t he? Have his art in the Uffizi decades after death- maybe he’d even be the first person of color to get his art in there (although if it were really decades after death, the lack of progress would be quite disappointing). Yes. He really could do this if he tried hard enough. Liam was going to create the next David.