ArtSpeak: I know that one day I will be facing 'The Last Judgment' once again, and which way I go will ultimately depend on the choices I make today
Ramon E.S. Lerma
"Attenzione! No photos allowed!"
In a world where screens filled with captured images have taken over our lives, the stern screech directed our way as I lifted my camera phone to take a picture inside one of the world's most visually dense places seemed anachronistic, if not somewhat ironic.
"Silenzio! Quiet!" Jostling with the throngs as we walked around open-mouthed, mesmerized by this sublime vision, the fullness of salvation history playing out around and above us—the High Renaissance version of a Dolby full-surround IMAX experience—the booming command to speak in whispers or, better yet, not to say anything at all, felt unreasonable. How can one stay silent in the presence of such thundering beauty?
For all the paintings that I've shot and saved traveling around the world with a family that eschews theme parks and goes to museums, the fresco behind the altar of The Sistine Chapel, "The Last Judgment," is curiously missing—a darkly humorous affirmation of the saying: "Too often, the thing you like most is the one thing you can't have."
As I swipe left on all those photos, struggling to remember where, when, or sometimes even why I took some of them has led me to realize that perhaps not being allowed to take a picture of Michelangelo's masterpiece was a good thing.
The plethora of writhing nudes breaking out of their graves and rising up to heaven carried by angels, the damned falling onto Charon's boat and being ferried into the bowels of Hell, the brave attempt to absorb as much as I could, as fast as I could while the guida di sicurezza barked at me to not dawdle and move along—all of these were triggers, mental shots that would be imprinted in my memory.
Over time, I have been slowly trying to develop those images in the dark room of my consciousness and putting them all together, asking questions about the plethora of artworks that I have had the privilege of seeing up close over the years, marking the ones that vividly stand out as mental signposts of my life's journey. Look backing through the lens of art is an exercise in introspection. Why do I remember "The Last Judgment" so? Is it the embodiment of my array of interests and passions, a mirror of my virtues and vices?
I delight in extreme detail and Michelangelo's masterpiece has it in spades. The artist's self-portrait, that hollowed-out face of the flayed skin of St. Bartholomew at center of the fresco, is a powerful metaphor of man teetering between doing good and succumbing to evil, a tilt towards my existential musings. At the same time, bowing to my aesthetic inclinations, I am enthralled by the mural's fractal movements, the solids and the spaces, the flame-like patterns of floating bodies circling Christ—like planets deriving energy as they revolve around the sun—the Master of all Creation.
As I follow the upward and downward movement of the blessed and cursed souls; as my mind's eye shifts between extremes and reflects upon dichotomies; as I capture moments that truly matter; as I speak out on issues that are important to me, particularly in the realm of art; as I act instead of do nothing; as I strive to give back and make a positive change; as I continue to paint my fate and deliver my utmost to bring meaning into existence, it's because I know that one day I will be facing "The Last Judgment" once again, and which way I go will ultimately depend on the choices I make today. Silenzio be damned!
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