MICHELANGELO AND ME
By Lee H. Skolnick, FAIA, Principal
When I heard that Gianluigi Colalucci had passed away, a flood of vivid memories washed over me. Colalucci, the Lead Conservator of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescos, was the central protagonist in one of the most highly treasured experiences that professional life has afforded me.
It was 1991 and the massive effort to restore the frescos was under way. Centuries of pollution in the form of human respiration, exposure to light, and the residue from the burning of countless candles had clouded the images festooning the walls and ceiling in a dark and brooding pallor. The work to bring them back to their original state, when Michelangelo finished his magnum opus, was itself a monumental task and the controversy surrounding the efficacy of the cleaning process and the resultant translucent, glowing, and dramatically lighter appearance of the paintings was at the peak of a super-heated debate.
Left: Self-Portrait/Caricature of Michelangelo painting a saint at the Sistine Chapel; Right: The Figure of God sketch for the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo
And so, we were profoundly gratified and not a little anxious when we were invited by the American Foundation for the Arts to design a travelling exhibit whose subject would be the entire epic story from the Chapel’s original ornamentation by the Renaissance genius all the way to the current restoration project. The exhibition would also convey the fireworks that accompanied both the motivation to undertake the restoration in the first place and the unexpectedly fierce foment that the results yielded. For an architect and exhibition designer this opportunity could not be allowed to slip by. And just in case the situation was not sufficiently pressured, there was the fact that the client wanted the exhibition to be produced in a fraction of the time it would normally take.
Thus, just a few days after coming to an agreement on our tasks and responsibilities, I was on an airplane along with David Farmer, the then-CEO of AFA. Our first stop would be Venice, where a more modest exhibit on the restoration project was temporarily installed in one of Palladio’s iconic and magnificent churches.
Our itinerary was a whirlwind proposition in and of itself: Overnight flight from New York to Venice. Tour the exhibition there. Grab lunch. Fly to Rome the same day. Dinner and sleep. Get up early and rush over to the Vatican Museum. Visit the Sistine Chapel. Get on a flight back to New York. In other words, somewhere between a marathon and a relay race, with a little pasta slipped in.
San Giorgio Maggiore designed by Andrea Palladio, Venice, Italy
Venice was a blur. The exhibition in Palladio’s San Giorgio Maggiore was just OK. Of course, it was a challenge to focus on the installation while surrounded by the transcendent architecture. On the other hand, there was a certain palpable resonance to being within the contemporaneous context of the two Renaissance masterpieces.
But the best was yet to come…
ROME
Rome at night; Photo by Songquan Deng
We arrived in Rome long after the late Summer sunset. I have always felt that when night falls in Rome, the city takes on a somewhat sinister quality. I sensed it again on this trip as we walked through dark streets and alleys before finding our hotel. These were clearly business accommodations and their catholic austerity and minimal consideration for the creature comforts were somehow appropriate for the sacred crusade in which we were engaged. Nevertheless, and not surprisingly, our utter exhaustion eliminated any chance that the unhospitable conditions would stand in the way of us falling off to sleep.
The early morning sensibility of the Eternal City confounds evening’s cold mystery. What stood as brooding hulks of stone in the darkness awoke suffused in and reflective of the pale yellow sunlight. It is as though the supreme powers have decided to give the city another chance to begin anew. Both the human population and the legendary hordes of stray cats bustle forth to once again dance to the symphony of church bells and honking car horns.
View of Vatican City and St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome, Italy; Photo by Viacheslav Lopatin
Not to be outdone or left out, we rushed through a cappuccino and a small pastry so as not to be late for our appointment with the Director of the Vatican Museums. To show up after the stipulated time would be unthinkable. And that anxiety-provoking prospect of tardiness was amplified by the seemingly endless series of inspections and authorizations, conducted by a cavalcade of players, from the brilliantly uniformed knights to humorless men in crisp dark suits, the occasional no-nonsense physical laborers in their blue jumpsuits and skeptical academics in their starched white lab coats. Step by step we gradually penetrated deeper into the heart of the campus-like City, finally arriving at the appointed hour in the reception room of the Director’s office. All along the way the environment had morphed from the monumental public face of the Vatican compound into a sumptuous headquarters of a regal and thriving enterprise.
We were escorted into the Director’s inner sanctum, a generous, warm, and sublimely tasteful office which nonetheless made it clear that this was a place that embodied the magnificence anointed through its association with the Highest Power. We were greeted graciously by the Director and invited to pay appropriate homage to our surroundings and all that they represent. The Director was a movie star stereotype of what you would expect. Impeccably dressed and groomed, exuding an aristocratic noblesse oblige, yet deeply respectful. Unlike other cultures, including our own, Italians hold architects in high regard. How gratifying to be referred to as “dottore”, “professore”, and “maestro“. I could get used to that.
After a cordial conversation wherein we each substantiated our knowledge, expertise, and sophistication, we were invited down into the belly of the complex. Here we could view the vast array of laboratories filled with computers and all kinds of equipment which were dedicated to the project. In this hushed but busy environment scientists and technicians performed every kind of analysis and test to determine the chemical constitution of minute samples extracted from the walls and ceiling of the chapel. The holy grail of this enterprise would be a formula representing the composition of the stucco and pigment and a road map for bringing it back to its original state. To see the juxtaposition of the sacred and patinaed ancient with the high tech, shiny, and rational new was a truly surreal experience.
And to realize the lengths to which the Vatican would go in order to discern the appropriate strategies for the restoration was humbling and impressive. All this data synthesized into a recipe for the perfect elixir to unroll the centuries and reach back to Michelangelo’s materials and methods!
Interior view of the Sistine Chapel, Vatican City; Photo by RPBaiao
And then, finally, the reason we had come all this way. We were escorted into the Chapel. Imagine having it all to oneself. Without the bustling, shoving crowds and their accompanying worldly din. With nothing between you and the silent majesty. The muted light filtered through the clerestory windows, bathing the frescoes in a soft glow. And what a revelation to see the paintings in their restored state: the translucency, emitting light from within. The fluidity of the brush strokes. The vivid colors that had been muted for so long.
And at the end wall of the Chapel, a spiderweb of metal that was the scaffolding. We have all been puzzled, forever wondering and speculating how the Master was able to make these complex and detailed drawings while lying on his back. How he could calculate the formula for making everything seem in perfect perspective 68 feet above the floor while up so close to the surface that his face must have been continually daubed in wet plaster. Behind the scaffolding was the altar wall of the Chapel, hosting the miracle of the Last Judgement. After taking our sweet time to immerse ourselves in the revelatory splendor of the newly refreshed artwork, we were invited to ascend the scaffolding, feeling the sensation of floating up to heaven and finally reaching the platform upon which the chief restorer worked. Here was a somewhat disheveled scientist, a solitary figure, channeling Michelangelo’s secret directives of over 500 years ago to unearth the true vision at which he relentlessly toiled. Gianluigi Colalucci.
Gianluigi Colalucci restoring “The Creation of Adam”, The Sistine Chapel, Vatican City
Here was a humble yet driven alchemist who had spent his professional life protecting the heritage of this magnificent work. Stacked nearby was a monumental pile of computer printouts and scientific documents, providing detailed instructions on how to clean the paintings. And here was Colalucci, leaning forward to gently rub the surface with a small rag soaked in warm water and maybe a little dish soap! Unfailingly gracious and calmly tolerant of our questions (and awe), he explained that the trick was to know when to stop. Colalucci seemed to be telling us that all the scientific input that was painstakingly assembled was no match for the intuitive knowledge combined with the sensitivity of his eyes and hands. I must admit to swooning over this entire experience. I was transported to a place out of time, a collapsing of all stimuli into an almost trancelike state. But Colalucci had another provocation up his sleeve. He handed me the rag and invited me to try rubbing gently on the frescoed surface. And that was it. An internal lightning bolt coursed through my body and mind. Michelangelo was alive in the plaster. He was offering me this once in a lifetime moment of epiphany so that I could embody the story and pass it on to the world.
I don’t know how long we stayed up on the top of the scaffolding and I can’t remember how we landed back on earth. I only know that it took many months for me to lose the feeling that I was lifted off of the earth’s surface and dwelling in a place that transcended the comparably narrow lives that we live. Best of all, I have never completely lost that sensation. In the end, outside forces caused the exhibition we designed never to be produced. I can honestly say that this was disappointing but, really, how can that unfortunate detail compare to the unimaginably profound privilege of meeting Michelangelo through the benevolent graciousness of Gianluigi Colalucci?