How are great artworks created?

Michelangelo Buonarroti agreed to an interview.

Scene: It is 1510. We find ourselves in Rome, a place filled with the gentle murmurs of creative talent and the occasional scratch of Michelangelo's tools. The half-finished Sistine Chapel ceiling rises above us, a magnificent, heavenly expanse of beautiful murals. The air has a subtle fragrance of paint and wet plaster. Michaelangelo Buonarroti, dressed in a modest tunic, comes before us. His eyes, passionate and restless, reveal the complicated emotions that whirl inside him.

Interviewer: Maestro Michelangelo, thank you for speaking with me. It must be daunting to handle a job of this size. What was your immediate response when Pope Julius II contacted you and offered to paint the ceiling?

Michelangelo: Are you saying it is overwhelming? That's putting it mildly. I was apprehensive, maybe even opposed. I am, first and foremost, a sculptor. The stone talks to me, and the chisel seems like an extension of my own hand.

 I had not planned to paint a ceiling, particularly one as large and high as this,  how and to create any wall art. At first, I took that as an insult; Julius was well aware of my affinity for sculpture. I pondered rejecting it outright. But the Pope...well, he is not easily defied. And as I reflected, I recognized this as a heavenly test—an opportunity to demonstrate what the human spirit can do when inspired by God.

Interviewer: You mentioned resistance. Do you have any reservations regarding the project or your capacity to execute it?

Michelangelo: Every day, I fight with skepticism. The physical demands are enormous. My neck and arms hurt after hours of craning and extending over my head. The task seems never-ending, as if the ceiling mocks me with its enormity.

However, I find comfort when I step back and watch the figures—Adam, God, and the prophets—start to form. This is not an easy undertaking, but I remind myself that I desire God's glory rather than my own. Although I pour my heart and soul into this

  commission, I curse it daily.

Interviewer: How many hours a day do you devote to this work? It must be consuming.

Michelangelo: Hours? I hardly count them anymore. I work from dawn till dark, maybe longer if the light permits. My helpers aid with preparing plaster and paints, but the finer details are all mine. My meals are limited and rushed, and my sleep is disturbed. The task absorbs me physically and spiritually.

Interviewer: Nonetheless, something must motivate you to persevere despite the difficulties. What sustains you?

Michelangelo: Inspiration comes from a variety of sources, most notably scripture. The Book of Genesis is the cornerstone of this ceiling, and I often contemplate its words while painting. Nature, too, may teach. The paintings depict a tree's curves, the garment's folds, and the strength of a man's arm. And, of course, the human body, God's exquisite creation, inspires much of my vision. Its shape contains the divine.

Interviewer: Let us consider the climate beyond these walls. How is the vibe in Florence these days? What do the townsfolk talk about?

Michelangelo: Florence, ah! My dear Florence, even though I am now far away. She is constantly full of passion—political, artistic, and otherwise. The Medici are a perpetual source of pride and strife for the people. They mutter about their power and plans, alliances and betrayals. Above all, Florence is a city of art, where beauty is cherished and debated. The locals, I'm sure, talk constantly about me and my contemporaries—Raphael, Leonardo, and others. They wonder who among us will withstand the test of time. I can't avoid the competition.

Interviewer: Speaking of contemporaries, have you had any encounters with Raphael or other people from your time? How do you see their work?

Michelangelo: Raphael, that attractive young man, is a superb painter—though I say this reluctantly. His frescoes in the Vatican are exquisite, harmonious, and full of charm. Maybe there's too much grace. He lacks the passion and genuine emotion I aim to convey in my work. We are undoubtedly opponents, but there is also mutual respect. As for Leonardo, he is a genius who is also quite secretive. His mind is like a maze, filled with marvels yet hard to traverse. I believe future generations will evaluate us all based on our merits, which is appropriate.

Interviewer: Are you pleased with the development of the Sistine Chapel?

Michelangelo: Satisfaction is transient. I see defects, flaws that only I can see. The paint does not always follow my commands, and the frescoes seem to have a life of their own, sometimes opposing my plans. However, there are times—brief, bright moments—when I stand back and sense the presence of something bigger. It is then that I know I am on the correct track.

Interviewer: Several artists have muses. Do you?

Michelangelo: A Muse? No, not in the way poets describe them. My inspiration comes not from any one individual but from the divine, scripture, and the world around me. If I had to choose one earthly influence, it would be the human form, which I have spent many hours studying. Every muscle and bone is the language with which I transmit my vision.

Interviewer: You dedicate so much of yourself to your job. What hopes do you have for the future, both for yourself and future generations?

Michelangelo: I dream that my art will endure. Then, it may be art about history. Not for my own glory—though I must admit, pride is a continual struggle—but so that those who follow might understand and experience what it is to be human, to seek the divine, and to wrestle with our role in creation. I see a world where beauty and truth reign supreme, even in misery and confusion. I will have done well if I can contribute even a little portion of that vision.

Interviewer: Finally, Maestro, are you happy?

Michelangelo: Happy? [He pauses, brow wrinkled, as if considering the term.] Happiness isn't something I dwell on. Contentment eludes me since this task is a daily effort. Nonetheless, in the battle, I discover meaning. There is also a sense of accomplishment in purpose. If it is bliss, maybe I am happy. But I'll leave such judgments to God.

As the conversation ends, Michelangelo returns to his scaffold, brush in hand and eyes focused skyward. The light touches the developing forms of Adam and God, their fingers almost touching—an instant of creation caught in time. Michelangelo's legacy is being realized one brushstroke at a time in the Sistine Chapel.