The Pope's Pad

A visit to the Vatican costs about forty US dollars.  Although I am not religious and know little about the church, I did not hesitate to pay for this excursion.  Mostly I was curious to see the Sistine Chapel, but to be honest there isn’t much else to do in the Vatican City except buy overpriced gelato and go pope-watching.  The best perk of traveling with a tour group is evidenced when one visits overcrowded attractions such as the Apostolic Palace.  Since I booked with a large group, I got to skip the massive line that spanned half of the tiniest country in the world.

 

The museum that leads up to the Sistine Chapel is immaculately decorated.  The antechambers certainly are not a study of humility but instead an experiment of unlimited wealth with limited wall space.  The walls are covered with ornamental rugs that depict scenes of Jesus’s highlights.  One picture shows him nonchalantly emerging from his rebirth.

“I wasn’t dead, you guys,” Laura imagined the quilted-Jesus saying, “I’ve just had a really long shower.”

Another rug showed him seated at a dinner table with two men who were sharing a bowl of bread.  Jesus raised two fingers in the air. 

“He’s signaling to the waiter,” I said.  “He’s ready for the bill.”

Aside from the religious carpets, the ceiling was covered in various paintings that were positioned every which way, but mostly upside-down from my vantage point.  As far as I was concerned, this was a one-way corridor, so this directional placement made little sense to me.  I shuffled along with the crowd, and I couldn’t stop to scrutinize the details lest I risk being trampled. 

The hallway seemed endless, and I grew tired of looking at paintings inconveniently positioned on the ceiling.  There was way too much to look at, and no time to appreciate the details. I wonder now what is the point of having so much artwork that people will barely see.  One might as well hang watercolors on the side of the four-lane highway.

When we reached the Sistine Chapel, the same overindulgent décor was applied.  The room was cool despite the colossal human zoo forming.  The lights were dim so as not to damage the paintings.  Immediately, I searched for Adam’s and God’s fingers that fail to touch because that was the only image I recognized.  I stared at that for a while to further imprint those two figures in my mind. 

My neck grew cramped scanning the ceiling for ten minutes.  Italian security guards intermittently warned us not to take photos or videos but inevitably some stuck their lens above the crowd to snap a few contraband photos of Michelangelo’s masterpiece.  Aaron took a picture from his hip with his camera pointed upward.  The result was a picture of anonymous hips and limbs with a fresco in the background.  He shared this with me as though revealing a dirty secret.   

Silencio, per favore, the security guard’s voice erupted over the loudspeaker.  “Silence, please,” he repeated in English.

The din would dissolve and then gradually rise again as the crowd couldn’t help but to express their amazement.  I didn’t understand why we had to be quiet.  It’s not like the painting can hear.  And if there is a God and he happened to tune in to this particular station, wouldn’t he want to hear feedback about Michelangelo’s work?

Personally, I thought there was too much going on in the painting.  Due to my background in film, I preferred to have my eye directed to specific details.  I was never a fan of epics with loose story structures, and generally I favor films with few characters rather than an ensemble cast.  The ceiling is too cluttered and needs focus, I thought. 

However, the longer I stared at the Sistine Chapel I realized what an impressive feat this was.  I remember complaining in middle school about writing a five-paragraph essay.  How could I possibly fill in all that space with my ideas?  I couldn’t imagine painting an entire ceiling and a giant wall with such important Biblical figures.