Michelangelo’s Pieta at the Duomo Museum in Florence was probably my favorite sculpture and I am not really sure why. It was not his most perfect work.( He reportedly tried to destroy it- so imperfect did he think it was). Yet, it was the only sculpture that made me cry. There is something about Nicodemus wearing Michelangelo’s face that gives me goose pimples. It could be his expression as he carries Christ’s limp body or the gentle arc his body makes against the wall. It could very well be the fact that there was nobody else in the room for almost fifteen whole minutes, while we were in there.
For me, the Pieta was a reminder that death is not fleeting. That it hangs as solidly as Jesus’ heavy hand. That life doesn’t go back to exactly the way it was, before death and loss, and that it doesn’t have to. I find that thought strangely comforting.