Sistine Chapel


2004 12 15

Imposition. Visit to Sistine Chapel. The Sistine Chapel. The ceiling works almost three dimensional. How could “work” ever be done in this room? Who is trying to be impressed? A statue of Christ gets lost in this space of colorful human history. Colorful human loss.

Why does this room work like a comic to me?

All the pilgrims trying to find their way. By definition the pilgrim is lost. How can a pilgrimage truly end? Where do they really go. I mean, it’s a spiritual thing. Or?

A way to god pictured. As though images tell a story. Salvation and damnation. How fitting the two so gallantly fit together, like gears. What is clear is that there is no third place between or below heaven (salvation) and earth (damnation). Although there is a glowing hole behind the superimposed statue of Christ. I can’t help but think Michael Angelo makes the earth out to be hell. Such an imposition. Yes, I see the level of third grade here. (Proof there really is evolution?)

The want of journalism, that keeps the mind from going… going… gone.

Oh, I want ot give myself to something but I know nothing of the sacrifice of (acquiring) knowledge. This room, this all empowering room, a room that might be the only one where no black exists. It’s no where to be found. This is a room of light, light things. Of the purest and most sufficient confusion that all of mankind could want. It’s here. Not just the answers but all the questions, too. You can, if your of the willing, come to this place and never, ever, question or answer. Imposition. A cornucopia of snakes, trees, feet and hands and finger tips, heads that seem to be all the same, etc. The grass and the trees and the small stones on the floor where ten thousand people walk on the souls everyday, things, emblems dressed in Gold, all of the Gold, it would drip if allowed, if something came along but I think that’s the problem–there’s nothing mystical in this place, really. Is it sacrilege to say there is no magic here? I cannot find imagination here either. There is no place for even secrets here. It is the magnificence of this imposition that leaves the meek ultimately alone, left to the world of genital stimulation and other forms of sweet tasting sin. Sin, my worst-friend. And then come here. I know or feel nothing feminine in this place. As though woman was left behind somewhere. Of course she is pictured here or there but this has left her devoid of recognition. Is that this churches problem? What a surprise. It has forced Her to an existence of objectivity. It was odd to move from Egyptian art to this chapel. I felt more life there, in those other places of past and/or previous culture. Here there is only color and gold and NO mystic black.