or throat,
or head, a neck superbly poised on an athletic chest, the sway of the
trunk above the hips, the starting of the muscles on the flank, the
tendons of the ankle, the outline of the shoulder when the arm is
raised, the backward bending of the loins, the curves of a woman's
breast, the contours of a body careless in repose or strained for
action, were all words pregnant with profoundest meaning, whereby fit
utterance might be given to thoughts that raise man near to God."

Learning his first lessons in art of the Greeks, he soon possessed
himself of the great principles of classic sculpture. Then he boldly
struck out his own path; his was a spirit to lead, not to follow. With
the subtle Greek sense of line and form, he united an entirely new
motif. In contrast to the ideal of repose which was the leading canon
of the Greeks, his chosen ideal was one of action. Moreover, he
invariably fixed upon some decisive moment in the action he had to
represent, a moment which suggests both the one preceding and the one
following, and which gives us the whole story in epitome. Thus in the
David we see preparation, aim, and action. It was a far cry from the
elegant calm of the Greek god to the restless energy of this rugged
youth.

Even with seated figures he followed the same principle. Moses and the
Duke Giuliano are ready to rise to their feet if need be. In his
frescoes we again find the same motif,--Adam rising to his feet in
obedience to the Creator's summons, and Christ the Judge sweeping
asunder the multitudes.

In his love of action and his passion for the human form lay the
elements of his art most easily lending themselves to exaggeration.
That the master did indeed permit himself to be carried beyond due
limits in these matters is seen by comparing the grandeur of the
Sistine ceiling with the mannerisms of the Last Judgment. The interval
between was "the time of his best technical and spiritual
creativeness," when he produced the statues of the Sacristy of S.
Lorenzo.

It was characteristic of Michelangelo's impetuous nature to spend his
enthusiasm upon the early stages of his work, and leave it unfinished.
This unfinished effect of many of his marbles seems to bring us in
closer touch with his methods as a sculptor. Nor is a rough surface
here and there inharmonious with the rugged character of his
conceptions. Moreover, as a critic[1] has pointed out, the polished
and rough portions enhance each other, giv