The Creation Of Eve Read Free

to scowl at Tiberio. "What have I told you about contrasts?"
    Tiberio seemed Unaware of the Maestro's gaze Upon him as he recited, " ' In every painting, the painter must choose what he wishes the viewer to see first. Then he must put the greatest contrast between dark and light in that spot.' "
    I peered at The Creation of Adam. Not only was there much white background in the scene, as Tiberio had said, but the white of God's robe was the brightest white on the entire ceiling. It stood out starkly against the dark band of angels swirling around Him. Once captured by this contrast, one's gaze naturally trailed from His luminescent robe to His outstretched arm, then down to the handsome, languidly awaiting Adam. From there, one could hardly move one's eyes. Never has a human been so lovingly rendered, with such sympathy and truth. How perfectly the Maestro revealed the humble spirit of the man waiting within this earthly shell.
    "So," Tiberio murmured to himself, "in each of these scenes we should look for the greatest contrast if we are to know what you thought the viewer should see first."
    Testing this theory, I looked from scene to scene. Starting in the direction of the door through which we'd entered, I let contrast lead my eye, from the cloak being laid over the drunken Noah by his sons, to the black cape of a fleeing mother against the lightning-lit sky in The Flood , to the bright yellow scales of the serpent against the dark Tree of Knowledge in The Temptation of Eve . In each case the drama of the scene was heightened by the eye's being sent immediately to the most important element--Noah degrading himself, the hopelessness in the fleeing mother's face, the alluring yet repulsive beauty of the serpent tempting Eve.
    I stopped at The Creation of Eve . There, the darkest dark met the brightest light where Eve's plump pale thigh contrasted against the dark shrub below which Adam slept. My gaze slipped directly to the sweetly sleeping Adam, where it lingered on his innocent smile, his tousled reddish hair, his muscular body sprawled on the grass. Only begrudgingly did my eye move to reconsider Eve's crouching form being raised out of Adam by God. Painted against a light blue background, her pale figure was lumpen and static, the expression on her face Unreadable. The scene felt disturbingly empty.
    I bumped into Tiberio. He brought down his gaze.
    "Mi scusi," I whispered. My elbow tingled where it had touched the hard muscles of his belly. I could feel his gaze remain Upon me as I looked back Up at the ceiling. All thoughts of art fled from my mind.
    We left soon after. Tiberio and I did not address each other on the walk home through the crowded neighborhoods, nor throughout an early dinner at a tavern on the Macel de' Corvi, near maestro Michelangelo's house. I picked at my stewed eel, trying my best to keep my gaze from lingering on Tiberio's lively gray-green eyes, on his hair curling over his ears in wiry wisps of gold, on his thick, veined wrists. And Sweetest Holy Mary! Was he trying not to look at me?
    Too soon, cena was finished. We strolled back with Michelangelo to his house to pick Up the drawing supplies I had left there earlier, as I was to leave for Cremona in the morning, ending my visit to Rome. At his door, the Maestro bade Us good-bye, stating that he wished to continue on through the streets, as he usually does of an evening.
    He had hardly stumped away, a furious bow-legged figure in dog-skin boots, when Tiberio said, "Signorina Sofonisba, before you go, would you do me the favor of looking at some drawings? They are studies for a statue I'm finishing for the Maestro."
    "He gave you such a project?" I plucked at the gauzy silk of my veil, which a heated evening breeze had blown across my face. "What a compliment."
    "It is a great responsibility. I have been working on it for two years now."
    "Mi scusi, signorina," Francesca said. "We go now."
    "I would like to see these drawings. Just for a few