Life of the Artist

It’s said that Caravaggio was a creep,
A pedophile to be precise, the kind
Who lurked near schoolyards, and one who assigned
Apprentices to bed for more than sleep,
A tavern brawler, too, who had to keep
Fleeing from enemy and legal bind.
(A fever, though, could not be left behind.)
Biographies with such an arc come cheap,

The mystery of his subsisting in
How one undone by drink and leaded paints
Could see in less than forty years—despite
His looking through a glass smudged thick with sin
And no less clearly than his pictured saints—
The piercing of the basest depths by light.

—J. D. Smith

Next
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

Give the National Endowment for the Arts Back to the Public

Michael Astrue

For decades, Americans have become increasingly alienated from the American arts establishment. The main source for their…

Jane Austen Against the Smartphone

John Byron Kuhner

On this day in 1813, England’s most beloved novel was published. Pride and Prejudice has become the…

Unseen Skies

John Wilson

If you have been following this column for a while, you know I love the very idea…