“Tempermental Tryst”As soon as I opened the door of Michelangelo’s studio, the smell of paint flooded out and I entered what I considered to be a sacred space. There was a single light hanging over an easel with a blank canvas propped up on it.
“Hello,” I called out as I squeezed the MB key in my pocket and spoke my words in Italian saying, “Tommaso? Michelangelo? Anybody here?”
I walked over to paintings of various sizes propped up helter skelter against the far wall. As I started to sort through them, I heard the door open and spun around. It was Tommaso. He handed me a lightweight see-through robe with ruffles.
“Take off everything and put this on,” he told me.
I felt like I was in the gynecologist’s office and the nurse was telling me to undress.
As Tommaso began to remove his own
