The Sistine Madonna is one of Raphael‘s most famous paintings. Commissioned by the Pope himself in 1512, it was also one of his last major works before the great master died at the young age of 37.
The painting depicts the holy lady walking on clouds, holding her baby Jesus, flanked by two saints. All characters are extremely lifelike. Their faces have the quality of photographs. The lady’s gown flutters in the wind. It’s an astonishing painting.
So astonishing in fact that, after it had been used as an altarpiece for almost 250 years in a northern-Italian monastery, the King of Poland bought it for an astronomical 115,000 francs in 1754 — a record sum that would stand for 60 years as the highest price for any painting ever paid.
The paintings history from there is no less illustrious: A king who moves his throne so as to better see the painting, a last-minute rescue from the Dresden bombings during World War II, a made-up story about the Soviets recovering it from corrosive conditions in a storage tunnel in Switzerland — the list goes on and on.
Chances are, even if you know the painting, you’re hearing all of this for the first time. There is, however, a small piece of the Sistine Madonna–puzzle that you, and I, and most of the people you know have likely come across before: “The Angels of Sistina” — also known as the two putti at the bottom of the painting, looking up at the holy Mary with a perfect blend of boredom, wistfulness, and mischief.
Immediately upon the painting’s release, the two chubby little angels became the target of plentiful imitation attempts. In the early 1800s, they made it onto the famous Meissen porcelain, and from there onto everyday items across the globe. Coffee mugs, matchboxes, umbrellas, soaps, candy wrappers — you name it, there’s a version with Raphael’s little angels on it. Their popularity lasts to this day. Go to Amazon right now, search for “angel t-shirt,” and you’ll likely get a tee with the two rascals front and center within the first five results.
Raphael was already considered one of history’s greats during his lifetime. Still, little did he or anyone else know that his most everlasting contribution would be what he surely thought was no more than an afterthought. A little detail to round out a composition. Yet here we are, in a world where billions of people know and appreciate his angels, far more surely than even know his name.
Is this bad? Good? Actually, it just is. Any contribution counts. Whether you call it art or a failed attempt doesn’t matter. In the end, we will decide. Once you’re done, your new job becomes to accept the result, then make the next thing. Your masterpiece might land on merch instead of in a museum, but that doesn’t make it any less masterful — nor us any less happy to see it.
Keep swinging your brush, and don’t worry too much about what happens next.