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Marble courage vs. bronze tokenism: A tale of two statues
I was skimming through Substack the other day looking for something of interest to read when I came across an article titled “Where Is Today’s Michelangelo?”
It was a thought-provoking piece about the depleted state of modern society’s artistic soil thanks to the eradication of ideals and objective truth, the rise of mass consumerism, and the decline of humanism.
David’s story is one worthy of the blessed hands of Michelangelo, a story worthy of a legacy that lasts all of human history.
The author argued that we’ve yet to see Michelangelo’s equivalent not because he or she doesn’t exist, but rather because our culture no longer knows how to nurture artists capable of reaching such heights.
To give an analogy, the world’s fastest man might be hiding in a village right now, but if that village is plagued with famine and he cannot eat properly, his muscles will not thicken, his bones will not harden, and his potential will die entirely untapped.
The same principle applies to the Michelangelo-level artist, who requires certain specific nourishment to develop his talent fully.
Contrapposto counterfeit
The article got me thinking about a work of art recently unveiled smack in the middle of Times Square to great acclaim — at least from some circles. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.
Titled “Grounded in the Stars,” this 12-foot bronze sculpture portrays an overweight, average-looking black woman in casual clothing, standing with hands on hips. The artist, Thomas J. Price, sculpted her in contrapposto as a nod to the Renaissance king’s “David” — arguably the most beloved sculpture to ever exist.
A glance at the two works side by side, and it’s easy to see that “Grounded in the Stars” is indeed inspired by “David” — the poses, the intense visages, the prowess both aim to convey.
Yet “Grounded in the Stars” will never — could never — dwell in the same divine orbit as “David.” And nobody with an inkling of sense would ever claim otherwise.
My question, and I think it’s an important one, is why? Why would nobody dare argue that Price’s bronze woman could ever ascend the same Olympian heights as Michelangelo’s “David”?
Sculpture on easy mode
Is the answer purely technical?
It's true that "David” is more anatomically detailed, with his veined hands and subtly tensed muscles, than “Grounded in the Stars,” which employs a smoother, more stylized surface.
And the technical mastery displayed by “David” is all the more impressive considering the rudimentary tools Michelangelo had at his disposal. He painstakingly hewed his statue by hand from a single block of marble (and a flawed one at that).
Michelangelo had zero room for error. Price, by contrast, may have relied on digital modeling and other modern tools that allowed him to fix mistakes and refine details before casting.
Are these disparities in craftsmanship what creates the gap between these two works?
It doesn’t take an artist or an art critic to know that’s only a fraction of the answer. “David” is hallowed — immortalized in the artistic canon — for reasons that go beyond its objective beauty and precise craftsmanship.
But while the vast majority of people instinctively know "David" is the superior of the two sculptures, I think many, if asked, would struggle to articulate what precisely makes it so. They would likely stutter through generalities — he’s an important part of biblical history; he was created by the great Michelangelo; he’s seen millions of visitors for hundreds of years.
All true, yet shallow and incomplete.
I think as a society we’ve forgotten the elements of greatness. We recognize objectively great art when we see it, but our understanding hardly reaches beyond physical sight. It’s like looking at water but not knowing that hydrogen and oxygen are what make it up.
We know “David” is an emblem of artistic excellence to the highest degree and that “Grounded in the Stars” is not, but do we know the deepest reasons this is true?
If we did, perhaps then we’d be erecting something far better in Times Square today. For that to be a possibility, though, modern culture has to relearn the chemical makeup of greatness.
Comparing these two statues is as good a place as any to start.
Virtue in stone
The Renaissance, the period in which Michelangelo sculpted “David,” was a revival of classical antiquity — specifically the art, literature, philosophy, and culture of ancient Greece and Rome.
This culture came with certain ideas about artistic legacy and permanence, ideas that drove Greece’s Parthenon sculptors as much as the artists of Augustus’ Rome.
Just as you and I tend to measure the impact of digital content by its virality (how widely it spreads), Renaissance artists understood that their works, if they achieved excellence, would endure in human history. Generations of people would come and go, ages would wax and wane, empires would rise and fall, and yet their art would survive it all — save natural disasters and angry mobs.
And so when Michelangelo took on the herculean task of “liberating” David from the 18-foot block of Carrara marble that had already been deemed unworkable by two other sculptors, he knew the weight of his task.
He wasn’t just creating a stone replica of a historical figure. He was making history himself. He understood that “David” would transcend the moment of his creation; like all great religious art of the Renaissance, "David" was intended to guide the consciousnesses of spectators for centuries to come.
And the sculpture has done exactly that. It’s been 521 years since the completion of "David," and the figure still receives several thousand visitors per day. But why? What is it that makes it worthy of such a legacy? "David" is inarguably beautiful; in fact, Michelangelo carved him to represent the ideal male form — a concept rooted in Renaissance humanism.
But this is not solely what gives “David” his longevity.
There’s a reason beauty and truth always seem to go hand in hand. It is, of course, the virtues “David” represents that immortalize him. "David" is marble courage, heroism, and moral resolve. His narrative is one of civic virtue, triumph over tyranny, and unwavering faith in God.
He originates and exemplifies the victorious underdog — a concept we are still cheering millennia later. We do this because we are all underdogs in some capacity. Goliath looms in our homes, our workplaces, even our own hearts; Philistine armies are always rising up and casting shadows. Each of us has been a shepherd caught up in a war we didn’t ask for.
David’s courage to say I will go imbues us (even those of us who reject the God from whom David’s courage came) with fortitude to face our own giants.
In this way, David’s story is all of our stories. And as long as there are giants and people with the will to challenge them, it will live on.
Tokenism in bronze
Whose story does “Grounded in the Stars” tell? The title certainly connotes beauty, strength, and legacy.
But no — this is no one’s story. The artist has told us so himself.
“The work is a composite fictional character, unfixed and boundless, allowing us to imagine what it would be like to inhabit space neutrally without preconceived ideas and misrepresentation,” Price said of his sculpture.
So not only is this a statue of nobody with no story to tell, that is precisely the point. Price urges us to reject excellence and instead celebrate mediocrity — to cheer not because someone is virtuous, heroic, saintly, or accomplished, but because she is supposedly marginalized.
What a hopeless message.
The art of victimhood
For the truly marginalized, the statue doesn’t speak to their sense of strength or resilience; it doesn’t encourage them to rise above circumstance, carry their burdens with courage, or to even hope for better days.
It says the opposite — sit in your victimhood; let it crystalize into bitterness. Wear it like a badge of honor; wield it as a weapon.
Such a message robs marginalized people of the very tools needed to emerge from the station they want to escape. It’s tokenism packaged as empowerment, keeping them down but convincing them they’ve risen.
And to those who would be considered privileged, the statue is a condemning lecture — a “shame on you,” finger-wagging political rant in the form of a looming bronze woman that looks and feels like a modernized idol from ancient days.
If the goal is to help the fortunate see the plight of the downtrodden, this does the opposite, sowing more divisiveness and resentment. No one ever comes to see the light through shame.
An example for the ages
And here’s my biggest question: Which statue better honors the marginalized? Before he was king, David was a shepherd — one of the lowliest groups in biblical history, barely above beggars and outcasts. Remote field work kept shepherds on the literal fringes of society, far removed from urban centers. Their status as humble laborers ensured that they lacked power and influence. They were poor, uneducated, and dirty from working with animals.
On top of that, David was young at a time when a man’s age was indicative of his worth, especially as a warrior. From every angle, he was unfit to face Goliath.
But no matter. Faith and courage rooted in God would be his wings.
And they were, from the moment he slung the fatal stone to the moment of his crowning as the king of Israel.
There is no better story of a marginalized person rising to greatness than David’s. It’s a story worthy of the blessed hands of Michelangelo, a story worthy of a legacy that lasts all of human history.
Price’s nameless bronze woman, by contrast, is rooted in the fleeting values of modern DEI and identity politics, unlikely to outlast her creator.
Planned obsolescence
Come June, the statue will be removed from its temporary post in Times Square and whisked away to some private gallery or worse — to storage. There, it will meet the same sad fate as the majority of contemporary art. Its impact will be but a ripple in a pond that quickly fades and is forgotten.
But I don’t necessarily place the blame on Price. To quote the article I mentioned above, “a culture starved of deep convictions is shallow soil, unconducive to the growth of great artists.”
If we want to produce great art again, we have to cultivate values that strengthen the human spirit, calling us out of darkness and into light — whether we are marginalized or privileged.
Only then will we create art that is truly grounded in the stars.
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