He is nearly finished, bella. They want it erected in the Piazza della Signoria. Already some are calling him a masterwork. That’s nice, dear. Can you move your things? Lucia is stopping by. On one level, he is sacred homage to divine creation. Of course, he is also heresy. Who, after all, is our Goliath in this, the most enlightened of ages? If they knew my heart they would tear it out. Did you forget to pay the light bill, Mike? Goddamn it – how many times do you have to be reminded? I swear, you’re like a little kid. Now what will we do? There is talk of a commission – a commemoration of the Battle of Cascina for the Palazzo Vecchio. You know how proud I am, yes? I would like if you stopped by the studio to see him. Maybe one day this week, and then we would dine in that little place near the Piazza Duomo. I never understand sculpture. You have worked so very hard, and your statue, it is beautiful, I’m certain. I know your heart, do I not? Hand me my purse. My father didn’t want me to be an artist, you know. Said it was beneath me. But he approved of you, and it’s good to make family happy. I think I’ll get those shoes I told you about. They’re Ferragamo, calzolaio supremo di Milano, heels like icepicks. You’ll see how men stare when we go to the opera. A student asked me today to speak of my philosophy. I said to him art is integration of that which is merely juxtaposed.