Caravaggio was the Jim Morrison of his time — Rimbaud with a paintbrush. There was little that was pious or holy about the man with a gift for holy and sacred art. Caravaggio’s world was the world of drunken singing, back-alley brawls, prostitutes, thieves and ne’er-do-wells. Not for him the abstinence of the monk. Caravaggio desired the physical, the earthly.
But perhaps if he hadn’t been such a drunken, violent, criminal, he may never have been human enough, disturbed enough or repentant of enough sin to produce the terrible realism for which he is justly famous.
via Caravaggio’s profane eye for the sacred – Eureka Street.
CALL ME MAGGIE 
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