The invasion of art fans, so many of them young, is something of a puzzle. As I watched them snake through the lines for the Ponte Vecchio, only a few hours away Woody Allen was being hounded by protesters at the Venice Film Festival, demanding that the event’s sponsors “take the spotlight off rapists.” Other powerful males and their patrons, of course, have faced such protests in recent years. Why are they ripe for cancellation, while tourists throng the Uffizi room that holds the work of the tempestuous prodigy Caravaggio, who murdered a man?

Bad men, great art. My Florentine tour guides understand this perennial paradox in a way that often seems lost on many Americans today. The young woman leading my group as we clawed through the swarm toward the David at the Accademia said drily in her Italian accent: “My art history teacher once said Michelangelo was an asshole.” It’s testament to some lingering urge for the transcendent that this doesn’t stop people from staring in awe at the heart-stopping beauty of the asshole’s statue, miraculously carved out of a single gigantic block of marble.

Perhaps Michelangelo and Caravaggio lived so long ago that their sins seem more legend than moral transgression.

[Can we separate the art from the artist? Perhaps that’s more complicated when the artist’s victims are still around. Catholic parishes have dealt with this issue ever since allegations emerged that prolific liturgical composer David Haas abused teenage girls and women over the course of decades. His very popular compositions are now largely avoided, and will likely disappear entirely as hymnals get updated. I wouldn’t put Haas in the same category of art or genius as Michelangelo, but it’s the same issue. The answer for me is to take it all in context and decide whether the art stands or falls on its own. YMMV, especially for the actual victims of the artist. — Ed]