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‘Angel Meloni’ Scrubbed from Rome Church Painting on Priest’s Orders After Political Uproar
Rome — A restored angel fresco bearing a striking resemblance to Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni was painted over and effectively “scrubbed” from a historic church wall on the orders of the parish priest, following days of political controversy, clerical dismay and public curiosity that drew crowds to the Basilica of St. Lawrence in Lucina.
The alteration occurred overnight into Wednesday, Feb. 4, 2026, leaving the cherub headless as the Meloni-like face was covered with a rough layer of paint or plaster. Parish priest Monsignor Daniele Micheletti confirmed the decision, telling ANSA news agency he had long warned that the image would be removed if it proved divisive.
“I always said that if (the Meloni image) proved divisive we would remove it,” Micheletti said. He emphasized that the church sought to avoid any perception of political endorsement, adding that the parish did not wish to be seen as aligned with any party or figure.
The fresco, part of a chapel restoration completed in December 2025 after water damage from 2023 infiltrations, originally depicted two angels flanking a marble bust of Italy’s last king, Umberto II. One angel — a generic cherub in the 2000 original by artist Bruno Valentinetti — was updated during voluntary touch-up work to feature facial features many observers said mirrored Meloni’s: her distinctive hairstyle, jawline and expression.
Side-by-side photos published by La Repubblica on Jan. 31 sparked immediate online buzz and media coverage, with social media users dubbing it “Angel Meloni.” The resemblance prompted investigations by Italy’s Culture Ministry and the Diocese of Rome, which expressed “disappointment” and pledged to determine responsibility.
Valentinetti, who volunteered for the restoration, denied any intentional likeness. He told media he simply refreshed the original 2000 design he created, insisting no political motive existed. “I copied what was there,” he said, noting the work lacked heritage protection as a modern addition.
Micheletti initially downplayed the fuss, invoking artistic tradition: “Painters used to put all sorts of things in frescoes; even Caravaggio painted the face of a prostitute.” He told La Repubblica he hadn’t noticed the similarity until it made headlines, and expressed frustration at the media storm thrust upon the parish.
The controversy blended sacred art, politics and public satire. Meloni, Italy’s first female prime minister and leader of the right-wing Brothers of Italy party, responded lightheartedly on social media: “No, I definitely don’t look like an angel,” she posted with a laughing emoji alongside a comparison photo.
Yet the episode highlighted sensitivities around church neutrality amid Meloni’s conservative government and close ties to traditional Catholic values. Critics questioned whether the resemblance constituted subtle flattery or mockery, while supporters saw it as harmless artistic whimsy.
By Feb. 4, crowds had gathered at the basilica — near government offices and major tourist sites like the Spanish Steps — to view the “Meloni angel” before its alteration. When doors opened Wednesday, visitors found the face erased, the angel’s body intact but decapitated in appearance.
The diocese’s intervention, relayed through technicians, urged the change to prevent further division. Some reports suggested the Vatican or diocesan authorities directly requested the modification, though Micheletti framed it as his own decision to preserve harmony.
The Culture Ministry’s probe focused on whether the restorer exceeded authorized scope, as modifications were not pre-approved. No heritage violation was apparent, given the painting’s modern origin, but officials inspected the site to assess compliance.
The basilica, one of Rome’s oldest with roots to the 4th century, houses chapels dedicated to souls in purgatory and royal memorials. The affected artwork adorned a side chapel, not a protected ancient fresco.
Reactions varied. Some Italians mocked the overreaction, joking online about “canonizing” Meloni or comparing it to historical cases where rulers appeared in religious art. Others criticized it as inappropriate politicization of sacred space.
Human rights and secular groups used the moment to question church-state boundaries under Meloni’s administration, while conservative commentators defended artistic freedom.
The quick resolution — from discovery to erasure in days — underscored Rome’s blend of tradition, politics and rapid response to controversy. The headless angel now stands as a symbol of the episode: a brief flash of modern satire swiftly neutralized to maintain decorum.
Valentinetti expressed no regret over the original work but complied with the request to cover it. Micheletti reiterated the parish’s apolitical stance, hoping the matter would fade.
As Rome’s faithful and tourists move on, the “Angel Meloni” saga remains a quirky footnote in the eternal city’s long history of art, power and piety — one that briefly turned a cherub into headline news.