Ok I think that the best approach for you is to use Michelangelo's own words and the visual evidence that is left to us today in the Sistine chapel.
Firstly if we take the visual evidence it is apparent from his depiction of the flood that he may have made a mistake with this particular section of the ceiling. A mistake which he does not repeat elsewhere. Have a look at this linkhttp://www.artbible.info/art/large/71.ht… and see how crowded the scene is. It is almost impossible for the viewer standing below to make out the many different figures and the scene as a whole generally lends itself to much closer viewing.
Also look at the shape of the Sistine chapel at this linkhttp://www.vaticanotours.com/g/sistine_c…
You can see that it is a large room with a barrel vaulted ceiling and therefore Michelangelo must have had to consider carefully how he would organise the work and exactly what he would include in the large panels, spandrels and lunettes.
Now here's what Michelangelo had to say about his work on the Sistine chapel ceiling and as you can see he wasn't very happy about painting it. I suggest that you read this carefully and then you'll be able to formulate questions and provide Michelangelo's answers from his own words and those who knew him.
Condivi recalls that "as a result of having painted for so long a time, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he saw little when he looked down; if he had to read a letter or some other small thing, he was obliged to hold it above his head."
"After four tortured years, more than 400 over life-sized figures, I felt as old and as weary as Jeremiah. I was only 37, yet friends did not recognize the old man I had become."
This comes from dangling from the ceiling–
I'm goitered like a Lombard cat
(or wherever else their throats grow fat)–
it's my belly that's beyond concealing,
it hands beneath my chin like peeling.
My beard points skyward, I seem a bat
upon its back, I've breasts and splat!
On my face the paint's congealing.
Loins concertina'd in my gut,
I drop an **** as counterweight
and move without the help of eyes.
Like a skinned martyr I abut
on air, and, wrinkled, show my fat.
Bow-like, I strain toward the skies.
No wonder then I size
things crookedly; I'm on all fours.
Bent blowpipes send their darts off-course.
Defend my labor's cause,
good Giovanni, from all strictures:
I live in hell and paint its pictures.
Michelangelo Buonarroti
Hope this helps.
