As we chat in the sun-soaked beer garden of Orlando's in Chorlton, he shows me a number of projects he's currently considering hanging in the bar. Some are still in development, others are snapshots of works past: study photographs of footballers, boxers and himself.
One drawing features Osama Bin Laden crouching on a bed of bullets (in place of nails) in front of Parliament - an image he drew before the 7/7 attacks on London. Another, with Ricky Hatton, will show him being `baptised' by his trainer (the latter depicted as John The Baptist) in Manchester's Albert Square.
A third - a painting he's going to be developing for the BBC's Inside Out programme this autumn - depicts legendary Manchester United winger George Best in a reinterpretation of Raphael's final work, The Transfiguration of Christ, leaving behind his desires of women and wine for a `puritanical way of life'.
"I also had this idea about resurrecting Princess Diana with all those she loved around her," says Michael.
"But then I'd never get that OBE," he laughs. "The doors would be well and truly closed!"
Michael caused a few gasps in the Church ten years ago when he depicted Eric Cantona as Jesus Christ in his Art Of The Game portrait. And he was accused of stirring-up anti-German sentiment with his 2006 World Cup painting of Rooney, Ferdinand and Winston Churchill.
He's recreated the roof of the Sistine Chapel under the arches of Whitworth Street West and his recent piece at Manchester Art Gallery - Made In England - throws immigration and multiculturalism into the traditional story of English romanticism.
Michael's clearly lost none of his provocative streak.
"I do know I'm a bit controversial, I'm not going to lie about it," he says.
"When the Eric Cantona painting was unveiled at Manchester Art Gallery the world's media was there. It was broadcast everywhere.
"A Guardian reporter decided it was blasphemous. But Michelangelo used models to paint his portraits; the way I saw it was I was just using models to paint mine."
We stick on the subject of shock and awe because that's what brings Michael and I together. He's recently started displaying sketches, mock-ups and photographs on the walls at Orlando's, allowing him to think out loud and visitors to get inside his creative process.
Telescope
"Some people say, 'I'd love to get a little telescope into your head, see where all these ideas emerge from'," says Michael.
"Part of this is to show what's coming out of my head, but it's also about showing some concepts that I start but run out of time to develop."
The aforementioned Osama Bin Laden portrait is enough to prompt a customer on a neighbouring table to ask if it's the new dartboard. Michael laughs: "I should probably have put an explanation up next to that one.
"Some people think that Bin Laden's on a pedestal, that I'm idolising him. It's a difficult climate for this kind of work.
"We're in a crowded room with different ideals; you've got to keep your mouth shut because you might upset someone. Ultimately, we can turn our heads whatever way we like, but when we're forced to look at the reality, we don't like it."
Michael's distinctive portraiture style is something he discovered when he was a child, living in Moss Side. He remembers copying images from books of valiant knights and being complimented for his `observational style and good technique'.
He aspired to go to art school but his mother refused. "That was my first disappointment," he recalls, "but she thought it would be a waste of time. At 11-years old, it was hard to understand."
Michael's mother wanted better for her son. At high school, though, Michael's enthusiasm for art continued and his teachers 'let him loose', even allowing him to paint some of the school windows.
Moss Side By Moonlight
"My first painting was called Moss Side By Moonlight, which was sort of a copy in my head of a Turner masterpiece.
"I was sat at the window in the living room one day and my mum broke a bottle and scratched the painting up. I don't know why to this day she did this, but it was sort of a signifier that this is what I should be doing.
"It told me I've got a goal, an ambition and an approach to the world around me and that I should try to paint as realistically as I can, but make a comment about where I am and my own poor background by referencing these romantic old masterpieces."
Shortly after, Michael went to live with his art teacher, who encouraged him to paint prolifically. His vast body of work earned him a place at Chelsea Art School. "I had no other qualifications and I was on probation as well, I was in trouble," remembers Michael.
"My probation officer organised for me to have two people to help me take my work down to Chelsea."
"My teachers were showing in arts fairs in London and so was I. They didn't like it," he smiles. "They said it was making me work in a manner that was based on sales and not exploration.
"But I always felt you had to put yourself out there and relate to the public.
"I stuck with it, and a member of the royal family bought one of my works in the art fair - I went to see it on the wall, it was a self-portrait."
Now a father, Michael has recently taken time out to spend with his son, but he hopes the Orlando's initiative will reignite his prolific spark.
"I'm just trying to work the way I believe a lot of masters would be doing today if they were alive," he explains.
"The Caravaggios, the Michelangelos, the Leonardos: they would be working like this, addressing what's going on in the world around them with their skills.
"They have a very big audience base still: the quality, and sometimes the controversy, keeps people interested."
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