Quote

Your face encompasses the beauty of the whole earth. Your lips, as red as ripening fruit, gently part as if in pain. It is the smile of a corpse. Now the hand of death touches life. The chain is forged that links the thousand families that are dead to the thousand generations to come.

Edvard Munch

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Edvard Munch
Age: 80 †
Born: 1863
Born: January 1
Died: 1944
Died: January 1
Draftsperson
Drawer
Graphic Artist
Painter
Printmaker
E. Munch
Munch
edv. munch
Whole
Face
Lips
Gently
Life
Faces
Fruit
Corpses
Pain
Smile
Touches
Death
Generations
Chain
Hands
Thousand
Links
Ripening
Part
Dead
Chains
Encompasses
Earth
Hand
Families
Corpse
Come
Beauty
Red
Forged

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There is a battle that goes on between men and women. Many people call it love.
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Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.
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Oil-painting is a developed technique. Why go backwards?
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My father was temperamentally nervous and obsessively religious—to the point of psychoneurosis. From him I inherited the seeds of madness. The angels of fear, sorrow, and death stood by my side since the day I was born.
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My art is rooted in a single reflection: why am I not as others are? ... my art gives meaning to my life.
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Certainly a chair can be just as interesting as a human being. But first the chair must be perceived by a human being... You should not paint the chair, but only what someone has felt about it.
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A work of art can only come from the interior of man. Art is the form of the image formed upon the nerves, heart, brain and eye of man.
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By painting colors and lines and forms seen in quickened mood I was seeking to make this mood vibrate as a phonograph does. This was the origin of the paintings in The Frieze of Life.
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The Academies of Art are nothing but great painting factories - those with talent are fed in at one end, and they come out as mechanical painting machines.
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I painted the picture, and in the colors the rhythm of the music quivers. I painted the colors I saw.
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I was walking along a road one evening – on one side lay the city, and below me was the fjord. The sun went down – the clouds were stained red, as if with blood. I felt as though the whole of nature was screaming – it seemed as though I could hear a scream. I painted that picture, painting the clouds like real blood. The colours screamed.
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To die is as if one's eyes had been put out and one cannot see anything any more. Perhaps it is like being shut in a cellar. One is abandoned by all. They have slammed the door and are gone. One does not see anything and notices only the damp smell of putrefaction.
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I learned early about the misery and dangers of life, and about the afterlife, about the external punishment which awaited the children of sin in Hell.
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Painting picture by picture, I followed the impressions my eye took in at heightened moments. I painted only memories, adding nothing, no details that I did not see. Hence the simplicity of the paintings, their emptiness.
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It is better to have a good painting with ten holes than ten bad paintings without any holes.
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I find it difficult to imagine an afterlife, such as Christians, or at any rate many religious people, conceive it, believing that the conversations with relatives and friends interrupted here on earth will be continued in the hereafter.
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My fear of life is necessary to me, as is my illness. Without anxiety and illness, I am a ship without a rudder. My art is grounded in reflections over being different from others. My sufferings are part of my self and my art. They are indistinguishable from me, and their destruction would destroy my art. I want to keep those sufferings
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The rich man who gives, steals twice over. First he steals the money and then the hearts of men.
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When I paint a person, his enemies always find the portrait a good likeness.
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I have no fear of photography as long as it cannot be used in heaven and in hell.
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