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In my childhood I always felt that I was treated unjustly, without a mother, sick, and with the threat of punishment in Hell hanging over my head
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
Hell
Head
Unjustly
Felt
Hanging
Mother
Punishment
Without
Treated
Always
Threat
Sick
Childhood
More quotes by Edvard Munch
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.
Edvard Munch
The way one sees is also dependent upon one's emotional state of mind. This is why a motif can be looked at in so many ways, and this is what makes art so interesting.
Edvard Munch
Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.
Edvard Munch
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.
Edvard Munch
I sense a scream passing through nature. I painted ... the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked.
Edvard Munch
Youth must go ahead and prosper. These young painters are all very talented people, but they all paint frescoes.
Edvard Munch
Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have
Edvard Munch
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.
Edvard Munch
Without anxiety and illness I would have been like a ship without a rudder.
Edvard Munch
At different moments you see with different eyes. You see differently in the morning than you do in the evening. In addition, how you see is also dependent on your emotional state. Because of this, a motif can be seen in many different ways, and this is what makes art interesting.
Edvard Munch
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.
Edvard Munch
I have been given a unique role to play on this earth: given to me by a life filled with sickness, ill-starred circumstances and my profession as an artist. It is a life that contains nothing that resembles happiness, and moreover does not even desire happiness.
Edvard Munch
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
Edvard Munch
My breakthrough came very late in life, really only starting when I was 50...I had the strength for new deeds and ideas.
Edvard Munch
My art is rooted in a single reflection: why am I not as others are? ... my art gives meaning to my life.
Edvard Munch
It was always my intention that The Frieze should be housed in a room which would provide a suitable architectural frame for it.
Edvard Munch
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.
Edvard Munch
I don’t believe in an art that is not born out of man’s need to open his heart.
Edvard Munch
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.
Edvard Munch
The viewers must come to understand the sacredness of painting, so they will remove their hats as if they were in church.
Edvard Munch