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Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have

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
Accomplished
Illness
Fear
Without
Never

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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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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.
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Without fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.
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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.
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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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I have no fear of photography as long as it cannot be used in heaven and in hell.
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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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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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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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I sense a scream passing through nature. I painted ... the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked.
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I felt as if there were invisible threads connecting us - I felt the invisible strands of her hair still winding around me - and thus as she disappeared completely beyond the sea - I still felt it, felt the pain where my heart was bleeding - because the threads could not be severed.
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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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All art, literature, and music must be born in your heart's blood. Art is your heart's blood.
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My breakthrough came very late in life, really only starting when I was 50...I had the strength for new deeds and ideas.
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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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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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There is a battle that goes on between men and women. Many people call it love.
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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.
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I build a kind of wall between myself and t he model so that I can paint in peace behind it. Otherwise, she might say something that confuses and distracts me.
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Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.
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