Quote

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.

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
Nerves
Heart
Work
Image
Men
Brain
Upon
Eye
Interior
Art
Interiors
Form
Formed
Come

More quotes by Edvard Munch

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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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Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have
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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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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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Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye... it also includes the inner pictures of the soul.
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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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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.
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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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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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Oil-painting is a developed technique. Why go backwards?
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Youth must go ahead and prosper. These young painters are all very talented people, but they all paint frescoes.
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When I paint, I never think of selling. People simply fail to understand that we paint in order to experiment and to develop ourselves as we strive for greater heights.
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Without anxiety and illness I would have been like a ship without a rudder.
Edvard Munch
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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
Edvard Munch
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I don’t believe in an art that is not born out of man’s need to open his heart.
Edvard Munch
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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.
Edvard Munch
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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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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
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When I paint a person, his enemies always find the portrait a good likeness.
Edvard Munch
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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.
Edvard Munch