All art, literature, and music must be born in your heart’s blood. Art is your heart’s blood.
EDVARD MUNCHAll art, literature, and music must be born in your heart’s blood. Art is your heart’s blood.
EDVARD MUNCHThe camera will never compete with the brush and the palette, until such time as photographs can be taken in Heaven or Hell.
EDVARD MUNCHBy 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 MUNCHA work of art comes only from inside a human being.
EDVARD MUNCHWithout fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.
EDVARD MUNCHPainting 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 MUNCHThe 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 MUNCHThrough my art I have tried to explain my life and its meaning. I have also intended to help others to clarify their lives.
EDVARD MUNCHI was walking along the road with two friends. The sun set. I felt a tinge of melancholy. Suddenly the sky became a bloody red. I stood there, trembling with fright. And I felt a loud, unending scream piercing nature.
EDVARD MUNCHMy will exceeds my talents.
EDVARD MUNCHI sense a scream passing through nature. I painted the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked.
EDVARD MUNCHI 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.
EDVARD MUNCHI have no fear of photography as long as it cannot be used in heaven and in hell.
EDVARD MUNCHOne can easily tell that the creator of the paintings in the Sistine Chapel was above all a sculptor.
EDVARD MUNCHAnybody who perceives colors can become a painter. It’s simply a question of whether or not one has felt anything and whether one has the courage to recount the things one has felt.
EDVARD MUNCHAnd I would often wake up at night and stare widely into the room: Am I in Hell?
EDVARD MUNCH