About Edvard Munch: Edvard Munch is The Scream of 1893.
For as long as I can remember I have suffered from a deep feeling of anxiety which I have tried to express in my art.
This kind of painting with its large frames is a bourgeois drawing-room art. It is an art dealer's art-and that came in after the civil wars following the French Revolution.
Without anxiety and illness I should have been like a ship without a rudder.
Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.
In common with Michelangelo and Rembrandt I am more interested in the line, its rise and fall, than in color.
Youth must go ahead and prosper. These young painters are all very talented people, but they all paint frescoes.
Oil-painting is a developed technique. Why go backwards?
One can easily tell that the creator of the paintings in the Sistine Chapel was above all a sculptor.
The notes I have made are not a diary in the ordinary sense, but partly lengthy records of my spiritual experiences, and partly poems in prose.
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 o...
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.
It was always my intention that The Frieze should be housed in a room which would provide a suitable architectural frame for it.
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.
I should have considered it wrong to have finished the Frieze before the room for its accommodation and the funds for its completion were available.
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.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
Sickness, insanity and death were the angels that surrounded my cradle and they have followed me throughout my life.
Death is pitch-dark, but colors are light. To be a painter, one must work with rays of light.
Disease, insanity, and death were the angels that attended my cradle, and since then have followed me throughout my life.
A person himself believes that all the other portraits are good likenesses except the one of himself.
