From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.— Edvard Munch
The most jittery Edvard Munch quotes you will be delighted to read
What is art? Art grows from joy and sorrow, but mostly from sorrow. It grows from human lives.
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
All art, literature, and music must be born in your heart's blood. Art is your heart's blood.
The viewers must come to understand the sacredness of painting, so they will remove their hats as if they were in church.
There is a battle that goes on between men and women. Many people call it love.
Oil-painting is a developed technique. Why go backwards?
I do not believe in the art which is not the compulsive result of man's urge to open his heart
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.
A work of art comes only from inside a human being.
My whole life has been spent walking by the side of a bottomless chasm, jumping from stone to stone. Sometimes I try to leave my narrow path and join the swirling mainstream of life, but I always find myself drawn inexorably back towards the chasm's edge, and there I shall walk until the day I finally fall into the abyss.
I sense a scream passing through nature.
I painted ... the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked.
From the moment of my birth, the angels of anxiety, worry, and death stood at my side, followed me out when I played, followed me in the sun of springtime and in the glories of summer. They stood at my side in the evening when I closed my eyes, and intimidated me with death, hell, and eternal damnation.
Colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas.
One can easily tell that the creator of the paintings in the Sistine Chapel was above all a sculptor
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.
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.
My will exceeds my talents.
Any number of holier-than-thou honorable realists walk around in the belief that they have accomplished something, simply because they tell you for the hundredth time that a field is green and a red-painted house is painted red.
I 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.
Art comes from joy and pain...But mostly from pain.
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.
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.
I have no fear of photography as long as it cannot be used in heaven and in hell.
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.
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.
Just as Leonardo da Vinci studied human anatomy and dissected corpses, so I try to dissect souls.
The rich man who gives, steals twice over. First he steals the money and then the hearts of men.
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.
Without fear and disease, my life would be like a boat without oars.
The camera will never compete with the brush and the palette, until such time as photographs can be taken in Heaven or Hell.
In common with Michelangelo and Rembrandt I am more interested in the line, its rise and fall, than in color
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.
And I would often wake up at night and stare widely into the room: Am I in Hell?
Death is pitch-dark, but colors are light. To be a painter, one must work with rays of light.
But can they [great works] get rid of the worm that lies gnawing at the roots of my heart? No, never.
If what you want to paint is the emotive mood in all its strength.
.. then you must not sit and stare at everything and depict it exactly as one sees it.
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
I do not paint what I see, but what I saw.
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.
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.
I was walking along a path with two friends - the sun was setting - suddenly the sky turned blood red - I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence - there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city - my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety - and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.
Through my art I have tried to explain my life and its meaning.
I have also intended to help others to clarify their lives.
Anybody 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.
I don’t believe in an art that is not born out of man’s need to open his heart.
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.
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.
Without fear and illness, I could never have accomplished all I have
My art is rooted in a single reflection: why am I not as others are? .
.. my art gives meaning to my life.
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.