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The famous expressionist painter and printmaker “Edvard Munch” was born today in 1863 in Norway, 143 years ago. “The Scream” (1893; originally called Despair) is Munch’s best-known painting. He created many versions of it - 4 paintings and a lithograph. After years of admiring it only through art books, I finally saw it and other works by Munch at a special exhibit in the Art Gallery of Ontario in late March of 1997. I expected to be in awe of the real McCoy, so why then had I walked away a bit… disappointed?

But don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I thought I was qualified to be an art critic nor was I completely underwhelmed by the experience. I enjoyed seeing Munch’s remarkable work which included The Sick Child, The Vampire, Ashes, and Madonna all for the mere cost of an admission ticket… without having to travel to other countries. When I discussed the exhibit and my initial reaction to The Scream with my sister (who came with me to AGO), I was relieved to hear that she felt the same way. (BTW, Mr. Crunch ‘n Munch has serious issues with women, death, sickness… Sigmund Freud would say “repressed sexual anxiety”.)

We saw 2 versions of The Scream (occasionally called The Cry) - an old print from the original lithograph and a painting. Within minutes of gazing upon the painting, suddenly it paled in comparison to the image in my imagination which was grander, more vivid and intensely coloured. Maybe I had fancied the notion of feeling even just a fraction of Munch’s inspiration for the image. He wrote, “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.”

Instead of a profound “aaahhhh” moment, I felt more like Homer Simpson. Have you ever seen the 19th episode of The Simpson’s 10th season called Mom and Pop Art? The one where Homer buys a do-it-yourself barbeque pit and his feeble attempts to build it results in a pitiful, mangled mess. Homer then gets his 15 minutes of fame when an art gallery owner notices it and proclaims it as being a masterpiece of “outsider art”. Homer thinks he’s an artist and to get new inspiration, he immerses himself in art books and museums. After doing this, Homer gets a scary dream where the art is attacking him and then he cries out, “Why does Art hate me? What have I ever done to Art?” It is only when Homer gives in to Art that he gets inspired. He outfits the town’s zoo animals in snorkeling gear and floods the town. Funny shit… OK, so it has to be seen to be understood.

Homer’s barbeque pit “outsider art” masterpiece:

That’s Stendhal’s Syndrome (Homer’s dream trip). SS is when a person is exposed to so much art and beauty that he/she literally feels dizzy, faints or hallucinates. A mind art rave without the drugs. SS is named after a 19th century French author who saw lots of Florentine art and got dizzy. His diary reads, “I was in a sort of ecstasy, from the idea of being in Florence, close to the great men whose tombs I had seen. Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty… I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations… Everything spoke so vividly to my soul. Ah, if I could only forget. I had palpitations of the heart, what in Berlin they call ‘nerves.’ Life was drained from me. I walked with the fear of falling.” Yeah, ooookay. I suspect the dude was more likely consuming massive quantities of Opium and not Art. One time, I thought I had experienced SS, but it was really just hunger and diabetes.

But this post isn’t really about my thoughts on SS, what is art or Munch’s The Scream. Like that day in AGO where I felt a tad underwhelmed and disappointed by the moment, I can’t help but think that lately, that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling about stuff in my life, work, relationships… Underwhelmed. Yeah, I’ve been swimming in my own mind (without animal snorkeling gear to boot). It’s a strange place to be in where I can’t even scream while I’m drowning.

(Yes, I was trying to keep a straight face while I wrote this.) On the bright side, there are 3 OTHER versions of The Scream I haven’t seen. Two in museums and a 3rd owned by a billionaire which means I’ll never see that 3rd. Ah, but there’s always those 2… possibilities.

Adieu,

fruity pop tArt in a glass of milk

P.S. Yes, I’m aware that I wrote this on the 12th but posted it on the 18th… bite me. Shorter, happier Christmas stuff coming up, but I could be lying.