The Murderer 1910

Edvard Munch painted this oddly compelling image of a green-faced figure sometime in the late 19th or early 20th century with oils on canvas. Look at the brushstrokes. It seems Munch was working quickly, trying to capture a feeling more than a likeness. I can imagine him in a frenzy of creation, each stroke a jolt of emotion. The paint is applied in layers, thick in some places, thin in others, which creates a textured surface that seems to vibrate with energy. The flatness of the figure is juxtaposed against the depth of the landscape. This dissonance is unsettling, like a half-remembered dream. The murderer’s outstretched hands seem like a desperate plea for understanding. What’s that about? Munch's work reminds me of other painters who weren't afraid to confront uncomfortable truths, like Paula Modersohn-Becker. Maybe artists are drawn to the dark side of the human experience so they can transmute it into something beautiful, or at least something worth contemplating. It reminds us that art is a conversation across time. Each artist builds on what came before, pushing boundaries, and challenging conventions.