From the Apocalypse 1936

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner made this etching, From the Apocalypse, sometime in the first half of the twentieth century. I see a world in tatters rendered in trembling, scratchy lines. I imagine Kirchner bent over a metal plate, scraping away at the surface with feverish intensity, trying to conjure up a vision of the end times. His lines feel anxious, frenetic, like he’s wrestling with some inner demons. The figures are barely there, just ghostly outlines, caught in a moment of total chaos. Some float downwards from above; others lie prone on the ground. It reminds me of other artists grappling with the big questions – Goya’s dark visions, or maybe some of Munch’s angst. You sense a shared urgency, a need to make sense of a world that often feels senseless. It’s like they’re all part of this ongoing conversation, shouting into the void, trying to find some kind of meaning in the madness.