BC and I just got back from MoMA, and the Edvard Munch retrospective. I started blubbering in front of the “Madonna,” and actually cried in front of the “Kiss.” I’ve only seen his print of the “Madonna” with the sperm and the fetus, but this version, beside being so magnificently painted, was just of the woman, and utterly sexualized and sensually rendered. “The Kiss” is just the story of my romantic life, tumbling into another and losing oneself. The show is a humdinger of an exhibition, laid out chronologically. You first encounter Munch’s work from his 20’s, seeing him mimic the styles of his contemporaries and gradually developing his own vision, and then you turn a corner and BOOM, The Frieze of Life, his series of works on the themes of love, anxiety, and death, his vision and style now very much his own. There’s so much narrative and color and expression, as well as draftsmanship and painterliness–and so much feeling.
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