There are many, many artists that I have been interested in, several artists that I admire but only a couple that have penetrated my psyche and become as much a part of me as my DNA.  Munch is one of those.

I was reminded of the first time I encountered Munch’s artwork at the age of 17, at the library in art school. Holding this book of Munch’s work, I realized that I was not alone. The emotional force in his paintings connected with me intimately, directly, and intensely. At this vulnerable age, I was sure I was utterly alone in my despair but Munch revealed to me that was not true. His paintings were screaming my feelings, articulating my fears and connecting to my isolation. From Munch, I connected to heavy overwhelming depression, the energy of anxiety, fear of death, loneliness and confusion of spirituality. Munch knew his work could have these powerful effects.  “Many believe that a picture is finished when they have understood what terms the world and I are on — ergo, a kind of egoism. Yet at the same time I have always thought and felt that my art might also help others understand their search for sanity.” (excerpt from Private Journals of Edvard Munch)

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To be influenced is to engage so deeply with a piece, with a work of art, that it becomes part of you, infecting your point of view, challenging values, searching for understanding or sanity or just becoming a catalyst for opening yourself to greater experiences. It is an undeniable fact that Munch influenced my work and it is not merely an accident that my work often refers to his artwork.  I have spent my entire life looking at books of art, traipsing through museums but when I find an artist that brings me to my knees in the way Munch’s work does, I embrace it.  Love it.  Consume it.  It becomes a part of me.  Tucked away in my subconscious, Munch’s work has continued to be a part of me, incorporated for decades into my psyche. Jeanette Winterson expressed this perfectly when she stated, “True art, when it happens to us, challenges the ‘I’ that we are.” (Art Objects: Essays on Ecstasy and Effrontery, Vintage, 1996)

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There is no doubt that I have been changed by my relationship with Munch’s artwork and my debt to Munch is as undeniable as is my admiration. 

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Recently I started looking more directly at Munch’s work in connection with my own and I was truly amazed that the correlations were, at times, direct. Sometimes it is the color palette, the graphic relations or gestures, and, perhaps the most important is the psychological connections.

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Since I started shooting in color in 2007, after many years as a devote black and white photographer, I have been learning about color and its affect on the “read” of the image. Once I found RED, however, it changed my life. [If you feel I am prone to exaggeration I credit it to my growing passion for opera.] RED conjures passion, depression, elation, energy, viscera, and the most powerful of all emotions – love. Remarkably, it can be both attractive and repulsive – sometimes at the same time.

Recently I invited two very dear and close friends to see my new work in my studio. I have shared my work with them periodically for many years, so they are quite familiar with my images. These are a few of what we looked at:

Untitled #11-30-18-854

In just a couple of minutes one said that she saw them as pornographic and the other quickly agreed. After I regained my composure, this led to a fascinating conversation. To me these images are not overtly or even covertly sexual [well, maybe a TAD seductive] but this was a reaction I felt I needed to pay attention to. As I have said many times I do not work with an idea or an image in mind but prefer to rely on my intuition. When I am shooting I am exploring the subject in front of me by studying the forms – lines, shapes and tones. I don’t intend for the images to have a specific meaning but rather I see them as open to interpretation by the individual viewer.

I determined that three common ingredients had to be present in the images for them to be considered pornographic to my friends; 1. a face 2. a breast 3. the color RED. 1. The face identifies the figure as an individual as opposed to an anonymous model, opening the doors for a sense of vulnerability. 2. Since a breast is something that is usually hidden, seeing one adds to the idea of a person exposed. 3. But the RED is the essential ingredient in these particular images to evoke those strong feelings.

The different uses of RED-

A little about RED – RED, a primary color (along with green and blue,) symbolized nobility and wealth during the Renaissance; became the color of revolution in Russia, China and Vietnam; and is often used in flags to illustrate power. Because it is the color of blood it is also associated with bravery, sacrifice, and danger. It conjures feelings of passion, anger, love, joy and sexuality [my friends’ reactions.]

Without a face, as in 01-07-19-679, the sense of vulnerability is lost, but the RED empowers the form with a life force.

As I see it, a sense of depression is elicited in Untitled #4-24-12-012, as the RED hand reaches up from hell to pull the psyche down. (Obviously you may have different reaction, but if you see this as pornographic I might suggest medication and/or therapy).

Untitled #09-04-13-287 is Oedipus, the tragic Greek figure, who pokes out his eyes after killing his father and marrying his mother [the “Cliff Notes” version of the tale, if you want more detail click here for the Wikipedia version. /en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus]

I would love to hear your thoughts and continue this discussion. Do you see the above images as pornographic? Yes? No? Controversy has been my life-long companion (not by choice) and I am no stranger to censorship, criticism and all the other stuff that goes along with being an artist, so please be honest…

Standing in front of the Rembrandt’s Night Watch in Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum was beyond stunning.  He was a true master of so many things – If I were a painter I would be mesmerized by the variety of his brushstrokes.  Often he will use what can only be imaged as a tiny, miniscule brush to get the splendid detail so characteristic of his paintings, while at other times he seems to use a pallet knife in a sweeping gesture ala the 20^th century British painter, Francis Bacon.

Nothing, however, captivates a photographer like light.  And Rembrandt’s light is nothing short of brilliant.  A basic photography class, or any photography class, should be required to study this painting to understand how light defines form and creates a sense of dimension, as well as defining space and depth in an environment. In addition, Rembrandt uses light to draw our attention to different parts of the canvas as well to tell us the level of importance of the figures.  The most important figures are lit the brightest to show us their glowing significance.  As the intensity of the light fades, we realize, so do the status of the figures.  As they become darker and darker the figures become less prominent in the painting until they are barely distinguishable from the shadows. The light itself tells a story, as it highlights “moments”, a discussion between two aristocrats, a little girl watching them with a distressed look and the men in background loading rifles, beating drums.  It is the light that creates this electric atmosphere full of intrigue and mystery.

After a while, perhaps twenty minutes or so, I turned from the painting, the only Rembrandt in the room, and was struck by the dullness of every other painting.  As if they were all painted in mud.  And flat – no depth at all.  Just as suddenly I felt a gripping need to breathe fresh air. I had to get outside.  I craved a Coke.  It was as if I had a sudden heaviness in my head that felt a little like having a cold and fever.  Once Patricia and I were sitting outside, I was gulping a Coke, sucking sugar and caffeine as fast as possible while she poured cold water just as quickly down her throat, and we talked about the experience.  She had felt it too. Immediately overwhelmed and immediately exhausted.

We had become afflicted by the Stendhal Syndrome – also known as the art disease, the Florence Syndrome or the “hyperkulturemia.”  The cause is exposure to a concentration of overwhelming beauty –  such as is found in a museum.  It is a documented disease with a wide range of symptoms including anxiety, confusion, and disorientation.  The effects don’t last long and don’t require medical attention.  They are clearly real, however, and can’t be ignored.

This syndrome was named after Stendhal, the pen name for the 19^th century French author, Henri-Marie Beyle during a visit to Florence.  In his book titled Naples and Florence: A Journey from Milan to Reggio (1817) he described his experience:

“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.”

Being overwhelmed by emotion is more commonly recognized in other areas, such as sports. I admit, I was an Olympic addict this summer, watching as often as possible.  Indulging in women’s wrestling, dressage, mountain biking, archery, field hockey, fencing as well as the traditional swimming, diving, track and gymnastics.  Many times, as an athlete won an event he or she was so overwhelmed (with joy? excitement? relief? the undefinable?), they would break down sobbing.  Is it that the emotions at that moment are too intense or poignant to actually experience?

When my nephew and his fiancé asked if Patricia and I would officiate their wedding I burst into tears.  I had no choice.  It was immediate.  I was thrilled beyond what I could feel at the moment.  What all these situations have in common is the ineffable quality of being emotionally overwhelmed.

During my time with the Night Watch I was held captive, engaged with the mastery of Rembrandt’s technique on one level, but clearly, on another level, I was experiencing the profound and acute power of true beauty.  The Stendhal Syndrome does not come on slowly, giving hints as to what is about to happen.  It comes on immediately and takes control.

I now understand what Thomas Mann meant when he said “Beauty can pierce one like a pain.” (published by Buddenbrooks, 1900, by Thomas Mann).