Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye... it also includes the inner pictures of the soul ~ Edvard Munch

The first time I viewed The Scream by Norwegian painter, Edvard Munch, was on a large projection screen.  I was 18 years old, taking a year “off” after high school graduation, feeling a bit lost.   I was living with an older sister in Charlottesville, Va. While she was finishing her last year at the University, I was trying to figure out how to structure the next chapter of my life. I worked a day job as a dental assistant while I took evening classes at the University night school.  One of the first classes I took that fall was Modern Art History.

Of all the formal classes I had ever taken before that time, this was the first one to really change my life.  I had never experienced such challenging and rigorous material before.  With endless reading material of literature, philosophy, critical essays, and art, it was truly my first taste of what a University life could be about.  I adored this class and thrived. 

My professor welcomed my thoughts on Munch’s  Scream.   I remember telling her that I thought I understood the originality of Munch, and the expressionist “angst“ of its time, but with all that expressed internal turmoil, I still saw it as cartoonish, and was not emotionally moved.

All these years later, with many glimpses of The Scream reproduced on everything from canvas bags to coasters, I still feel the same way.

Several months ago, I was slapped with a large dose of irony when I walked by this huge catalpa—the largest one on Vanderbilt campus.  There was  Munch’s figure, perhaps laughing at me, mocking me, getting his revenge.    The only way I could exorcise this nagging vision from my mind was to attempt to paint this magnificent tree, riddled with sapsucker drill wells, as faithfully as I could.

But I still see The Scream…do you?