A scream on a real night
Art can shout without a single sound. No need for a cannon’s roar, senseless bananas, or petulant diamonds on a skull; no infinite points on pumpkins, no Tehuana mainstream, only a silent scream to become one of the most celebrated art icons, possibly the next one after —goddamned— Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa or whatever Van Gogh painting, dear lord!
Melancholy, disquiet, darkness, and sadness inside are, throughout art history, the main emotional and psychological components of the most important artworks in the fine arts.
Against all belief, those states of mind are colorful, dark, sure, but not always; once in a while, colors are meant to be some kind of black mockery, intentionally ironic, to turn despair, anxiety, horror, and disgrace into a compelling, unforgettable vision.
The scream, a single one, extraordinarily executed, expressed not by sound, but through vision and brushstrokes, and that’s all that Munch needed to go through years and all the gazes capable of seeing his powerful artwork. Tattooed on the mind of whoever places their eyes on his painting.
Isn’t it amazing, the horror of a troubled mind, so astonishing that it brings us inside to feel enough commotion, yet fascinating, and if you allow me, even in love with his vision. No tricks, no fireworks, no patrons, no advertising or publicity, only the honest and painful truth: who’s screaming?
Now, scream!
A scream on a real night
Comments