On the Bridge 1903

Edvard Munch made this painting, On The Bridge, with oil paint, and when you look at it you can almost feel how he applied each brushstroke with a kind of restless energy. I imagine Munch standing before his easel, bristles loaded with blues, greens, and whites. He's building up the scene, trying to capture a moment, a mood. I imagine he stepped back, squinted, and then lunged forward again to make another mark. I bet the studio floor was covered in rags, tubes, and turpentine. It’s interesting how the figures are grouped together, but each seems lost in their own thoughts. The dark figure on the right, almost a void. Look at the way the bridge railing cuts across the canvas, that brown mark. It’s like a stage, isn’t it? And the women are all players in some drama. Maybe it’s a drama about alienation, about the impossibility of really connecting with others. Munch was wrestling with some big themes, like love, death, and anxiety—the usual stuff! And he wasn’t afraid to let the paint do some of the talking. These artists, they are all talking to one another, from one century to another, you know?