Sanity

Have you ever seen a picture that gives you goosebumps? The kind of picture that catches your eye and keeps it until you can't bear to look anymore -- but you still can't help it?

I'm sure most of you have, at one point or another, seen a picture of Edvard Munch's "The Scream". You know, the painting done in ghastly grays and greens, depicting a man with his hands on his face, screaming? If you have never seen this picture, I suggest going to http://home.earthlink.net/~bfire3/ and checking it out before continuing. It will explain a lot.

I clearly recall the first time I saw "The Scream"; I was working on a research paper my freshman year, attempting to prove Adolf Hitler was insane. One of the psychology books I had included a section on mental illness and Munch's painting was used as an example of the effects of insanity on creativity. I was riveted. I wanted to close the book and never open it again, yet at the same time I felt drawn to the picture. What is he screaming about? Is something after him? Or is he just fed up with life?

I had not given it much thought until yesterday when I met my aunt for lunch. We were discussing the fact that there is no set definition of "normal" and reality is probably a little different for each person. The subject of depressed and/or insane people with a creative flair came up. I mentioned Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf, two of my personal heroes. My aunt added Edgar Allen Poe and Edvard Munch. It took me a minute to place Munch but when I did we were off again.

"That painting is so creepy," I told her. "The scariest part, for me, is that I feel somehow. . . connected to it."

"I know what you mean," she replied.

I wonder, why did Munch paint "The Scream"? He was schizophrenic, yes, but that cannot have been the only factor in its creation. I prefer to believe that Munch was as sane as anyone can be but was just never given a change to prove his sanity. "The Scream" was his way of expressing everything locked up inside of him. Of course, I could be simply defending a man who was "crazy" (whatever that means) and painted what he saw. But if he truly saw this. . . isn't that real, too, to him at least? Who are we to dictate reality? I think we are all crazy, in our own way.