ON POETRY, WRITING AND RANDOM CULTURAL MATTERS

Monday, 14 November 2011

Edvard Munch, Pompidiou Centre, Paris

If this was on in London, you would either have to book tickets in advance, or queue round the block to get in. Luckily a sunny Sunday lunchtime when everyone else was eating meant that, after we had listened to some karioke busking (Wonderwall sung by a Dutch guy, I kid you not), we walked straight in. Well almost, but we honestly only had to hang around for half an hour. Pretty good going for a block buster art exhibition.

My knowledge of Munch is greatly enhanced, even if I found his work rather distrubing (Murder on the road, The fight, The murderess, The sick child etc.). My favourite painting was a self-portrait recovering from Spanish flu - face like a combination of a Francis Bacon smudge and The Scream. The latter, of course, is not there. No doubt it's kept under lock and key now, safely in Norway. Get there before 9 January if you want an art challenge. Just the thing for us after the Catacombs that morning.

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