You’ve seen it on coffee mugs. You’ve seen it as a literal emoji on your iPhone 😱. But when you actually stand in front of Edvard Munch’s painting of a screaming man—specifically the 1893 tempera and pastel version at the National Museum in Oslo—it’s not funny or kitschy. It’s deeply unsettling. Honestly, it feels like a panic attack caught in amber.
People always get one big thing wrong. They think the figure is the one screaming. He isn’t. If you look at Munch’s own diary entry from January 22, 1892, he describes walking with two friends at sunset when the sky turned "blood red." He felt a "gust of melancholy" and sensed a "vast, infinite scream passing through nature." The man in the painting isn't making a sound; he’s actually covering his ears to block out the sound of the world itself screaming. That’s a way more terrifying thought than just some guy shouting at a bridge.
What Most People Miss About the Painting of a Screaming Man
The setting isn't just a random dock. It’s a viewpoint on the road of Nordstrand on Valhallveien hill, looking out over the Oslofjord. Back in the late 19th century, this wasn’t exactly a peaceful tourist spot. Down the hill from this very location sat the city’s main slaughterhouse. Even more chilling? The Gaustad psychiatric hospital was nearby. Munch’s own sister, Laura Catherine, was committed there, suffering from what would likely be diagnosed today as schizophrenia.
Imagine standing there. You hear the literal screams of animals being killed and perhaps the distant cries of patients in an asylum. Then, the sun sets, and the sky turns a violent, volcanic orange. It’s no wonder Munch felt like the universe was tearing apart. Scientists like Donald Olson have actually theorized that the "blood-red clouds" Munch saw weren't just artistic exaggeration. They might have been the result of the 1883 eruption of Krakatoa, which sent enough ash into the atmosphere to create vivid, terrifying sunsets in Norway for months afterward.
The figure itself looks less like a human and more like a soul stripped of its skin. There's a reason for that. Many art historians, including Robert Rosenblum, suggest Munch was influenced by a Peruvian mummy he saw at the 1889 Exposition Universelle in Paris. The mummy was crouched in a fetal position, hands pressed to its face, mouth agape. It’s a haunting image that clearly stuck in Munch's brain.
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The Secret Message Written in Pencil
There is a tiny, almost invisible sentence scribbled in the top left corner of the original version. It says: "Can only have been painted by a madman."
For decades, people argued about who wrote it. Was it a random vandal? Was it a critic who hated the work? In 2021, infrared technology and handwriting analysis by the National Museum of Norway finally confirmed it: Munch wrote it himself.
He didn't write it out of a sense of pride. He did it because he was genuinely hurt. After the painting was first exhibited, a medical student named Johan Scharffenberg publicly questioned Munch's mental state, suggesting the painting was evidence that the artist was losing his mind. Munch was haunted by this critique. He obsessed over it. By writing that sentence on his own masterpiece, he was leaning into the stigma, almost like a defensive mechanism. It’s a raw, human moment of insecurity hidden on one of the most famous canvases in history.
Why This Image Became an Icon
Why do we care about a painting of a screaming man more than a century later? It's the "Mona Lisa" of anxiety. While Leonardo da Vinci captured a mysterious smile, Munch captured the universal feeling of modern dread.
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- It’s been stolen. Twice.
- The 1893 version was nabbed in 1994 on the opening day of the Winter Olympics in Lillehammer. The thieves literally left a note saying, "Thanks for the poor security."
- In 2004, the 1910 version was stolen by masked gunmen from the Munch Museum in broad daylight.
- It’s the most expensive "pastel" ever sold at auction, fetching nearly $120 million at Sotheby's in 2012.
The painting works because it’s fluid. The lines of the sky and the water are curving and unstable. The only straight lines are the bridge, which represents the rigid, cold reality of society. The figure is caught between the two. He’s melting into the landscape. We’ve all felt that way—like the world is too loud, too bright, and too much to handle.
The Technical Reality: Why It’s Fading
If you want to see the "real" thing, you better do it soon, or at least be prepared for it to look a bit different. Munch was a bit of an experimentalist with his materials. He used cardboard, tempera, and oil, but he also used a specific type of yellow pigment (cadmium yellow) that is incredibly sensitive to humidity.
Research by the European Synchrotron Radiation Facility (ESRF) found that even the breath of visitors in a crowded museum can cause the paint to flake and fade. This is why the Munch Museum in Oslo keeps the different versions under strict lighting and humidity controls, often rotating them so they aren't "stressed" by public view for too long. It’s a fragile ghost of a painting.
How to Actually Experience Munch's Vision
If you're genuinely interested in the history of the painting of a screaming man, don't just look at the memes. Do these three things to get a real sense of what Munch was doing:
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- Compare the versions. Munch made four versions of The Scream. The 1893 version is the "original," but the 1895 lithograph is perhaps the most striking because of its stark black-and-white contrast. It shows that the composition, not just the color, is what makes it scary.
- Read his journals. Munch was a prolific writer. His diaries provide a window into a man who was struggling with alcoholism, agoraphobia, and the death of almost his entire family. He didn't paint to be famous; he painted to survive his own brain.
- Visit Ekeberg Hill. If you ever find yourself in Oslo, walk the path where Munch walked. Stand at the viewpoint. Look at the fjord. Even without the volcanic ash of the 1880s, you can feel the isolation of the spot.
This isn't just art history. It's a mirror. When you look at that distorted face, you aren't looking at a stranger. You’re looking at the part of yourself that wants to scream when the world gets too heavy. Munch didn't just paint a man; he painted a frequency of human emotion that we are still tuned into today.
Next Steps for Art Lovers
To truly understand the impact of Munch's work, start by exploring his "Frieze of Life" series. The Scream is actually part of this larger collection intended to show the stages of a human soul. Look specifically at Despair and Anxiety, which were painted around the same time and feature the same bridge and red sky. These pieces provide the necessary context to see that the screaming man wasn't an isolated incident, but part of a lifelong attempt to map the landscape of human suffering. If you're visiting Norway, ensure you check the National Museum's schedule in advance, as the primary version is occasionally moved for conservation.