In the mid-1890s Munch incorporated skeletal figures into his art: Self-Portrait with Skeleton Arm, Death and Life, and, certainly our print du jour, Women and the Skeleton, to name only a few of many. He used this ultimate symbol of death to tell stories about love and pain, loss, and the cycles of these elements with his quintessential macabre touch. Munch’s use of skeletons (and various skeletal pieces like skulls and other bones) falls in line with the centuries-old visual art tradition of memento mori or “death momentos” essentially serving as reminders of the viewers’ own mortality. This was a motif especially used in Renaissance paintings, at a time when pivotal philosophies about human existence were converging with a growing understanding of human anatomy.
Hundreds of years later, Munch’s own era was at a similar crossroads. The fin de siecle period in Europe coincided with another boom of medical discoveries as well as a revival in occultism. Munch was no stranger to the occult subculture; he often played the role of interested observer but his fascination came with boundaries. It’s assumed that his strict Protestant upbringing turned him off to exploring other organized forms of spirituality as an adult. Though he rarely partook in activities like seances, much of his peripheral social circle did, including close friend August Strindberg,* who nearly went mad in his obsession with the metaphysical. Though Munch was intrigued, he never took their pursuits seriously; in fact, during a Ouija board session led by Strindberg in Paris, Munch cheekily slid the reader to spell out M-E-R-D-E. This mildly off-color French curse word nearly severed their friendship. Perhaps it was his sense of humor that protected him from the same fate as Strindberg and other peers. Despite his occasional slips into darker moods, he seemed to always manage to ground himself in reality and find joy, or at least curiosity.
Today’s print, Women and the Skeleton, visually demonstrates Munch’s many-layered fascination with the boundaries of the physical world with a more playful tone than usual. Here, two nude women occupy a void-like space, circling a hanging skeleton that looks as though it was rolled here from an anatomy classroom. They are noticeably intrigued by the skeleton but not necessarily frightened. The woman on the left inspects its ribcage, hands clasped behind her back in the stance of someone at a museum. Her counterpart rests her hand on the back of the skeleton and looks across to catch the expression of the other woman. Are these live models entering a studio to discover their ghoulish counterpart?** Or are these figures more allegorical: two Eves discovering the concept of mortality for the first time, and with it, realizing the layers of their own existence? This could be a horrifying realization to grasp and yet, they seem more curious than disturbed. In that way, a seemingly simple print encompasses a massive portion of the human experience and has a laugh all at once. Despite how mysterious and vast the universe is, we continue to peel back the layers and bravely confront what we find. And the skeleton manages to smile.
Courtesy of John Szoke Gallery, New York.