Munch’s photographs exhibit an unfinished playfulness with technical manipulation and subject matter that is not as readily seen in his more well-known work.
There are no portraits of men or depictions of happy couples in this exhibition at Scandinavia House.
The room is quiet. We stand on the fringes, in the shadows, divided from the softly luminous space that’s momentarily brought into the light.
Edvard Munch, tortured and brooding; Andy Warhol, detached and impenetrably cool. The two artists might not have gotten along well as studio mates, but as for aficionados of artistic repetition, they have a definite kinship.