Disease, Insanity, And Death Were The Angels

Death Is Pitch-dark, But Colors Are Light. To Be A Painter, One Must Work With Rays Of Light.

I Was Walking Along A Road One Evening – On One Side Lay The City, And Below Me Was The Fjord. The Sun Went Down – The Clouds Were Stained Red, As If With Blood. I Felt As Though The Whole Of Nature Was Screaming – It Seemed As Though I Could Hear A Scream. I Painted That Picture, Painting The Clouds Like Real Blood. The Colours Screamed.

Photography Is An Art Which Touches And Grips One's Own Heart's Blood.

Without Fear And Illness, I Could Never Have Accomplished All I Have

Disease, Insanity, And Death Were The Angels That Attended My Cradle, And Since Then Have Followed Me Throughout My Life.