Shore With Red House - Edvard Munch

Do you see the frame or the cage? Step beyond and into this: a rare and colourful bliss, island of calm in an ocean of rage... Yesterday, the thunderous sunder of schizoid storm. Today, this eden of balm where all's serene, though the outer pacifying sea can never douse the inner burning chambers of insanity's house; the splintered timber and cindered tinder, scarlet cinders of timbers that softly drift from land to sea like sweetening sails, to sea-smooth and soothe the bitter galls and silence the silent scream in me. Set me free, my Aasgardstrand, beloved watercolour water-town of pastel sand, prismatic land, pink-glinting pebbles and boulders. In green distance the heart-house smoulders lapped by lilt and lullaby of waves, tilt and tint of sea-lit scape that stills the sea of madness in my ear, its endless sibilant hiss... Never so much myself as when walking beside your redeeming shore, framed in littoral light, waves salving the fragile shell of my unheard heart, breezes soothing the screaming tempest of art; violet misted solace of sea and sky that cools the violent internal inferno house - the haze and the blaze of my saving art.