The Sick Child-Edvard Munch

THE SICK CHILD-EDVARD MUNCH Ghostly downpour upon not the sick, but the sick at heart - a child’s mother. Bittersweet tangle of red - patient’s hair, dresser, caretaker’s hands. Bedside manner, sorrowful to the point of death, but the woman is not literally dying, her daughter is. Steadfast bravery warm blanket hue of hunter-green, orange and blue. The girl’s mother already draped in a dreary raven habit. The sick room is passionate - lucky girl is blessed. She is not alone until her soul departs. Her mother will live with a solitary soul-sucking pit, deep inside of her residual days, memories tucked away from all her friends, for she will dread the fire of life - the source that lit her lamp with strawberry hair, freckled windsong, a swinging pendulum. The sick child, already in the light; despair has a screaming voice, perceived in claustrophobic space. One is lightened by breathlessness; the other is lightened by a broken heart.