Nativity of Edvard Munch

Archdruid: Born in the gathering bleakness of midwinter, as you might expect, we gather here tonight to celebrate the nativity of Edvard Munch. It's gonna be a Scream.

All: Edvard? You sure you mean Edvard?


Archdruid: Yes. I reckon so. It's Norwegian, innit? You mean you're gonna let me get away with that lousy "Scream" joke and pick me up on authentic Norwegian spelling?

All: Right you are, Eileen. Edvard it is.


Reading


Hnaef:  "I was walking along the road with two friends. The sun set. I felt a tinge of melancholy. Suddenly the sky became a bloody red. I stopped, leaned against the railing, dead tired. And I looked at the flaming clouds that hung like blood and a sword over the blue-black fjord and city. My friends walked on. I stood there, trembling with fright. And I felt a loud, unending scream piercing nature."

All: That's a bit bleak, innit?


Archdruid: It's Munch. The "Scream" bloke. What did you expect?

All: Some nice water lilies?


Archdruid: Nope. That was Monet.

All: Then show us the Monet. We're fed up with Munch. He's just too.... 


Archdruid: Too Munch?


The Beaker Folk may throw pebbles at the Archdruid.