
Ever since I studied existentialism in high school, I have loved August Strindberg. He possessed that same intense Nordic perspective--combined with just the right amount of absinthe and alchemy--that drew me to Edvard Munch and Karin Boye. His outlook on life and the world was, in my eyes, equally as bitter and contemptuous as it was exhilarated and reverent. Besides, we share the same birthday.
My minor field of study in college was Swedish Language & Literature, and I read many of Strindberg's plays, short stories and essays. Though I really found myself drawn to his paintings and photographs. He painted a number of dark, brooding landscapes; canvasses thick with densely layered oils. His photographs were mostly self portraits and role exploration, and always make me think of Cindy Sherman and Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. There's a real voyeuristic tone there,

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