In a captivating new exhibition at Oslo’s Munch Museum, Edvard Munch’s vibrant yet complex frieze, originally commissioned for the women’s canteen of the Freia chocolate factory in 1922, takes centre stage. This showcase not only highlights Munch’s artistic brilliance but also serves as a stark reminder of the social and economic disparities that plagued the lives of the factory’s workers, predominantly women, known as the “chocolate girls.” As the gallery unveils the intersection of art, cocoa production, and the broader labour movement, it invites a critical examination of the narratives that have often been overlooked.
A Dance of Illusion: Munch’s Artistic Vision
Upon entering the exhibition, visitors are initially swept away by the dynamic, almost lyrical scenes depicted across the twelve canvases. Munch’s brushstrokes, alive with hues of blue and green, conjure images of fruit pickers, flowing water, and couples joyously strolling along a beach. At first glance, it appears to be a celebration of life, a visual dance that enchants the observer. However, as one delves deeper into the context of these works, the joyous façade begins to crumble.
Commissioned to adorn the women’s canteen, the frieze was intended to uplift the spirits of the factory’s workforce. Yet, curator Ana María Bresciani points out that the realities faced by these women were far removed from the idyllic scenarios painted by Munch. “Those years when Munch was working on the Freia frieze were very dramatic and dark for the whole of Europe, especially after the First World War,” she explains. The exhibition, aptly titled *Edvard Munch and the Chocolate Factory*, contextualises the frieze within the broader narratives of workers’ rights and gender equality, as well as the troubling history of cocoa sourcing.
The Dark Legacy of Cocoa Production
The cocoa used in Freia’s products has a shadowy past, with origins in regions such as South America and the Caribbean, and later Ghana, then a British colony. The exhibition shines a light on the exploitative practices that have long characterised the chocolate industry, raising questions about the ethical considerations of such a beloved commodity. The juxtaposition of Munch’s vibrant artworks against this backdrop of exploitation prompts a critical reflection on the price of pleasure and the labour that underpins it.
Interestingly, this exhibition marks a significant moment: it is the first time the frieze has been displayed outside the factory since its installation in 1923, and only the second time it has ever left the vicinity of Freia. While the factory’s production continues to flourish in Oslo, it is now under the ownership of multinational food giant Mondelēz International, further complicating the narrative of local versus global economies.
A Glimpse into the Lives of the “Chocolate Girls”
As the exhibition unfolds, it becomes clear that Munch’s artistic intentions may not have aligned with the lived experiences of the women he sought to portray. Many of the “chocolate girls” likely had little exposure to the leisurely pursuits depicted in the frieze. Bresciani notes, “I don’t think they had access to summer cottages, they probably didn’t have access to swimming, and they probably didn’t have much access to art just yet.”
Munch himself seemed somewhat detached from the realities of these workers. After visiting the canteen to see his paintings in situ, he remarked on how the women might gradually come to appreciate his art. However, complaints about the lack of doors and chimneys in his idyllic scenes signify a disconnect between the artist’s intentions and the workers’ everyday realities.
Moreover, the financial disparities between Munch and the factory’s employees are glaring. The artist received a staggering payment of 80,000 Norwegian kroner (equivalent to around £192,000 today) for his work, while the women toiled for meagre wages. This discrepancy did not go unnoticed; reports from the time highlighted the incongruity between the lavish art investment and the paltry salaries of the workers.
The Duality of Progress and Exploitation
Freia positioned itself as a progressive employer, offering its workers amenities such as weekly baths, manicures, and modern comforts unheard of in many workplaces. However, the underlying exploitation remained. The notion of art as a tool for uplifting the working class is undermined by the very system that allows such art to exist—one that thrives on the labour of the underprivileged.
Munch’s fascination with public art was evident throughout his career, as he attempted to engage the masses and embed his work into the fabric of society. “He thought his art was to be lived with among the people,” Bresciani notes, suggesting that Munch was acutely aware of his public persona and the strategic importance of these commissions. Yet, one must ponder whether his efforts to reach out to the working class were genuine or merely a means to secure his legacy.
*Edvard Munch and the Chocolate Factory* runs at the Munch Museum in Oslo until 11 October 2026, inviting audiences to confront these uncomfortable truths through the lens of one of Norway’s most celebrated artists.
Why it Matters
This exhibition is more than a celebration of an artist’s work; it is a profound exploration of the complexities of social justice, art, and economic disparity. By drawing attention to the lives of the women who toiled in the shadows of Munch’s vibrant canvases, it challenges us to reconsider the narratives we celebrate and the histories we often overlook. In an age where ethical consumption and social responsibility are increasingly scrutinised, this exhibition urges us to reflect on the interconnectedness of art, labour, and the human experience. The legacy of Munch’s frieze, therefore, serves as a poignant reminder that the stories behind the art are often as important as the art itself.
