This article is from the May 1999 The Mexico File newsletter.
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Friday Kahlo
by Maryanne Wilson
Maryanne Wilson is a
dedicated Mexicophile from Manhattan and a frequent contributor to The
Mexico File. She spends as much time as possible exploring and seeking out the places
and people which make Mexico so special. Maryanne is a collector of Mexican
folk art and also enjoys reading contemporary Mexican literature and listening
to evocative mariachi music. She
wrote a historical article on John Lloyd Stephens, an early Mexico explorer
from the U.S., for the November 1998 issue of The Mexico File,
and she contributed �In Defense of Canc�n� for the February 1999 issue.
The face in the painting
is arresting...the expression seemingly impassive. Then your eyes begin to
make out details � chin held high and firm, long elegant neck, eyebrows like
blackbirds on the wing soaring above a small, round-tipped nose, and dark eyes
staring straight back at the viewer. This is the face of Frida Kahlo, which
she painted over and over again. It is almost feline in grace and symmetry, as
well as in the directness with which it faces the world.
Frida, however, never
directly revealed the mystery behind that face � namely the constant,
unending physical pain she suffered every day of her life. In brief, Frida
survived a childhood bout with polio, which left her with one leg shorter than
the other. She refused to wear any sort of special shoe to compensate for the
deformity. Rather she hid this defect by walking tip-toe on the shorter leg,
or by wearing trousers or long dresses or skirts.
In 1925, at the age of
eighteen, Frida was a student at the preparatoria in anticipation of
entering medical school. On the afternoon of September 17th she was
riding home on the bus to Coyoacan, with her friend and schoolmate Alejandro
Gomez Anas, when it was rammed by a trolley. The force of the impact blew off
Frida�s clothing, and she was impaled on a metal handrail straight through
from side to side in the pelvic area. Her naked body was sprayed with
gold-dust which had been carried by a fellow passenger. What a macabre sight
she must have presented � naked, covered with blood, shimmering with
gold-dust and with that offending rod bisecting her already frail body.
Throughout this horrendous
ordeal Frida never lost consciousness. Some passengers reported that Frida�s
screams drowned out the siren of an approaching ambulance. Her injuries
included a crushed right foot, broken collarbone and ribs, eleven fractures in
her left leg, and a fractured pelvis. Worst of all, her spine was shattered.
In that one awful moment
Frida�s life was irrevocably changed. From that day forward she lived a life
of chronic pain, despair, frustration and disfigurement. Frida spent a month
in the hospital and three months at home in bed � all the while encased in a
full body-cast. Her European-born father, Guillermo, fell into a severe
depression; her mother, Matilde Calderon (whom Frida referred to as
Aztec-Mayan), temporarily lost her power of speech. Matilde, Frida�s
estranged sister, read about the accident in the newspaper and flew to her
sister�s side. She visited her in the hospital every day. Frida said, �It
was Matilde who lifted my spirits � she was fat and ugly, but she had a
great sense of humor.�
In her despair Frida wrote
to her friend Alejandro, �Now I live in a painful planet...my friends,
companions, become women slowly. I became old in an instant...I know that
nothing lies ahead; if there were something, I would see it.� Of course,
what Frida could not see was the incredible life that the fates had in store
for her � marriage to Diego
Rivera, the world-renowned painter and muralist, and her own fame as a
painter.
My interest in Frida began
three years ago in Mexico City. I had been invited to a dinner party at the
home of an art dealer. After the meal, all the guests were invited into our
host�s bedroom to view his most precious possession, a Frida Kahlo
self-portrait. At that time, I had only a vague idea of who she was. I was
stunned! There was that wonderful face, but it was placed in a truly bizarre
setting. My curiosity was piqued. Who was this person, and why was my first
impression one of looking at a person who was in pain? Unfortunately, I didn't
have enough time that evening to examine the painting closely.
The very next morning I
visited the Frida Kahlo Museum, �The Blue House,� in Coyoacan. Sadly, only
a few of Frida�s painting are here. One is �Viva la Vida,�
painted in 1954 shortly before her death. It is a simple painting � a few
watermelons, some with their luscious red flesh exposed to view. How filled
with life and color! How different in tone and feeling from the painting I�d
seen the night before.
That same day I also
visited the Museo de Arte Moderno and saw �The Two Fridas,� a
double self-portrait painted in 1939. Here we see a European-dressed Frida
with her heart cut open, veins dripping blood onto her stark white dress. She
is gently holding the hand of a Tehuana-dressed Frida whose heart is intact.
Still, the faces of both Fridas reveal nothing...no pain, no emotion at all.
It was a couple of years
later that my interest in Frida was once again provoked. At that time I was
recovering from back surgery, having suffered severe back pain for a few
years. A friend, knowing of my great interest in all things Mexican, gave me a
book about Frida � a big, beautiful coffeetable book. I spread the book
before me and page by page, picture by picture, I was drawn into Frida�s
world. I got other books about Frida, reading everything I could get my hands
on. Ever so slowly, I began to understand the pain I�d seen when I first
viewed that self-portrait in Mexico City.
Frida had never shown an
interest in painting until after her accident. Frida�s father, a
professional photographer and amateur painter, gave her some of his paints and
brushes. Her mother had a special easel constructed so Frida could paint in
bed while flat on her back. And what did she paint? �I paint myself,� she
said, �because I am so often alone.� A friend said, �She didn't paint
the world � she painted her life...her own realty.� The one thing Frida
was determined not to paint was her suffering. No one was to be allowed to see
her pain or the many scars on her body.
Nothing in Frida�s early
or late self-portraits openly shows that pain. But her pain is visible
nonetheless. �The Little Deer� (1946) portrays Frida�s face atop
the body of a young deer...its sleek pelt pierced by arrows, blood oozing from
its (Frida�s) wounds. Yet, her face is impassive. In �The Broken
Column� (1944) Frida calmly
faces the viewer � yet she is encased in a surgical corset with her naked
chest, pierced with metal nails, ripped open � exposing a metal
Grecian-style column in place of a spine. Painful for the viewer indeed �
yet, again, the face in the portrait reveals nothing.
Frida, ever silent in her
pain, had a great love for the natural world. Over the years her pets included
deer, monkeys, parrots, an eagle and many dogs. Perhaps she identified with
their silent world � they did not show their pain either. In many of her
self-portraits Frida is surrounded by one or more of her favorite pets. In �Self
Portrait With Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird,� a weblike necklace of
thorns, with a dead bird dangling from it, is piercing her throat. Her hair is
upswept and adorned with butterfly jewelry. On her left is a small cat-like
animal and on her right is a small capuchin monkey. All three of them are set against a background of lush foliage.
Perhaps in an attempt to
distract from her physical pain and deformity, Frida used her face and her body
as she used canvas. She became expert in the use of cosmetics, and even when
bedridden she made sure her face was perfectly made up. In an attempt to cover
up or disguise her body, more and more she wore long dresses and skirts in the
style of the women of Tehuatepec. She adorned herself with multiple pieces of
native jewelry...massive pre-Colombian necklaces and bracelets, and a ring on
every finger. She wore her long hair in various upswept styles, whether smooth
or braided, with ribbons or hairpins entwined. When she visited San Francisco
with Diego (who usually dressed cowboy style), they attracted much attention. It
was reported that, while out for a walk one day, they were spotted by a young
boy who asked, �Where's the circus?�
My interest in Frida has not
abated. In fact it is my own experience with pain that led me to more fully
understand, appreciate and enjoy her work. Indeed, anyone who lives with pain
understands how completely it takes over your life � how the pain itself takes
on a life of its own. So it was with Frida... her life was filled with pain, her
life was filled with art � life was pain, life was art...they are inextricably
bound. The pain shows in her work as a fully fleshed-out character, much in the
manner of the fog of Dickens� London or the Grandet house in Balzac's �Eugenie
Grandet.� Without that pain it is possible that Frida would never had
taken up a paintbrush. Once she did, she used it to as a means of confronting
her pain and the attendant fear of death.
Strangely, during Frida�s
lifetime there was only one gallery showing of her work. That show was held in
April 1953. Frida was only 46 at the time, but she was greatly debilitated from
years of chronic pain and about 30 operations. Frida was wheeled into the
gallery in a hospital bed and gamely stayed for the entire evening. Many of her
paintings were sold that night; the highest price paid was about $200.00. At
present, her paintings sell for millions.
If you�re curious about
Frida and would like to see some of her work you'll have to do a bit of
traveling. Sadly, only a few of her paintings are on public display in this
country. You'll find two at the Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco: �Frida
and Diego Rivera� (1931) and �El Aborto� (1932); two at the
Museum of Modern Art in New York City: �Fulang-Chang and I� (1937)
and �Self Portrait With Cropped Hair� (1940); and one at the National
Museum of Women in The Arts in Washington DC: �Self-Portrait Dedicated to
Leon Trotsky� (1937).
The treasure trove, however, is to be found at the Dolores Olmeda Patino Collection in Xochimilco just outside Mexico city. There will find about 25 of Frida�s works. I hope all of you will visit the Olmeda collection, as well as Frida�s house in Coyoacan. Perhaps you, like me, will be entranced.