Hi everyone, I thought I’d start a new series on people who inspire me. This month: Frida Kahlo
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You may or may not like her paintings but you have no doubt heard her name and you probably know what at least one of her self-portraits looks like – a Mexican woman with remarkable eyebrows, dark hair adorned with flowers, a monkey or a parrot sharing the picture frame, a jungle-like background of tropical plants – a strong, bold, colourful image that once seen is somehow never forgotten; in itself, a remarkable achievement for any artist.
I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.
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Born in 1907 in Mexico, Frida was a bright child who mostly notably accompanied her father on his photographic assignments and tended his epilepsy, contracted polio which left her with a weak right leg, took up traditionally male sports to help overcome her subsequent disability, and began studies to become a doctor. Her astonishing and strong character shines through every account of her early years.
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While still a student, she was travelling on a bus when it collided with a tram. In this accident, her body was impaled on a metal pole and she suffered so many broken bones that your mind goes blank with horror halfway through reading the list. Doctors didn’t think she’d survive, and you wonder frankly how she did. The damage to her body, the numerous operations, the pain, and the months spent in bed on and off throughout the remainder of her life coloured her days from then on, and informed much of her art.
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She married a man twenty years her senior – one of Mexico’s most famous artists, Diego Rivera. Her love for Rivera was immense by all accounts, yet within a year of their marriage he began the first of many affairs. For Frida, her body had already been broken and now her heart – but while she expressed her despair, she was not to be squashed by her suffering; she fought back, and set about re-building her life. Despite her physical disabilities and heartbreak, she painted, took lovers of her own, partied, and eventually reunited with Diego – though the marriage was never without heartache: Frida longed for children but had to face miscarriage and abortion on more than one occasion as her injured body could not manage pregnancy – and Diego’s affairs continued.
There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley (tram), and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.
Increasingly, Frida’s art became her vehicle of self-expression. Her work depicts an intensely personal investigation of her own life, and is ruthlessly honest in its subject matter: pain, disability, heartbreak, and soul searching. The paintings were about Frida’s life but they speak for many who have suffered pain or looked in a mirror and asked, ‘who am I?’
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When Frida was heartbroken, she cut her hair short and wore dull clothes, when she was happy she grew her hair, put flowers in it, and adorned herself with the jewels and bright clothing she is famed for. She found the source of her art within herself. Her spirit of honesty, celebration, defiance, strength, determination, and love is stridently realised on canvas and ultimately, her talent over-rides the extraordinary weight of her real life burdens. What Frida Kahlo’s art teaches us is that it is what we do with our physical and emotional experience of life that matters. It goes without saying that Frida’s fascinating creative narrative wouldn’t have stood the test of time unless the produce of it all – her brilliant paintings – were able to stand alone as accomplished works of art.
Painting completed my life.
Frida’s last painting was a still life of big slices of vibrant red watermelon, and six days before she died aged 47, she added the words Viva la Vida to one of the watermelons – long live life.
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