Frida Kahlo

I do not like the company of women more than men for the simple reason that men are simpler. However, once in a while walks in a complicated woman who is independent in thought and gives no excuses for who she is and I fall in love with her.

Frida Kahlo is one such woman.

She has been described as “…one of history’s grand divas…a tequila-slamming, dirty joke-telling smoker, bi-sexual that hobbled about her bohemian barrio in lavish indigenous dress and threw festive dinner parties for the likes of Leon Trotsky, poet Pablo Neruda, Nelson Rockefeller, and her on-again, off-again husband, muralist Diego Rivera.”

All true I guess. But that I believe was just the ‘fun’ Frida for her work speaks of another. It shows a Frida who is soft, intense and cruel in love, eccentric and wonderfully bohemian, intelligent but foolishly naïve but above all one who was not afraid to put out her most vulnerable side out in the open to be critiqued. Hopelessly emotional and sensitive she felt everything, real or imagined, and expressed it all through her bold colorful cheerless paintings.

When her work was described as “surrealist” by André Breton (French writer, poet, and surrealist theorist, the principal founder of Surrealism) she wrote to a friend thus “..but I do not consider myself to be a Surrealist…..Really I do not know whether my paintings are Surrealist or not, but I do know that they are the frankest expression of myself.”

Unpretentious.

So here is Salute to Frida Kahlo and all the women like her.

Me thinks the real Frida is prettier than the Salma Hayek version

Vogue shots. Karl Lagerfeld has done an Ode to her

Self Portrait with Necklace of Thorns – 1940

Roots – 1943

My Dress Hangs There – 1933

The Wounded Deer – 1946

The Dream – 1940

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