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Following Frida: Mexican Artist is Hotter than Ever
MEXICO CITY April 20, 2004 In the final entry of her diary before her death in 1954 at age 47, Frida Kahlo, the tortured, flamboyant Mexican artist, wrote: "I hope for a happy exit and I hope never to come back." Poor Frida! Like it or not, she's back with a vengeance. Ten thousand gawking strangers each month traipse through her house, where her ashes rest unceremoniously in a pre-Columbian jar set on a sprinkling of faded petals. Several books bearing her name are out this year, including a re-issue of Hayden Herrera's voluminous 1983 biography, which launched her to prominence outside Mexico. Madonna collects her paintings. Vogue and Harper's Bazaar have run Frida-inspired fashion spreads in the past year. They're eating her up (or at least the traditional Mexican recipes she is said to have favored) in a restaurant here. A swank hotel is running a Frida Kahlo (KAH-lo) special. Starting Oct. 25, she'll burst forth at local Cineplexes in the much-hyped Frida, starring Salma Hayek. And in her hometown, her old haunts are anticipating a fresh wave of Frida furor. Indeed, a visit here provides insight into the enigma of Kahlo. Married (twice) to muralist Diego Rivera, she was a radical free spirit, a feminist who turned heads in her traditional Mexican costumes. With Rivera, she traveled from San Francisco to Paris in social circles that included such disparate figures as Henry Ford and Nelson Rockefeller, Andrι Breton and Marcel Duchamp. She was a communist whose paramours included Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky. As an accomplished artist, she was her own favorite subject. Her face peers out from dozens of paintings, the signature unibrow arched like a dark gull poised to take flight from her forehead. Her peers embraced her as a surrealist. But Kahlo herself said she only painted what she saw. At 18, Kahlo, who had polio as a child, was horribly injured in a trolley accident, precipitating a lifetime of ill health. Her relationship with Rivera was tumultuous. She had multiple miscarriages, and never had a child. And she put that anguish to work, splashing it across canvases dominated by bloody, visceral themes. Disembodied hearts, fetuses and skeletons are favorite images. Just try to ignore her pain. "Frida is popular now. But she was always important," says Ignacio Custodio, administrator at the Frida Kahlo Museum in the home where she lived and worked for much of her life. Still, he acknowledges, "When you first see the pain in her paintings, it's distancing. It's not nice. It's violent. But people can see in her art a human being who waits to transcend her illness and create a reality that will liberate her."
If she was never able to completely transcend her pain, she has made the transition from artist to pop icon, particularly in the USA, where the adoration of Frida takes on a religious fervor that many Mexicans are hard-pressed to grasp. "There is no Frida mania in Mexico," says Joan Bagur, a chef at El Bajio restaurant, even as he serves a delectable chile en nogada and other native dishes from the Frida Kahlo menu he and the restaurant's owner presented earlier this year at the James Beard Foundation in New York. Says Karina Sanchez of the Dolores Olmedo Patiρo Museum: "Here in Mexico we admire Frida Kahlo for her paintings. But we admire her more for her suffering. The polio. The accident. The miscarriages." Rivera and Kahlo together The museum in Xochimilco (so-chi-MEEL-co), about 15 miles south of the capital's historic center, contains 145 Rivera paintings and 25 works by Kahlo. The grounds of the late-16th-century hacienda, where peacocks and turkeys strut freely, are as spacious as the collection of Rivera and Kahlo works is expansive. Olmedo, a self-made wealthy patron of the arts who died in July, purchased the paintings over the years at Rivera's urging. Upon his death in 1957, she became head of a trust that controls both artists' images and archives. Olmedo, in turn, donated her art collection and estate to the Mexican people. The museum opened in 1994. After viewing the paintings (which include some of Kahlo's best-known works), visitors will find it worth strolling the grounds for a glimpse into the world of Mexican wealth. Olmedo's relationship with Kahlo reportedly was not warm. Olmedo is rumored to have had an affair with Rivera, though her lawyer of 40 years, Gil Rodriguez Reyes, characterizes that relationship only as "respectful." As for her dealings with Kahlo: "She admired Frida from an artistic point of view," Sanchez says. But Olmedo once told the Los Angeles Times that Kahlo wouldn't have been famous had she not married Rivera. She predicted, "In the future, Kahlo will fade away." The paintings are superior at the Olmedo museum, but the epicenter of all Frida-ness is the Frida Kahlo Museum, or Casa Azul (Blue House), where Kahlo was born and died. It is in Coyoacan, a pleasant neighborhood 6 miles south of Mexico City's central plaza. Once a gathering spot for artists and intellectuals (including the exiled Trotsky, whose house-turned-museum is a few blocks away), it is today an idyllic and affluent area whose narrow streets and broad plazas are a favorite weekend getaway for frenzied city dwellers. Organ grinders and balloon sellers contribute to the festive mood on the central Plaza Hidalgo, site of the 16th-century church Frida attended as a girl. A short walk leads to the Jardin Frida Kahlo, where a bronze statue of her has been erected. Still, Coyoacan has done little to capitalize on Kahlo's image. None of the outdoor cafes has named a special after her. No boutique bears her image. (This is not the case in the city's wealthy Polanco section, where the exuberantly decorated Frida Kahlo Suite at the Casa Vieja hotel goes for $550 a night. It features a refrigerator emblazoned with a larger-than-life likeness of Kahlo dressed in a trademark Tehuana costume.) Curious about her life But on Londres Street, in a house such an electric shade of blue it seems to vibrate, a steady stream of visitors wander through the shaded courtyard and folk-art filled rooms that pay homage to Kahlo. In the light-filled studio, her wheelchair sits before an easel that holds an unfinished portrait of Josef Stalin. A mirror is set into the wooden canopy of her twin bed, and an embroidered pillow displays the kitschy sentiment "Don't forget me my love." A cast of her torso rests nearby. Most visitors are not students of art, Custodio says. But those drawn here out of curiosity about her life can't help but be drawn into her art. "When you come to know her life, you come to understand the meaning of the paintings," he says. "The important thing is, she had playful intentions. People want to find all this strong meaning in her paintings. It's much simpler. She knew her friends would know what she meant and would laugh with her, not at her." Custodio is sitting in the museum's small gift shop, where visitors browse through theme merchandise. You can put Frida back together in a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle. Or tie her around your neck with a self-portrait necktie. Or take her to the office on a mouse pad. The administrator concedes that as a communist, Kahlo would be disgusted by the commercialism. On the other hand, he adds, "She knew the importance of image. And she liked kitsch." After the movie-related hype crests, he says, "Maybe people won't buy as many (Frida) T-shirts. But the importance of Frida in the history of art will always be there." Sites enhance the art. Happily for fans, the
sights associated with Frida Kahlo and her husband, Diego
Rivera, lie in some of Mexico City's most appealing areas.
(Note that many museums are closed on Mondays.) |
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