# 156: BOOK OF THE WEEK — “Frida Kahlo”
Story behind the Book Choice
There are some people I never touched. What I mean by “touched” is that I never got into them — by reading and researching about them. This is not because I am not interested in them. Mostly, this is because I am afraid of touching some people. I know that some (life) stories move me so much that I get obsessed with learning more about them. And the more I learn about them, the more they inspire but also touch me. Sometimes, this simply leads to too much inspiration and that is hard to bear if you do not immediately find an outlet for this. Frida had painting for this. I have writing.
Before I say more about the book, I have to clarify that this is not a biography about her, it is a novel. Still, as the author explains in the epilogue, it is her interpretation of Frida’s life story which is, of course, based on biographical research. Since I have not read any of the biographies about her so far, I cannot tell apart what is fact and what is fiction. And, honestly, it does not matter to me. I loved reading the book. I swallowed the close to 400 pages in two days. And except for the fact that, from my perspective, there is a bit too much focus on the amorous adventures of her and Rivera (yes, I know books have to sell…), this book indeed is a tribute to her, her art, and Mexico in all its colors — the colors that came to shape her clothes and her paintings.
- Searching for oneself
Frida’s story is the story of someone who was never “healthy” in the way that most people are used to experiencing life. The book opens up with the passage about her accident and throughout the entire narrative, the reader gets a sense of how much Frida suffered. But there is an almost inexplicable twist in the way that Bernard presents this story of suffering. This is something that really marks the book as not just some novel about Frida. Her character is presented in a way that the suffering never makes her appear “small,” even though this is the word that she herself uses when describing her initial feeling towards Rivera, the already famous painter when the two meet and marry.
From today’s perspective — I mean the current “crisis” situation — it is very odd to read how many months Frida spent tied to her bed in a cast. I am saying “odd” because we now live in a world in which people are complainng about having to stay at home because of the pandemic, even in quarantine. I am not saying that this does not become a burden and real struggle at some point. Still, being tied to bed with a body that is irreparably damaged, in a cast, starring at the ceiling — this is a different degree of “suffering.” All this shaped Frida’s life as a young woman. And only if you know all this, you will be able to get a sense of what made her paint.
As always in art, there is the visible part that the spectator sees on canvas or on book pages or wherever that art happens to be represented. And then there is the hidden side of what drives the artist, even unknowingly. The longing to search for oneself is a common theme among human beings, I guess, not just among artists. But the longing to even look for ties that “connected her to the world” is remarkable. If your body was literally in pieces already and your art helps you put it together again in some way — little more needs to be said about what these paintings actually mean in the life of the artist, in the life of Frida who, for a long time, did not even dare see herself as an artist.
Maybe that is something that many can relate to. What does it mean to be an artist? If you simply have to paint or have to write, does that make you an artist?
2. Uncompromising
Yes, “umcompromising” is the word used to describe Frida’s way of walking through life here. But in fact, according to the whole story, she was not. At least not as far as her relationship with Rivera was concerned. When it came to her art, she was increasingly uncompromising. You have to be. It starts with the discipline of creating art in the first place and it does not stop at presenting and “defending” your art like a lion. Still, I think about being “uncompromising” a lot. Someone told me the same thing a few years ago and I did not know whether he meant it as a compliment or a critique. And I did not ask (counter to my usual habit). I know why: I did not want to get into some argument about it. To me, he was and still is compromising up to the point of never standing up for what he believes in.
Frida was not like that. I am not like that either. Sure, it is presumptuous to even compare oneself to someone like her. But that is what stories, good stories, make you do, right? You get into the head of the (main) character and you think about how you would respond in similar situations. The funny thing is: those who count as uncompromising to the outside are very often the ones who struggle a lot with exactly this; who struggle a lot with staying true to themselves. But if you do ponder this a lot and you end up in the affirmative, i.e., you consciously decide to reject any foul compromises concerning the things you truly believe in and stand for — then you do express it with your whole being; with the way you talk, walk, and depict life with your art.
3. Torn
“You are Mexico in miniature, in one person” (my translation). This is such a striking sentence to me. How many countries are there on the planet that are severely torn because wars or walls divide them (at least into two parts). Frida knew that she did represent this dualism. But it took her many years to arrive at this insight until she finally painted it. She painted the “Two Fridas.” For people who have no or little experience with being torn between two opposites all the time, this might merely look like an aesthetic play; like any painting. It is just compelling or intriguing or whatever adjective art lovers might use. But when you explore her entire story, it is stunning to read about this particular painting that followed hundreds of self-portraits that she had done already with only one Frida.
If there is one thing that I am left with now after finishing the story; it is this closeness to Mexico as the place that was her home — the place that “fixed” her torn body in a way, where she felt whole despite her (physical) fragmentation. The warmth and the colors where driving Rivera and herself, in spite of all the political repercussions that did also influence their lives tremendously. I know, I am obsessed with dualisms and binary thinking, but in Frida, at least in the story about her, this dualism is nevertheless subtle while Frida’s transformation from the “one” to the “two”; from the “girl” to the grown woman is in the foreground.
Foreground and background — we use these terms quite often but only when you deal with painting or photography, these concepts really gain meaning that is fairly easy to grasp to the spectator. But in life, this differentiation is almost impossible to define. In the book, the foreground that I am left with is that of a fascinating woman, a woman who knew that she would probably not have much time in life. She used it wisely. And that is where she was neither uncompromising nor torn. People around her — above all Rivero — encouraged her to use every minute for painting, to concentrate on it because she had the talent she had. Even though she did not really believe in this at the beginning, she did give in and started seeing, accepting, even appreciating her own artistic power.
After all, she had to paint — there was no other option of staying alive, of somehow combining the different parts of her being.
“She wanted to paint — by all means. Painting meant her wings, her dance, her life. It was what life gave her as a gift.” (153)
Reflection Questions
1) When you think of Frida Kahlo, is there a particular image/painting that comes to your mind? Which details can you remember?
2) What does being “umcompromising” connote to you?
3) If you knew you would not have too much time left in life — what would you spend your time on?