Category Archives: Diego Rivera

The Frida Kahlo conundrum

By Kathy Brewis in Times

She crafted her own image with exquisite care, creating herself on canvas over and over again, always the paradoxically triumphant victim. The legend she built around herself is so powerful it inspires and intrigues half a century after her death. Because at its heart remains a mystery.

Her intense, troubled marriage to her fellow Mexican painter Diego Rivera is well documented. So are her lovers, male and female, the childhood polio that left her with a thinner right leg and the terrible accident that broke her spine and pelvis. She painted her abortions, her back operations, her physical suffering. Others have focused on her mental pain and defiant spirit – in books, exhibitions and films.

Yet, despite all of this, Frida Kahlo is oddly elusive. The woman who made dozens of self-portraits in the 1940s and early ’50s was not lying when she called herself “the great concealer”. She painted her own narrative in bold swathes of colour, perhaps hoping that nobody would dare read between the brush strokes.

“Kahlo is still an enigma,” says her biographer Hayden Herrera, “because she held back a great deal, and part of her creative energy went into inventing her persona. Everyone who knew her talked about her alegria [cheerfulness]. It was important for her to appear strong, perhaps in order to fortify herself. I suspect that she was much less happy than she pretended.”

“She was vulnerable,” says Salomon Grimberg, the author of two new books on Kahlo – one focusing on her still lifes, including some that came to light during his research, and the other centring on a previously unpublished interview she gave to a psychologist friend. “We’re all vulnerable. We create a self-image to feel right about ourselves, and then spend the rest of our lives trying to protect it.” The difference is that Kahlo’s self-images have huge commercial value: her 1943 painting Roots sold for $5.6m at auction two years ago.

In Mexico, Kahlo is known as the “heroine of pain”. “I am alone,” she confessed in capital letters to her diary. But publicly, emphatically, she denied this universal truth. “She couldn’t tolerate being on her own,” says Grimberg. Her house was covered in mirrors – on the canopy of her bed, on tables, on her wardrobe doors, even in the garden. Did her reflection provide comfort? She often drew herself by looking in the mirror; in one drawing she appears to be left-handed, because it’s a mirror image.

“Here I am sending you my portrait so you will remember me,” she wrote on her first known self-portrait, a pencil sketch from 1920. “As long as she was in the mind of others, she existed,” says Grimberg. “If she got the attention of other people, she mattered.” Grimberg is, unusually, both a psychiatrist and an art historian. “I was always interested in why people make art,” he says. “Art is no different from the symptoms that psychiatric patients have, except you can visualise it.” He has been writing about Kahlo for 20 years. He lives in Dallas, Texas, and completed his medical training in the States, but he grew up in Mexico – and a member of his family was on the medical team that amputated Kahlo’s right leg below the knee in 1953. “I grew up listening to stories about Kahlo,” he says.

In the 1960s he worked at the Galeria de Arte Mexicano in Mexico City. “Even then, a Kahlo still life was $4,000 – you could buy a small house in Mexico for that then. Her Self-Portrait with Loose Hair came up for sale for a little less than $10,000 and I tried to persuade my father to buy it, but he said, ‘What an ugly woman! Why would I want that in my house?’ And when he heard the price he said, ‘Are you crazy?’ ”

All Souls

There are so many ways to be interested in Frida Kahlo, who was born a hundred years ago and died forty-seven years later, in 1954, that simply to look at and judge her paintings, as paintings, may seem narrow-minded. No one need appreciate art to justify being a Kahlo fan or even a Kahlo cultist. (Why not? The world will have cults, and who better merits one?) In Mexico, Kahlo’s ubiquitous image has become the counter-Guadalupe, complementing the numinous Virgin as a deathless icon of Mexicanidad. Kahlo’s ascension, since the late nineteen-seventies, to feminist sainthood is ineluctable, though a mite strained. (Kahlo struggled not in common cause with women but, single-handedly, for herself.) And her pansexual charisma, shadowed by tales of ghastly physical and emotional suffering, makes her an avatar of liberty and guts. However, Kahlo’s eminence wobbles unless her work holds up. A retrospective at the Walker Art Center, in Minneapolis, proves that it does, and then some. She made some iffy symbological pictures and a few perfectly awful ones—forgivably, given their service to her always imperilled morale—but her self-portraits cannot be overpraised. They are sui generis in art while collegial with great portraiture of every age. Kahlo is among the winnowed elect of twentieth-century painters who will never be absent for long from the mental museums of future artists.

She was born Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón in the house where she would die, in Coyoacán, then a prosperous suburb and later a district of Mexico City. She was the third child of a Hungarian-German immigrant photographer, who was an atheist Jew, and a pious mestiza from Oaxaca. Polio, at age six, withered her right leg and foot. She was among the rare girls admitted to the sterling National Preparatory School, in Mexico City, where she grew from an effervescent tomboy into a brilliant young woman, during the creative tumult of the nineteen-twenties. When she was eighteen, a bus crash left her with spinal and pelvic damage that would entail many surgeries, some of them probably unnecessary. (Was she masochistic? Anyone doomed to a lifetime of pain will find veins of sweetness in it.) While convalescing, she began to paint, depicting herself, in styles influenced by Renaissance and Mannerist masters, with the aid of a mirror set in the canopy of her bed. In 1928, she took up with Mexico’s chief artist, Diego Rivera, who was twenty years her senior. They married in 1929, divorced for a year in 1939, then remarried. They were the loves of each others’ lives, though with innumerable supplements. Their semi-public affairs (her amours included Leon Trotsky and numerous women); their dealings with famous figures in America and Europe, from John D. Rockefeller to Pablo Picasso; and their political adventures, as Communists subject to sectarian pushes and pulls, make Hayden Herrera’s hugely consequential biography, “Frida” (1983), a delirious read. (Herrera is a co-curator, with Elizabeth Carpenter, of the Walker show.) Kahlo died, probably of a complication of pneumonia, the last in a cascade of deteriorative maladies, a year after the opening of her first solo exhibition in Mexico.

Rivera often remarked, correctly, that Kahlo was a better painter than he was. Picasso confessed himself incapable “of painting a head like those of Frida Kahlo.” André Breton praised her art—with enthusiasm marked by condescension—as “a ribbon around a bomb.” In point of fact, the ribbons and other feminine adornments that she renders are, themselves, rhetorically explosive. Breton also claimed her as an exemplar of international Surrealism. Wrong again. At her best, she is a better artist than any of the Surrealists except Salvador Dali at his best, unless early Giorgio de Chirico may be deemed Surrealist before the letter. Besides, the avant-garde most germane to Kahlo’s development in the twenties is that of German Neue Sachlichkeit (New Objectivity), which mined heightened realism for psychological drama. To this, she added fecund inspirations from Mexican pre-Columbian and folk art and Spanish-colonial and Creole portraiture. No swoons into the supposed unconscious—even most of her dream pictures are wide awake. She was terrific at still-lifes of fruit and flowers and at picturing animals—she intermittently maintained a menagerie of dogs, cats, parrots, and monkeys—all of which channel her consciousness. Kahlo’s self-portraits are about her gaze, as subject matter, technique, and content. They dramatize sheer attentiveness. They tell us exactly what it’s like to be Frida Kahlo, with, I believe, a superbly indifferent confidence that we will not understand. She confides, but she won’t plead. She makes eye contact not with the viewer but with herself—watching herself watch herself, in an extended but closed loop. T. S. Eliot articulated the truth, regarding all successful art, of a dissociation of “the man who suffers and the mind which creates.” Make the man a woman, and Kahlo becomes singular for having engaged both parties at once—and only them. Looking at the pictures, you’re not there.

Mexico Honors Painter Diego Rivera

With the opening of the “Epopeya Mural” display, Mexico began a homage to famous muralist Diego Rivera on Thursday, in recognition of the 50th anniversary of his death on November 24.The most complete exhibit of Rivera’s murals, over 180 works, occupy the eight halls of Mexico City’s Palacio de Bellas Artes.

Compared equally in his time with Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso, the Guanajuato-born painter was the inventor of the transportable mural, and some have them have been brought from afar.

Among them are “Glorious Victory” (1954) and “Sunflowers” (1942).

Also: Mexican Muralist Honored
And: Mexico to honor famous muralist Diego Rivera 50 years after his death

Diego Rivera

Diego Rivera – The Flower Carrier

Diego Rivera was arguably one of the greatest Mexican painters of the 20th Century, and certainly the most well known. He is credited in modern times for reviving the art of painting frescos in Latin America and the United States, and was a leader in the Mexican mural movement.
Jose Diego Rivera Barrientos was born in Guanajuato on 8th December 1886. He had a twin brother, Jose Carlos, who died at eighteen months old, and a younger sister. When he was six, the family moved to Mexico City. Showing an early talent, Rivera received a scholarship to attend the San Carlos Academy of Fine Arts but, after student riots, he was expelled. He was then granted a travel scholarship to study in Europe. He arrived in Spain in 1907, and then went to France. After arriving in France he met Angeline Beloff, who gave birth to his only son, Diego, in 1916. more…

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