007 - Frida kahlo

If your girlfriend chops her hair, you could be next. A haircut and a puppy? You’re as good as gone. This happened to me. I didn’t take offense to being swiftly removed from the complicated equation that is the reality of a woman’s life. One I will never completely comprehend and even feel uncomfortable writing about. It’s not easy being a woman. I’ve heard this from the women in my life and I trust them. I listen.

I introduce to you: Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo was an artist and activist who posthumously became a brand. A symbol of female determination and power. At a local coffee shop, you’re more likely to find a Frida Kahlo sticker for your water bottle than a properly made cappuccino. No shade on baristas. I’ve tried frothing milk. It’s not easy. Thank you for the sticker and caffeine.

Most people identify Frida Kahlo by her look. Her defiant expression (see the unibrow). Her braided hair (see the flowers). Her traditional Mexican dress (see the colors). Others identify Frida by the strength of her name alone. Like Elvis or Bob Marley, she’s Frida Kahlo.

For me, I recognized her name. It was January and probably around freezing degrees in Madison, WI. I was visiting my niece and nephew, and suggested we load up the transformer-like strollers, pack the seemingly endless snacks, and grab whatever else is needed when moving kids around (wipes and more wipes) and head to the museum to stretch our legs for a few hours. Admission is always free at the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art, so all who had a vote, those not needing the wipes, were in favor of my idea.

If you’ve experienced winter weather for more than a holiday visit, you know there are months of gray and white, but thanks to the contents of the museum, we saw color. I walked by a painting of dragon fruit and my mind drifted to a warmer place where I tried dragon fruit for the first time – Thailand.

I was there working as a production coordinator on Colton’s season of The Bachelor. Two of my fondest memories are the dragon fruit from the breakfast buffet and the quantity of suitcases wrangled by the girls looking for love.

Back to Wisconsin, it was frigid outside, but inside, lost in the painting, I felt warm. I moved my eyes to the small square of info and read: Frida Kahlo, Still Life: Pitahayas (1938). “Frida Kahlo, I know that name. Hmm…” I pondered. “I should really know more about this person,” I concluded.

I didn’t do my research until a few years later when I really started to notice her name and image being used all over. I watched her Great Art Explained episode and learned about three key events worth sharing from her short and troubled life. At 6 years old, she contracted polio, causing her right leg to grow shorter and thinner than the left. At 18 years old, the bus she was riding collided with a streetcar. Her pelvis was impaled by the handrail, creating a list of serious injuries. At 22 years old, she married Diego Rivera, 43 years old, a famous painter known for his murals and extra marital affairs.

Frida said: “There have been two accidents in my life, one was the streetcar and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.” This man’s philandering included involvement with Frida’s younger sister, Christine. I wish I could say no sisters have competed on the same season of The Bachelor, but I’d be lying. There was a season headlined by twins, but back to Frida.

The bus accident put her in bed for a year. Her father bought paints, and her mother had a special easel made and a mirror added to the ceiling, so Frida could continue to paint. Of Frida’s 143 paintings, 55 of them are self-portraits. “I paint myself because I am so often alone, and because I am the subject I know best.”

I learned so much more by watching Frida’s Great Art Explained episode, but the focus of the episode is a breakdown of her painting The Two Fridas, 1939. I found this painting in the form of a puzzle at an art supply store. I of course bought it, figuring it would pair nicely with the sticker on my water bottle.

The next painting I saw was Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair, 1940. After divorcing Diego, Frida painted herself without the garb and hair he loved. The image reminded me of a past relationship, one that ended six months before my trip to Thailand. “I think I want to cut my hair,” she thought out loud. “Yeah, you’re lucky because you can pull off any look,” I responded taking notice. “And I really want to get a dog,” she finished. I just nodded my head in agreement. My time was running out. A few weeks later, her long brown hair was gone and she held the cutest puppy on her hip. I complimented her cut and agreed her puppy was the cutest. In my head I thought, “I’ll be going now,” as I puzzled the pieces together. It was only a matter of time. A hassle-free exit. It’s the least I could do because it’s not easy being a woman. I’m grateful to know and learn from so many of them. — Phillip Dillon

Here are a few other quotes of Frida’s that made me think or smile:

"I paint flowers so they will not die."

"I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality."

"I think that little by little I'll be able to solve my problems and survive."

“At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.”

“I tried to drown my sorrows, but the bastards learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good feeling.”

“They are so damn 'intellectual' and rotten that I can't stand them anymore....I [would] rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with those 'artistic' bitches of Paris.” From a letter to Nickolas Muray.

“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.”