Saturday, March 8th, 2008, 1:43 am
Back in grade school all those times you were asked to draw a picture, what did you draw? I remember always drawing myself being surrounded by flowers. Now at the age of 21, if you ask me to draw a picture, I would still have myself surrounded by flowers. To me, they're not just pretty and smell nice. Flowers are just a form of beautiful life. During the spring and summer they stand up tall and proud. They battle through hardship and fight to survive during the winter. And they, some, pop right back on their roots and stand firm, tall and proud once again in the spring. That's the way I have learned to be.
I attended the Frida Kahlo exhibit tonight, as part of a college press event. It was really interesting. I was there for only a few hours, but I walked out as though I knew this woman all my life. Even just taking a quick glimps at her paintings, I was moved.
She, too, did a lot of self portraits. She wasn't surround by flowers like me. Instead she was drowing in pain, passion, sorrow, love, hate, and death. She painted people wearing masks, but I think she was wearing it herself...in fact, many masks. There wasn't just two sides of her as proclaimed in The Two Fridas. I saw a soft side of her as well as a strong side. I saw her loving and nurturing side as well as her dark, ugly side. I also saw her both full of life and lifeless.
She knew she deserved someone more worthy than her husband, but she held on tight to him and I say that's what killed her. Sure she was ill and in pain. But the lack of a bond to another being was what took her life. To not have a my husband's love and not bear children would certainly break my heart deep enough to make me jump off a cliff.
Look into her eyes. That's what took me into her world. Look deep into her eyes and you will hear her speak. Look deep into her eyes and you will feel her heart beating. When you feel the tingle down your spine and the hair on your arms stand up, it is at the moment where you will say "I understand". It is at that moment where you wish you could pull her out of the painting and embrace her, thank her, pray for her, and cry with her.
Do you dare let her speak to you?
Do you dare to listen?
Tags:
art, kahlo, exhibit, painting, frida
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