Love and passion in portraiture

Portraits of Frida can be seen everywhere on the streets of Mexico, especially in markets, where her face is surrounded by flowers on various handicrafts. In Mexico for half a year, I never learned about her story, and I couldn't even remember her name. until this movie. I have always believed in the inspiration of movies and reading. My life was the first to embark on the road of exile because of one sentence: "I like that kind of declining place. The once prosperity and old dreams are gone forever. So Every street, every person is full of meaningful sadness." I look forward to the life of the characters in the story, imitate them to smoke 555, and long for a distant waterfall. When we were young, we all wanted to be ourselves, we all longed to be others. The people in the story, their stubborn innocence, and even their pain, I put it on my soul without hesitation, thinking that I can bloom like them. I am a person with an ambiguous personality, just like Guanajuato, I am ambiguous when I think about it. For four months there, there was an orchestra every day in the small square, and I also spent the most lively festival Cervantino. Always complaining about how small it is and the repetition of everyday life, I can't help but run away on weekends, until after I left, I watched a movie "Eisenstein in Guanajuato" and I suddenly miss it so much If there is a symphony band in a pavilion in the middle of the square, it will be as romantic as a carousel with lights in the dark; on weekends, the front steps of the Grand Theater are full of laughing people watching clown performances, and I always worry. The Joker chose me to perform with him; the gloomy tunnels dripping with water, and the bus driver's familiarity through this vast underground network amazes me. There are many, many little things.
The film reminds me of the colorful houses, the Catholic Santa statue on the corner of the street, the candles in the cemetery Día de muertos (Halloween) in Mexico, and the story of how a stupid architect added a floor to the Temple of the Sun . As for Frida's works, I can understand the images in her mind because of what she experienced in the movie, but how can I praise them with my shallow understanding of art, just in the words of her husband: Her work is acid and tender, hard as steel and fine as a butterfly's wing. Lovable as a smile, cruel as the bitterness of life. I don't believe that ever before has a woman put such agonized poetry on canvas
. It is said that love is a bridge between her and Diego, and painting is a golden belt that connects her with the world. Frida has suffered physical trauma all her life, but just as she was on the sickbed looking at herself reflected in the mirror on the ceiling, love brought great pain. With a hard face, her painting gestures are like flowers blooming on the ruins of life. I just learned that the portraits of her that often appear on the streets of Mexico are actually her own self-portraits, where the most common one is her with her hair up and a few flowers that burn like fire.
And she is such a brave and passionate woman. Met an artist she admired, although she had hurt each other, and she loved him so much. What the man said at the art exhibition was the same as what her father said when he was taking care of his wife's garden. The two people who stayed together had hated each other and were torn apart. Only when they were apart, they suddenly remembered the promise they had made. The vows, we all know what each other looks like, I love you like you love yourself, and we all know that one day love will suddenly start to make life bitter, maybe we can't get around those futile ignoring those torments, but we still decided to be together. It is not an illusion, it is the gift of joy and pain wrapped in time, allowing you to go without regret.

The music in this movie is amazing, especially when Frida dances with another woman.
Dance segment:
At the bar, Frida sings:
After a fight in a New York apartment, Frida was at a bar and an old man sang in front of her:
Separated, Frida moved away:
Frida lay in bed and people sang to her:

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