Frida Kahlo, was she the one who chose to be the flame? Or did the light of the flames choose her?
She used to be a naughty young girl, rebellious and flamboyant, fresh like the little flower buds on the branches of the dew in the morning, with thick eyebrows, ear-length curly hair, white clothes and black dresses, such a willful youth, with a little rebellion with unruly.
In a car accident, she became the person chosen by fate and began to experience all the pain that the human body can endure. The scene had a sacrificial beauty, the gray broken background, the girl's body sprinkled with gold powder and blood, and the body that fell from the air. Glass shards and steel pipes punctuated by them. It was a sacrifice that locked the soul into the shattered remains of the body.
Along with physical pain, there is also emotional trauma. When she needed support the most, her little boyfriend chose to leave. He said, "Uncle and aunt are going to Europe," and paused, "They let me Together." He said, "Little Frieda, oh, little Frieda." She drew on the plaster with a pen and told him, "Please leave before I draw the butterfly."
When the butterfly was full of the plaster, Little Frieda got a drawing board, and she has since embarked on the road of becoming "Frida". A road full of hardships and pain.
Her feet were on the ground again, four years later, after several surgeries. When she walked towards Diego Rivera with her paintings, she had broken into a butterfly, flowing with the unique calm and grace of a woman after her nirvana. Since then, she has been covered with strong colors, bright red and emerald green, that is the color of the burner, with the heavy texture of life.
She met him, and she met her own destiny. What attracted him was the alternation of serenity and uninhibitedness in her, sometimes wild, sometimes shy, and the deep pain in her paintings, the tension of life that never existed in his paintings, the light of talent.
He said to her, "If you are a painter, just paint until you die, and don't care what others say." He is a painter in this sense, a painter who is ups and downs in fame and glory, sometimes sober, sometimes sober. vanity.
He took her into the life circle of Mexican literati. She was like a fish that was thrown into the water. This was her life, and she was born here. She was as happy as a fish in water. That bottle of wine and a dance revealed her shy and gentle exterior with a stern character, and also a metaphor for her uninhibited and indulgent heart and feelings.
She was his gentle little dove, the muse who brought him joy and inspiration, so he said, "We should get married." She doubted him "You can't be single," but he said, "I can at least promise to be loyal to you. ."
They started life, what kind of life was that, time and time again, he never thought it was a betrayal, he thought it was just his way of finding inspiration, and she, she, she embraced all of him, accompanied him All of him, because she knew that he did not belong to any one woman, but belonged to himself, which also belonged to all women.
In Mexico and New York, she accompanies him to become famous and to accompany him to betray and leave. She encouraged him to stick to himself, even if the painting was destroyed, it was his victory. She is his comrade-in-arms, colleague, friend, lover...
And along the way, she also experienced the greatest pain as a woman, she lost her mother, and then she lost the life she had hoped for since she was a child. Vera's child, and was told that there would never be any more. At that moment, she was insane. At that moment, even me in front of the camera cursed my fate, how could I put so much bad luck on such a sensitive and kind woman. She wants to bring the child's debris, she wants to draw him, let him live forever in the painting, and accompany her forever.
He saw her painting, and in the midnight promenade, he wept lowly. At that moment, he was her husband.
There is always bad luck in her life. It seems that God wants to challenge the bottom line that human body and spirit can bear. After she took in her divorced sister, on a holiday night, she saw her sister sitting naked on Rivera's body .
She sat there all night, wondering if she could hear her heartbroken voice. Rivera patted the window, and she said clearly, "I have suffered two huge disasters in my life, one is a car accident, and the other is you."
She broke her hair by swinging the scissors, and her hair fell in succession. That intense music was a rupture in her heart, she cut off the connection with her former self, but she was still her, she was still that little Frieda, she Going back to his father, he rested his head on his father's shoulder. It was the root of her life, the sanctuary of her soul, where she found the long-lost peace.
Then he came to her, and he needed his help, not for himself, but for Trotsky, the Russian philosopher-in-exile, on the grounds that "they need joy too much, and you can bring joy." She Yes, not for Trotsky, but for him. Facing him, she still didn't know how to refuse.
She and Trotsky were drawn to each other, it was a kind of comfort, for each other's broken lives under the iron hoof of fate. Trotsky defended his mind, but lost all his children, and Frida, lost his lover and children.
Only this attraction is interrupted by marital fidelity, who shouts at Rivera "You are my comrade, my colleague, my friend, but never my husband."
Next up is Paris, Fries in Paris Da, beautiful, unrestrained, witty, and occasionally contains obscene metaphors in her words, is a stunner in the eyes of the French. Paris embraced her with open arms, and Picasso entertained her. She once again showed a queen-like smile, covering up the boundless loneliness and longing. Finally, she wrote in her own words, "Paris is a good place, but without you, it is meaningless. The 12 years we have been together are often imprinted in my mind, I love you more than my own hair and skin, but maybe you Don't love me so much. You still love me, don't you? If you don't love me anymore, then I'll take your love as hope. I love you."
But her life was full of but, she goodbye To Rivera, the first sentence she got was "I'm getting a divorce."
Then she went to jail. Reconciled with his sister in prison, rescued by Rivera, and then, the body begins to decay before the end of life. What a cruelty to a woman known for her beauty and debauchery. She has lost the only weapon against fate and misfortune, the tool used to resolve the difficulties of love. The pain came again, tormenting her day and night. Worse than the pain, she will see her body rot.
Finally this time, God had mercy on her, and He sent back Rivera. Rivera proposed to her again, and she was as proud as ever. "I don't need to be rescued." "I do." He looked at her with a gentle but firm look.
What kind of torture is it to watch your body decay? And this woman, she can paint, sing, attend her own art exhibition in makeup, and joke around when she's being loaded into a truck.
Her day is near, near. The glory and suffering that once belonged to her, the vitality that once belonged to her, the tenacity and tenacity. She has been fighting against the ruthlessness and cruelty of fate with her broken body. She lives, paints, and loves proudly, which is the blessing and counterattack of fate.
In her last moments, she said to him, "Honey, hug me again." He hugged her from behind, snuggling peacefully. Their love never doubts, penetrates deep into each other's blood and bone marrow, and those deep hurts are also contained in it, which cannot be broken or measured.
When she left, she left the words, "I hope it is a blessing to leave, and I hope I will never return."
But every day she lives, she laughs at all the suffering and pain in the world with the tension of life, and it is she who He has endured the deepest pain and torture with his body and soul, and has drawn a beautiful bottom line for the endurance of human beings.
I can't write about her, but I can't help but write. I would like to use this painting of her to end this lengthy and lack of charm, pay tribute to life, and pay my respects to the most tenacious and strong woman in my life! For hers, and all the lives that have ever bloomed!
Finally, let me say: let God's be to God, and Caesar's to Caesar. Each of us is in the river of fate, the river of time, let us all have the courage of Frida and strengthen our choice. Whether the choice is as dull and timeless as water, or burns as brilliantly as fire.
It's a movie worth cherishing, even though she doesn't fully capture Frida's experience, it just focuses on her growth as a woman.
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