You entered my field of vision with a dashing gesture. Stunning clothes, one-word eyebrows spread like bird wings, rarely confused eyes, facial edges and corners that you will never forget once you have seen them, and the way you run.
The running of your feet stops abruptly at 18. You said you had two major disasters in your life, one of which was the bus crash at the age of 18. The spine was broken, the collarbone and two ribs were also broken, the pelvis was broken in three places, a metal rod went directly into the right side of the body, and passed through the side of the vagina. There were 11 fractures in the right foot, and the entire sole of the foot had comminuted fractures. After the car accident, you were lying in the cracked bus carriage, covered with gold dust that a passenger next to him was going to use to paint the church, with blood on your body, you were like a big poppy.
I thought that the freeze frame of that shot was the freeze frame of your life. And where the body is broken, the amazing blood that flows out of the wound like a flower is your painting.
I can't actually call you a female artist, because you lack some of the characteristics of an "artist", such as being so pure in spirit that you don't eat human fireworks, such as having an independent discourse system and way of life, such as being moody and changeable, and having a hard time inside. Being entered, such as the extreme self, in the room that belongs to oneself, self-digging like a prisoner, self-worshiping like a queen.
You are completely different. You are dressed up and unrestrained, "wherever you go, you can bring enthusiasm and life to the surrounding". I'd rather be down-to-earth when you're a battered flower than a green leaf and twig. You are such a woman who is integrated into life. You go shopping, dance, and paint seriously in order to support yourself. You fall in love with a man and want to have a child. You run and stay in life, up and down with the rhythm, not the kind of utilitarian Fan Er, a female artist who "experiences life". You have no distance from life, you are firmly choked by it, you have difficulty breathing, and you let yourself fly by drawing. The boundary between heavy and light is not obvious in you. You live with great colors, your body is heavy, but your soul is flying gently. Like you said, "If I already have wings to fly, what do I need feet for?"
You accept the pain and the brokenness of life, but still give it forcefully. Perhaps the broken body makes your soul more complete? Your heart is of the highest quality, without blemishes. After being repeatedly hurt by Rivera, your letter to him still said, "I love you more than I love myself." You don't have the so-called gesture in the worldly sense of a woman, you are not interested in that kind of game and strategy, Your life and love are full without compromise. Your emotions and your heart have been noble enough to be completely free.
After the accident, you were in a coma for three weeks. Since then, pain has become the foundation of your life. You say you're tired of answering "how do you feel?" questions because your body feels bad all the time. Your body is either trapped in a cast or a back brace, your toe is infected with jaundice and has to be amputated, you also have an infection in your kidneys, and you can't give birth after a massive miscarriage child. You say you've forgotten what it's like to not be in pain. After several surgeries, your body has been disassembled and reassembled, and your body is full of cracks like a puzzle. You are not cursing anyone when you say this.
Father gave you a scaffolding drawing board, brushes, and paints lying on the bed. Your painting starts with pain and lasts for a lifetime.
How should I describe those paintings? They spray on the canvas with a burning smell, all of them are heavy colors, forcefully speaking instead of you. Is that the color of pain? Is that the shape of pain? You never explain. For art and the world, you have no ambition. Your girlfriend says your paintings are better than your husband. Even husband Rivera said that he will never be able to paint what you paint, "I paint what I see, the outside world, You paint your heart", you just take it as a compliment. When a reporter asked if you, who accompanied your husband to the United States, were also a painter, you just said lightly, no, I'm just killing time by painting.
In addition to the high multiplier of physical pain, your mind can't be at peace. That's mostly from your love and marriage, from the man you love to call "my Diego."
Like any highly talented artist, Rivera slept with every model, saying, "It's like a handshake, and I'm more enthusiastic when I do." You were prepared, and you even said that you loved such a person. You discussed that you want him to be "loyal" and he can't be "loyal", he said frankly, but he will always be "loyal". So you accepted his proposal.
The congratulatory message from the female photographer at the wedding was so touching because it told the truth about marriage, she said: "I don't believe in marriage, at worst it is a political act of hostility, short-sighted men locking women in their homes. The way to avoid women getting in the way, at best, marriage is a sweet illusion. Two people truly love each other, but they have no idea that the coming years are nothing but tormenting each other. However, when two people know these , they open their eyes, face each other, and go back to marriage, I don't think that's conservative or delusional, but brave, radical, and romantic. Cheers to Rivera and Frida!"
No suspense, In the days after your marriage, your theme is one more, which is to get angry and mad at Rivera's indiscretions, but always maintain an emotional balance because of your attraction to Rivera. However, this balance was finally completely broken when he got his hands on your sister. You say to him, "I've had two disasters in my life, a car accident and you. And you, even worse." You move out, live alone, and live in poverty. Never stop drawing. But even so, the bond between you is still there, Rivera didn't lie, he loved you all his life, and finally came back to you for a lifetime.
One night, you were lying in bed painting, and Rivera came in, lay down beside you, and hugged you gently. You take out a ring, give it to him, and say, "We've been together for 25 years."
You finally have an exhibition in your country. At the exhibition, the gray-haired Rivera said emotionally: "I want to comment on her from the perspective of an artist, not the perspective of her husband. I admire her. Her works are sharp and soft, as hard as steel and as slender as butterfly wings. Beauty is as moving as a smile, and life is as bitter. I don't believe that women once poured so much pain into the canvas."
You have experienced illness, disability, miscarriage, more than 30 surgical operations in your life, and you need alcohol, cigarettes, and anesthesia. Products to relieve physical pain, you die at 47. In the last diary, you wrote: "It is a blessing to leave and never come back."
If you have been so painfully painful and burned so fiery, then life is no longer worth nostalgic.
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