Many years ago (2010 to be exact), I read the biography of Frida Kahlo, a well known self-portrait painter. I fell in love with her painfully then. She took up painting vigorously after an accident that crippled her health in many forms for a lifetime. Painting was the only thing that kept her sane; sane being a relative word of course.. I scribbled this whilst reading the book and had forgotten about it (forgetfulness is quickly becoming my soul mate). So I thought.. why not add it here, as yet another scribble.
They are me
My estranged reality
My wings of freedom
My crude self
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They are mine
The loves of my life
The lights for my soul
My heeding children
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Oh cruel earth
You broke my body
You broke my heart
So I took yours
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I held your sands
I took your water
I cut your grass
I gave you life
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Oh dear earth
I leave a spark behind
You consumed my pain
We are one.
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To Frida. To Art. To Life.
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Afternote:- This is an abstract writing, unlike her unforgivable mind-to-paper paintings. Because this is a six year old draft, even I couldn’t understand fully when I read it again recently. Of course I ‘deciphered’ eventually and have edited this ever so slightly. My past six year younger self might not have entertained too much intrusion.
The 1st stanza is about her uni-brow which made her face fiercely striking. The 2nd stanza.. her palms, the only ones that had mobility after the accident. The 3rd.. her unfortunate accident itself. The 4th.. her invincible painting era. The 5th.. her death and her quintessential impact on art.
