Connecting with art and artists
Reflections on visiting a Frida Kahlo exhibition in Richmond, VA
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Our dorm room was covered in art my second year of college.
My roommate and I met our very first semester in the Intro to Painting class that I hadn’t planned on taking. I had gone into the registration hall planning to sign up for Intro to Art History as my fourth class, but by the time I got to the art department table, all the sessions were full. As I felt confusion and despair approaching—what was I going to do for my fourth class now??—a wonderful woman rescued me: There’s room in Intro to Painting. I took her offer.
A few days later, I meet fellow first year Emma. We became friends, and a year later, roommates. When we were picking out what room we hoped to claim, we decided that light was more important than space—and managed to get the only double on campus that had two windows, thanks to its place on the corner of Loose Hall.
We covered our walls in art. Art we’d made, posters we’d collected. It was bright and joyful and lovely.
Propped on the rail that covered the outlet wiring was a painted nude on a Masonite board. She’s painted with confident, wide strokes. Considering each, it seems incredible that they all add up to a clearly recognizable figure. When friends visited our room, this painting was the most admired piece.
And, of course, neither of us had painted her.
We laughed about that pretty often, and it still makes me smile. You see, I had found the painting at the end of first year, when our professor Bobbie (that wonderful woman who saved my class schedule) had cleaned out some drawers in the studio. She propped the found items in the hallway for folks to rescue, probably to paint over abandoned canvases. But this nude, she was too good to go to waste. She’s still in my life today, now resting on one of those frame ledges you get from IKEA.
Of all the original art I have encountered, I have spent the most time with this nude by this unknown painter. She has become a companion to me through the years. A little mystery that reminds me of college and how much I loved my studio art classes and classmates there.
But when I go to museums, despite being someone who loves art so much that they now teach it to visitors, I have a hard time spending more than an hour there. I just get flooded with so much input that I have to take a break. Typically, when Tony and I visit new places, we’ll go out for food and an adventure—perhaps one museum and a walk outside—in the morning, and then spend the afternoon comfortably in our room, reading and watching TV and playing games. And then we go out in the evening for dinner and a bit more exploring.
And yet, when I planned my solo trip to Richmond, Virginia to see a exhibit of works by and photographs of Frida Kahlo, I was planning something altogether different. I was going to be in the city for four days, and I knew I wanted to spend more than an hour with her. I hoped to squeeze a tiny fraction of the connection I feel with that mysterious nude into just those few days.
Frida’s work and story have been with me since high school, when we learned about her in my second year of Spanish. I connected with her instantly, without questioning why. Soon after that, my mom bought me a thin, tall book filled with reproductions of our paintings. I think it’s the only art book that I’ve examined page by page, cover to cover.
After college, I read the giant biography of Kahlo that is still the go-to work about her life today, despite being written nearly 25 years ago. It’s 528 pages, an outrageous length for a nonfiction work for me at the time. Although it took me months to read it, I gobbled up her life.
She faced so much, and is so strong. Kahlo helped me understand that a person could shine and be herself despite incredibly difficult circumstances. I was enamored with the home she shared in Mexico City with husband and muralist Diego Rivera. They had two separate buildings, next to one another, connected by a single bridge on their second floors. To have that kind of private space and yet easy access to someone you loved brought joy to my imagination.
My trip to Richmond was the deepest I’d get to connect with her artwork in person. Before this month, I’d only ever seen a single painting of hers—a portrait dedicated to Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky and Kahlo’s lover, held at the National Museum of Women in the Arts, where I interned one summer in Washington, DC.
I did a bit of research, and realized that a membership to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts would be about the same price as three admissions to the ticketed exhibit. I told myself that I’d try to go once a day, although I was nervous that my brain wouldn’t want it when I was finally there. I booked an Airbnb that was on the same block as the museum so it would be easy for me to walk over whenever I was ready.
And I did it! In total, I spent a whopping five hours with Frida. The exhibit was incredible. Not only did it include ten of her paintings, and a dozen of her drawings, but it was filled with images of Frida, captured by her friends and lovers. I was overjoyed. I was home.
I let myself go full fanhuman, posing as her and with her photograph in two spots in the exhibition, capturing images that I know I’ll treasure for a long time.
I’m getting a little verklempt remembering the experience of less than a week ago. It was unlike any museum visit I’ve ever experienced. I’m proud that I stretched myself—and sunk into myself and her works.
They say to never meet your heroes, and I felt like I have. I loved it. I feel more connected to Frida Kahlo than ever before, and I am so entirely grateful for it.
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Mentioned in this issue: Frida: Beyond the Myth at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts; Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo by Hayden Herrera (A note: VFMA had paperback copies with new covers that I cannot find online, even in their own online shop. Perhaps they’ll turn up soon?); “Self-Portrait Dedicated to Leon Trotsky” by Frida Kahlo; Frida and Digeo’s home in Mexico City.