thistle

I went to see Frida Kahlo at MOMA today. Unbearably beautiful and heart-wrenchingly emotive. All these little tendrils of lace or veins or cursive writing or flame. The texture of the paint. She clearly had to paint, had to transfer her immense inner world into paint. Art doesn't always affect me very deeply, but seeing those paintings made me feel different, intensely connected to her. The smallest painting was the size of a matchbook and the biggest was the size of french doors.

Also, man. Mexican national heroine. Her love of her people really shone through despite the agony and sadness.