Frida Kahlo in Paris

André Breton lured Frida to be in a Surrealist show, but she found herself misled, miserable and mad as hell — until Mary Reynolds stepped in.

An exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago covers Frida’s turbulent time in Paris in 1939.

Paris was supposed to be her big moment. But when Frida Kahlo landed in the so-called City of Light in 1939, all she found was a hospital bed, missing paintings, and a bunch of filthy Surrealists who couldn’t get their act together.

Thanks to an interesting  lecture by Alivé Piliado Santana, curatorial associate at the National Museum of Mexican Art (where we check out the Day of the Dead ofrendas every year) and Tamar Kharatishvili, research fellow in modern art at the Art Institute of Chicago, I’ve come away with a far deeper — and far juicier — understanding of this chapter of Frida’s life I didn’t previously know about.

“They are so damn ‘intellectual’ and rotten that I can’t stand them anymore .... I [would] rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with those ‘artistic’ bitches of Paris.”

— Frida Kahlo, writing about the Surrealists in a letter to her lover, Nikolas Muray

Wild child Frida in 1938

Here’s what I learned about the messy, maddening and frankly fascinating story of Frida’s Parisian misadventure, the forgotten women of Surrealism, and how a kindred spirit named Mary Reynolds helped turn Frida’s time in Paris into something meaningful. 

André Breton, leader of the Surrealists and organizer of the 1939 Mexique exhibition — though “organizer” might be generous, considering Frida arrived to find no gallery, no show, and her paintings stuck in customs.

Frida’s Disastrous Arrival in Paris

It all began with an invitation that felt like a breakthrough. André Breton — the self-appointed “pope of Surrealism” — had reached across the Atlantic with a tantalizing offer. Frida Kahlo’s paintings, he declared, belonged on the world stage. He wanted her to come to Paris for a major exhibition he was organizing called Mexique.

Frida was excited for a chance to showcase her work in the artistic capital of the world, among the greats. It felt like a turning point — a chance to step out from her hubby Diego Rivera’s shadow and claim her place in the international art scene.

But somewhere along the way, wires got crossed. Frida thought Mexique would be a solo show. 

It wasn’t.

Self-Portrait With Monkey, painted by Frida Kahlo, posing with one of her pets, in 1938 right before she left for Paris.

Frida prepared for the journey with cautious excitement. Before she left, photographer Nikolas Muray, with whom she was having a passionate affair, captured her in a series of now-iconic portraits: defiant, radiant and ready for her European closeup. 

She could never have predicted how quickly things would unravel.

The troubles began before she even set foot in Paris. Her paintings, packed carefully for the voyage, were held up in customs. Instead of gliding smoothly into galleries, they sat in bureaucratic limbo, tangled in red tape. But there was still hope. Surely, Breton — the grand architect of the Surrealist movement — would have everything else ready.

He didn’t.

Frida arrived in Paris only to find chaos. There wasn’t even a gallery chosen for her show. No opening date on the calendar. No buzz of anticipation. Breton had made grand promises — but had done nothing to deliver on them.

A portrait of Frida taken by Nikolas Muray before she left for Paris

A Hospital Stay

On top of the professional humiliation, Frida’s health collapsed. She hadn’t arrived in perfect shape to begin with — just before leaving Mexico, she had undergone spinal surgery to try to ease the constant pain from an earlier accident. The long journey, the cold Paris winter, the stress of a botched exhibition, and the miserable conditions she found herself in were a brutal combination.

Part of her fury stemmed from Breton’s own visit to Mexico, where she and Diego had opened their home (now the Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo House-Studio Museum) to him and his wife — only to find that in Paris, Breton offered no such hospitality in return.

Almost as soon as she arrived, Frida developed a raging kidney infection, with a spiking fever that landed her in the hospital. She was exhausted, furious and rapidly losing faith in the promises that had brought her to Paris in the first place. 

She pinned her illness squarely on the Surrealists’ squalor, convinced that their slovenly habits had done her in.

When she was discharged, still weak and recovering, she faced the grim reality of her accommodations: a dingy hotel, damp and depressing, in a city that felt far from the glamorous art capital she had imagined.

The final page of one of Frida’s letters to Muray. She didn’t exactly fall for Paris: “to hell with everything concerning Breton and all this lousy place,” she wrote, sick of the Surrealists and ready to go home.

She didn’t hold back. In a letter to Muray, she unloaded: “They are so damn ‘intellectual’ and rotten that I can’t stand them anymore .... I [would] rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with those ‘artistic’ bitches of Paris.” She thought the Surrealists were puffed up with self-importance yet utterly useless when it came to helping her. Only Marcel Duchamp, she noted acidly, “has his feet on the earth.” The rest, in her eyes, were pompous windbags throwing parties while her paintings languished in customs and her health deteriorated. And at the center of this mess, of course, was Breton himself, whose grand promises had led her straight into disaster.

What was meant to be her grand European debut had turned into a perfect storm of illness, neglect and bitter disappointment. She was stranded in Paris, her art trapped in customs, her patience wearing thin — and the Surrealists, led by Breton, had left her to flounder.

A photo booth pic of Mary Reynolds

Enter Mary Reynolds: An Unexpected Friendship

Just when Frida might have written off Paris entirely, in stepped Mary Reynolds — artist, bookmaker and all-around lifeline.

Unlike the aloof Surrealist men swanning around Paris, Reynolds opened her doors and, more importantly, her heart. Frida, still recovering from illness and spiraling frustration, moved out of her bleak hotel and into Reynolds’ home at 14 rue Hallé.

It wasn’t just a change of address — it was a change of atmosphere. Where Breton had offered chaos, Reynolds offered comfort. Her house in the southern part of Paris was a hub of creativity, conversation and, during the darkening shadow of World War II, quiet resistance.

Mary Reynolds with her partner, Marcel Duchamp

Mary Reynolds: The Unsung Hero of Surrealism

Reynolds deserves far more credit than she usually gets. A fiercely independent artist herself, Reynolds was a master of bookbinding — her works were collected by her partner, Marcel Duchamp (the guy who turned a urinal into modern art’s most notorious statement and further shocked audiences with Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2), along with other avant-garde heavyweights of the time.

Reynolds took bookbinding to a whole new, surreal level: She used objects on the covers like kid gloves for Free Hands (Les Mains Libres), a thermometer in A Harsh Winter (Un Rude Hiver), and a teacup handle in Saint Glinglin — a nod to a scene where a character smashes plates with a golf club.

Reynolds was a genius when it came to bookbinding. Here’s the striking cover of Les mains libres (Free Hands) by Paul Éluard, with glove-like cutouts.

Her house was a living, breathing collage of Surrealist art and ideas. Duchamp, Alexander Calder and countless others had left their fingerprints — and actual works — all over her walls. 

For Frida, Reynolds’ home was proof some Surrealists weren’t all talk and no action. Here was a woman making her own art, supporting her peers, and backing it all up with real-world bravery.

A delightful drawing of Mary Reynolds and her cats by Alexander Calder, the American modern sculptor best known for his mobiles

Kahlo and Reynolds: Finding Solidarity

The connection between Frida and Reynolds was electric. Both women were navigating the male-dominated art world on their own terms, refusing to be footnotes in movements led by men.

Their bond also feels emblematic of something bigger: a reminder that amid all the philosophical posturing of Surrealism, real solidarity happened where women supported each other, shared ideas, and, frankly, kept the whole thing afloat.

In Frida’s letters, you can almost feel the tone shift once she moves into Reynolds’ home. It’s not quite relief — her Parisian experience remained fraught — but there’s a spark of light. Reynolds gave Frida what Breton could not: genuine human connection in a city that had otherwise let her down. She stayed at Reynolds from February 22 to March 25, 1939.

The Wounded Deer from 1946, painted after yet another failed surgery, this haunting self-portrait shows Frida as a deer riddled with arrows, calm-eyed in the face of relentless pain.

Frida and Surrealism: A Love-Hate Relationship

Here’s the irony: While the Surrealists were practically falling over themselves to claim Frida Kahlo as one of their own, Frida herself wanted nothing to do with the label.

Breton had famously declared her work “a ribbon around a bomb” — which, to be fair, is a great line. But Frida saw things differently. She didn’t consider herself a Surrealist at all. “I never painted dreams,” she once said. “I painted my own reality.”

Frida’s work, raw and visceral, didn’t need the Surrealist manifesto to explain it. Where the Surrealists dabbled in subconscious symbolism and found objects, Frida’s paintings were autobiographical to their core — her pain, her identity, her relationships all laid bare.

Self-Portrait With Cropped Hair from 1940. Freshly divorced, Frida depicts herself as wearing one of Diego’s suits, scissors in hand, her hair in clumps on the floor.

The Surrealists saw her as exotic, a muse from afar who fit their aesthetic fantasies. But Frida wasn’t interested in playing that role. She wasn’t a curiosity or a symbol — she was an artist, plain and simple. Her use of indigenous Mexican motifs, her explorations of physical and emotional suffering — these weren’t Surrealist exercises; they were her lived truth.

Still, despite her reluctance, Frida’s art undeniably aligned with many Surrealist themes. Dreams and reality intertwining, the use of found materials, the exploration of identity — it was all there, just coming from a much grittier, more personal place. 

And she did, after all, agree to be a part of a Surrealist show in Paris. Which, by the way, finally came together. It ran at the Galerie Renou et Colle from March 10 to 25, 1939. Frida’s take on her fellow Mexican artists that Breton chose to showcase with her work? In one of her letters to Muray, she described them as “all of this junk.”

Photographer Nikolas Muray and Frida Kahlo had a passionate affair, and he was her confidante during her bad experience in Paris.

Nikolas Muray: The Confidant Behind the Letters

Long before Paris turned into a disaster, Frida had another anchor: Nikolas Muray. Photographer, Olympic fencer (yes, really) and one of her many lovers, Muray was one of the few people Frida trusted enough to confide in during her Paris ordeal.

Her letters to him are the sharpest, funniest and most brutally honest accounts we have of her time in France. She wrote to Muray not just to update him, but to release steam — to unload her frustrations about the Surrealists, the filth of the city, her failing health, and her utter disappointment in Breton’s empty promises.

The Tree of Hope, Remain Strong, painted in 1946 after spinal surgery. This double self-portrait splits her in two: One body lies wounded on a hospital gurney, while the other sits upright, dressed and defiant, clutching a back brace.

What Happened After: A Brief, Blazing Connection

For all the depth and warmth of their connection in Paris, Frida and Reynolds’ friendship seems to have been brief. After that whirlwind winter of 1939, there’s no evidence they kept up correspondence. Aside from one endearing letter where Reynolds talks about how empty the house felt without Frida, there aren’t any further exchanges that we know of.

Life pulled the two women in different directions. Frida returned to Mexico, her health still fragile but her art beginning to gain traction. 

Reynolds, meanwhile, risked her life in the French Resistance. Her Paris home, once a haven for artists and thinkers, became a literal refuge for those fleeing Nazi persecution. She didn’t leave Paris until 1942, escaping across the Pyrenées on foot and finding a flight to New York. But she never stopped fighting for what mattered.

Their paths never formally crossed again, at least not that we can prove. But their legacies continued to intertwine, quietly and profoundly, through the art they made and the communities they helped build. 

The Frame, an oil painting on tin with a vibrant folk art border, from 1938. Frida’s Paris show wasn’t a total disaster — the Louvre bought this piece for their colletion.

A Happy Ending to Frida’s Time in Paris

In spite of it all, Frida’s Paris disaster managed to end on a high note. Against the odds, her work finally made it onto the walls of a gallery — and not just any gallery. By the end of the show, the Louvre itself (yes, the Louvre) purchased one of her paintings, The Frame, making Frida the first 20th century Mexican artist in the museum’s holdings. Today (when not loaned out to travel), this emblematic self-portrait is part of the Musée National d’Art Moderne’s collection at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. 

DID YOU KNOW? The Pompidou has a branch in Málaga, Spain?

Even more surprising, amid the wreckage of her Surrealist experience, Frida forged real friendships with a few kindred spirits. Man Ray, Duchamp and some others proved to be exceptions to the pompous crowd she had loathed. Some Surrealists were pas mal, after all. –Wally

Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo House-Studio Museum

The studio and home of prolific artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo at the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo wows as a striking example of 1930s Mexican modernist architecture. 

You definitely have to tour Casa Azul and Anahuacalli Museum — but this site is also worth visiting if you have time.

When Wally and I talk to friends about our travels in CDMX, the conversation often turns to the places we’ve seen, and the places on our list for our next trip. 

One of the places I’d been wanting to visit was the Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo, the former home and studio of two of the city’s most revered artists — though I’d argue that Frida has eclipsed Diego in fame since their deaths in the 1950s. It felt like a fitting comeuppance for how he treated her. But more on that later. 

“Whenever Frida wanted to visit Diego, she had to pull herself up an exterior floating staircase and cross a narrow footbridge.

Diego had specifically requested this to make it difficult for Frida to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. ”

San Ángel: An Escape From the City

The historic house museum is located in San Ángel, an enchanting neighborhood southwest of Mexico City. Once a separate municipality, San Ángel served as a retreat for wealthy families who built grand country homes to escape the chaos of city life during the rise of the Industrial Revolution. Ancient lava flows shaped this rugged terrain, where its cobbled streets and colonial estates were eventually consumed by the ever-expanding sprawl of Mexico City.

Duke and Wally stand on the terrace by the walkway that connected Diego’s home to Frida’s.

We planned our visit to coincide with the Bazar Sábado, a weekly market held on Saturdays, where artists and artisans set up shop and sell their wares. 

Our Uber driver dropped us off at the museum’s entrance on Calle Diego Rivera. As we waited for our guide, we couldn’t help but notice valets dressed in traje de charro, the traditional attire of mariachis, running past us in pairs. They were undoubtedly heading to the entrance of the nearby San Ángel Inn to park arriving cars. Known for its restaurant, the historic inn is a favorite dining spot for both locals and tourists, especially on weekends.

O'Gorman's Mexican fence post cactus barriers (and modern aesthetic) pissed off his traditional neighbors.

Wally and I walked to the front of the property, which faces Avenida Altavista. In our opinion, the best view of the two buildings is from across the avenue. On the left is the big house, a boxy white and red structure with a distinctive sawtooth roof and water tanks, which once served as the residence and studio of the plus-sized muralist Rivera. 

It’s linked at roof level by a narrow walkway and contrasted by the little house, the vivid blue home on the right, which belonged to his unibrowed surrealist painter wife, Kahlo.

The building that now serves as the restrooms originally functioned as a darkroom for Kahlo’s father, Guillermo.

Not the Blue House: The History of Diego and Frida’s San Ángel Studio Home

When the site opened at 10 a.m., we met our guide, Fernanda, in the museum’s courtyard. She resembled a proto-punk Japanese schoolgirl, with her nose ring and dressed in a long-sleeve white shirt under a black sweater, grid-pattern miniskirt fastened with oversized buttons and shiny black loafers. Joining us were a couple from Alabama celebrating their pandemic-postponed honeymoon and a towering white-haired man on a business trip from Germany who had added a day for sightseeing. 

Before the tour began, Fernanda asked how many of us had visited Casa Azul, Kahlo’s family home in the boho Coyoacán neighborhood. She explained that a lot of visitors show up here thinking they’re about to see the Blue House.

“It’s important to understand the difference,” Fernanda explained, “because that’s the house where she was born and where she returned after divorcing Rivera in December 1939.” 

She continued, “Here, there isn’t much furniture — it’s more of a photographic history. But what makes this site significant is the architecture of these three buildings.”

Our charming tour guide, Fernanda, was an expert on O’Gorman, Rivera and Kahlo.

Kahlo only lived here for six years. The couple moved into the home in January 1934 after Rivera was essentially forced to return to Mexico following the controversy surrounding his mural at Rockefeller Center, Man at the Crossroads. The mural, which included a depiction of Vladimir Lenin, led the Rockefellers to order its destruction and terminate Rivera’s commission. Rivera later re-created the mural in Mexico City. This version, titled Man, Controller of the Universe, can be seen at the Palacio de Bellas Artes murals in Mexico City.

Kahlo and Rivera remarried in December 1940, a year after their divorce, at San Francisco City Hall in California; however, she never returned to San Ángel. Her declining health made it more practical for her to remain in the beloved house of her childhood, la Casa Azul, which now serves as a popular attraction. This house offers a comprehensive glimpse into her life, showcasing her furniture and personal belongings. Rivera, however, lived in the studio home until his death in 1957.

In 1981, the National Institute of Fine Arts (INBA) acquired the houses from Rivera’s daughter, Ruth Rivera Marín, and, after nearly 16 years of restoration, it opened to the public. And three decades later, INBA acquired the Cecil O’Gorman House and incorporated it into the museum campus.

You can imagine Juan O’Gorman’s bold modernist design didn’t go over so well with the neighbors, who lived in colonial-style homes.

Cecil O’Gorman House 

Thanks to his interest in sports, Juan O’Gorman was the first to discover that the pair of tennis courts belonging to the San Ángel Inn were for sale.

In 1929, the aspiring 24-year-old architect purchased the plot at 81 Las Palmas, now Calle Diego Rivera, using money he had earned as chief draftsman at Carlos Obregón Santacilla’s atelier. 

He then began constructing a revolutionary dwelling inspired by Swiss architect Le Corbusier, whose work he had studied at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM). The design adhered to the principle that buildings should be created solely based on their purpose and function. 

Nearly a century later, the structure remains one of the earliest examples of functionalist architecture in Latin America. Its stripped-back, utilitarian design was radical for its time, standing in sharp contrast to the surrounding 18th century colonial homes.

An exposed concrete spiral staircase swirls up the side of O’Gorman’s house.

By 1930, O’Gorman had completed the Cecil O’Gorman House, which, according to his autobiography, he designed as a home and studio for his father. 

But that’s not the whole story. 

His father, the Irish painter Cecil Crawford O’Gorman, was an avid collector of colonial art and antiques. He already owned a spacious hacienda nearby and had no interest in downsizing to the modernist glass box that his son had built. In reality, it’s likely that O’Gorman designed the house to showcase his architectural ideas and intended it to serve as a prototype for low-income housing, though the project never came to fruition.

Elevated on pilotis, slender columns that raise the reinforced concrete structure off the ground, this innovative construction method eliminated the need for traditional load-bearing walls, allowing O’Gorman to incorporate an entire wall of articulated glass windows. 

Access to the second floor is provided by an external spiral staircase, but unfortunately, it was closed during our visit due to the installation of an upcoming exhibition.

We weren’t able to go upstairs in the O’Gorman House because they were setting up for a new exhibition.

Like Rivera, O’Gorman had socialist inclinations and sought to challenge the norms of his time. He wasn’t just building a home — he was making a declaration of functionalist design amid the traditional architecture that characterizes much of San Ángel.

The neighbors were said to be outraged, demanding that his architectural degree be revoked. 

The locals didn’t care for the home’s curb appeal, either. Enclosed by Pachycereus marginatus, a tall columnar cactus, also known as Mexican fence post cactus, and landscaped with agaves, it reflected the aesthetic of an indigenous Mexican village rather than the prevailing manicured European style.

Rivera, on the other hand, appreciated O’Gorman’s vision. He commissioned him to construct a similar pair of homes for himself and his wife, Kahlo, on the adjacent lot. 

A model of the property inside the O’Gorman House.

Inside, what formerly served as the dining room and kitchen now holds a glass case with a scale model of the trio of buildings as well as a series of photographs by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá, Kahlo’s grandniece. Among the photos are images of the hospital gowns Kahlo wore during her stays at the American British Cowdray Hospital in Mexico City, on which she often used to wipe excess paint from her brushes while she painted.

These doodles became the mural Entre Filosofía y Ciencia by O’Gorman.

In 2012, the museum’s restoration team uncovered the sinopia, or preparatory sketch, for the fresco Entre Filosofía y Ciencia (Between Philosophy and Science) on a layer of lime plaster beneath where the completed mural by O’Gorman originally stood. The fresco was purchased by Banco Nacional de México in 1957 and, when it’s not traveling, can be found in the Museo Foro Valparaíso.

Recall that Frida had leg and back issues, and imagine her having to walk up and down this floating staircase onto her roof and then across the walkway to get to Diego’s house.

Frida and Diego’s Complicated Relationship 

After we exited the Cecil O’Gorman House, Fernanda directed our attention to the floating staircase perched on the exterior of Kahlo’s house. Its tubular steel handrail leads from the second floor studio windows to the rooftop terrace. We couldn’t believe anyone would have used those stairs — especially Kahlo, whose chronic health issues significantly impaired her mobility. 

As a child, Kahlo contracted polio, which left her right leg weakened and deformed. Then, as a teenager, she was in a horrific accident when the bus she was riding collided with a trolley car. The impact left her with a fractured spine, and a handrail pierced her body, entering through her back and exiting through her pelvis.

RELATED: 9 Fascinating Facts About Frida

Yet, whenever she wanted to visit Rivera, she had to pull herself up those stairs and cross the narrow footbridge. Rivera had specifically requested this particular feature from O’Gorman to make it difficult for Kahlo to enter his studio (and see his adulterous dalliances). 

Their tumultuous relationship undoubtedly checked the “it’s complicated” box. It was a marriage strained by mutual jealousy and infidelity. Rivera didn’t fit society’s standards of handsome — Kahlo nicknamed him el Sapo-Rana (Toad-Frog) — but his fame, confidence and charisma made him irresistible to many women. 

Tour groups meet in the small courtyard in front of Diego’s house.

Rivera’s House and Studio

In my opinion, the most fascinating part of the museum is Rivera’s house. It still contains some of the original furniture and artwork from when he lived there. 

The bedroom has a set of small windows high on the wall, which limited the amount of direct sunlight and helped keep the room cool. Next to the bed, there’s a pair of shoes, an enamel bedpan and a leather suitcase sitting atop the woven coverlet, awaiting its next trip. An articulated gooseneck task lamp and a small bust of Chairman Mao sit on the olive green-painted nightstand, with a watercolor landscape by Rivera hanging above it.

Diego’s bedroom

Like his bedroom, the studio was mostly left as it was at the time of Rivera’s death. The main section, with its double-height space, was perfect for large works and transportable murals. The design facilitated easy handling of the panels, allowing them to be moved in and out of the studio through the folding windows.

Our favorite pieces among the personal items were Rivera’s collection of larger-than-life cartonería (papier-mâché) figures. Known in Mexico as Judases, these brightly colored effigies, with features like oversized or abnormally small heads and stubby limbs, commanded the room with their massive presence. Originally, these figures were depictions of Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ. Rivera’s collection includes devils, skeletons and other fantastical creatures, which were traditionally burned, exploded or flogged on the Saturday before Easter. 

Some of Diego’s collection of papier-mâché Judases in his studio

Many of these larger-than-life-sized effigies were created by the Mexican folk artist Carmen Caballero Sevilla. One Holy Week, Rivera visited the Mercado Abelardo Rodríguez and was impressed with Sevilla’s Judas figures and invited her to work in his studio in San Ángel. (He admired the working class, which is why he often wore overalls.)

Cool metal skeletons covered the walls.

Diego collected handicrafts like these Judases.

Brushes and trays with reserves of dried paint remain exactly as Rivera had left them, offering a glimpse into his creative process. Among them were shelves with jars of pigments that reflect his color palette — including Paris Green, a highly toxic emerald green powder made from copper and arsenic. 

Diego’s paints line the shelves of his studio but have long since dried up.

There are bookcases filled with pre-Hispanic and indigenous folk art. On one of the easels was a painting of the Latin American actress Dolores del Río, who was rumored to have slept with both Rivera and Kahlo. 

Diego painted Dolores del Rio, a beautiful Latin American actress who is said to have slept with his as well as Frida.

Fernanda pointed out a papier-mâché torito, a little bull, hanging high above us. She explained that this tradition dates back to the mid 19th century. These creations are mounted on a kind of scaffolding that rests on the wearer’s shoulders, stuffed with fireworks like roman candles and bottle rockets, which are set alight as part of the annual festival in the town of Tultepec honoring Saint John of God, the patron saint of (what else?) fireworks makers. 

Sound dangerous? It sure is — but that didn’t stop Fernanda’s brother from participating in one. And he has the burns to prove it. 

Our group followed Fernanda up the staircase to the second floor, where we could take in a full view of the studio. Fernanda explained that this was the very spot where Kahlo discovered Rivera with her younger sister Cristina — an incident that became the proverbial last straw, which led to their separation and brief divorce. It wasn’t Rivera’s or Kahlo’s numerous indiscretions that caused the rift; it was the fact that Rivera was having an affair with her closest confidant.

Just off the landing, we entered Rivera’s private office, a space with a desk and a typewriter and additional bookcases filled with pieces from his prolific collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts, an obsession that can be seen at the Anahuacalli Museum in Coyoacán. 

Diego’s typewriter and some of the pre-Columbian artifacts he loved to collect.

From Rivera’s office, a door opened onto the rooftop terrace and the narrow bridge connecting his former residence to Kahlo’s. However, Fernanda quickly dismissed any thoughts of taking the infamous floating stairs. Instead, we followed her back through Rivera’s office and down the staircase to the courtyard below.

Frida’s house leaves much to be desired — but at least O’Gorman painted it the vibrant blue of her beloved family home, Casa Azul.

Kahlo’s House

Our group paused outside Kahlo’s house as Fernanda pointed out an interesting feature: a carnelian red painted garbage chute extending from the second floor, connected to a steel drum barrel. Its purpose? To collect kitchen waste.

By this time, the site had grown much busier, with dozens of visitors streaming in and out of the buildings.

The rooms inside Kahlo’s house were noticeably smaller and compact than those in Rivera’s, in large part because there wasn’t an open studio space. Unlike her husband’s residence, Kahlo’s house was devoid of decorative objects or furniture, leaving the space feeling even more austere.

The tiny kitchen exemplified functional design, featuring a concrete countertop with a gas cooktop, a small sink, and the opening of the chute that connected to the steel barrel outside. 

A man from Germany insisted Wally pose for a picture in his bright T-shirt to contrast with the blue of Frida’s house, next to the kitchen garbage chute.

We peeked into the modest bathroom, the very space where Kahlo’s 1938 oil painting, Lo que el agua me dio (What the Water Gave Me), was conceived. Fernanda told us that there weren’t any good spaces for Frida to paint in her home, so she chose the bathroom, which had better lighting. 

Frida’s home is small and dark, so she preferred to paint in the bathroom. One of her most famous works, Lo que el agua me dio, came from this period.

Wally paused in front of a framed letter that Kahlo had written to Hungarian-born photographer Nickolas Muray, with whom she shared a decade-long, on-again, off-again relationship, and read this poignant sentence aloud: “Please forgive me for having phoned you that evening. I won’t do it anymore.”

One of the glass cases in Kahlo’s house displays an open copy of the book Complete Anatomy of Man by Martín Martínez, and included a handwritten dedication from Kahlo to Dr. Juan Farill, the surgeon who performed seven spinal surgeries on her. 

The final room we explored was her small bedroom — a fitting conclusion to our visit. The room was concealed behind thick black drapery that we had to pull aside to enter. Inside, an installation by Cristina Kahlo-Alcalá features numerous lightboxes  illuminating Kahlo’s medical records from the American British Cowdray Hospital. The air in the room felt heavy and still, with the slow rhythmic sound of a heartbeat emanating from a hidden speaker. 

We knew beforehand about Diego and Kahlo’s turbulent relationship. But standing in the dark, claustrophobic space Diego had O'Gorman design as her home was a different kind of gut punch. It was hard not to feel the weight of it — the realization that someone as fiercely powerful as Kahlo could be confined like this by a man who claimed to love her. It really shook us, and we didn’t linger.

Our group poses under the entrance to Frida’s house.

Know before you go

We purchased tickets prior to our trip through a site called Tiqets. At $30 per person it’s definitely more than the $2 price of general admission, but we felt it was worth it. 

Our guide, Fernanda, was charming and incredibly knowledgeable, offering all the insights we could have hoped for about the site. She didn’t shy away from discussing the complexities of Rivera and Kahlo’s relationship either. And even though the tour was scheduled to last an hour, she stayed with us for an hour and 45 minutes, never once making us feel rushed.

The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Admission is 40 pesos for adults, while children under 13 and seniors can enter for free. On Sundays, admission is free for everyone. –Duke

Floor-to-ceiling windows opened wide to allow transport of Rivera’s large-scale mural panels into and out of his studio. 

Museo Casa Estudio Diego Rivera y Frida Kahlo

Diego Rivera s/n
San Ángel Inn
Álvaro Obregón
01060 CDMX
Mexico

 

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s Fascinating Connections to Fallingwater

A seduction at the iconic Frank Lloyd Wright home. The influence of Frida’s home, the Casa Azul. Juan O’Gorman’s insulting mural project. And the Kaufmanns’ role in the Mexican artists’ success. We explore the artistic ties that bind these fascinating personalities.  

Frida standing with The Two Fridas

Imagine visiting Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright’s iconic masterpiece. You’re surrounded by stunning natural beauty, and the architecture is simply breathtaking. 

But what if I told you that two of the most famous Latin American artists, Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, were also friends with the Kaufmann family, who commissioned and lived in the home? It’s a story that’s as fascinating as the house itself.

“When [Levy] returned to his bedroom, there was Frida — waiting for him!”

— Hayden Herrera in "Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo"

E.J., Edgar jr. and Liliane Kaufmann at Fallingwater, their now-legendary weekend home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright

The Kaufmanns: A Family of Taste and Distinction

Edgar Jonas Kaufmann, or E.J. to his friends, was the head of a well-known Pittsburgh department store family. He was a highly respected businessman, aesthete and philanthropist who, along with his wife, Liliane, turned the family retail empire into a center of culture and fashion. 

Fun fact: The surname Kaufmann fittingly means “merchant” in German. 

As lifelong patrons of the arts, E.J. and Liliane enjoyed spending time with architects, artists and other creatives. Their only child, Edgar Kaufmann jr. (the lowercase “jr.” was his preferred abbreviation), inherited his parents’ love of art. He was particularly interested in modernist design, and he believed that functional objects could also be works of art.

Diego Rivera standing with a study of his mural-that-was-never-to-be, Man at the Crossroads. Rockefeller, who commissioned it, found it to be a bit too Communist for his tastes.

The family’s weekend home, Fallingwater, was filled with a formidable collection of artworks and objects. If the Kaufmanns weren’t already familiar with the socialist works of Mexican artist Diego Rivera, they most certainly became aware of him when his unfinished mural, Man at the Crossroads, caused a major controversy in 1933. The mural, which featured a portrait of Vladimir Lenin, was commissioned by the Rockefeller family, but they were so outraged by the inclusion of the Marxist leader that they had the mural destroyed. (Rivera’s re-creation, Man, Controller of the Universe, is on display at the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City.)

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera had a lot to thank the Kaufmann family for in helping them gain fame.

When the Kaufmanns Met Frida and Diego

It’s possible that the Kaufmanns were introduced to Rivera by John McAndrew, the newly minted curator of the Department of Architecture and Industrial Art at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, aka MoMA. McAndrew visited Fallingwater in 1937 to document the house for the upcoming exhibit, A New House by Frank Lloyd Wright on Bear Run.

Fallingwater has a surprising connection to Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.

It’s not hard to imagine that McAndrew would have talked about Rivera to the Kaufmanns during his visit to Fallingwater. McAndrew had previously traveled and studied architecture in Mexico, where he was inspired by the country’s rich cultural heritage. 

E.J. and Liliane were drawn to the rustic charm of Casa Azul, Kahlo’s childhood home in the Coyoacán neighborhood of Mexico City. The Kaufmanns saw it as an antidote to city life and wanted to create a similar sense of peace and tranquility at their weekend home, Fallingwater.

Frida Kahlo at her home, Casa Azul, which provided inspo for Liliane Kaufmann.

They appreciated the objects that Kahlo had filled her home with, including sculptures by the self-taught Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña. Four of these sculptures are on display at Fallingwater, and a reproduction of one is available for purchase at the Fallingwater museum store. (Completing the loop, a photograph of Fallingwater hangs in the permanent collection at Casa Azul.)

One of the works by Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña found at Fallingwater

In the 1930s, E.J. and Liliane became patrons of Rivera, and later of Kahlo, his wife. For nearly two years, E.J. provided Rivera with a monthly stipend of $250, totaling $5,000. That’s equivalent to about $86,000 in today’s dollars. Although Rivera never ended up being commissioned to paint anything by the Kaufmanns, he and the couple were friends, and two of his works are on display at Fallingwater.

Look for Diego Rivera’s Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat hanging in the guest bedroom at Fallingwater.

Torrid Siesta (El Sueño) by Diego Rivera, in the passageway that leads out to the guesthouse at Fallingwater

Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat originally hung in E.J.’s private Wright-designed office at Kaufmann’s sprawling Pittsburgh department store. And Torrid Siesta (El Sueño) was first placed in E.J.’s study on the third floor of the house but was later relocated to its current location on the enclosed bridge that leads out to the guesthouse.

Liliane Kaufmann found Frida Kahlo to be “most interesting.”

A Love of Latin America 

The Kaufmanns’ interest in Latin American culture grew, and in May 1938, Edgar jr. and Liliane took their first trip to Mexico City. The newly reestablished government of Mexico was eager to forge a national identity that promoted its pre-Hispanic heritage to American tourists. 

While there, Junior and Liliane visited Diego and Kahlo at their home and studio in the neighborhood of San Ángel, a modernist structure designed and built by their mutual friend, Juan O’Gorman. It was a place of creativity and conflict. While the couple were both artists, they had very different approaches to their work. Rivera was a well-known and successful muralist, while Kahlo was a more private painter who focused on self-portraits. 

Liliane wrote:

Yesterday we visited Diego Rivera at his home in San Ángel. It is a very interesting house inside and he is a very simple charming man. He showed us a lot of things and took us over to meet his wife who was most interesting. She paints also, very delightfully, and we had a swell time.

At the home and studio, Kahlo played the role of dutiful wife. She also served as Rivera’s secretary, entertaining and courting patrons for him. While Rivera enjoyed socializing with high society, Kahlo resented it. 

Don’t be sad, Frida! You’re about to catch a big break!

Frida Kahlo’s Big Break 

It was during this period that Kahlo retreated to Casa Azul, where she developed her commanding signature style. She had a difficult life. She contracted polio when she was 6, which left one leg thinner than the other. And when she was 18, she was in a bus accident that left her severely injured. She hid this by wearing long ruffled skirts, boxy shirts to conceal her surgical corsets and adorned herself with jewelry. Inspired by traditional Mexican indigenous clothing, her style came to represent a patriotic identity and a defiance of traditional gender roles.

Kahlo’s first big break occurred a short time after Liliane and Junior’s visit. In the summer of 1938, Hollywood actor and art collector Edward G. Robinson, famous for playing gangster types in film noirs, purchased four of Kahlo’s paintings for $200 each while vacationing in Mexico City. 

Edgar G. Robinson might have played tough types in the movies, but he was blacklisted in Hollywood as a Communist and helped launch Kahlo’s art career.

At the time, Kahlo was virtually unknown in the United States and she was always a bit shocked when anyone liked her work. She had often given it away for free, and she later wrote of the Robinson sale:

For me it was such a surprise that I marveled and said, this way I am going to be able to be free; I’ll be able to travel and do what I want without asking Diego for money.

When the French writer and founder of the Surrealist movement, André Breton, included Kahlo among its canon, she refused the label. She said, “I never painted dreams; I painted my own reality.” 

But she did understand the power of marketing. Breton introduced her to Julien Levy, a New York gallery owner who specialized in being the first to present avant-garde artists to American viewers. When Kahlo met him, she knew that he could help her reach a wider audience.

We wish we could see your reaction to Frida Kahlo’s My Birth.

In November 1938, Kahlo’s first solo show at Julien Levy Gallery in New York marked a shift in her artistic career. E.J. and Liliane were in attendance and purchased two of her paintings: My Birth (1932) and Remembrance of an Open Wound (1938). The latter was lost in a fire at the country home of Edgar jr. and his companion, Paul Mayén, sometime in the 1980s. The exhibition was a great success, and Time noted that it was “the flutter of the week in Manhattan.”

The Kaufmanns invited Kahlo and Levy to visit Fallingwater. Biographer Hayden Herrera recounts that Kahlo’s visit was one for the books:

The gallery owner Julien Levy, who seems to have gotten lucky with Frida Kahlo at Fallingwater

Once Levy took Frida to Pennsylvania to visit his client and friend Edgar Kaufmann Sr., who, Levy said, wanted to be Frida’s patron. The train ride was everything train rides are supposed to be — a slow but inexorable buildup of erotic anticipation. When they arrived, however, Frida flirted not just with Levy, but with their elderly host and son as well. She was very cavalier with her men, Levy recalled. She liked to play one off against the other, and she would pretend to one suitor that she thought the other was a nuisance or a bore. At bedtime, Levy and the senior Kaufmann tried to wait each other out so as to spend the last moments of the evening in romantic solitude with Frida. When she retired, Fallingwater’s complicated double stairway [the exterior steps up to the guest room] served as the stage for the evening’s drama. After biding his time until he thought everyone was peacefully asleep, Levy emerged from his room and started up one side of the staircase. Much to his astonishment, he found his host climbing the stairs on the other side. Both retreated. The same confrontation took place several times. In the end, Levy gave up. But when he returned to his bedroom, there was Frida — waiting for him!

Liliane and Junior’s continued travels to Mexico laid the groundwork for the fittingly titled Below the Rio Grande, a shoppable exhibit at Kaufmann’s flagship store, which introduced consumers to Mexican antiques and folk art. Some of these items were later incorporated into Fallingwater’s décor. 

Nearly a dozen small pre-Columbian objects can be found in the guesthouse. These were likely gifted to the Kaufmanns by Rivera, who was a passionate collector of pre-Columbian art. During his lifetime Rivera amassed over 50,000 pieces, many of which are housed at the must-visit Anahuacalli Museum in CDMX. 

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico by José María Velasco hangs in the bedroom of the guesthouse at Fallingwater.

One of the guesthouse bedrooms features a large oil painting by José María Velasco, a mentor to Diego. The work, entitled Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, hangs over the bed. Velasco’s artistic endeavors are so esteemed that the Mexican government considers them national monuments. This painting was acquired by the Kaufmann family around 1937 for $500. In 1954, it was hanging in E.J.’s suite at the William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh, and was moved to its current location by Edgar jr. in 1960.

Juan O’Gorman, whose mural commissioned by Edgar Kaufmann Sr. featuring prominent Pittsburgh tycoons below a toilet, was deemed too controversial for the Young Men’s and Women’s Hebrew Association

Kaufmann’s Rockefeller Dreams and Botched Mural

Pittsburgh society was dominated by wealthy families like the Carnegies and Mellons. This made it difficult for the Kaufmanns, who were Jewish, to achieve positions of power and influence. Despite lobbying for many public works projects throughout his life, E.J. saw few of them come to fruition. 

In 1940 he invited the socialist architect, painter and muralist O’Gorman to Pittsburgh to submit a proposal for murals for the interior walls of the Young Men’s and Women's Hebrew Association, of which he was president. 

As a guest of the Kaufmann family, O’Gorman spent a weekend at Fallingwater, which he later described as “one of the most beautiful buildings in the world.” 

When it came to the mural, though, O’Gorman clearly missed the brief: His preparatory sketches for the project portrayed Pittsburgh tycoons Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick and George Westinghouse as the kings of a polluted plutocracy that arose from consumer capitalism. As if that wasn’t enough, O’Gorman further emphasized his sentiments by prominently featuring an open toilet and a roll of toilet paper above the tableau. 

O’Gorman’s proposed mural was clearly at odds with the organization’s mission to celebrate the moral development of youth. As a result, the project was rejected and O’Gorman returned to Mexico City. As compensation for the failed project, E.J. sent the artist a check to subsidize a mural at the Biblioteca Gertrudis Bocanegra in the town of Pátzcuaro, Mexico. 

Even though he kiboshed Juan O’Gorman’s Pittsburgh mural, Edgar Kaufmann footed the bill for this astounding mural in Mexico.

Divided into four sections, the mural vividly depicts the history of the Purépecha people. The first shows the indigenous people before the Spanish conquest; the second, the arrival of the Spanish and the beginning of the conquest; the third shows life after the conquest, when the Purépecha were forced to adopt Spanish customs and religion; and the fourth shows Gertrudis Bocanegra, the martyred heroine of the 1820 War of Independence, her white dress smeared with blood from her execution by firing squad. 

Frida Kahlo’s What the Water Gave Me

Edgar Jr.’s Artful Encounters, From MoMA to Madonna

Edgar jr. traveled with McAndrew to Mexico in 1939, looking for works of art to include in the MoMA exhibit Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art. The pair recognized Kahlo’s talent, and the show, which opened on May 15, 1940, featured no fewer than three of her paintings: The Two Fridas (1939), What the Water Gave Me (1938) and The Wounded Table (1940). 

The Wounded Table by Frida Kahlo

In 1943 Junior purchased and donated Self Portrait With Cropped Hair to the MoMA. The painting is part of the museum’s permanent collection and was conceived shortly after Kahlo’s divorce from Rivera. It’s thought to be a reflection of her feelings of anger, sadness and independence after the separation. Kahlo’s oversized charcoal gray suit (surely Rivera’s) and short haircut are symbols of her rejection of traditional femininity, while the scissors she holds suggest her decision to take control of her own life.

Self Portrait With Cropped Hair by Frida Kahlo shows the artist after her divorce from Diego Rivera, wearing one of his suits and having chopped off her locks to resemble his hairstyle.

After his parents died, Junior brought Kahlo’s My Birth to his apartment in New York City. The painting is a deeply personal and imaginative work of art, depicting Kahlo’s birth from a dead mother.

According to Fallingwater director Justin Gunther, Edgar jr. had a dry, ironic sense of humor. Case in point: He kept the painting hidden in a closet in his New York apartment, and would only reveal it to his guests at the most unexpected moments. He loved to see the look of surprise on their faces when they saw it for the first time.

Madonna purchased My Birth from Edgar jr. She says you can’t be friends with her if you don’t like it.

In 1987 Edgar jr. sold the painting through his dealer to the pop star Madonna. Although worldly, he didn’t know who she was when he met her, and had planned on selling My Birth to her for just a little more than what his parents had originally paid for it. But his dealer told him, "We can do better than that,” and quoted a much higher figure.

Madonna was later quoted in Vanity Fair saying, “If somebody doesn’t like this painting, then I know they can’t be my friend.” –Duke

Eva Bracamontes, Bué the Warrior and Other Street Artists of Puerto Vallarta

A tour of Puerto Vallarta’s murals and street art, including those commissioned to help save a coral reef.

A mural titled La Diva del Futuro (The Diva of the Future) covers the façade of Café des Artistes, one of the most famous restaurants in Puerto Vallarta.

Wally and I have an appreciation for street art. This democratic and creative medium of social expression takes many forms, from simple tags to beautiful and sophisticated works of art. The best part is that it’s accessible to everyone. 

Because our walks were somewhat random, this is not a comprehensive collection of street art in Puerto Vallarta — but it highlights a few of our favorites. The cobblestone streets of PV’s city center are walkable, and there’s no better way to experience its vibrant street art and murals than by foot. 

“The best part about street art is that it’s accessible to everyone. ”

Duke radiates a love of street art while wandering around Puerto Vallarta.

Reef-er Madness: The Restore Coral Mural Project 

The Mesoamerican Reef system, also known as the Great Maya Reef, stretches from the northern tip of the Yucatán Peninsula down through Honduras’ Bay Islands. It’s the second largest barrier reef in the Western Hemisphere. 

In recent decades, climate change and ocean acidification have threatened this fragile ecosystem, endangering the existence of the sea creatures who inhabit it. 

As part of a wider initiative, several large-scale works were commissioned in 2016 by the Restore Coral Mural Project. Using public spaces in towns across Mexico, an array of international and well-known local artists were invited to create murals to raise awareness and promote the importance of reef conservation. 

Eva Bracamontes’ Resurrection aims to bring new life to Mexico’s coral reefs.

Veracruz-based illustrator and street artist Eva Bracamontes uses vivid colors, focusing on indigenous women and references to Mesoamerican culture. 

Her mural Resurrection portrays a mystical dark-haired woman gazing serenely into the distance. She’s connected to the sea, wearing a coral crown and a crab necklace. A fantastic yet monstrous-looking creature is biting at her neck while an Ancient Mayan offers comfort. The bones of the woman’s hand are visible through her skin — perhaps a metaphor of the fragility of the reef. 

Wonder if this fella’s related to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?

DRZU aka Dherzu Uzala’s contribution depicts an intergalactic humanoid sea turtle reaching out from space to regenerate a reef — a network of energy and intersecting lines emanating from its hands. According to the World Wildlife Fund, nearly all species of sea turtles are now classified as endangered, with three of the seven existing species being critically endangered. 

The Virgin Mary watches over some kids on the beach.

Other Art Around Town 

You can’t help but smile when you see the recognizable and playful style of Dave De Rop aka Bué the Warrior. The Belgian street artist describes his style as “naïve, childlike, positive and with good vibes,” with roots in skate and hip-hop cultures.

Whimsical animals created by the Belgian graffiti artist known as Bué the Warrior

A little birdie told us De Rop describes his art as naïve and inspired by skate culture.

De Rop emigrated from Ghent to Mexico in 2015. To earn money, he used his great grandmother’s recipe and opened a waffle restaurant, complete with an art gallery, named Holly Waffles. The concept has since moved to Reno, Nevada, USA.  

A boy and a girl play with giant bugs, including a praying mantis, horned rhinoceros beetles and a ladybug. We’re not sure exactly what they’ve got on their heads, though.

What’s that you say?

There’s no need to shout!

A mermaid with a spectacular headdress reaches a surprisingly realistic hand out from the water on one side of Hotel Hacienda de Vallarta Centro.

Adrian Takano Rojos is a self-taught artist originally from Mexico City who now lives in Puerto Vallarta. His photorealistic murals are often a mix of magical realism and Mesoamerican imagery. Their subject matter almost always connects to the artist’s cultural roots and depictions of indigenous peoples. 

The iconic Frida on a mural by an artist known as Qvetzal

On the corner of Morelos and Pípila Streets, you’ll find an expressive and poetic mural by Qvetzal that’s an homage to Frida Kahlo. The iconic painter is depicted with a colorful butterfly perched on her shoulder and flowers adorning her head and is accompanied by three fantail goldfish swimming around her. 

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When you’re in Puerto Vallarta, don’t just cab everywhere. Take a day to wander the town — and admire the street art. –Duke

Immersive Frida: An Incredible, Must-See Show

Compared to this amazing spectacle honoring the life and work of Frida Kahlo, the Immersive Van Gogh is a mere screensaver. 

If you’re in Mexico City, see Immersive Frida while you can!

We parted the strings of rope as we would a curtain, fittingly, from beneath one of Frida’s long Tehuana skirts, and were instantly transported into a magical world. 

Duke and I headed toward an empty round ottoman but we both stopped right as we were about to sit down — the seat appeared to be moving! 

After a few seconds, our vision adjusted and we realized it was just a trick of the eye from the projected patterns that filled the walls and drifted across the white sand covered floor. We laughed and took a seat. 

In the center of the gallery a circle of rope curtains bisected the gallery. These moved periodically, sometimes swirling, sometimes opening to reveal the other half of the exhibit space for dramatic vistas. 

Rings of curtain-like ropes open and close to reveal dramatic vistas across the room.

Other rope curtains were placed at either end of the main room, acting as screens for the projections of Frida Kahlo’s paintings. 

The show takes place at Frontón México, a large entertainment venue.

The spectacle Duke and I attended was Frida: The Immersive Experience (Frida: la Experiencia Inmersiva) held in Mexico City at Frontón México. This massive building, which once served as a jai lai court from the 1920s until the mid-’90s, reopened after a multimillion-dollar overhaul in 2017 as a multipurpose entertainment venue that includes a casino. It’s right across the street from the Plaza de la República and is a 12-minute walk to the Palacio de Bellas Artes, which we explored after the show.

Duke posing in the lobby

Frida in 360 Degrees 

Halfway through Immersive Frida, we decided to get up to discover what it was like in the curtained portion at the center of the room. The ropes spun in circles and it was like walking through a curved passageway with moving walls. Then we were inside the bower, with slashes of light illuminating the space. Above us hung a chandelier of sorts, a cascade of white paper flowers that shifted in color, sometimes glowing light blue or purple, interspersed with dark red lightbulbs dripping like drops of blood.

The chandelier shifts colors throughout the show.

After a bit of time here and wanting to see new perspectives, we emerged and found seats on the other side of the room, where we remained for the rest of the show. 

The creators of the exhibit took elements from Frida’s paintings — a bug-eyed jaguar mask from (Girl with Death Mask, 1938), a leaf, an alarm clock and airplane from (Time Flies, 1929), and (The Two Fridas) — cut them out and filled the screen with them. Then parts of famous paintings would peek out from the collage, and you have to constantly look around to see different objects: Diego’s eye here, Frida’s mustache over there, the leg of a deer behind you. There’s nonstop movement and animation, and even voice recordings of Frida herself, waxing poetic about her love for Diego. 

Elements of Frida’s paintings are isolated and presented as a moving collage.

Then elements from other paintings reveal themselves, like this one of Diego.

Immersive Frida includes some audio footage of the artist speaking.

Frida’s famous paintings truly come to life.

You’ve got to constantly look in all directions during the show — there’s something new to see everywhere you look.

A somber set of images, like the ones about the spinal injury that plagued the iconic artist most of her life, were accompanied by intense, moody music. At one point, Frida’s chest opened and a corset wove itself around her shoulders and torso to reveal a broken column within. But then the images would turn bright, as when nature scenes began to populate, and the music became optimistic, energetic, paired with happier imagery. 

A terrible accident Frida suffered as a youth informed many of her paintings.

One segment of the exhibit features nature scenes.

At the end of the show, be sure to explore both ends of the room. Beyond the curtains on the side you enter, there are two cool photo opps with elements from the show, along with a long monitor where you can write and have your scribblings show up as colored streaks. Through the ropes at the other end of the exhibit space are a line of interactive stations where crazy creatures created from aspects of Frida’s paintings react to your movements. The more you dance around, flail your arms and jump, the more fun it is to watch the character on screen mimic you.

The photo opps at the end of the show are worthwhile.

A series of interactive exhibits put a fun end to the amazing show.

We’ve seen the Immersive Van Gogh in Chicago. While it’s cool in its way, it struck us as one-note; the media felt more static and didn’t evoke much emotion. To be honest, even the interactive moments after the Frida show were more enjoyable than the $50 we shelled out for Van Gogh. And for only $17 a ticket, Immersive Frida is a steal.

It’s obvious the curators and creators of the show loved their job and greatly respect Frida’s legacy— that appreciation and dedication shine through every moment of the 45-minute spectacle. If you couldn’t already tell, we highly recommend going. If we lived in Mexico City, or if the show makes its way to Chicago, we would certainly come again. Immersive Frida is so rich in imagery, and, as we had to spin around constantly and crane our necks to catch all the different views, we know that inevitably there was much we missed the first time. –Wally

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Find Out More About Frida!

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La Casa Azul, the Frida Kahlo Museum

National Museum of Mexican Art: A Hidden Gem in Chicago

Remedios Varo, Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera are all part of the rich heritage of Mexican artists honored at this all-too-often-overlooked museum.

If you’re not all tied up, make a visit to the National Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago — it’s dog-gone great!

It’s one of our favorite fall activities. Every October, Duke and I make a trip to the National Museum of Mexican Art on the South Side of Chicago to see the ofrendas set up for the Day of the Dead. These altars for loved ones who have died are always colorful, touching and artistic — and, despite being tributes to the dead, they never fail to make you smile. 

An ofrenda to Diego Rivera, one of the most famous Mexican artists of all time

Plus, it’s an excuse to wander the Pilsen neighborhood to see its street murals and grab some tacos and tamales. Pilsen is known as a Mexican neighborhood, though the artists who once called it home got priced out and vacated to Logan Square (and have most likely been priced out again and moved on to the new up-and-coming enclave). 

When you visit the museum, be sure to take a walk through the colorful neighborhood of Pilsen and go mural-hunting.

We were unable to see the ofrendas this year because of that pesky pandemic, so we reached out to the museum to tell us a bit more about one of the most impressive cultural centers in the city and to share their favorite artists (the founder seems particularly fond of the Surrealists).

The gift shop at the museum is filled with great Mexican handicrafts.

When the museum reopens, be sure to visit. It’s a small space, so you could easily see it all in one visit. And the gift shop is an exhibition itself, filled with Mexican handicrafts, from brightly painted fantastic beasts to comical skeletons. If that’s not enough to entice you, admission to the National Museum of Mexican Art is always free.

Here’s a Q&A with the museum’s founder, Carlos Tortolero. –Wally 

Duke loves the National Museum of Mexican Art thiiiiiiiis much!

Wally in front of a cool exhibit with knitted fruit

How did the museum come about?

Founder Carlos Tortolero, a former high school teacher who’s now president of the museum, invited four of his fellow teachers and his sister, also a teacher, to form a nonprofit to create a museum in 1982.

CHema Skandal’s take on lotería cards depicts Donald Trump as “the Evil One.” After launching his political career by calling Mexicans rapists and drug dealers, we agree with that moniker.

What is its mission?

To showcase the richness of Mexican art from both sides of the border from ancient times to the present.

Laura Molina’s Amor Alien from 2004 is part of the museum’s permanent collection.

Tell us about Mexican art.

Mexican art is an amazing cultural tradition. From ancient times to the present, the manifestations of Mexican art have earned worldwide recognition.

Who are some of your favorite artists?

Artists who are deceased that I admire are:

• Saturnino Herrán

Saturnino Herrán, The Offering, 1913

• Remedios Varo

Remedios Varo, Simpatía (La Rabia del Gato), 1955

• José Celmente Orozco

José Celmente Orozco, The Trench, 1926

• Diego Rivera

Diego Rivera, detail from Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park, 1948

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Dolores Almedo’s Home, the Largest Private Collection of Diego’s Works

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• David Alfaro Siqueiros

David Alfaro Siqueiros, La Marcha de la Humanidad, 1966

• María Izquierdo

María Izquierdo, Viernes de Dolores, 1945

• Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo, The Two Fridas, 1939

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A Visit to La Casa Azul, Frida’s House

Coyoacán, Frida’s Boho Neighborhood

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• Salvador Dali

• Rene Magritte

Living artists: 

• Patssi Valdez

Patssi Valdez, The Enchanted Garden, 2005

• John Valadez

John Valadez, Pool Party, 1987

• Marcos Raya

Marcos Raya, Girl With Prosthesis, 2010

• Nahum Zenil

Nahum Zenil, Con Todo Respecto, 1983

Murals have long been an important part of Mexican culture.

What’s special about the Pilsen neighborhood?

Pilsen has historically been a port of entry for immigrants from Europe and now from Mexico. There’s a dynamism of activism that has always made Pilsen stand out from other communities. Pilsen also has excellent restaurants and bakeries based on Mexican cuisine.

Skeletons are a popular motif in Mexican art — especially around Día de los Muertos.

What else is the museum used for?

The museum hosts numerous events during the year, from health workshops dealing with health issues like HIV, cancer and lupus, community fundraisers, immigration presentations, city-wide initiatives and, of course, presentations of authors, musical groups and theater.

Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl by Jesus Helguera welcomes visitors to the permanent collection gallery at the National Mexican Museum of Art.

 

Anahuacalli Museum: Diego Rivera’s Temple-Like Treasure Trove

El Museo Anahuacalli is unlike any other museum we’ve visited. Explore Rivera’s collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts after a visit to La Casa Azul.

If you’ve seen Frida’s Casa Azul, the Anahuacalli Museum is included in the ticket. Don’t miss it!

My first introduction to Diego Rivera, one of Mexico’s most famous artists, was a seemingly ubiquitous, mass-produced print of Rivera’s painting El Vendedor de Alcatraces (The Calla Lily Vendor). This image can be seen hanging on the wall of many Mexican restaurants in Anytown, USA. 

Wally peeks behind a giant agave plant in the plaza in front of the museum.

The subject of the artwork is a peasant woman, head bowed, squatting and overwhelmed by a basket filled with an immense bunch of white calla lilies. Rivera was known for his murals with a message and many featured the great social inequalities of the working class and the indigenous peoples of his country. His larger-than-life paintings were commissioned by the Mexican government, Henry Ford, the Rockefellers and the San Francisco Stock Exchange building, among many others. 

“If the light seems gauzy it’s because the panels of the thin vertical windows aren’t made from glass but alabaster, creating an ethereal air of mystery. ”

Frida’s nickname for Diego was Toad-Frog — and with his bulging eyes and belly, it’s not hard to imagine why.

Perhaps what’s more interesting is that his passionate, colorfully attired and unibrowed wife, the eccentric Mexican painter Frida Kahlo is now better known than her erstwhile husband. Her birthplace and childhood home, La Casa Azul (the Blue House), was purchased by and shared with Rivera, who paid off the mortgage and financial debt left by Frida’s father Guillermo — undoubtedly accrued by Frida’s chronic health issues caused by a near-fatal street car accident she suffered when she was 18 years old. 

The first floor of the museum is filled with Mexican folk art.

Diego’s Dream Museum

If you’re visiting Kahlo’s home, be sure to hold on to your ticket, as it also includes admission to Rivera’s equally intriguing and less visited Museo Anahuacalli. The museum is located on the southern end of Coyoacán, about a 30-minute Uber ride from La Conchita Plaza, where Wally and I departed from after spending the afternoon exploring the area. 

The museum’s name is derived from Cemanahuac, the name used by the Aztecs to refer to their world. It’s Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs, for “the Place Surrounded by Water” a concept that paid homage to the swampy pre-Hispanic landscape of México. 

Diego and Frida purchased the parcel of land in the 1930s on the rocky and then underdeveloped lava deposit of El Pedregal colonia, or neighborhood. While working on a mural in America, Rivera was inspired by the Industrial Revolution, and envisioned a space where he and Kahlo could visit and contemplate their collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts. He spent every cent he could scrape together on acquiring these pieces, amassing over 50,000 in his lifetime. One of the stories told about his obsession involves his second wife, Guadalupe Marín, who ground up one of his prized figurines in a fit of anger and served it to him in a bowl of soup. 

Rivera obsessively collected local artifacts.

Some of Rivera’s artifacts might have been acquired on the black market — maybe even this one, which Wally thinks looks like someone giving birth.

Rumor has it that Rivera acquired more than a few of his artifacts on the black market. At the time, there weren’t any laws protecting the provenance of pre-Columbian antiquities, and for this reason, the market boomed amongst nationals and foreigners alike. However Rivera obtained his prized artifacts, it’s undoubtedly an impressive collection that reveals the reverence and curiosity he felt toward the past. An inscription by Rivera at the entrance to the museum reads, “I hereby return to the people what I could rescue from the artistic heritage of their ancestors.”

Jaguars were worshipped as gods by the ancient peoples of Mexico.

Before he died in 1957 at the age of 70, Rivera bequeathed his artifacts and vision for a space to conserve and share the collection with the people of Mexico. The passion project was completed posthumously by his daughter Ruth Rivera, the financial support of his close friend and patroness Dolores Olmedo and architect Juan O’Gorman, using plans left by Rivera.  

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Visit Dolores Olmedo’s amazing estate and see more works by Frida and Diego

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All are welcome at the Museo Anahuacalli.

Like Entering a Temple

The imposing exterior of Anahuacalli is based upon a teocalli, a Mesoamerican temple standing on a truncated pyramid, rising dramatically from the edge of a broad, open plaza. Anahuacalli is sheathed entirely in black basalt, the igneous rock produced by the eruption of nearby Xitle, a volcano that destroyed the pre-Hispanic settlement of Cuicuilco that preceded Mexico City. 

A sign at the entry kiosk states:

En este establecimiento mercantil no se discrimina el ingreso a ninguna persona por motivos de raza, religión, orientación sexual o socioeconómica ni por ningún otro motivo.

This establishment does not discriminate against entry to any person on the basis of race, religion, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status or for any other reason.

Once inside, Wally and I immediately noticed a change in light and temperature; it was dim and cool, like the interior of a tomb. If the light seems gauzy it’s because the panels of the thin vertical windows aren’t made from glass but alabaster, creating an ethereal air of mystery. 

Gorgeous papel picado, or cut paper decorations, hang above artifacts placed in niches.

There’s a large ofrenda, an altar to Rivera.

One of our favorite displays on the ground floor was the impressive and brightly colored ofrenda, a traditional and allegorical offering dedicated to the deceased Rivera. Adorning the ofrenda are life-size papier-mâché folk art sculptures are known as alebrijes—the word these fantastical creatures were repeatedly chanting in vivid fever dream that the artisan Pedro Linares had. 

Ofrendas often have skeleton figures and food and other items the deceased enjoyed in life.

Whimsical papier-mâché folk art creatures called alebrijes came to their creator in a feverish dream.

The exuberant colors of the figures and papel picado, cut tissue paper banners, are all the more striking against the volcanic stone. 

Admire the cut tissue paper flags before venturing into the depths of the temple-like museum.

Narrow alabaster windows give the museum an otherworldly quality.

From the Underworld to the Heavens

A stairwell symbolizing the entrance to the Mayan underworld of Xibalba descends past bouquets of dried marigolds. These flowers guide spirits to their altars using their vibrant colors and pungent scent. 

Bright orange marigolds help guide the way for spirits to visit this world.

Duke looks up at the dried marigolds that fill this stairwell.

The Anahuacalli’s three levels are bisected by dramatic stone staircases leading to galleries with vitrines and niches filled with Rivera’s personal collection of more than 2,000 Zapotec, Maya, Aztec, Olmec and Toltec idols and artifacts ranging from utilitarian to religious objects. 

Rivera collected about 50,000 pre-Hispanic artifacts.

One of Rivera’s wives supposedly ground up one of his idols and served it to him in soup.

Make sure to look up at the ceilings, which showcase mosaics based on Rivera’s designs and communist inclinations. Most were inspired by the mythological creatures of the Mesoamerican canon, with a hammer and sickle thrown in for good measure. One mosaic depicts a toad — Kahlo’s nickname for Rivera was El Sapo-rana, or Toad-Frog — fitting, as he was a large, portly man with bulging eyes. Incidentally, his birthplace, Guanajuato, loosely translates to the Place of Frogs. 

Look up! Most of the ceilings have murals made from different colored rocks.

A woman gathers fruit in one ceiling mural.

Rivera wasn’t subtle about his fondness for Communism.

The light-filled second floor of the museum was originally envisioned as Rivera’s art studio and contains a number of monumental charcoal sketches and studies for several of his murals. One in particular, El Hombre en el Cruce de los Caminos (Man at the Crossroads), is a fresco originally commissioned in 1932 for the Rockefeller Center in New York, but later destroyed and unceremoniously chiseled off the wall for its unflattering portrait of Rockefeller and depiction of communism.

On the second floor, you can see studies for Rivera’s murals.

Another large-scale piece, Pesadilla de Guerra, Sueño de Paz (Nightmare of War, Dream of Peace), was a portable mural painted in 1952 for the Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art exhibition that traveled to various European cities. Its creator sold the work, which was censored by the Mexican authorities, to China. Nobody knows for certain where it is today. 

Also among Rivera’s artworks is a childhood drawing of a choo-choo train. 

Although the Anahuacalli is filled with niches showcasing Rivera’s beloved artifacts, it houses only a fraction of his collection.

Some galleries host temporary exhibits.

It’s also a space that hosts temporary exhibits and site-specific projects. While we were there in the fall of 2018, an exhibit titled Machama featured Adelia Sayeg’s sculptural ceramics. 

Dominating the second floor wall is an early rendering of Rivera’s famous Pesadilla de Guerra, Sueño de Paz mural.

The circular piece in the center of the room was filled with small ceramic pieces by Adelia Sayeg.

The museum’s interior embodies some of the same tenets as American architect Frank Lloyd Wright — specifically the concept of compression and release, with narrow stairwells and passageways opening abruptly into larger spaces. Rivera did meet with Wright in 1952 and consulted with him about the structure. 

Here comes the sun: Keep winding your way up through the museum to end up on the rooftop.

You’ll be temporarily blinded as you step out of the dark confines of the museum onto the rooftop terrace. Like Duke, you can admire the view of CDMX.

Wally takes a break from a long day exploring the neighborhood of Coyoacán.

You wind your way up, floor by floor, until you step out onto the rooftop terrace, open to the sky, boasting panoramic views of the city. The sun bathed the outlying area in golden light. It was a perfect end to an incredible day. –Duke

Wally and Duke are all smiles at this truly one-of-a-kind museum, which they can’t recommend enough.

Anahuacalli Museum

Museo 150
San Pablo Tepetlapa
Coyoacán
04620 Ciudad de México
CDMX
Mexico

 

9 Fascinating Frida Kahlo Facts That May Surprise You

Overshadowed by her husband Diego Rivera, Kahlo led a too-short life fraught with pain, which she channeled into her powerful paintings.

A portrait of the unusual artist in 1939 by Nickolas Muray

It seems every famous artist is eccentric in their own way, and Frida Kahlo was no exception. She didn’t follow the rules, establishing herself as the negation of what a woman was expected to be. Her singular vision continues to inspire and capture the world’s imagination. Kahlo’s recognizable unibrow, boldly colored clothes and tempestuous marriage to muralist Diego Rivera are as central to her fame as her vivid and powerful self-portraits.

“During the horrific accident, a shower of gold glitter landed on Frida’s bloody and broken body — making the macabre moment like something out of a magical realism novel.

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While writing my post on the Blue House, or La Casa Azul, Kahlo’s former home, I learned more than a few surprising things. Why nine, you might ask? During their lifetimes, Kahlo and Rivera passionately assembled a collection of fantastical papier-mâché alebrijes, and I’d like to imagine hers as a cat with its metaphorical nine lives. So, without further exposition, here are nine interesting facts you might not have known about Frida Kahlo.

Talk about odd couples! Here’s Wedding Portrait of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera by Victor Reyes, 1929

1. She and Diego proved that opposites really do attract.

Kahlo first met Rivera when he was commissioned by the government to paint the mural La Creación at the Bolívar Auditorium of the Escuela Nacional Preparatoria in 1922. Kahlo was one of only 35 females in a student body of 2,000 and belonged to a group of young intellectuals who called themselves Las Cachuchas, named after the peaked cloth caps they wore as a sign of subversion against the rigid dress code of the period. One account claims that she mischievously soaped the stairs leading to the auditorium where Rivera was working, hoping to make him slip and fall.

They met again in 1928 while he was working on a fresco for Mexico City’s Ministry of Education building. With paintings tucked under her arm, she demanded Rivera critique her work, telling him, “I have not come to you looking for compliments. I want the criticism of a serious man. I’m neither an art lover nor an amateur. I’m simply a girl who must work for her living.”

It was a May-December romance, as Rivera was about twice her age (as well as 200 pounds heavier). She was 22, he was 43. He had been married twice before. Kahlo once said, “I suffered two grave accidents in my life: one in which a streetcar knocked me down, and the other was Diego.”  

Frida paints Portrait of My Father, 1952, in her studio. Photo by Gisèle Freund

2. A horrific — but strangely beautiful — accident changed the course of her life.

In 1925, an 18-year-old Kahlo was riding a bus home from school with her boyfriend Alex Gómez Arias when it collided with an oncoming electric streetcar. A fellow passenger on the bus had been carrying a bag of gold dust, which was released upon impact and tore, a shower of gold glitter landing on the bloody and broken body of Kahlo — making the macabre moment like something out of a magical realism novel.

When onlookers saw her, they cried, “La bailarina, la bailarina!” mistaking her for a dancer.

The bed-ridden Frida Kahlo painting Portrait of My Family in 1950. Photo by Juan Guzmán

The near-fatal accident left Kahlo bedridden for months and enduring lifelong complications that would fuel her intensely personal artwork, turning her deepest feelings and darkest moments into art.

What a deer! Frida With Granzino, Version 2 by Nickolas Muray, 1939

3. Kahlo wasn’t able to have children, so she filled the void with exotic pets.

Kahlo was a great lover of animals and had an exotic menagerie at La Casa Azul. In many of her self-portraits she is accompanied by her favorite animals, including a pair of mischievous spider monkeys named Fulang Chung and Caimito de Guayabal. She also had Bonito, an Amazon parrot, who would perform tricks at the table for rewards of pats of butter, an eagle named Gertrudis Caca Blanca (Gertrude White Shit), hairless Xoloitzcuintli dogs and a fawn called Granzino.

These animals appeared in her work, including Self-Portrait With Monkey and The Wounded Deer, her face placed atop a deer’s body, probably Granzino’s, complete with antlers, running through a forest as nine arrows pierce its body.

Frida’s love of animals is evident in her Self-Portrait With Small Monkey from 1945

Despite wanting to have offspring, Kahlo was unable to bear children and suffered miscarriages and medical abortions. Her inability to give birth became a source of trauma, and she said that her pets symbolized the children she never could have.

Many of Frida’s paintings were self-portraits, like Autorretrato from 1948

4. She’d most likely beat you in a staring contest.

Kahlo was her own most popular muse. Fifty-five of her 143 paintings are self-portraits, which is perhaps understandable when thinking about how much time she spent on her own while coping with a variety of chronic health issues. Her conjoined brows, plaited hair and watchful eyes fiercely demand that the viewer meet her gaze. And her defiant, upright posture was as much due to the immobilizing plaster corsets she was forced to wear to support her spinal column as it was her confidence.

Kahlo’s use of the intimate self-portrait often reflected her turbulent life and was a visual means to communicate her physical and psychological wounds.

Let’s take some time to reflect upon what an amazing woman Frida Kahlo was. Photo by Lola Álvarez Bravo

5. She was her own brand ambassador.

Our sense of self is largely dependent on where we were born, where our family’s from and the people we choose to surround ourselves with. This was especially true for Kahlo with her distinctive sartorial style inspired by the traditional dress of the Tehuana, the independent and proud indigenous matriarchal Zapotec society in the state of Oaxaca. Kahlo’s mother was born in Oaxaca to an indigenous father and a mother of Spanish descent.

Her attire helped her craft an imaginative, colorful identity and typically included flamboyant rings adorning her fingers, a traditional square-cut blouse, the huipil, and a long wrap-around skirt, which allowed her to mask and distract from her physical injuries.

One can only imagine the sensation of Kahlo’s striking and exotic appearance when she arrived in the United States with Rivera. Her rejection of conventional fashion was unlike anything the people of San Francisco, Detroit or New York had ever seen. On a walk in NYC, a flock of children asked Kahlo, “Where’s the circus?” but she simply smiled graciously and continued walking.

The controversial The Suicide of Dorothy Hale by Frida Kahlo, 1939

6. She pushed boundaries and buttons.

Sometime in 1938, Kahlo was commissioned by Clare Boothe Luce, the writer of the all-female Broadway play The Women and a former managing editor of Vanity Fair magazine, to paint a recuerdo, a remembrance portrait of their mutual New York socialite friend and aspiring actress Dorothy Hale, who had recently taken her own life.

Luce presumed Kahlo would paint a conventional portrait of Hale. However, Kahlo wasn’t a fan of what she considered to be the bourgeois capitalist social scene of New York City and had a more cerebral vision in mind — to create a graphic retablo detailing Hale’s moment of death.

In the center of the painting, the building where Hale lived is depicted with its many small windows rising up behind a layer of feathery clouds. A tiny figure plummets from an upper window. In the middle ground is a larger falling figure, clearly Hale, her arms extended and her skirt billowing around her knees. Resting on the pavement in the foreground is the deceased Hale in the black velvet dress and yellow corsage she wore, her dead eyes frozen open and staring at the viewer. As if that wasn’t enough, the inscription literally bleeds into the bottom of the frame and reads, “In the city of New York on the 21st day of the month of October, 1938, at 6 o’clock in the morning, Mrs. Dorothy Hale committed suicide by throwing herself out of a very high window of the Hampshire House building. In her memory, this portrait was executed by Frida Kahlo.”

When Luce received the painting, she seriously considered destroying it, but was persuaded by friends to desist. The arresting and controversial work remained in storage for decades before being donated “anonymously” to the Phoenix Art Museum in 1960.

7. She arrived at her first solo exhibition in Mexico in an ambulance.

Kahlo’s first major solo exhibition was held at the Julien Levy Gallery in 1938 in New York City, and one year later, her works were part of a collective exhibition entitled Mexique, shown at the Galerie Renou et Colle in Paris. The French surrealist André Breton described her art as “a ribbon around a bomb.”

Due to declining health during her final years, Kahlo rarely ventured outside of the Blue House, and had to use a wheelchair and crutches to get around. In April 1953, her first solo exhibition in Mexico opened at the Galería de Arte Contemporáneo. At the time, Kahlo was on bed rest under doctor’s orders and not expected to attend. However, she made sure to be there, arriving by ambulance to a mystified crowd, ordering that her four-poster bed be moved into the gallery. She was brought in on a stretcher to the bed, where she was able to enjoy the event.

8. She made a most memorable exit from life.

Kahlo was transported to the crematorium at the Panteón Civil de Dolores, and her body was lifted out of the coffin and laid in a cart that would carry her along iron tracks to the cemetery. So desperate were people to have a memento of Kahlo that onlookers pulled at the rings on her fingers even as her body moved toward the crematorium fire. Witnesses who were in the small chamber containing the furnace claimed that a sudden blast of heat from the open incinerator doors caused Kahlo’s corpse to sit bolt upright, and when the flames ignited her hair, forming an aura around her face, her lips appeared to part in a grin just before the doors closed shut.

What the Water Gave Me by Frida Kahlo, 1938

9. She was underappreciated as an artist in her lifetime.

Kahlo’s work was largely overshadowed by that of her husband during her lifetime. This was partly because the complexity of her art was difficult for an international audience to categorize. Kahlo’s most famous works, her autorretratos, or self-portraits, combine elements of realism, surrealism and indigenous Mexican symbolism.

Breton, an original member of the Dada group and the founder of the Surrealist movement in 1924, visited Kahlo in Mexico in 1938 while she was working on Lo Que el Agua Me Dio (What the Water Gave Me). Breton was transfixed by it, calling Kahlo a “natural surrealist.” Kahlo rejected the label and replied, “I never painted dreams. I paint my own reality.”

When Kahlo died at the early age of 47 in 1954, Rivera begged his friend and patroness of the arts, Dolores Olmedo to purchase 25 of Kahlo’s paintings for a mere $1,600. He wanted to make sure that an important part of his wife’s work remained in Mexico. –Duke

“A sudden blast of heat from the incinerator caused Frida’s corpse to sit bolt upright. Flames ignited her hair, forming an aura around her face, and her lips parted into a grin just before the doors closed shut. ”

La Casa Azul, the Frida Kahlo Museum in Mexico City

Explore the quirky blue-painted home-turned-museum where the bohemian Mexican artist was born and lived while married to muralist Diego Rivera.

You can wander through the home Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera lived in

One destination that was at the top of our list to visit while in CDMX was La Casa Azul, or the Blue House, the former home and studio of Mexican artist and revolutionary cultural icon Frida Kahlo.

The first thing to capture your attention upon arrival at the corner of Calles Londres and Allende, which is now the Museo Frida Kahlo, are the vibrant cobalt-blue walls that rise straight up from the sidewalk. They reminded me of the intense blue used by French painter Jacques Majorelle in his garden acquired by Yves St. Laurent and Pierre Bergé in Marrakech, Morocco.

“To be in the former home of this captivating, self-willed individual was an amazing and moving experience. ”

Get your tickets well before you visit — and get the earliest time available to cut down on crowds

The other was the line of people waiting to gain admission. After reading how popular the destination is, we purchased and printed our tickets in advance for the first available self-guided tour of the day to avoid the crowds. If you show up without a ticket, we’ve heard you can expect to wait up to four hours, as the museum limits the amount of people allowed inside. Even if you get your tickets in advance, plan on getting into line half an hour early so you’re at the beginning of your group.

Portrait of Frida Kahlo by Roberto Montenegro, 1936

You can download an electronic version of your ticket, which will be scanned by one of the museum docents. If you’d like to take pictures inside, which we did, you’ll need to purchase a photography pass for an extra fee of about 30 pesos, or $1.50.

Keep in mind that the cost of your ticket also includes admission to the Anahuacalli Museum, designed by Diego Rivera to contain his impressive collection of pre-Columbian art. It’s great fun to explore.

Duke leans on the iconic blue walls of La Casa Azul while we wait to go in

It’s cool being able to explore the home shared by these two famous artists

Inside La Casa Azul

At the entry, you’re met by a few of Kahlo’s fantastical and monstrous papier-mâché folk art alebrije figures, traditionally representing Satan and Judas, which are filled with firecrackers and exploded on Sabado de Gloria, the Saturday before Easter.

Part of the courtyard includes this tiled pool

Built around an open-air central courtyard, the interior of the house offers visitors a chance to catch a glimpse into Frida’s creative universe. Each room is organized by theme, many exactly as Kahlo left them. The first room Wally and I entered was originally the formal living room, where the Riveras hosted storied intellectual guests from Gershwin to Trotsky and now functions as a gallery featuring a selection of Frida’s lesser-known paintings. Of note is Portrait of My Father, made by Kahlo 10 years after her father’s death with the dedication “I painted my father Wilhelm Kahlo, of Hungarian-German origin, artist-photographer by profession, in character generous, intelligent and fine, valiant because he suffered for 60 years with epilepsy, but never gave up working and fought against Hitler. With adoration, his daughter, Frida Kahlo,” and a still life depicting sliced watermelons inscribed with the phrase “Viva la Vida” or, Long Live Life.

Marxism Will Give Health to the Sick by Frida Kahlo, 1954

Portrait of My Father by Frida Kahlo, 1951

Viva la Vida by Frida Kahlo, 1954 — the last of her paintings she signed

The next room held a delightful miniature puppet theater created by Frida. One of my favorite items in the house, it contained a cat or perhaps jaguar, a seated woman, a skeleton with a red sash around its waist and an alligator suspended in the air. Also on display was a painting by Diego Rivera titled La Quebrada. The inscription in the lower right corner reads, “A La Niña Fridita Kahlo la maravillosa. El 7 de Julio de 1956 a los dos años que duerme en cenizas, viva en mi corazón” (To the little girl Fridita Kahlo, the wonderful one. On July 7, 1956, two years since she went to sleep in the ashes, she lives on in my heart.)

We especially loved this kinda creepy puppet theater Frida created

Moving farther along, white painted ceiling beams and bold blue, yellow and white glazed tiles complement the kitchen countertop and frame the chimney. Kahlo embellished the walls surrounding the wood-burning stove using miniature glazed clay mugs to whimsically spell out her and Diego’s names. On the opposite wall are two doves tying a lovers’ knot and a pair of pumpkin-shaped clay tureens sitting atop a long yellow table.

Frida spelled out her and Diego’s names in miniature clay mugs on the wall above her stove

A glimpse into Frida’s kitchen

The neutral tones of earthenware pottery pair nicely with the bright blue and yellow tiles

Next to the kitchen, the dining room shares the same vibrant color scheme with bright yellow open storage shelving chock full of colored glassware, earthenware pots, plates and indigenous artifacts.  

The dining room

A bright yellow cabinet displaying some of Frida’s collections

Rivera’s small bedroom is tucked off to the side of the dining room. A pillow sitting on a vintage armchair is embroidered with the words “Despierta Corazon Dormido” (Wake Up, Sleeping Heart). Outside this room, a flight of stairs leads to the second floor library and studio, an addition by Rivera.

The small room Diego stayed in also once housed Leon Trotsky, with whom Frida had an affair

Up in the studio, large steel-framed windows look out to the garden and fill the room with natural light. There’s also an enviable collection of books. Kahlo’s small wooden work desk holds an assortment of brushes, a palette, a mirror and small glass bottles of pigment waiting to be mixed for use.

Frida’s work table: where the magic happened

The materials Frida used in her paintings

Color pigments Frida used to create her paint

Adjacent to these tools, a wheelchair faces an easel with the painting Still Life With Flag — a reminder that Frida experienced a series of life events that left her in chronic pain. At the age of 6, she contracted polio, which left her right leg withered and shorter than her left, causing her to limp. In her teens, while traveling home from school, the bus on which she was riding was hit by a streetcar. She sustained serious trauma, including multiple fractures of the clavicle, ribs and spine, and was pierced by an iron handrail from the streetcar that impaled her pelvis. Frida miraculously survived and and began painting self-portraits — her reality captured by a mirror within the intimacy of her own studio at home. She once said, “I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.”

In poor health for much of her life, Frida had to paint in a wheelchair now and then

Immediately off the artists studio are a pair of Kahlo’s four-poster beds. As Frida was frequently bedridden, her day bed is fitted with a mirror above that she would use to paint while convalescing. Because she died in this room in 1954, her death mask fittingly (yet creepily) rests atop the bed. On the wall behind the headboard, a skeleton with tiny arms wearing a top hat and a painting of a presumably dead child with a garland of purple poppy flowers watch over the bed.

Frida’s death mask sits on her bed

Frida’s night bed has a framed grouping of butterfly specimens attached to the panel above. These were given to her by Japanese-American sculptor Isamu Noguchi. On a lace-topped table nearby a headless pre-Columbian urn contains her ashes. A cabinet of toys rendered in miniature are displayed off to the right.

The large urn to the left contains Frida’s ashes

We exited via a staircase from Frida’s day room in the central courtyard and followed a winding path that led us past a stepped pyramidal structure, added and built by Rivera, a pedestal to display their pre-Columbian sculptures in the garden. Frida loved botany and collected many species of plants native to Mexico and created a garden abundant with yuccas, bougainvilleas, cacti, jasmine and agave.

Wally and Duke on the patio leading to the central courtyard

Diego especially loved pre-Columbian artifacts

A large ofrenda is set up in the garden

Around back you’ll find an opportunity to pretend to be Frida and Diego

An ancillary building contains an exhibit named after a drawing Kahlo made in 1946: Appearances Can Be Deceiving, where the artist drew herself, showing an X-ray view through her traditional Tehuana dress to reveal her injured leg and plaster corset. The first room displays a few of Kahlo’s personal objects used in relation to her medical condition. There’s also a vitrine with mannequins wearing Kahlo’s distinctive Tehuana dresses and headpieces. She favored the huipil, a boxy blouse, rebozo shawl and long skirt, a representation of Kahlo’s authentic Mexican femininity. There’s also a couture dress with a buckled corset by fashion designer and provocateur Jean Paul Gaultier whose 1998 spring-summer runway was titled Tribute to Frida Kahlo. In this same case is a dress by Rei Kawakubo for Comme des Garçons surrounded by a sort of hoop cage, and in the last room there’s a delicately embroidered bodysuit with an incredible fringe jacket by Roberto Tisci for Givenchy.

An outbuilding houses some of Frida’s distinctive outfits

A dress by Comme des Garçons (left) and The Freckles by Gaultier

To be in the former home of this captivating, self-willed individual was an amazing and moving experience. Like Kahlo, La Casa Azul has many layers — its details bear witness to her inspired magpie approach, filled with objects that carried personal meaning to Kahlo and are reflected in her fascinating collection of arte popular. –Duke

La Casa Azul, the Museo Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo Museum
Londres 247
Del Carmen
04100 Ciudad de México, CDMX
Mexico

 

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LOVE FRIDA? READ ABOUT THE DOLORES OLMEDO MUSEUM

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A Perfect Afternoon in Artsy Coyoacán

Follow our six-stop walking tour of Mexico City’s bohemian neighborhood, including Plaza Hidalgo and Los Danzantes restaurant.

After visiting Frida’s house, explore the boho hood of Coyoacán and purchase some traditional regional handicrafts at the artisanal market.

There’s much to do in the charming neighborhood of Coyoacán beyond La Casa Azul, the lifelong home and studio of famed Mexican painter Frida Kahlo.

The municipality’s name comes from Coyohuacan, Nahuatl for “the Place of Coyotes.” This colonia, or neighborhood, features meandering streets filled with well-preserved colonial buildings, delicious restaurants and handicraft markets waiting to be explored.

You’ll see balloon vendors all over CDMX.

All you’ll need for a perfect afternoon in Coyoacán is a comfortable pair of shoes and a sense of adventure — the area is walkable, and all of the stops listed below can easily be explored by foot.

The Fuente de los Coyotes in Coyoacán

Make a Splash

Stop 1: Plaza Hidalgo

Your journey begins in the historic heart of Coyoacán, just a few blocks from La Casa Azul. On Avenida Francisco Sosa, you’ll find not one, but two public squares: Jardín Centenario, which memorializes the 100th anniversary of Mexico’s independence, and the Plaza Hidalgo. Together they form a typical colonial town square, complete with benches for people-watching, gazebos for music and vendors selling balloons.

Near the entrance of Plaza Hidalgo, a street artist was selling woven palm-leaf crickets. We purchased a pair for 50 pesos each (about $2.50), and as the vendor was handing them to us, a woman seated on a nearby bench offered her advice by telling us to use hairspray to keep them green.

People push crickets on you everywhere you go in Mexico City. These palm ones are more appetizing than the ones in the croquetas we ate.

Here you’ll find a circular stone fountain known as the Fuente de los Coyotes, or Fountain of the Coyotes, the animals from whom the borough takes its name. The iconic landmark occupies the center of the plaza and features two bronze coyotes by sculptor Gabriel Ponzanelli. Numerous spouts located around the perimeter spray graceful arcs of water into the air over the playful pair.

Be sure to stop into the exquisite Iglesia de Coyoacán, the large cathedral, across the way.

Ignacio Allende Esquina Avenida Miguel Hidalgo

Grab a bite on the patio of Los Danzantes, just off the park, for good food and people-watching.

Let’s Dance

Stop 2: Los Danzantes

On the periphery of the square is Los Danzantes, the Dancers, a multi-story restaurant in a colonial-era building with panoramic views of the park. Wally’s coworker Juls lived in Mexico City, and this is one of her favorite restaurants. We were seated outside on the patio terrace, and similar to the cafés of Paris, it was a great place to watch the world go by and enjoy a leisurely meal. While we were there, a guitarist paused for a moment as he passed by, looking to see if there might be an interested party willing to pay him to play a song or two. The restaurant also has its own mezcal distillery and grows seasonal produce in garden plots called chinampas in Xochimilco.

The bar at Los Danzantes

We had ceviche, cricket croquetas and hoja santa (holy leaf), a local specialty stuffed with goat cheese.

Mezcal and a mariachi are all it takes to make Duke happy.

Plaza Jardín Centenario 12

Look for these yellow arches across from the Jardín Centenario to enter the handicraft market.

Get Crafty

Stop 3: Mercado Artesanal Mexicano

After lunch, visit the Mexican Craft Market and walk beneath garlands of fluttering papel picado, colorful cut-tissue paper bunting. The two-story market has dozens of craft stalls featuring a wide variety of traditional Mexican handicrafts and regional specialties from all over the country, all in one place.

You’ll spot the coyotes for which the colonia is named all over the place.

Colorful skulls on offer at the craft market

We headed upstairs first, but it seemed to be endless stalls of tattoo artists and not many handicrafts. The first floor, though, was more our speed. Wally and are were especially drawn to the colorful Oaxacan alebrijes, traditional folk art depicting fantastical creatures embellished with brilliant patterns and colors. (We have a thing for the surreal.) Each small wooden totem is carved by hand, often using nothing more than a simple pocket knife. We brought home a strange little skeleton, a green and orange insect and a black cactus with a bright pink flower and hummingbird on top of it.

When I purchased an unusual-looking doll made from a bulbous gourd with coarsely braided rope pigtails, two tiny breasts and coconut shell limbs (200 pesos, or $10), Wally replied, “You like things that look old, are a little bit cuckoo and are unlike anything we’ve seen elsewhere.” He knows me so well.

Stalls often sell the same crafts at different prices, so shop around — but don’t expect to bargain for a lower price.

Felipe Carrillo Puerto 25

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BONUS STOP!

Pop into la Iglesia de Coyoacán (aka Parroquia San Juan Bautista) across the square.

The façade looks plain, but the inside is awash in gilded niches, sweeping arches and hand-painted ceiling frescos, with a peaceful cloister around back.

If that hasn’t convinced you, you can hunt down the creepy life-size mannequins of Christ and a dead baby!

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Grab a coffee and snack at Panadería Pública.

Take a Coffee Break

Stop 4: Panadería Pública

If shopping has worn you out, we recommend stopping for a delicious pastry paired with a great cup of coffee at the Panadería Pública for an afternoon pick-me-up. There’s an array of options here, including traditional conchas, campesinos and orejas, as well as French baguettes, croissants and pain au chocolat to name a few. I ordered a café con leche and Wally got his latte con leche light. We also purchased a pastelito de guayaba, a puff pastry similar in size and shape to a turnover, filled with cream cheese and guava paste. Stop to chat with the friendly staff.

Higuerra 22
La Concepción

The marigold yellow façade of La Conchita has seen better days but still has charm.

Goin’ to the Chapel

Stop 5: Plaza de la Conchita

A short stroll southeast is the leafy Plaza de la Conchita in the colonia La Concepción, a quiet sanctuary that feels worlds away from the crowds of tourists visiting La Casa Azul just a few miles away. The small square contains a pale yellow, timeworn and weather-beaten beauty of the 16th century, the Churrigueresque, or Spanish Baroque-style, chapel known as La Conchita. One of the oldest in Mexico, it’s said that the conquistador Hernán Cortés ordered the church to be built on top of a Toltec altar soon after he settled in Coyoacán. The village was used as the base for the conquistadors after they conquered the Aztec Empire.

The church is designed in the Churrigueresque, or Spanish Baroque, style.

Duke sits on the steps around back.

Unfortunately, the chapel was closed, so we couldn’t venture inside, but the building itself is a charming example of colonial architecture.

The fellas love to take jumping shots.

Golden hour made the church walls glow.

Fernández Leal
La Concepción

Teenagers practice salsa moves at the end of a striking, geometrical arbor.

Park It

Stop 6: Frida Kahlo Park

Just steps from the Plaza de la Conchita is Frida Kahlo Park. Here you’ll find a menagerie of topiary animals at the entrance and a fountain with a bronze sculpture of a nude woman with her legs drawn up, also by Ponzanelli. A group of teenagers was practicing salsa routines under an arbor of bougainvilleas.

Like the coyote fountain in Plaza Hidalgo, this woman was sculpted by Ponzanelli.

Wally loves Frida.

Is Diego jealous of Duke’s attention to Frida?

The park is a bit small in scale, but it’s worth stopping by to take a photo with the larger-than-life figures of Frida and Diego and to see the brightly colored mural by Dan Silva aka Polvoe, across the way on Tepalcatitla street.

The mascots of Coyoacán, as depicted by street artist Polvoe

A colorful mural across from Frida Kahlo Park caught our eye.

Fernández Leal and Avenida Pacifico
La Concepción

Coyoacán was easily one of our favorite places we visited in CDMX. You can see why this enchanting and storied part of the city has attracted artists and intellectuals over the years. –Duke