After the Grammys, Madonna’s face was unsurprisingly the topic of think pieces all over the internet. Part of me is interested in the different opinions, part of me rolls my eyes that this is what nosy people, myself included, think about. I don’t love all of Madonna’s music, but I respect her as an artist. I am interested in the way she and many other iconic women live their lives and influence history.
I liked this Washington Post’s think piece on her. Writer Monica Hesse makes good points about Madonna’s defiance and how the world looks at aging artists. She also wrote this great line: “our collective responsibility is to create a society where others make choices based on what makes them happy and not based on our toxic expectations or fears about aging.”
Madonna said it best herself in her Instagram post, and I encourage everyone to read the caption all the way to the end. “Bow down bitches!”
And yet, like the tabloids, I tend to be more interested in the lives of artists than the work they create. In the age of being watched, what you choose to do with yourself outside of the studio can be just as scrutinized as any work you make. I wonder how artists from pre-social media times would feel about this. Imagine the amazing and bizarre stories Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath would write on their Substacks.
Last weekend my mom and I had the chance to check out the Frida Kahlo, Life of an Icon exhibition in Sydney. A warm Saturday afternoon, it was crowded and sometimes hard to take in as it was so darn popular.
It was similar to the Van Gogh Alive exhibition I saw in Newcastle a few months ago.
Both had a massive experiential room where you can sit on the floor or comfy seats and watch huge video projections from every angle. Both exhibitions included interactive props inspired by famous artworks, and, yes, you can take selfies with them.
With these experiential exhibitions, in just an hour or two you observe heaps of art and absorb stacks of history. I learned, for example, that Van Gogh died on my birthday, hooray! (Except this was in 1890.) These lively, accessible exhibitions cater to more common, easily distracted folks like myself, rather than well-educated art snobs. It’s a great introduction to the art world, plus you can drink wine.
One thing that irritated me tremendously about the Van Gogh Exhibition was the Van Gogh themed Lexus on display upon entry.
The exhibition made it clear that Van Gogh was a poor man who hardly had a pot to piss in, so how macabre that ritzy Lexus now covers their car in the work of a man who died by suicide while in extreme poverty. The misplaced Lexus screamed “Don’t read too much into this exhibition, simple, easily impressed folk.” I wanted it to Gogh Gogh Gogh!
Anyway I digressed slightly, but these modern art displays come with many perspectives, and I was more impressed by the Frida Kahlo one, and not just because she’s the best.
When we arrived to the Sydney exhibition, Mexican harpist Victor Valdez was playing and singing beautifully. The exhibition ended with a fantastic virtual reality experience where we soared through space and time via Frida’s very twin simple bed. Written in both English and Spanish, the Frida exhibition gave a greater nod to Mexico than Van Gogh’s did to the Netherlands (in my limited gringa perspective.)
We continue to understand art in new ways; the lives of the artists are part of this comprehension. Trailblazing, revolutionary women deserve to be ogled and worshiped.
The Frida exhibition was packed with facts about Frida I had either forgotten or never knew. Of course everyone is curious about her and Diego Rivera’s tortured relationship, and damn, towards the end he even slept with Frida’s sister! Frida was severely injured in a bus accident at the age of 18. Before she died they had to amputate her leg. She wrote a great letter to Diego severing ties with him and her leg. You can read it in the Instagram post linked below.
I hope the English translation is accurate, because it’s powerful, damning and heartbreaking.
Frida was affiliated with the communist party. She told people she was born the same year as the Spanish revolution, even though she was actually born three years prior. (Either that or she was just hiding her real age!)
The majority of Frida’s artworks were self portraits, perhaps connected to how often she was bedridden without much to look at, but also, how forward thinking. Maybe she anticipated that 100 years later, everyone would be taking selfies.
Frida’s fashion pushed boundaries unlike today’s icons who push brands. Everyone knows the mustache and unibrow, but I didn’t realize until last weekend that her style, the bright flowers, long skirts and Huarache shoes were reference to her Mexican roots. Despite Frida’s wealthy, educated upbringing, her dress nodded to her commitment to the Indigenous people and culture. She presented as political commentary, wearing the clothes of the women in Tehuantepec and reminding everyone of the Mexican matriarchal national identity.
Here are two different interesting takes on Frida’s fashion, one that looks at Frida and cultural appropriation, and the other that highlights what influenced her style.
Before I watched the Salma Hayek movie or read this great New Yorker Cartoon about Frida, what I loved most about her was that by defying traditional beauty roles and expectations, she made herself sexier.
The exhibition captured this perfectly, so I included their commentary, quoted below.
“She is iconic for her transgression of convention: for her handling of her relationship with Diego in the way she thought suited her best, regardless of what others thought; for daring to wear a Tehuana costume at the parties of the American elite; for standing up to the prevailing beauty paradigm, which not only prevented her from being desired, but formed part of what made her so desirable.
Frida knew how to be unique. Long before marketing talked "brand" and "image", she made traditional costumes, eyebrows and her moustache a seductive sign of self-confidence, and an identity signal strong enough to evoke in a single stroke, like a logo.”
Of course, sexiness is in the blood flow of the beholder, but Frida slept with all kinds of fascinating people, and now, more than ever before, she’s an international icon. This woman did radical things, fucked radical people and made radical art. In 2023 her life is celebrated far more than her womanizing husband, although both were established artists. Art speaks for itself, but also, Frida’s life speaks for its art.
Today I watched Rihanna, suspended up in the air, reveal her latest baby bump while dressed in a bright red parachute-y ensemble. Like Madonna, the critics and fans alike are discussing her body and her life decisions more than her actual Super Bowl performance.
I don’t think the gossip will ever end, so may all good artists continue to intertwine work and life. If nothing else, to keep us voyeurs happy. Give ‘em something to talk about.
