Unlike a lot of artists, Frida Khalo was reasonably successful whilst alive. She and her husband Diego Rivera were well known to art lovers, critics, and the general public for their talent, political views, and activism. Of course, now that she has died, Khalos work has been solidified as some of the most powerful displays of human suffering, love, and faith to ever be portrayed on canvas, and her life and image have become a point of fascination for political groups and art lovers alike, more so than ever in her lifetime. During Khalo’s career, people were desperate to claim her; surrealists tried to adopt her as one of their own, although she rejected their welcome, and despite her solo exhibitions being limited, she had pieces bought by prominent museums such as The Louvre, as well as by independent art collectors.
These collectors included Jacques and Natasha Gelman, avid fans of Mexican art who commissioned Rivera to paint Natashas portrait and subsequently began a friendship. Now, as a tribute to the lives and relationship of Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera, the Gallery of NSW is showcasing original works of both artists from the Gelmans collection, as well as photographs, personal letters, and drawings from the couple’s life.
The exhibition, though fascinating, provides an example of the cuts to arts funding in Sydney. Although the originals from Rivera and Khalo are beautiful, mesmerising, and tragic, there is not an absurd amount of them. If the gallery had more money from the government, then maybe we could exhibit some of her most famous works, or at least a larger variety, but of course things like that aren’t important to the current money-wasting, promise-failing government. But that’s another story…
Khalos self portraits, renowned for showcasing not only the suffering she experienced in her lifetime but the sufferings of humanity, are vivid, sad, and wonderful. Works like ‘Diego and I’ and ‘Self Portrait with Necklace’ reflect the solemnity in her work, always with a serious expression but also a beautiful framing accentuated by a colourful background or objects. Other works like ‘Self Portrait with the Portrait of Doctor Farill’ express the pain of Khalos life both in subject matter and harsh colouring, with various other works exemplifying her suffering at the loss of a child, her bus accident, and numerous affairs. Khalos portraits are truly a rare insight into the unique work of this astounding woman, and portray to us that she is more than just a girl with flowers in her hair (sidenote: could Khalo be the reason girls at festivals insist on wearing flower chain headbands?)
Rivera’s work is remarkably different to Khalo’s, both in subject and in execution. His style seemed to fluctuate throughout his life, exploring cubism, surrealism and abstract portraits, before settling into his drooping, dream like style. Works like ‘Sunflowers’ show a fascination for dream like qualities and shapes, as well as a love for nature prevalent throughout his work. The commissioned work ‘Portrait of Natasha Gelman’ shows Rivera’s reverence of the female figure, contrasting with Khalos work in which her body is shown as one of immense suffering, and aspects of a face usually considered ugly such as mono-brow and moustache are accentuated.
Apart from these amazing, but numerically limited works, there are also on display a spectacular amount of photographs. Most of these were taken by friends or professionals who became friends, thus providing an intimate look at the couples life and love. What becomes apparent is the intense individualism of the two artists, and the strange way they were brought together, mainly through art and communism. Indeed, there are some quite shocking photographs of Khalo with pictures of Lenin, Stalin, and Chairman Mao on her bed, as well as rare video footage of them welcoming Leon Trotsky into their home. No doubt this artistic interest in communism and/or socialism has contributed to its uprising in universities, people still attempting to make it work where it has failed horribly in the past. These photographs, along with translated letters and pages from their personal notebooks, provide a fascinating look at these integral artistic contributors, who proved that art and politics can go hand in hand and help each other to success. If only the Australian government could realise that…
A good way to summarise the exhibition is through a particular photograph that was on show. It was untitled, the photographer unknown, and the actual photograph visibly bent and distressed. We, the audience to Khalo and Rivera, are this unknown photographer. We can see their work, we can appreciate it, we can love it, but it is important to realise the pain, the crease in the photograph that marked their lives, to fully form an authentic opinion on them, one that extends further than simply communists who liked flowers.
Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera Exhibition
Art Gallery of NSW
25 June – 9 October 2016
Exhibition review by Oliver Clarke | confessionaljournalism.
