My Great-Grandfather Found Buried in U.S. Military Cemetery in Mexico City!

Last fall, our seven-year-old grandson in Chicago brought home a school assignment to construct a Family Tree, which prompted his maternal grandmother (maiden name, Kingman; born in Chicago, raised in California) to dig out the Kingman Geneology prepared decades ago by my aunt (father's sister).

I read with interest of the arrival of Henry Kingman and his family, listed as members of the 'Hull Party' that landed in Massachusetts in 1635. Setting aside for the moment the displacement of Native Americans, I noted their settlement of land in what is today the town of Weymouth—after Plymouth, the oldest town in Massachusetts. I read of the successive generations of Kingmans living and farming in Massachusetts and of their eventual relocation to Clifton, a farming community in southern Illinois.

But the next entry simply stopped me in my tracks:

In the 1890's, Charles Henry Kingman worked for Lewis Co., mine operators, in Mexico City; died of pneumonia and buried in Mexico City. Died March 19, 1900. A gentle and good-natured man. 

It is hard enough to take in that I wasn't aware that my great-grandfather is buried in Mexico City, but it turns out that there's more:

Barry Kingman [my grandfather] born March 19, 1875, went to Mexico with his father and worked for Lewis Co. at Zacatecas [famous for its mines of silver, lead, gold, copper, zinc and cadmium]; when he heard of his father's illness, Barry went down to Mexico City to be with him; Charles died on Barry's twenty-fifth birthday.

I wonder what father and son might think of the fact that 118 years later their great-granddaughter and granddaughter would be about to complete ten years of living in Mexico. What greater testimony could be offered of the many links between our two countries than this—the internment in Mexico of a U.S. citizen coupled with the long-term Mexican residency of his great-granddaughter?

Quite naturally, the first question that popped into my head was:

What on earth was great-grandfather Charles Henry doing in Mexico? 

We are familiar with mining's difficult, painful history in Mexico—a business practice still carried on by today's transnational mining companies. But it began five hundred years ago with the Spanish subjugation of the land's indigenous peoples, pressing the men into forced labor in the gold and silver mines. The extracted wealth was sent back to Spain, where the monarchy used it to finance their imperial exploits. It is understandable, then, my first thought was, 'Oh, no—not mining!'

Fortunately, I am married to a real history buff. When I gave Reed the date of Charles Henry's death, he was quick to pinpoint it as taking place during the 35-year dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz—the period known as the 'Porfiriato'. [For more information, see post in Reed's Mexico Ambles blog.]

Díaz got himself "re-elected" president of Mexico over a thirty-five year period (1877-1911). For the upper-class, it was an era of political stability, industrialization and economic growth. For the lower classes, it was a time of exclusion and suppression of protests.

Díaz maintained control through "Pan o palo", "bread or stick", an informal system based on personal loyalty using patronage and repression. His motto was "little politics and plenty of administration."

The epoch was suddenly brought to an end with the outbreak of the Mexican Revolution in November 1910, when various forces of social, political and economic opposition exploded. [Emphasis added.]

So it seems that the business activity of the Lewis Mining Co. took place at the invitation of Porfirio Díaz, part of his strategy to bring in foreign expertise to assist in industrializing Mexico for the purpose of promoting economic growth. In yet another historical twist, twenty years ago (1992-1994), I had a two-year consulting project with the Subdirectorate of Natural Gas at Pemex (Mexican Oil Company) that focused on improving work efficiency.

It seems that the more this story unfolds, the more layers are uncovered—even including a certain ironic twist. To wit, I discovered a newspaper article titled 'Ruined by a Wicked Partner', dated November 25, 1889, reporting the filing of a legal action by Charles Henry Kingman in Chicago Superior Court against his business partner. The article gives Charles Henry's account of how the partner defrauded and bankrupted the Kingmans' thriving wholesale grocery business.

Hence, in an ironic reversal of today's dominant reality, it seems that in the wake of the devastating business loss, Charles Henry and his elder son came to Mexico to recoup the family's finances.

A little more digging, and I quickly discovered that great-grandfather is buried in the Mexico City National Cemetery. It should be quickly noted that 'National' is from a U.S. perspective. In Spanish, its name is the Panteón Norteamericano, North American [i.e., U.S.] Cemetery. It is maintained by the American Battle Monuments Commission, ABMC, under the Department of Defense of the U.S. government.

A recent visit by our elder daughter, who lives in Chicago, seemed like a perfect time to make a visit.  So on a sunny Sunday morning, we all headed to the cemetery in the San Rafael neighborhood, which is one of the upscale neighborhoods created just west of Mexico City's Historic Center toward the end of the Porfiriato to provide housing for the Mexican and foreign business class. 

Stepping through the gate, visitors are greeted by plants trimmed to spell out the acronym: ABMC.

ABMC
American Battle Monuments Commission

The rectangular one-acre space that makes up the cemetery is beautifully landscaped and meticulously maintained.

The white stone monument at the south end is flanked by two flagpoles, each flying the U.S. flag.

It is forbidden to walk on the grass, so any capture of the monument
flanked by U.S. flags, of necessity, includes the gardener's lawnmower. 

It seems somehow fitting for the lawnmower to be part of the photo. The gardener, a kindly man, turned off the sprinklers so we could walk along the sidewalk, looking for my great-grandfather's crypt. He also tried to help us locate the crypt, but, in the end, it was our elder daughter who found it.

Charles Henry Kingman
Born, January 8, 1845; he spent his childhood on a farm in Southern Illinois.
He served in the Civil War (Illinois Regiment, Union Army),
which made him eligible to be buried in the U.S. military cemetery.
He died on March 19, 1900.

Monument to unidentified U.S. Soldiers killed
During Mexican-American War (1846-1848),
known in Mexico as the American Intervention. 

From the ABMC website:

"The Mexico City National Cemetery was established in 1851 by the U.S. Congress to gather the dead of the Mexican-American War (1846-1848) that lay in the nearby fields and to provide burial space for Americans that died in the vicinity. In 1851, the remains of 750 U.S. dead were gathered and buried in a common grave at this cemetery.

Buried at the Mexico City National Cemetery are American servicemen who served either during the Mexican-American War (1846-1848), Civil War or Spanish American War [Cuba]. 

The remains of 813 Americans are bruied in wall crypts lining two sides of the cemetery. The cemetery was closed to further burials in 1923."

East Crypt Wall viewed from West Crypt Wall.

The sidewalks around the park are lined by park benches which invite quiet reflection.

Mexican couple walking slowly along the West Wall,
reading the markers as they go.

Toward the end of our visit, a middle-aged, probably professional Mexican couple arrived and began walking slowly along the sidewalks, taking time to read names on the crypts. After I took this photo, I approached the couple and asked whether they had a relative buried in the cemetery.  When they answered in the negative, I couldn't help blurting out, "My great-grandfather is buried here. He worked in Mexico City near the end of the Porfiriato and died here of pneumonia."

Their gentle acceptance of my information was yet one more reminder of the tremendous amabilidad, kindness the vast majority of Mexicans accord to USians who show respect and demonstrate interest in Mexico's culture, history, and people.

On this note, we concluded our visit to the final resting place of my great-grandfather, our two daughters' great-great-grandfather, and our grandchildren's great-great-great-grandfather. 

We leave the cemetery carrying with us all that the cycle in our family history connotes—a kind of ironic turning of the tables that upends many of the assumptions about the relations between people in the country of our birth and those of our host country.

Related posts in our family of blogs:

• Geography: Ground of Mexico's History and Culture (Voices for Mother Earth);
• Mexico Culture: ex-Convento Churubusco - Part II Military History (Jenny's Journal of Mexican Culture);
• The Porfiriato: French Culture Conquers Mexico City (Mexico City Ambles).

Mexico-United States Christmas Tale: From Nochebuena—"Christmas Eve" Flower—to Poinsettia

Photo: Notimex

Excelsior/Notimex
With added information from Mexico Voices

The Nochebuena [literally, "Good Night"], "Christmas Eve" flower, or poinsettia (Euphorbia pulcherrima) is native to Mexico.  This shrub, capable of growing up to fifteen feet tall (!), can be found in tropical deciduous forests in moderate elevations along Mexico's Pacific Coast south to Guatemala and in some hot, seasonally dry forests in the country's interior.

With its dark green, serrated leaves and upper leaves of red, yellow or marbled with white, the Nochebuena-Poinsettia has become one of the most ubiquitous symbols of Christmas. In various parts of the world it is known as Christmas Star.

The shrubs can grow to 15'
Photo: Mexico Voices

It has a pre-Hispanic heritage. The Náhuatl name is cuetlaxochitl [kuet-la-sóch-itl], which means "leather flower". The Aztecs used the plant in rituals as a symbol of purity and new life for warriors, and they made offerings of it to the Sun to renew its strength.

In colonial times, because of its appearance at Christmastime, the Spanish named the plant "Nochebuena", the Spanish name for Christmas Eve. Beginning in the seventeenth century, the plant became a symbol of the holidays.

The tradition of decorating homes with Nochebuena comes from the U.S. In 1828, Joel Robert Poinsett, the first U.S. minister to Mexico, who was also a physician and amateur botanist, was impressed by its beauty and sent a few plants home.

Joel Robert Poinsett
Wikipedia 

But it was not until 1909, that the family of Albert Ecke began to cultivate the plant commercially in California, undertaking its controlled breeding and production. The family patented the flower under the name poinsettia. They produced plants of various colors and foliage, each of which they patented, thus controlling a virtual market monopoly into the 1990s.

In Mexico, the Aztecs used parts of the flower to create reddish purple dye for textiles and for medicine. According to the Atlas of Mexican Plants for Traditional Medicine of the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), it has many medicinal uses related to skin disorders, female ailments and inflammatory processes.

According to information from the Secretariat of Agriculture, Livestock, Rural Development, Fisheries and Food (SAGARPA), Mexico ranks fourth worldwide in cultivated area, and at least 300 hectares [741 acres] are dedicated to growing potted poinsettia plants. The main states where it is cultivated are Morelos, Michoacán, Mexico City, Puebla, State of Mexico, Jalisco, Veracruz, Querétaro, Guanajuato, Chiapas and Guerrero... Spanish original

Other Christmas posts:

• Mexico Traditions: Pastorelas;
• Mexican Traditions: Posadas;
• Mexico: Urban, Middle-Class Posadas Take on Features of U.S. Culture;
• Christmas.

Travel Journal: Pátzcuaro Revisited

Setting out on a journey means venturing forth into the unknown. The traveler prepares to encounter the unexpected—sometimes bitter, often sweet. But I have to admit, we were completely unprepared for what—or rather who—greeted us on the bus to Pátzcuaro.

We were just getting settled, when a lovely head popped up over the seat in front of us to inquire, in colloquial English, "Are you American? Can I discuss international relations with you? I have an assignment."

Encountering the Unexpected

My immediate reaction was, "Of course, but let's trade places, so you can talk with Reed, then later you and I can chat." So this remarkable young Mexican girl, who turned out to be a mere fourteen years old, but whose thought processes, political awareness and language facility were more like those of an eighteen-year old, chatted away first with Reed, then with me.

She represents Germany in her school's—what we would call Model United Nations—and dreams of  getting an internship at the U.N. in New York City.

The daughter of Ph.D. Chemical Engineers, she lived in Pennsylvania between the ages of four and eight, while her father earned his Ph.D.  But her vocabulary and English usage are quite sophisticated, so I asked how she'd continued developing her English past an eight-year-old's. She told me she and her mother speak English at home, but she is also a voracious reader—all in English.  Bingo, I thought, so that's how she does it.

We felt uplifted by our chat—rejuvenated and encouraged—confident that when the time comes, the baton can be passed with considerable confidence to a generation represented by young people such as this talented, caring, insightful and committed young woman.

Pátzcuaro's Natural World

It's always a strange feeling to return to a place once called home. It is jarring when familiarity collides unexpectedly with 'otherness'. So it was for our weekend visit to Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

The trip allowed us to enjoy our cherished cerros, hills, of Michoacán—especially Reed's old friend, the dramatic peak called Tzirate. In Pátzcuaro, we walked familiar streets, greeted old friends and bought two kilos of Café de Uruapán to take back with us to Coyoacán, Mexico City.

Tzirate

We stayed at the Mesón de San Antonio near the Básilica and reveled in the hotel's hacienda-style architecture, which features four wings with rooms opening onto covered passageways that, in turn, give way to a beautifully planted garden in the center.

Open passageway outside our room with comfortable chairs for enjoying the sun's warmth and the garden's tranquility. The orange flowers in the pot at the end of the passageway are orchids! 

Same passageway viewed from the garden.

Imagine our surprise when Reed discovered the gangly, orchid-like plant called the Nightblooming Cereus (Epiphyllum oxypetalum) growing happily planted in the ground in the hotel's garden.

Nightblooming Cereus,
'Seymour' is alive and well in Mexico!

The flowers of this strange-looking plant open at about 10:00 PM and are gone by 8:00 AM the next morning. But the fragrance...ay-yai-yai, once enjoyed, is never to be forgotten! Aficionados hold wine parties to celebrate the flowering of this otherwise unsightly plant!

Probably twenty years ago a friend in the U.S. gave us a leaf, which we potted. After several years, 'Seymour' (yes, we named him) rewarded us with flowers like these. Seymour now lives in the Conservatory of the Sonnenberg Gardens, Canandaigua, New York.

Nightblooming Cereus, Seymour's fragrant flowers
Photo: Barbara and Frank Miller

We chuckled comfortably to hear roosters greet the dawn and marveled at the chirping of birds in the bushes. Birds in Coyoacán are mostly loners; only the grackles flock and, well, grackles are ... grackles!

We also heard the first zinzontle (curved-bill thrasher) of the season. The zinzontle sings mostly at dawn and dusk, but we've also heard them sing at mid-day. Their 'calliope' song is sheer delight! I've read that the zinzontle is believed to be the nahua (animal spirit) of women blessed with beautiful singing voices. It could very well be....

Greedily, lustily, we inhaled the crisp, fresh air and marveled at the clarity of the colors everywhere we looked.

Early morning light yields an almost unreal
intensity of color, but the sky really was this blue!

Arriving Friday afternoon before Palm Sunday, we enjoyed strolling through the Plaza Grande watching as artisans set up their stalls in preparation for the annual Semana Santa Tianguis, or Open-Air Artisans Fair.

Friday: Mujeres de Arena

We attended a theater work titled Mujeres de Arena, Women of Sand. The work protests the violence against women perpetrated in the City of Juarez from 1993 to the present day. The protest takes the form of testimonials given by four women (mother, daughter, cousin, victim) interspersed with poems by several poets. Taken together, the work is a powerful cry not only against the violence but against the inaction of the Mexican government to stop, or even to prosecute and hence possibly curtail, these crimes.

Mujeres de Arena has been performed more than ninety times not only in Mexico, but in other Central and South American countries and in the United States.

Before the performance, Reed and I had doubts that our Spanish would be adequate for full understanding. To our shocked amazement, we understood way too much...way too well...of this other facet of Mexico. Sadly, regrettably, we also recognize the role of our homeland, the United States, in promulgating policies that are exacerbating the violence.

Saturday: Shopping, Friends and Ballet Folklórico

During the day, we visited our friend, Ruth, owner with her husband, Sabino Aguilar, of El Jorongo, a shop famous for its unique hand-loomed wool products (rugs, sweaters, vests, sarapes, caps, shawls and more).

We ordered a custom-woven wool rug to be delivered to our daughter in Chicago. Ruth helped us pick out the wool from her hand-dyed skeins hanging in the shop. She also helped us to design a small woven mat to go under one of Reed's more dynamic Ocumichu alebrijes.  It just doesn't get more personal than this!

Sabino and Ruth launched their hand-loomed wool business in 1970 after Sabino had already scoured the countryside for the best Merino wool, which Ruth hand-dyes and supplies to their weavers.

Custom rug from El Jorongo

Over the years, Sabino and Ruth have built a family-centered enterprise, international in scope. A knitting team of over thirty women, including Sabino's aunts, cousins, nieces and their families take home Ruth's hand-dyed Merino wool to create the most beautiful wool products, including our grandson's beloved Merino wool cap and sweater!

After our visit with Ruth, we walked past the Básilica de la Virgen de Salud, Basilica of the Virgin of Health, where a row of Purhépecha women were weaving palm fronds to sell on el Domingo de Ramos, Palm Sunday.

Preparing palms to sell

Late in the afternoon we sat at a sidewalk cafe on the Plaza Grande sipping coffee with old friends, catching up as old friends do, chatting with much affection, much laughter, much good will.

Saturday evening we enjoyed a traditional ballet folklórico performance presented at Pátzcuaro's Teatro Emperador by the dance troupe from a local high school. The quality of dancing is exceptional and reflects the dancers' intense commitment to their art. The dances themselves can be static, even somewhat repetitive. They are, perhaps, best understood as ritual, rather than 'dance' in the Western European sense.

A Mexican friend who danced when he was in high school still goes 'over the moon' when he talks about what dance means to him. He took us to a dance competition in Zacán, up on the Purhépecha Meseta. A friend from Michoacán has a blog with a community and dance focus.  He reflects on dance as ritual. His informed impressions strike me as being 'spot on'.

Domingo de Ramos, Palm Sunday

We spent Sunday with a good friend in the nearby pueblo of Zirahuén, but that's a tale for another post!

Still Curious?

Here's the Wikipedia description of Mujeres de Arena (Spanish).

From PBS Point of View documentary film series: Interview (English) with documentary filmmakers, including a link to Maquilapolis (City of Factories), a community film project undertaken in Tijuana with women working in maquiladoras (factories) and being trained as activists.

Frida Kahlo Museum: Behind the Green Door

Like most Mexican houses, the walls of Frida Kahlo's and Diego Rivera's Casa Azul rise straight up from the sidewalk. Reed and I are forever trying to catch a glimpse of what's behind the doors.

Muséo Frida Kahlo, Coyoacán 

But we were not at all prepared for what awaited us when we walked through the green door of Frida Kahlo's Casa Azul (Blue House).

The Garden, unexpectedly large, opens out to the right; at the left, is Casa Azul, which reflects Diego's influence in many ways.

Several large trees grow in well-tended plantings. A friend told me that as a labor of love, a Coyoacán artist in 'cut paper' is restoring the gardens to Mexican plantings.  

Winding paths lined with pedregal (volcanic stones) beckon visitors to wander. 

Pre-Columbian stone sculptures are set among the plantings; stone benches invite quiet reflections.

'Ring' used in Mesoamerican Ball Games

Dramatic piece of pedregal (volcanic stone) showing curving flows of lava.

And more than one fountain. The young people are walking down the garden staircase from Frida's day room. The studio juts out to the left.

This property first belonged to Frida Kahlo's parents. Frida's father was a well-known portrait-photographer of Jewish-Hungarian descent; her mother's family was Spanish born in Mexico. Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo lived in this house from 1929 to 1954, during which time they imprinted it with their artistic and aesthetic sensibilities.

They also left remnants of their passionate love-hate for each other—captured in this short poem.

"El diablo es rubio

Y en sus azules ojos

Dos estrellitas encendió el amor,

Con su corbata y sus calzones rojos,

El diablo me parece encantador."

Frida Kahlo

"The devil is blonde

And in his blue eyes

Two little stars, inflamed love,

With his red tie and underwear

The devil seems like a charmer."

Frida Kahlo

Frida's Early Life

Born July 7, 1907, Frida died July 13, 1954, at the age of 47. She died where she was born, in the Casa Azul, Coyoacán, Mexico. In 1913, at the age of six, she contracted poliomyelitis, which shriveled her right leg. 

In 1922, Frida was one of the first girls admitted to the National Preparatory (High) School (Escuela Nacional Preparatoria) of Mexico City—the most prestigious educational institution in Mexico. While there, her pranks propelled her to leader of a group of young rebels dedicated to playing pranks on their teachers.

While was attending Prepa (High School), she came into contact for the first time with her future husband, the well-known Mexican muralist Diego Rivera, who had been commissioned to paint a mural in the school's auditorium.

In 1925, she learned engraving techniques from Fernando Fernández Domínguez. However, in the same year, physical disaster struck again—this time it was a trolley car accident. Her spine, numerous ribs, and her neck were broken. Her pelvis was shattered. Her right foot and her shoulder were dislocated. The final insult was a railing that penetrated her abdomen from the left side. 

Medical practice at the time called for multiple surgeries, submission to numerous apparatuses designed to stretch her muscles, and wearing special corsets. Over her lifetime, Frida would endure 32 surgeries. Frida Kahlo's life was marked by disability accompanied by chronic physical pain. 

The need to remain supine during her lengthy convalescence brought on profound boredom that Frida relieved by beginning to paint. In 1926, still in her convalescence, she painted a self portrait that turned out to be the first in a long series in which she expressed the events of her life and her emotional reaction to them.

“Pinto auto retratos

porque estoy mucho tiempo sola”.

Frida Kahlo

"I paint self portraits

because I am alone much of the time."

Frida Kahlo

She painted the majority of her paintings stretched out in her bed or in her bathtub.  Her successful recuperation, including the ability to walk again, was made possible only because of  her tremendous energy and indomitable will to live, which might have crippled—if not killed—a lesser spirit.

Following her recuperation, a good friend introduced her to the Mexico City art scene, where Frida came into contact with numerous artists and photographers, including the muralist Diego Rivera.

In 1938, the poet and essayist André Bretón wrote the introduction for a showing of Frida's work at the Julien Levy gallery in New York City. In it, Bretón categorized Kahlo's work as 'surrealist'. In spite of the critical judgment of the famous Frenchman, Kahlo wrote much later, "He believed that my work was 'surrealist', but it wasn't. Never once did I paint my dreams or nightmares. I painted my own reality." ("Creían que yo era surrealista, pero no lo era. Nunca pinté mis sueños ni mis pesadillas. Pinté mi propia realidad.")

Viewing her paintings, who can doubt that reality as she experienced it was, in fact, 'surreal'?

Sin esperanza - Without hope

“El dolor no es parte de la vida, 

se puede convertir en la vida misma.”

Frida Kahlo

"Pain is not part of life,

one can convert it into life itself."

Frida Kahlo

El Árbol de la Esperanza - Tree of Hope

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera were married in 1929. Diego was enormous, obese, whereas Frida was small, delicate, which led their friends to comment their marriage was the union of elephant and dove.

Frida and Diego—Elephant and Dove

The relationship of Frida and Diego was a passionate mix of love, liaisons with others (Frida was bi-sexual), creative synergies, and hate, which culminated in divorce in 1939. Divorce, however, did not end their stormy relationship.  On December 8, 1940, they quietly remarried in San Francisco, California.

Before we moved to Mexico, Reed and I visited San Miguel de Allende as a potential home. While there, we went to an exhibit of Frida Kahlo's writings to Diego Rivera. Nothing I am capable of writing could possibly communicate the depth and passion of this complicated, powerful, love-hate relationship.

Of passionate love...

“Te quiero...gracias por que vives, 

porque ayer me dejaste tocar tu luz más íntima 

y porque dijiste con tu voz y tus ojos 

lo que yo esperaba toda mi vida.”

Frida Kahlo

"I love you...thankful for why you live,

because yesterday you carried me to touch your most intimate light

and because you spoke with your voice and your eyes

what I have wanted all my life."

Frida Kahlo

Of equally passionate hate...

Yo sufrí dos accidentes graves en mi vida, 

uno en el que un autobús me tumbó al suelo…

el otro accidente es Diego. 

De los dos, Diego es el peor."

Frida Kahlo

"I suffered two grave accidents in my life,

one was the trolley that slammed me to the ground...

the other accident is Diego.

Of the two, Diego is the worst."

Frida Kahlo

Life at Casa Azul

The personal rooms at Casa Azul permit us a glimpse into the personal lives of this larger-than-life couple. A long, gradual stone ramp provided Frida easy access to these rooms, which are one flight above ground level. A series of living rooms now house a representative collection of Frida's work and of Diego's as well.

Visitors enter the personal rooms through the comedor (dining room).

High ceilings, a skylight—Diego's idea?—and generous windows create a welcoming, friendly space where Diego and Frida entertained such guests as the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda and David Rockefeller.

The comedor gives entrance to a stone stairwell which, in turn, leads to the doorway of the colorful kitchen.  Sun shining through generous high windows make this a bright, airy space. I love this kitchen.

Some cooking pots shown here are heirlooms; they are no longer made.

The stove is traditional, wood-burning. 

Firewood burns in long 'shafts' set among the yellow tiles. Notice the metate for grinding corn peeking out from under the cook stove. 

Diego Rivera's bedroom is at one side of the dining room.

Diego's bedroom is small, but with high ceilings and a large window

Dresser, with Diego's death mask in miniature

Climbing the stairs leads to the entrance to Frida's and Diego's sunlit studio.

Paints and brushes on Frida's desk.

Frida's wheelchair parked in front of her easel.

In the next room is Frida's Day Bed. Note the mirror straight above the bed. Frida's mother had it installed during Frida's lengthy, boring convalescence following the trolley car accident. Seeing herself reflected in the mirror made it possible for Frida to paint her first self portrait. 

At the foot of the bed hangs Frida's gallery of heroes: Stalin, Unknown, Lenin, Marx, Mao.  Like many other artists and intellectuals of the time, she and Diego were members of the Mexican Communist Party

Sculpture of nude woman on Frida's dresser. 

Frida Kahlo is widely acknowledged as the first female artist to paint without inhibition about the female experience. We have visited the Frida Kahlo Museum twice; each time we have been struck by the youthfulness of other visitors. Visitors of 'a certain age' make up a distinct minority. 

Life Goes On...

Despite Diego's affairs with other women, including Frida's own sister, the muralist helped Frida in many ways. It was Diego who suggested that she wear traditionally-inspired, colorful Mexican dress and exotic jewelry.

 When Frida wore it, traditional dress took on an added dimension.

Combined with her unusual eyebrows, this dress style created Frida's inimitable image—recognized around the world even today.

Frida—elegant in a stylized traditional dress—showcasing a pre-Columbian sculpture.

Beautiful example of Frida's style...

...held together, supported always by the ever-present corset

Diego loved Frida's paintings. He was her most devoted fan. For her part, Frida was the primary critic of Diego's work. In response to Diego's growing reputation in the United States, he and Frida lived in the U.S. from 1931 to 1934, principally in New York City and Detroit.

While in New York, Frida spontaneously aborted their child, which devastated her. Owing to her many injuries, Frida was unable to bear a child—a tragic reality that Frida was able to accept only after many years of deep emotional pain. As always, she dealt with the pain by painting it. These paintings are excruciating for their stark, brutal honesty, painful to view.

Exiled from Russia, the political dissident León Trotsky lived with his wife at Frida Kahlo's house from 1937 to 1939. Actually, the Kahlo property is large, and the Trotskys lived in a small house at the opposite end of the garden from Frida's and Diego's house.

León Trotsky and his wife were guests in this small house

Garden planting in front of house where the Trotskys stayed.

During this time, Frida had an affair with Trotsky. After his assassination by a member of Stalin's secret police, Frida was accused of instigating the assassination. Fortunately, at the last moment, the authorities relented, and neither she nor Diego were arrested. One might reasonably speculate that the affair with Trotsky and related hubbub surrounding his assassination were contributing factors leading to Diego's and Frida's 1939 divorce.

Frida's Final Years and Death

In the spring of 1953, the Galería de Arte Contemporáneo of Mexico City organized an important exhibit of Kahlo's work. It was the only exhibit mounted in Mexico during Frida's lifetime.

Unfortunately, Frida's health was very bad, and her doctors prohibited her from getting out of bed to attend the exhibit. In typical fashion, Frida devised a unique solution to the challenge. Minutes after guests were admitted to the gallery, sirens were heard in the distance. Arriving at the gallery in an ambulance with a police escort, sirens blaring, Frida was lifted from the stretcher onto a bed brought on a flatbed truck.

Then four strong men carried Frida on her bed into the gallery, where she held forth during the entire afternoon exhibition as the artist-diva she truly was. Her many fans gathered round to greet her. Frida made jokes, sang and drank tequila, just as she had always done. It goes without saying that the exhibit was a resounding success!

Later that year, it became necessary to amputate her right foot below the knee due to gangrene. At first, she showed resilience:

Below her amputated foot, Frida wrote, "Pies, para que los quiero si tengo alas para volar” ("Feet,  what do I want them for, if I have wings to fly"). On the right is a hatchling; breaking free of the egg, wings  outstretched, ready to fly.

Similarly, she wrote,

“Intenté ahogar mis dolores, 

pero ellos aprendieron a nadar”.

Frida Kahlo

"I tried to drown my pains, 

but they learned how to swim."
Frida Kahlo

The amputation was the final physical assault. Robbed of all mobility, a major depression descended upon Frida. Unable to do much of anything during this time, she wrote poems in her diary. Most of them dealt with  her pain and regrets. Here's her last entry:

“Espero alegre la salida 

y espero no volver jamás”.

Frida Kahlo

"I cheerfully await the exit

and I hope never to return."

Frida Kahlo 

When asked how she wanted her body buried after her death, she replied emphatically, "Not burial!  I've laid down long enough!" 

Frida Kahlo's Death Mask...resting on her Day Bed.

Upon her death, Frida's body was cremated, and her ashes were placed in a pre-Columbian urn that now rests at the Casa Azul, where she was born.

Still Curious?

Poking around the Internet, I came upon this excellent summary of Frida Kahlo's life.  At the end of the article is a UTube film (3:36 second) with rare live footage of Frida and Diego.

Set to Mexican music, the silent images are arresting.  Frida had a real dramatic flair, which is beautifully captured on the film.  Be patient, scroll down the text until you see the familiar UTube:  
http://dejenmevivir.wordpress.com/2011/01/21/frida-kahlo-_-%E2%80%9Cyo-sufri-dos-accidentes-graves-en-mi-vida%E2%80%A6-el-otro-accidente-es-diego%E2%80%9D/

I also found this useful list of 'phrases' written by Frida Kahlo, also in Spanish:  http://listas.20minutos.es/lista/frases-de-frida-kahlo-294455/

For English-speakers, this tribute provides the introduction to a Frida Kahlo web site: http://www.fridakahlo.com/