Palm Beach Florida Weekly

ROLE REVERSAL

It is Frida — not Diego — who gets top billing in a landmark exhibition by the Norton Museum of Art of works by Kahlo and Rivera.



 

 

A LEGENDARY POWER COUPLE IS THE perfect bait to spark curiosity and interest in a nation’s culture, but the crowds won’t bite if it’s just the opening act. Infuse the entire experience with passion, a little drama and buckets of color and they will come and linger and want to touch. This is what the Norton Museum of Art has done with “Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera and Mexican Modernism from the Jacques and Natasha Gelman Collection,” which opened last month in West Palm Beach to vaccinated and negative-tested crowds. Considering the multistep process to access the galleries, the reception on opening day was spectacular, if not overwhelming.

Not bad for a love story between an elephant and a dove — Kahlo’s parents referred to the disparate artistic duo as so.

From the outset, we are treated to photographic evidence of their mutual admiration and support. We see them keeping each other company, leaning on each other, relaxing outdoors. Despite the public displays of affection, they seem more comrades in arts than inseparably in love. One image speaks of the turmoil that characterized their on-and-off relationship since connecting through a mutual friend in 1928. In it, Rivera wraps his arms around his guarded wife as they kiss; it is 1940 and this is their second wedding. Nearby, a stunning close-up print by Martin Munkácsi, in which Rivera stands like an apparition, foretells the permanence of his presence in Kahlo’s life.

“Frida Kahlo on Bench #5,” a 1939 photograph by Nickolas Muray.

“Frida Kahlo on Bench #5,” a 1939 photograph by Nickolas Muray.

“Diego on My Mind” issues the verdict quite literally. The 1943 painting feels less of a confession than a self-imposed life sentence. This is Kahlo’s warning to those hoping the provincial girl comes to her senses and expels the petulant Rivera virus once and for all. Instead, wrapped in white lace and sporting a flower crown, she declares he will remain foremost in her mind. An image of Rivera is tattooed on her forehead while animated roots sprouting from her traditional Tehuana attire create interference or a magnetic field stopping anyone trying to cure her of this toxic romance.

“Bride from Papantla,” 1944 by María Izquierdo. COURTESY PHOTOS

“Bride from Papantla,” 1944 by María Izquierdo. COURTESY PHOTOS

Despite permeating her thoughts, the newborn-like quality of her husband in “The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), Myself, Diego and Senor Xolotl” point to his diminished influence and her growing independence. Kahlo paints herself crying while holding a nude baby of abnormal size. His bulging eyes and belly bulge leave no doubt that this is Diego. Pictured with benevolent expression, he is oblivious to the blood streaming out of her cracked-open chest. The Mexican land sports the same wound with a drop of milk spilling from a breast. Kahlo compares herself to a fertile land that remains nurturing despite being ravished and abused. She often defended and rationalized Rivera’s affairs and outbursts in the same way a mother justifies her child’s actions. Her dual role as wife and mother is evident here, but she is the one in control.

These are among the largest group of works by Kahlo and Rivera ever on view at the Norton Museum. We recommend dedicating at least one hour to the show, which includes drawings and period clothing also collected by the Gelmans, who witnessed the artistic awakening in Mexico City at the end of the Mexican Revolution in 1920. The newly unified nation lent plenty of inspiration to modernist artists and thinkers eager to shape the future. Kahlo, Rivera and their circle of intellectual friends capitalized on the moment and led this charge, holding many stimulating debates right out of their cobalt-blue house.

“Girl with Still Life,” 1939, by Juan Soriano.

“Girl with Still Life,” 1939, by Juan Soriano.

A film producer, Jacques Gelman was among those art patrons swimming in this artistic pool. His wife, Natasha, is depicted here five times by such leading figures of the modernist wave as David Alfaro Siqueiros and Rufino Tamayo. The power of these creative voices is such that the portraits, hang- ing one next to the other, appear completely unrelated despite featuring the same sitter. Tamayo paints a closed-eye expressionless woman who sits rigid like a steel sculpture. The colors are dark and muted; the lines clean and contained. Siqueiros’ rendition has a stronger pulse, but the muddy treatment and harsh expression strip the sitter of feminine features and grace. The final (unintended?) product is far from elegant and glamorous but a bulky and hardened figure. It doesn’t help that the thick paint appears to be scarring her face.

“Calla Lily Vendor,” 1943, by Diego Rivera.

“Calla Lily Vendor,” 1943, by Diego Rivera.

Even as the exhibition engineers an introduction to relevant Mexican contemporary artists, it keeps coming back to this love affair and, more specifically, to Kahlo. It’s clear that Rivera enjoyed more recognition and praise during their lifetimes. He was the one booking commissions for large murals in New York City, Detroit and San Francisco and the face of controversy when one of those murals (“Man at the Crossroads” in the Rockefeller Center) was torn down because of its communist undertones. Kahlo was the sidekick with exaggerated eyebrows.

Portraits of Natasha Gelman by Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo and Rufino Tamayo, respectively, at the Norton Museum of Art in West Palm Beach. GRETEL SARMIENTO / FLORIDA WEEKLY

Portraits of Natasha Gelman by Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo and Rufino Tamayo, respectively, at the Norton Museum of Art in West Palm Beach. GRETEL SARMIENTO / FLORIDA WEEKLY

“Mexican Modernism” reverses that dynamic right from the start. It is her name that appears first in the title and her image on the yellow sticker that grants us entry. She is the anchor and the current steering the show. What’s more remarkable is that the museum doesn’t rely on empathy to elevate Kahlo’s status. The cheap mechanism (think Vincent van Gogh’s mental illness) employed to romanticize a historic character is absent here.

The trauma she is long known to have endured — and graphically captured in paintings excluded here — is kept at bay. It doesn’t swallow up the beauty and depth present in her body of work. That agony goes unsaid except for a series of black and white photos alluding to a sequence of surgeries and a few sketches pointing to miscarriages.

In keeping with that sentiment, traditional Mexican garments and elaborate headpieces — arranged in Kahlo’s style — are paired with personal photographs to illustrate the happier end of her personality spectrum. The broken and wounded have received enough attention in the past.

“Sunflowers,” 1943, by Diego Rivera. COURTESY PHOTO

“Sunflowers,” 1943, by Diego Rivera. COURTESY PHOTO

One intimate print from 1933 portrays Kahlo as a flirt biting a necklace while seductively looking at the camera. It’s lighthearted, refreshing and treats us to a rare smile. Another image from 1941 depicts her stripped of her usual accessories and standing next to Emmy Lou Packard in Coyoacán. She looks to the camera somewhat distrustful and defiant but nevertheless comfortable in her own skin. Hanging nearby is a series of staged photos taken by her lover, Nickolas Muray, which are better known and command attention because of their vibrant colors. Kahlo is less natural in them and more concerned with promoting her identity and mixed heritage. In the print titled “Frida Kahlo on Bench #5,” she resembles a porcelain figurine put on display behind a glass case for all to see. The distinctive decorative quality of her outfit against the green floral background speak to a confident modern woman who is open to the fusion of indigenous, colonial, and modern histories as well as past and future.

 

 

On view through Feb. 6, “Mexican Modernism” scores another point for IDEA, the museum’s manifesto in favor of making inclusion, diversity, equity and access part of its DNA. This is no diversity veneer. The museum could have stopped at dual-language labels and half the magnitude of this show to advance proof of its commitment, but that would have stunk of diversity washing. Instead, it gives ample room and serious consideration to groundbreaking art often eclipsed by its birthplace’s negative associations in the hopes more come to love and respect it. Hey, if a dove can spread its wings and shine bright from underneath an elephant’s shadow, everything is possible. ¦

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