The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:43 am

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xxxxxxxx
Revolution is the
harmony of
form and color
and everything exists, and
moves, under only
one law = life =
Nobody is separate
from anybody else -
Nobody fights for
himself.
Everything is all and one
Anguish and

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pain - pleasure
and death
are no more
than a process
for existence
xxxx the revolutionary
struggle
xxxxxx
in this process
is a doorway
open to
intelligence.

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Anniversary of the Revolution
7th of November 1947
Tree of Hope
stand firm!
I'll wait for you -
You responded to a sense
with your voice and I'm full
of you, waiting for
your words which
will make me grow and
will enrich me

DIEGO
I'm alone.

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Who is this idiot?

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ORIGIN OF THE TWO FRIDAS.
= Memory =
I must have been six years old
when I had the intense experience of
an imaginary friendship
with a little girl ... roughly my own age.
On the window of
my old room,
facing Allende Street,
I used to breathe on one of the top panes.
And with my finger I would draw
a "door" ..........
Through that "door"
I would come out, in my imagination,
and hurriedly, with immense happiness, I would
cross all the field I
could see until I reached

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a dairy store
called PINZON ... Through
the "O" in PINZON I en-
tered and descended impetuously
to the entrails
of the earth, where
"my imaginary friend"
always waited for me. I don't
remember her appearance or her
color. But I do remember her
joyfulness - she laughed a lot.
Soundlessly. She was agile.
and danced as if she
were weightless. I
followed her in
every movement and while she
danced, I told her
my secret problems. Which
ones? I can't remember. But

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from my voice she knew all about my
affairs ... When I came
back to the window, I would enter
through the same door I had
drawn on the glass. When?
How long had I been
with "her"? I don't know. It could
have been a second or thousands of
years ... I was happy. I would erase
the "door" with my
hand and it would "disappear." I ran
with my secret and my
joy to the farthest corner
of the patio of my house, and
always to the same place,
under a cedron
tree, I would shout and laugh Amazed to be

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Alone with my great happiness
with the very vivid memory of
the little girl. It has been 34 years
since I lived that magical
friendship and every time
I remember it it comes alive and
grows more and more inside
my world.
PINZON 1950. Frida Kahlo

LAS
DOS
FRI-
DAS

Coyoacan
Allende 52

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his pen is no good for
this paper.

I have never seen tenderness as
great as Diego has
and gives when his hands
and his beautiful eyes
touch Mexican Indian sculpture.

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No one is more than a
function - or part of
a total function. Life
goes by, and sets paths, which
are not traveled in vain.
But no one can stop
"freely" to play by
the wayside, because he will delay
or upset the general
atomic journey. From this
comes discontent
From this comes despair
and unhappiness. We all
would like to be the sum total
and not one of
the numerical elements.
Changes and
struggles disconcert us,
terrify us because they are con-

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stant and certain, we search
for calm
and "peace" because
we foresee
the death that we die
every second. Op-
posites unite and nothing
new or arhythmic
is discovered. We
take refuge in, we take flight
into irrationality,
magic,
abnormality, in fear
of the extraordinary
beauty of the truth

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of matter and
dialectics, of whatever is
healthy and strong -
we like being
sick to protect ourselves.
Someone - something - al-
ways protects us from the
truth - Our
own ignorance
and fear.
Fear of everything - fear
of knowing that we are
no more than
vectors direction
construction and destruction
to be alive, and
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:44 am

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to feel the anguish of
waiting for the next mo-
ment and of taking
part in the complex
current (of affairs) not
knowing that we are
headed toward our-
selves, through
millions of stone
beings - of bird beings -
of star beings - of
microbe beings - of
fountain beings toward

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ourselves -
variety of the one
incapable of escap-
ing to the two - to the three -
to the usual -
to return to the one.
Yet not the sum
(sometimes called God -
sometimes freedom sometimes
love - no - we are
hatred - love - mother -
child - plant - earth -
light - ray - as
usual - world bringer
of worlds - universes
and cell universes -
Enough!

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Sleep Sleep
Sleep Sleep
Sleep
Sleep
I'm falling asleep

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1st. I'm convinced of my disagreement
with the counterrevolution - imperialism -
fascism - religions - stu-
pidity - capitalism - and the
whole gamut of bourgeois tricks -
I wish to cooperate with the
Revolution in transform-
ing the world into a class-
less one so that we can attain
a better rhythm for the oppressed classes
2nd. a timely moment to
clarify who are the allies of the
Revolution
Read Lenin - Stalin -
Learn that I am nothing
but a "small damned" part
of a revolutionary
movement.
Always revolutionary
never dead, never useless

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1910-1953
In all my life
I have had 22 surgical
interventions -
Dr Juanito Farill, who I consider to be a
true man of
science, and also a
heroic being because he has spent
his entire life sav-
ing the lives of the ill when
he himself is ill also
1st illness, when I was 6
infantile paralysis (poliomyelitis)
1926 - bus accident
with ALEX

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1950-51
I've been sick for a
year now. Seven operations
on my spinal column.
Doctor Farill saved
me. He brought me
back the joy of life. I
am still in the wheel-
chair, and I don't know if
I'll be able to walk again soon.
I have a plaster corset
even though it is a
frightful nuisance, it helps
my spine. I don't feel any
pain. Only this ... bloody
tiredness, and naturally,
quite often, despair.

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A despair which no
words can describe.
I'm still eager to live. I've
started to paint again. A
little picture to
give to Dr Farill on which I'm working
with all my love.
I feel un-
easy about my painting. Above
all I want to transform
it into something
useful for the Communist

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revolutionary movement, since up to now
I have only painted the
earnest portrayal of
myself, but
I'm very far from
work that
could serve the Party.
I have to fight with all
my strength to
contribute the few positive things
my health allows me
to the revo-
lution. The only
true reason to live for.

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DOG

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What a dish!

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DON'T COME CRYING TO ME!

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YES, I COME CRYING TO YOU
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:44 am

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November 9-1951
Child-love. Exact science.
the will to resist and still live
healthy happiness. infinite grati-
tude. Sight in the hands and
touch in the eyes. Neat
and gentle as fruit. The enormous
spine is
the basis of all human
structure. We shall see, we shall
learn. There is always something
new. Always tied to
ancient existence.
Winged - My Diego my
love of thousands of years.
Sadga. Yrenaica
Frida.
DIEGO

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1952 November 4.
Today I'm in better com-
pany than for 20 years) I
am a self I am a Communist.
I know
["I have read methodically" - marked out]
that the main origins are wrapped
in ancient roots.
I have read the History of my country
and of nearly all nations. I know
their class struggles and
their economic conflicts.
I understand quite clearly
the dialectical materialism of
Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin
and Mao Tse. I love them as
the pillars of the new Com-
munist world. Since Trotsky came
to Mexico I have understood
his error. I was never
a Trotskyist. But in those days
1940 - my only alliance was with

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Diego (personally)
Political fervor. But
one has to make allowances
for the fact that I had been
sick since I was
six years old
and for really very short periods
of my life have I enjoyed
truly good HEALTH and I was of no use
to the Party. Now in
1953. After 22
surgical interventions
I feel better and
now and then I will
be able to help my
Communist Party. Although
I'm not a worker, but a

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craftswoman - And an uncon-
ditional ally of the Com-
munist revolutionary
movement.
For the first time in my
life my painting
is trying to help in the
line set down by the
Party. REVOLUTIONARY
REALISM
Before it was my earliest
experience -
I am only a
cell in the complex revolutionary mech-
anism of the peoples
for peace in the
new nations, Soviets -

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Chinese - Czecho-
slovakians - Poles - united
in blood to me. And to
the Mexican Indian.
Among those great
multitudes of Asian
people there will always be
the faces of my own -
Mexicans - with dark
skin and beautiful form,
with limitless
grace. The black
people would also
be freed, so beautiful and
so brave. (Mexicans
and negroes are
subjugated for now

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by capitalist countries
above all North
America - (U.S. and
England). xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
________________
Three wonderful
comrades came into
my life -
Elena Vazquez Gomez
Teresa Proenza and
Judy (the last
was really my
nurse) The other two are
really astounding
in intelligence
and sensibility in the
revolutionary cause
in addition the three of them have
collaborated so that my
health has improved. They are very good
friends of Deigo's and great friends of mine

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Friday 30 January 1953.
In spite of my long
illness, I feel
immense joy
in
LIVING
_______________
dying
Coyoacan
4 March
1953
THE WORLD MEXICO
THE WHOLE
UNIVERSE
has lost its bal-

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ance with the
loss (the passing)
of STALIN -
I always
wanted to meet him
personally
but it no longer
matters - There is nothing
left everything
revolves

- Malenkov -

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Madera
379

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Walker
dancer
healthy PEACE
Revolutionary
intelligent

LONG LIVE STALIN
LONG LIVE DIEGO

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March 53
My Diego.
I'm no longer
alone.
Wings?
You keep me compa-
ny. You lull me to
sleep and make me come alive

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-- I love Diego
Love

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ENGELS
MARX
LENIN
STALIN
MAO
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:44 am

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MOON SUN
ME?

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DEATHS
IN
A RIOT

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WOOD
CITLALI [Nahuatl word meaning "star"]
LOVE
WARMTH
PAIN
RUMOR
HUMOR
BRINGER
LOVE

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Librarian's Comment:

In his commentary, Carlos Fuentes wrote:

"Kahlo painted this dense, stifling landscape from a worm's-eye view, from the perspective of the interred. She reverses the role of roots, which usually convey sustenance: now these flashes of lightning nourish not lush vegetation but flames, which are beginning to engulf what appears to be a casket. The sun and moon appear, but now the moon, with its associations of death, predominates. No black humor here: the insouciance of the calavera is replaced by bleak reality."


Carlos seems to be disoriented again. The crop has been nourished by the roots, bringing forth bright yellow ears of corn, the sustenance of all Mexico's children. The square is a simple peasant's home, gladdened briefly by the setting rays of the sun. In the background, above cliffs and a range of mountains, a ripening harvest moon is glowing. Because we are never stuck in a physical reality with Frida, the whimsical red planet appears on the horizon, perhaps Mars or some other mysterious form.

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Chabela Villasenor --
Ruddy

Long live
Comrades
STALIN
MAO

Life
Death

WORLD
DOE
PAINTER
POET

Long live
Marx
Engels
Lenin

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TAO

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Friday 13 March 1953.
You left us, Chabela Villasenor
But your voice
your electricity
your enormous talent
your poetry
your light

your mystery
your Olinka
all that remains of you - is still alive.

ISABEL VILLASENOR
FOREVER ALIVE!
GOLDEN Section

Ruddy
Ruddy
Ruddy
Ruddy
Like the blood
that runs
when they kill
a deer.

PAINTER
POET
SINGER

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FOR THE OLD CONCEALER
FISITA. Distemper together 4 equal parts
of egg yolks raw linseed oil

egg yolk = raw linseed oil = compound of damar gum blended in turpentine = water

damar gum dissolved in turpentine
and distilled water, with disinfectant
take = concentrated aldehyde alcohol. 1/2 gram.
to a liter of water.

crushed damar
inside of
lemon
[suspended in]
turpentine
for 8
to 10 days.

remove all the
white from the
yolk.
1. Make an emulsion of the ingredients
2. Grind the colors into the emulsion
3. If a glossy texture is desired, increase
the amount of damar, up to
two parts.
4. If an overall mat finish is desired in-
crease the water up to three parts

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The Lord Xolotl AMBASSADOR
["Chancellor" - marked out] of the
Universal Republic
of Xibalba Mictlan
Chancellor Minister Plenipoten-
tiary Here --
How do you do
Mr. Xolotl?

Image

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1 January 1953
xxxx 1953, Winter
Bernice Kolko
I think she
is a great art-
ist. She photographs re-
ality admir-
ably. (she is not a
Communist) An
American
citizen - Hungarian Jew
She says she is for
peace, but ........?

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Are you leaving? No.
BROKEN WINGS

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My own child - from the great Concealer
PARIS - Coyoacan D.F. 8 Dec. 1938 N.Y.
It is six o'clock in the morning
and the turkeys are singing,
Warmth of human tenderness
Companionable solitude -
Never, in all my life
will I forget your presence
You took me to you when I was shattered
and you restored me to a complete whole
In this small world
where shall I turn my eyes?
It's deep immense!
There isn't enough time there isn't enough
nothing. There is only reality.
What once was is long gone!
What remains, are the transparent
roots appearing transformed into
an eternal fruit tree
Your fruits already give scent
your flowers give color
blooming in the joy of
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:44 am

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wind and flower ["and your happiness" - marked out]
Name of Diego - Name of love.
Don't let the tree get
thirsty it loves you so much.
it treasured your seed
it crystallized your life
at six in the morning

Your Frida
8 Dec. 1938
age 28 years

Don't let the tree get
thirsty, you are its sun,
it treasured your seed
"Diego" is the name of love.

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A fact Diego told me
Diego lived in Paris:
26 Rue de Depart, next
to the Montparnasse railway station.
21 March. Springtime
Tao MAO
7 July. Sadga 1953

8th. December
Diego. LOVE

Will the year 1953 end in
a war between the
imperialists? Very like-
ly.
NAME OF WATER

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Color of poison.
Everything upside down.
ME? Sun
and
moon
feet
and
Frida

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The quiet life ...
giver of worlds ...
Wounded deer
Tehuanas
Lightning, grief, suns
hidden rhythms
"La nina Mariana"
to lively fruit
death goes away -
lines, forms, nests.
hands build
wide open eyes
the Diego I felt
whole tears
all very clear,
cosmic truths
that live soundlessly.

Tree of Hope
stand firm.

My exhibition in Mexico. 1953.

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Months later -
For H.
Quietly, the grief
loudly the pain.
the accumulated poison
love faded away.
Mine was a strange world
of criminal silences
of strangers' watchful eyes
misreading the evil.
darkness in the daytime
I didn't live the NIGHTS.
You are killing yourself!!
YOU ARE KILLING YOURSELF!!
With the morbid knife
of those who are watch-
ing! Was it

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my fault?
I admit, my great guilt
as great as pain
it was an enormous exit
which my love came through.
A very quiet passage
that was leading me toward death
I was so neglected!
that it would have been best for me.
You are killing yourself!
YOU ARE KILLING YOURSELF
There are some who will
never forget you!
I took their strong hands
Here I am, for them to live.
Frida.

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Years.
Waiting with anguish
hidden away, my spine
broken, and the immense glance,
footless through the vast
path ...
Carrying on my life
enclosed
in steel.

Diego!

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Feet what do I need them for
If I have wings to fly.
1953.

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If only, I had his
caresses upon me
As the air touches the earth -
the reality
of his person, would make me
merrier, it would take me away
from the feeling which fills me
with gray. Nothing inside
me would be so deep, so
final. But, how can I explain to him
my need for
tenderness! My loneliness over
the years. My structure displeases
because of its lack of harmony,
its unfitness. I think
it would be better for me to go, to go and
not to run away. If it were all
over with in an instant. I hope so

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If only, I had his
caresses upon me
As the air touches the earth -
the reality
of his person, would make me
merrier, it would take me away
from the feeling which fills me
with gray. Nothing inside
me would be so deep, so
final. But, how can I explain to him
my need for
tenderness! My loneliness over
the years. My structure displeases
because of its lack of harmony,
its unfitness. I think
it would be better for me to go, to go and
not to run away. If it were all
over with in an instant. I hope so

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NOT AS MAD AS A HATTER.

Librarian's Comment:

It doesn't say that. It says nothing about hatters. It says, "Touched, Not Crazy," as in "touched by God." Just because he's got a hat on, doesn't mean he's a hatter.
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:44 am

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July 1953.
Cuernavaca
Supporting points
In my entire figure
There is only one, and I want
two.
For me to have two
they must cut one off
It is the one I don't have the
one I have to have
to be able to walk
the other will be dead!
I have many,
wings.
Cut them off
and to hell with it!!

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HIERONYMUS Bosch
Died in HERTOGENBOSCH
in the YEAR 1516.
HIERONYMUS Aquen
alias BOSCH.
wonderful painter.
perhaps born in Aachen.

It disturbs me very much that
there is so little known about
this fantastic man
of genius. Almost a century
later, (less) lived the
great BREUGHEL, THE
ELDER, my loved one.

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support number 1
support number two. 2
The pigeon made mistakes.
It made mistakes ..............

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Instead of going North it went South
It made mistakes .......
It thought the wheat was
water
It made mistakes ........

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August 1953.
It is certain that they are going
to amputate my right
leg. Details I don't know much
but the opinions are very
reliable. Dr. Luis Mendes
and Dr. Juan Farill.

I'm very very, worried,
but at the same time I feel
it would be a relief.
In the hope that when
I walk again
I'll give what remains of
my courage
to Diego.
everything for Diego.

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11 February 1954
They amputated my leg
6 months ago
It seemed to me
centuries of torture and
at times I nearly went
crazy. I still feel like
committing suicide
Diego prevents me from doing it in the vain
belief that maybe he will
need me. He has told me
so and I believe him. But
I have never suffered so
much in my life.
I'll wait a while.

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It is already March
Springtime 21
I have achieved a lot.
Confidence in walking
Confidence in painting.
I love Diego more
than myself.
My will is strong
My will remains.
Thanks to Diego's
magnificent love.
To the integrity and
intelligent work of
Dr Farill. To the earnest
and affectionate efforts
of Dr Ramon Parres
and to the kindness
of David
Glusker who has been my
doctor all my life and to Dr
Eloesser.

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Miss Capulina

Image

Image
April 27-1954
I am well again -- I've made
a promise and I'll keep it
never to turn back.
Thanks to Diego, thanks
to my Tere, thanks
to Gracielita and the little girl,
thanks to Judith, thanks
to Isaura Mino, thanks
to Lupita Zuniga,
thanks to Dr. Ramon Parres
thanks to Dr. Glusker,
thanks to Dr. Farill, to
Dr. Polo, to Dr. Armando
Navarro, to Dr. Vargas,
Thanks to myself and

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to my powerful will
to live among those
who love me and for
all those I love.
Long live joy,
life, Diego, Tere,
my Judith and all the nurses
I have had in my
life who have taken care of me
so marvelously well.
Thanks for being a Communist as I have been
all my life.
Thanks to the people of the So-
viet Union, to the people of China
Czechoslavakia, and Poland and to
the people of Mexico, above all

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those of Coyoacan
where my first cell
was born,
which was conceived in Oaxaca,
in the womb of my
mother, who was born
there, married to
my father, Guillermo
Kahlo - my mother Ma-
tilde Calderon, dark-skinned
Tinker Bell from Oaxaca.
Wonderful afternoon
we spent here in
Coyoacan; in Frida's room
Diego, Tere and myself.
Miss Capulina
Mr. Xolotl
Mrs. Kostic

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Outline of my life.
1910 - I was born in the room
on the corner of Londres Street
and Allende in Coyoacan.
At one o'clock in the morn-
ing. My paternal grandparents
Hungarian - born in Arat
Hungary - after their marriage
they went to live in Germany
where some of their
children were born among them my
father, in Baden Baden
Germany - Guillermo Ka-
hlo, Maria - Enriqueta
Paula and others. He, emigrated
to Mexico in the 19th century.
He settled here for the rest of
his life. He married a
Mexican girl, the mother
of my sisters
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:45 am

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Luisita and Margarita.
When his wife died - very young -
he married my mother
Matilde Calderon y Gonzalez,
one of twelve children of my
grandfather Antonio Calderon
from Morelia - a Mexican of Indian race
from Micho-
acan and my grandmother
Isabel Gonzalez y Gonzalez
daughter of a Spanish general
Who died leaving her
and her little sister
Cristina in the convent of
the Biscayne nuns, which she
left to marry my
grandfather - a photographer
by profession, who still made
daguerreotypes, one of
which I have kept to this day.

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My childhood was wonderful
even though my father was
a sick man (he suffered from vertigo
every month and a half). He was the best
example for me of tenderness and
workmanship (also a photographer and painter)
but above all of understanding for
all my problems which since
I was four years old were of
a social nature.
I remember I was 4
when the tragic ten occurred.
I saw with my own eyes
the clash between Zapata's
peasants and the forces of Carran-
za. My position was
very clear. My mother opened
the balconies
on Allende Street getting the wounded
and hungry and to allow the
Zapatistas

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to jump over the
balconies of my house
into the "drawing room." She tended their
wounds and fed them corn gorditas -
the only food available
at that time in
Coyoacan. We were four
sisters Matita Adri
me (Frida) and Cristi, the chub-
by midget (I'll describe them
later). The clear and precise
emotions of the "Mexican Revo-
lution" that I keep
were the reason why,
at the age of 13,
I joined the Communist youth.

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the bullets just screeched past
then in 1914. I can still hear
their extraordinary sound.
They used to praise
Zapata in the Coyoacan
marketplace with songs
published by Posada. On Fri-
days they cost 1 cent
and Cristi and I would sing them
hiding in a big
wardrobe that smelled of walnut.
Meanwhile, my mother and
father watched over us
so that we wouldn't fall into the hands of
the guerillas. I remember a wounded
Carrancista running toward
his stronghold by the river in Coyoacan.

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1914
The window from where I
spied him.
and another Zapatista squatted
to put on his "huaraches"
wounded
in one
leg
by a bullet.

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Yesterday, the seventh of May
1953 as I fell
on the flagstones
I got a needle stuck in
my ass (dog's arse).
They brought me
immediately to the hospital
in an ambulance.
suffering awful pains
and screaming all the
way from home to the British
Hospital - they took
an X ray - several
and located the needle and
they are going to take it out one
of these days with a magnet.
Thanks to my Diego
the love of my life
thanks to the Doctors

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with my love
to my
little boy
Diego
Diego

Image

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Thanks to the doctors
Farill - Glusker - Parres
and Doctor Enrique Palomera
Sanchez Palomera
Thanks to the nurses
to the stretcher bearers to the
cleaning women and attendants at the
British Hospital -
Thanks to Dr. Vargas
to Navarro to Dr. Polo
and to my will-
power.
I hope the
leaving is joyful - and I hope
never to return -
FRIDA

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ENVIOUS ONE
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Re: The Diary of Frida Kahlo, An Intimate Self-Portrait

Postby admin » Tue Dec 11, 2018 2:45 am

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