Tag Archives: diego rivera

Dia de Muertos one year on

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Today, I received an admonishment at a Spanish-language school in historic San Miguel de Allende — criticized for having a perceived incorrect impression of Dia de Muertos, a present-day public holiday, which has been celebrated for thousands of years in Mexico.

My six classmates and I were told by the director of the  Academia Hispano Americana  (AHA) that the day is an extremely solemn event, recently commercialized, and for that reason any aspirations to visit a historic cemetery or participate in any festivities should be abandoned.

Sticking to the classroom setting is the best way to learn, we were told, after a classmate asked if we could go to the cemetery as a group — not roaming about the city where we might be unable to hear the instructor properly.  This rebuke, perhaps part of our cultural training as foreigners in Mexico, was met with bemusement and weak chuckles — one student giddily applauded.

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Clearly, we still have much to learn. Chastened and penitent, we turned our focus to the intricacies of Spanish grammar, many thoughts no doubt wandering to the multitude of sugar skulls, pan de muerto, and other “Day of the Dead” delights in the Plaza Civica, just a short walk away.

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I recalled the offrenda I saw and the performance I attended in Texcoco a year ago during which I was mocked by an actor dressed as “La Catrina” — a skeleton dressed in gothic Victoriana, representative of the wealthy elite in Mexico. The image was first popularized in the early 20th century by artist Luis Posada, then by muralist Diego Rivera some 30 years later in his “Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Central Park“.

Nevermind.

This year, due to travel plans I will not be in Mexico for Dia de Muertos, but the November 1 holiday provides an opportunity to remember not only the dead, but that a year ago I was struggling without any Spanish language skills.

I now communicate the very basics in a bizarre “Spanglish” dialect.

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In the shadow of his wife: Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo

An exhibition featuring the work of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo and her husband Diego Rivera currently on show at Toronto’s Art Gallery of Ontario
(AGO) would have sparked heated debate in the late 20th century, but in today’s post-feminist world the pairing sidesteps controversy altogether.

In the past, celebrating a woman artist side-by-side with her husband would have been seen by feminists  as a sign of her oppression by the patriarchy. However, traditional feminist debate about women artists, which has historically centred on a fight for individual recognition in a male-dominated art world — so common in decades gone by — is not mentioned in the AGO show or in the exhibition catalogue.

Instead, curator Dot Tuer inverts the tradition that would have cast Kahlo in Rivera’s shadow and celebrates Kahlo’s artistic abilities, proposing that the powerful feminine themes of her work have eclipsed the outmoded activist bent of Rivera’s.

Rivera reached international renown as a communist mural painter in the 1920s, depicting the Mexican revolution and class struggle, while Kahlo — 20 years his junior — was at the time more modestly acclaimed by the surrealist movement and the Mexican art world for works focused on her own personal suffering.

“Rivera no longer looms larger-than-life in the public imagination as Mexico’s greatest muralist accompanied by a much younger and diminutive wife,” Tuer says in the exhibition catalogue. “Instead, Frida is seen as the iconic artist with Diego cast in a minor role as her much older and philandering husband.

“Numerous exhibitions have enshrined her as one of modernism’s most profound women artists, whose self-portraits embody both the physical suffering she endured after a debilitating bus accident and the spiritual anguish caused by Rivera’s infidelity and her inability to have children.”

Rivera’s reputation declined during the Cold War and with the rise of abstract expressionism, Tuer writes, his work now dismissed as cartoonish political propaganda, despite major retrospectives in Mexico City, London and Detroit since the mid-1980s.

These supportive claims for Kahlo’s work must surely mark sweet victory for such feminist art critics as Lucy Lippard, Rozsika Parker and Griselda Pollock who struggled in the latter part of the 20th century to stake a place for forgotten women artists on gallery walls in the world’s major art collections.

Also for such artists as Judy Chicago who sought to generate valid “herstory” through her internationally recognised “Dinner Party” and “Birth Project” art exhibitions of the 1970s and 1980s.

The installations, which featured ceramic plates and tapestries, named women whose importance Chicago said had been largely written out of history. She argued that craft — typically ghettoized along with artistic women — should be considered art and that art made by women should be taken seriously by the establishment.

Such universal concerns led eventually to the creation of a women’s art museum in Washington, D.C., which opened in 1987.

“By its very existence, the National Museum of Women in the Arts challenges the unequal representation of female artists in other museums, in galleries, and in major shows and offers an important and national alternative space,” wrote art historian Alessandra Comini in the 1987 museum catalogue.

Frida & Diego: Passion, Politics and Painting, which closes at the AGO on Jan. 20, 2013, before re-opening at Atlanta’s High Museum of Art on Feb. 14, offers an unapologetic perspective on Kahlo as an equal with her husband, not as a victim toiling in his shadow.

More than 80 drawings and paintings, accompanied by photographs of the couple show how their lives were intertwined, despite troubles that led to their divorce and remarriage.

Not long before Kahlo died in 1954 at age 47, she referred to Rivera as “my child, my son, my mother, my father, my husband, my everything.”

Rivera referred to Kahlo’s death as the most tragic day of his life.

“Too late now I realised that the most wonderful part of my life had been my love for Frida,” he said.

Picture credit: Hospital Henry Ford, 1932, oil on metal, from the
Collection Museo Dolores Olmedo, Xochimilco, Mexico. Banco de México Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo Museums Trust, Mexico, D.F./Artists Rights Society, New York.

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Addendum

I painted this plaster cast, a copy of one Kahlo wore and painted, for a production of a 1994 play titled “Frida K” produced at the Toronto Fringe Festival.