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  I see pictures with my eyes, trust in the power of intuition, trust what I see. There are too many self-righteous guesses and different minds in this world, and painting requires concentration. If you can meet the scarce quality of concentration, you will meet the eyes of the painter. Things and the breath behind them have long eliminated falsehood. , flat is flat, broken is broken, never tie the split trees together, this is the fortress that rhetoric must guard when it is sincere. The second is to look at the stillness presented by the painting, no matter how big the events are, how endlessly moving, how chaotic, all must stop and accept the self-examination of that moment, or soar. Not long ago, a friend passed away. I felt sad and talked to my partner about the length of life. It is good to live, at least there are infinite possibilities. But what makes people stop is often the small width in life, which can withstand inspection and get rid of falsehood. How can ordinary people have eternity. When you sit quietly and open your eyes, you will understand the so-called undead, no matter whether you miss or love, it is actually such a part, the part of him that does not die, that overlaps with you and will not leave easily— – This is also the meaning of stillness.
  A small still life painting. The still life fills the picture, and there is no space on the left and right sides. There are a few brown backgrounds at the bottom of the picture. When the background transitions to the top, it turns gray. The gray is not dull. Cut off a few small pieces of fruit from the edge, like there are too many fruits to fit in a large basket. This is Frida’s still life painting. Each fruit is painted full and brightly colored, evoking the desire to touch; an orange is cut with a peel, and the juice of the fruit is dripping and crystal-like; the flesh of the melon is orange-yellow in large areas, approaching the center She added pink, then water red, and then restored the meat powder. The center of the meat powder collapsed in, and the brushstrokes followed the texture of the pulp finely. You can see the concentration and calmness of her painting. The occasional pink buildup, Frida held onto it, gave way to a lime green, the skin color of another melon, a round melon full and voluminous. This still life was painted in 1951 and is titled “Still Life with Parrots and Flags”.
  When I was in Budapest last fall, I happened to meet the Hungarian National Gallery’s Frida retrospective. The crowd was crowded for a long time, and I managed to stand in front of this small painting. This extraordinary pile of fruit is alive, as if it was just picked from the orchard in the early morning, Mexican fruit is such a rare treasure, many of which I can’t name, and the daughter of memory, Frida, opens her wings, and people and birds fly low. , in all the bulging objects she made planes, even depressions, some melons and fruits were cut open, such as oranges or custard apples, they revealed the inner fine material, pulp and seeds, irregular but organized like a hive The structure, the sweet and complex warm colors, all resemble an open square, beckoning eyes to stop there. The fat fruit in the center of the picture, the oval-shaped plum fruit, its cut section faces the viewer, the viewer can see that the core is separated from the pulp, and the orange-red pulp is in the form of an empty room, holding an olive-shaped fruit. Between the chestnut-husk-colored pits and the separation of the pits and pulp, Frida uses dark colors to express depth, and after a few heavy strokes of dark brown, the depth and shadow are there. The whole painting is sparsely lit, and does not pay attention to the richly layered light and dark tones. The fruit floats brightly, and the few dark brown strokes in the center of the picture are deep and deep, like a nest. The plum fruit cut in half is full of sex. Nirvana’s Frida was quiet at this time, she devoted herself to painting still lifes, and stopped dating men and women lovers, like an old monk entering meditation. A spinal operation was a catastrophe. She came out of the excruciating pain. Some words were no longer words, but were directly transformed into pain. The pelvis, vertebrae, femurs, metal rods, plaster corsets, orthopedic corsets, several spinal surgeries in the 1940s, tortured her all the time, repeatedly cutting deep in her body and mind. Her body was good and bad, and her illness was ups and downs. In 1950 alone, she had 7 spinal surgeries. After that, she lived in a secluded life, lying in a hospital bed or in a wheelchair for a long time, and could not paint a self-portrait in front of a mirror. , she paints a lot of still life, the small metal plate is very close to the body. I once saw an old photo of her when she was painting a still life. The drawing board was propped up by her legs. She was lying on the bed with a cigarette in her left hand and a slender paintbrush in her right hand. No easel was used, her head was slightly raised, and everything was close. Just a short distance away, the whole body and mind are approaching the picture and the thing. The first time I saw her meme, I thought, when she got a momentary relief from the pain, her body was still trapped, but the pain and passion in her heart had settled and returned to tranquility, like fire no more. Burned in the body, but broke away alone, and had a distance from her. They become able to stare at and reach out to touch. At this time, as the poet Ponge said, “animals run, plants stretch their branches and leaves in front of their eyes.” At this time, Frida was still and also
  Also a moment with parrots and flags. In the still life painting, the green parrot sits on the fruit, and it looks sideways at the flag slanted on the meme fruit. A small Mexican tricolor flag is glued to a bamboo stick. The bamboo stick is very long and sharp at both ends. The bottom of the stick is inserted into the skin of the plum fruit, directly penetrating the pulp and entering the dark brown interior. According to the exhibition card, it expresses the damage Frida suffered from the car accident, and the yellow banana covered with brown spots in the lower right corner is a metaphor for her husband, who is 20 years older than her, and the famous muralist Diego. rivera.
  Flags keep appearing in Frida’s paintings. In the self-portrait, Frida will hold a cigarette in one hand and a small flag in the other. If standing between Mexico and the United States, the serious flag is her love for the land of Mexico. , cigarettes reveal her slight sarcasm. And the flag she was used to was stuck on the plum fruit at this time, it was difficult to explain in a few words what the flag itself meant, but the bamboo stick was long and pointed, as if it went through the skin and muscle, it went straight into the dark brown interior of the fruit , but without the blood, Frida respected her plant, leaving it untouched to be penetrated and wounded.
  At this time, Frida was 44 years old. When she was 18 years old, the car accident she suffered was extremely tragic. A tram hit the bus she was riding, and the broken handrail became an iron bar. One side of the body pierces the other side out. Frida’s then-boyfriend later recalled that I was horrified to discover that there was an iron bar in Frida’s body, and a man said, “Let’s get it out!” Strip out. The vertebrae were broken in three places, the collarbone, the third and fourth ribs were broken, the pelvis was broken in three places, and the right leg was broken in eleven places. Frida survived in bed for three months. Frida, who was in the hospital bed, couldn’t stop writing to her boyfriend, “Alex,” she wrote, “Come see me, don’t be mean…” Frida wrote to him a year after the car accident.
  Frida was 19 when this letter was written. At that time she was prematurely old, and at that time she was equivalent to 44 years old. At the age of 18, she saw through all the secrets of the earth. Everything was exposed and transparent, and even the ravines were illuminated. There was nothing hidden in life, and there were no secrets or mysteries. At the age of 44, everything that was discovered at the age of 18 is still the same and has not changed. She was pierced by a bolt of lightning long ago, and her body was already broken into pieces, so what could Memego hide? What is there to be implicit, and what is not to be presented? When I read this letter from Frida more than ten years ago, her sharp pain and despair made me choked up several times. Even if she is a genius, she sees through everything, and how difficult it is to truly get rid of the pain and passion. The body is heavy and the soul is lonely, even if he is fully enlightened, he is roasted on the fire. It’s easier to draw a still life than to hold yourself accountable. In front of the still life, time stops and people are still like a virgin. She sees the shape of the still life and knows the fables of the still life itself, so she can honestly tell us all about it. Having soaked in the river of blood and tears, she could not be a simple plant.

  That’s why she said, “I look like a lot of people and things” and “I paint my own reality.” If the description on the exhibition board can hold, this still life painting is complete enough, as Frida expressed, “The two most tragic encounters in my life, one was a car accident and the other was Diego.”
  The first time I saw Frida’s original work was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York more than ten years ago. I walked straight on 12th Avenue and West 44th Street, rushed to Grand Central Station, and took the subway line 4 or 6 to the Metropolitan Museum. For almost 3 days, I spent half of my time in New York at the museum. On the last evening, when the museum was about to close, I saw Frida on the last few steps out of the Surrealist exhibition hall. On the right wall, she was facing me, with a pearl monkey on her chest, her slightly contemptuous gaze, and the suspicious gaze in the monkey’s soot-black eyes, both came to me from the frame. The momentary stun was quickly dispelled by ecstasy. At that time, Frida was almost forgotten in my mind. I didn’t expect her to appear like this. The thick black eyebrows and the beard on the lips were particularly eye-catching, making me feel backwards. It took one step to dare to step forward, and slowly approached to take a closer look at her. At the age of 30, the cheeks drawn by her are slightly slumped, and the decadent line of youth is faintly shaking. I think of the letter she wrote when she was 19 years old, and I feel that life is insignificant. If there is no art, I am afraid that there is only a greater rout left. Pleading and talent, all couldn’t keep the heart that insisted on leaving, and Alex walked away in the end. Frida, who had never been trained in painting, tried her best to keep him, and she painted her first self-portrait as a gift for him. Wine red is the main color, her serious face is elegant and beautiful, slightly sad, and her neck is elongated like those women in Modigliani’s works, sexy and charming.
  At 19, that was the beginning of her painting. Start in pain. There are neither beards, nor monkeys with pink ribbons around their necks. Take off cleanly. Another self-portrait of her in the Metropolitan Museum is completely dark. The gorgeous colors of the flowers on the land of Mexico are gone. The changes are not on the face, but the dark tones and the body of the men’s clothing, the deformation of iron bars or bamboo sticks. There was a pair of scissors in hand, and her hair was as short as a man’s. The long cut hair covered half of the painting and scattered messily between the blades of the scissors on the chair on the ground. She was desperate, and killed herself. The black hair has tasted what is called Wan arrow piercing the heart.
  Many times, she is in pain. At the Budapest retrospective, Frida’s photo was enlarged to twice the size of a real person. His big eyes were slightly narrowed, and he didn’t look at anyone or anything, with only a slight confusion and imperceptible sadness. It was all flowers, the braids on the top of her head, the long black dress, and the emerald green background behind her, full of her beloved flowers. Frida’s face is clear and tough, heroic and radiant.
  The girls rushed to take pictures under her knees, all looking like dwarfs. Frida is radiant. Who would have thought that such a Frida used to show off every day, dressed in dazzling Tewana clothes, with a strong Mexican style, every day like a festival. It was all her laughter, presented in a visible form, very exaggerated and concealed. How many people are obsessed with her beauty, but can’t see the brokenness and passion of the body under the clothes. When the clothes are taken off, she is a woman, more miserable and sad than women.
  The video that recorded Frida’s life was also projected on the wall and played back and forth. She sat against the wall and looked up to Diego to speak. She looked at it, kissed it on her lips, and closed her eyes lightly. That was her love and desire, her affection and reluctance for Diego. They quarreled with each other and cheated on each other. She married Diego at the age of 22, left and returned to him twice, until her death at the age of 47, and Frida almost never stopped loving Diego. Diego sees her as a little girl of the soul, he understands her paintings and her high ego, “She is a person whose thoughts and feelings are not bound by the false norms of bourgeois society. Her feelings are very deep because of her The biological senses are not dulled by overuse, the innate faculties are not degenerated… Frida despises mechanization, so when its original biological functions are quickly restored when they encounter strong stimuli.” Diego understands She understands the value of well-preserved senses to a person, how important and how scarce in that era. Diego’s words are enough to put the two of them on the same scale. Frida once said that I was broken and Diego fixed me. She loves him deeply. In her self-portrait, she repeatedly drew Diego, often drawing him into her forehead and embedding his face in the heaven. He was the third eye in her mind. It’s so profound. In the same way, the damage he caused stayed there, never leaving her body. She hates him too. Constantly cheating, constantly tearing her body and mind to pieces, this is also Diego.
  In fact, many people in real life do not know themselves. Like Frida, who lived to see their own brokenness, this tragic exception is unique, but she also came too early and became a lifelong suffering. She was thrown out of the crowd, tidied up and got up, and every time she repaired, she saw another version of herself. She draws herself and tells you who she is. She is complex and has a particularly multi-faceted self, which makes her the painter with the largest number of self-portraits in the history of world painting, which is almost on par with Rembrandt and Picasso.
  At the Budapest retrospective, the most outstanding “Broken Column” hangs conspicuously in one place. At first glance, it will be overwhelming. She is broken and repaired at the same time. She stood upright, with her face half turned, a steel cylinder against her chin, the lower end reaching her pelvis, a corset tied horizontally to hold her body in place, a few leather straps, inch wide, silvery white as cold as a blade , one across the armpit, three across the breast, waist, and crotch respectively; iron nails were all over the face, and a handful of arrows were shot at them, one rooted on the forehead, cheeks, neck, shoulders, two Arms, breasts, groin, and a piece of fine linen wrapping around his waist were also not spared. They were full of nails, and the two largest nails pierced his heart. Tears rolled out of the eyes and flowed down the cheeks. Several large teardrops shone brightly, and the jaws were wet; The cylinder is broken into several pieces, and sometimes one piece is not related to the other. Some materials are not only broken, but also lost, and cannot be recovered or repaired. Behind it is a wilderness, monotonous and desolate, with undulating ravines and ravines, a barren scene, there is nothing to mend again, and it will be broken if it is broken. One should be complete.
  The wilderness is a color that does not connect with green and yellow, green is not green and yellow is not yellow, some places are thickly coated with oil, forming accumulations; some places are sharp, like folds in the ground. Behind her head is a dark blue sky with dark clouds. What else can I say? This is her, her body, her pain, her life, her art. Her face is calm, her eyes are straight, nobly over everything in front of her. In many paintings, she is lying on the bed, the bed is big and empty, she is small, helpless and desperate, experiencing miscarriage, self-birth, Diego betrayal, being murdered by life, eating horribly after surgery, etc. Destruction, hopeless – she simply titled the painting directly, and in the painting “Broken Column”, she is full and powerful, and naturally she is in a deeper and more solid loneliness, Diego runs away, only the dry background is the company , being alone is not enough, it has to be broken and shattered, foreign matter invades, she seems to be counting on it, just like Diego, to support herself; on the other hand, she can’t bend down, fate Squeezed her there, all she can have is struggle, force release, and even nirvana. Frida has a painting depicting her birth, the newborn’s head sticking out of the mother’s body, and the mother lying dead in bed, the head and upper body covered by a cloth, the lifeless sheet is gray and white, it is death shadow. The newborn has Frida’s signature eyebrows. Before painting this picture, it was she who had another miscarriage, her mother died, birth and death strangled, she was born in death, and Frida in the future was only herself, just like in “Broken Column”, she was violent. Giving birth to herself miserably, she rose directly in blood and tears.
  Frida suffered from polio at the age of 6 and suffered an amputation a year before her death. Her right leg was amputated below the knee. When the doctors and Diego consulted with her in advance, she cried out, “No. -” On a brown wall in Budapest more than half a century later, I saw what she wrote in her diary back then: Feet, what do I want it for? If I had wings I could fly.

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