Beginning in the late 1970’s Frida Kahlo achieved cult heroine status less for her richly surrealist self-portraits than by the popularization of the events of her tumultuous life. Her images were splashed across billboards magazine ads, and postcards; fashion designers copied the so-called “Frida” look in hairstyles and dress; and “Fridamania” even extended to T-shirts, jewelry, and nail polish. Margaret A. Lindauer argues that this mass market assimilation of Kahlo’s identity has consistently detracted from appreciation of her work, leading instead to narrow interpretations based on “an entrenched narrative of suffering.” While she agrees that Kahlo’s political and feminist activism, her stormy marriage to fellow artist Diego Reviera, and the tragic reality of a progressively debilitated body did represent a biography colored by emotional and physical upheaval, she questions an “author-equals-the-work” critical tradition that assumes a :one-to-one association of life events to the meaning of a painting.” In kahlo’s case, Lindauer says, such assumptions created a devouring mythology, an iconization that separates us from rather than leads us to the real significance of the oeuvre. Accompanied by 26 illustrations and deep analysis of Kahlo’s central themes, this provocative, semiotic study recontextualizes an important figure in art history at the same time it addresses key questions about the language of interpretation, the nature of veneration, and the truths within self-representation. Ebook Edition All images have been redacted.
When I decide to concentrate on a single subject, I often try to read different books about the subject in order to get different perspectives. Devouring Frida: The Art History and Popular Celebrity of Frida Kahlo by Margaret A. Lindauer is my third book dealing with the art and life of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. Despite the difficult academic language (this book is written by an academic at Arizona State University and published by Wesleyan University Press), it is well worth reading to get a completely different take on the analysis of Kahlo’s work.
Although I am interested in art and enjoy art museums and learning about art and artists, I have no formal training and would describe myself more as moderately curious than hardcore. I don’t usually take the tours available at museums; tours in which selected works of art are analyzed and critiqued by art professionals employed by the museum. I’d like to, but usually time is a factor, as well as a husband who prefers to wander around art museums with headphones clamped to his ears listening to his current selection of metal music madness. Because I am inconsistent in my interest, I had no idea that Frida Kahlo’s art and even personal image had been (and still is?) commercialized. Her face, name, and reproductions of her paintings can be found on mugs, sketchbooks, shirts and socks. I find that appalling. More appalling to me is that the consumers who purchase these items probably know absolutely nothing about Kahlo; they know of her (media-perverted) mystique that emphasizes her often-tragic personal life, but they probably know very little of her politics or her history. Her art is completely discounted except as it relates (as they perceive it and as they were told how to perceive it) to her personal tragedies. I had no idea Frida Kahlo had attained this kind of status. I have also since learned that she is some kind of feminist hero, another aspect of her popular mythology that surprised me. While waiting to get my hair cut, I flipped through a book of “Feminist Warriors” or some such title that was sitting on the table. The contents included past and present women who had been feminists (or at least the book’s authors thought so). Frida Kahlo was listed. Intrigued, I flipped to her page. Why was she a feminist? Who the hell knows. The information about her was about 50 words and said very little about Kahlo. Apparently, she was a feminist simply by being included in this book of notable feminists. Ridiculous. This phenomenon of viewing Kahlo’s art (and herself) strictly through the lens of her personal tragedies is what Devouring Frida explores, although the author uses a lot more challenging language than I will in this review.
Lindauer’s method of analyzing Kahlo’s paintings is to first present the critical analysis of other art historians/critics, then explain why she agrees or disagrees with them. She also discusses the biographies of Kahlo, primarily Frida by Hayden Herrera. Lindauer does not always completely disagree with Herrera, but she points out (and I agree with her), that too many biographers and art historians have separated Kahlo’s art from its political and historical background and merely interpret it as a visual representation of her pain. And that, in turn, makes Kahlo’s art less significant because in an art world defined by male artists, a woman’s pain is personal and thus not very important or interesting. Van Gogh and Kahlo are compared as two artists who are now extremely well known in popular culture due to their tragic personal lives. However, the artists are viewed differently: “Solomon [art critic/historian] implies that Van Gogh indeed suffered tragically but used his suffering, at great personal and financial expense, to advance the art canon, whereas Kahlo merely ‘capitalized’ on her presumed self-disparaging obsession with pain to attract attention, specifically from [Diego] Rivera [her husband]” (169). Van Gogh is a mad genius, but Kahlo used her art to attraction and pity from her neglectful husband. “The gender codes permeating traditional art historical production remain unchallenged as long as Kahlo can be relegated to the feminine margins as the invalid wife of Diego Rivera, dabbling in diminutive self-portraits. When her work is viewed in that way, the art historian need not be concerned with the politics of resistance inscribed in Kahlo’s work” (170).
There are only five chapters in this short (but intellectually demanding) book. I found all of them interesting and (despite the technical language) didn’t have to skim until I got to the second half of the chapter “The Language of the Missing Mother.” Once Freud and the oedipal complex and castrated women and phallus symbolism took over, I’d had enough. Lindauer has a lot of important observations about Kahlo’s art. Some of it is very specific to Kahlo, that because so often the subject of her paintings is herself, historians and critics refuse to see beyond the personal history they see represented in the paintings. If Kahlo’s painted self is bloody and crying, well, she just had a miscarriage and is upset because she wanted to be a mother so badly. Herrera’s biography takes this stance: that Kahlo desperately wanted to be a mother. Lindauer and other writers disagree, saying the evidence is to the contrary and that Herrera (insert fancy academic terminology )was basically being sexist and wanted to strictly define Kahlo’s personality as feminine (wanting children) rather than masculine (not). Herrera (along with many others) is also guilty of this type of artist=art simplification, often restricting her analysis of Kahlo’s art to the artist’s current or past emotional and/or health sufferings, neglecting to consider the political and historical implications of the portraits. Lindauer also analyzes Kahlo’s art through the lens of feminist theory, concluding: “The reception of Kahlo’s work demonstrates how women’s politics—the politics of their private lives and their participation in public political debate—are twice marginalized, first by being relegated to personal rather than public arenas and then by being denied social relevance through masculinist interpretation and diagnosis” (171).
Devouring Frida is an excellent discussion not just of Frida Kahlo’s work and its reception within the greater art community, but also of women’s art generally. The “masculinist interpretation and diagnosis” affects all of women’s art, art that can possibly be devalued and belittled because women’s subjects or affairs are never considered as significant as her male counterpart. It’s also important to remember that this masculine perspective is also expressed by women. Many of the most vile and ignorant comments about Frida Kahlo and her art quoted by Lindauer for this book were made by women. One of my other takeaways from this book is how snotty and dickish/bitchy art historians/critics can be. As if their interpretation of a painting is the only interpretation. That’s the beauty (and problem) of any artistic creation—once it’s out in the world, it can be interpreted by anyone to mean anything.
I highly recommend this book if you are at all interested in Frida Kahlo, or art, or even feminist theory or feminism as it relates to art. The subject matter is well worth fighting through the highly technical academic language.
Whoa Nelly, this book stretched the one brain cell almost to its breaking point. The strengths of this book are that the author obviously knows her stuff - she seems to live and breathe Kahlo-analysis. She provides in-depth analysis of various paintings and challenges common interpretations which are typically focused solely on her physical/emotional self, which is fascinating. As far as challenges - the book is overly filled with academic jargon and is far from an easy read. Additionally, and Lindauer recognizes this, artistic interpretation isn't a set science and varies between people.
I don't agree fully with her pov -- she glosses over a lot of Frida's life to prove her point and I think that's a mistake. I also think that she glosses over Diego though in a strange way she has other critics mention his importance as well as supporting his importance via letters. In all it's a strange book, all with b& w pictures one reason it took so long to read as i had to keep looking up the pictures to see what they were writing about. the https://www.fridakahlo.org is invaluable here. So its a mixed bag and it's hard to keep tract of all the critics since she throws them in all in together in one long stream. I think the editing here could have been a bit better, at least with the formatting of the text. Still, I liked it and learnt a lot about Frida. A short bio of her childhood would help before delving into this one.
Fascinating analysis of the legend vs. the reality of Frida Kahlo. Dense going, so it took me a very long time to finish it (especially since I only read it on trains and planes), but highly, highly recommended.
In Devouring Frida, Margaret Lindauer argues that past analyses of Kahlo's work have been superficial, sexist and narrow in scope - interpreting her paintings as being entirely a reflection of Kahlo's personal style (which has often been reduced to narcissism on Kahlo's part, and/ or an effort to attract and maintain her husband's attention), her physical pain, and her repeated betrayals by Diego Rivera, and ignoring the political, social and cultural context in which they were created. Apparently, for these critics, the personal is not political (insert eye roll here).
My main criticism of the book is that Lindauer's language tends towards being very dry and academic; you have to have a high tolerance for the sort of language that's more suited to a dissertation than a book aimed at a more general audience (you also have to have a high tolerance for being subjected to Freudian theory, not because Lindauer is a proponent of it, but because past analyses of Kahlo's work have referenced Freud - ew). I think it's possible to write an academically rigorous book on a specialized topic for a non-academic audience using approachable language (more approachable than much of the language used in this book, at least), and I wish this book had been written in that more approachable tone. I have a day job and sometimes shifting gears into this scholarly tone was hard, ok?
While acknowleding the often very personal nature of Kahlo's work, Lindauer pushes back, assertively, on the notion that Kahlo's work was not also political, that Kahlo was a "naive" painter disconnected from the art movements of the time (for example, surrealism - this is where you have to contend with Freud) and that Kahlo's work is merely and entirely autobiographical. In doing so, she recontextualizes Frida Kahlo as an important artist with a distinct and valuable point of view. I don't always agree with her arguments or conclusions, but she absolutely provides a lot of food for thought, and I've had to shift my own beliefs and opinions about Kahlo's art a bit in response to her analyses (which are very thoroughly researched and - previous whining about the writing style aside - compellingly presented). In the course of her analyses Lindauer has to contend with a lot of really problematic claims about Kahlo and her work, and she does that very professionally.
Lindauer also shines a light on the inherent sexsim in art history and art criticism, and reminds us that we need to take the interpretations of the "experts" with a grain of salt, as they have their own blind spots, biases and agendas. We also have to strive to be aware of our own biases and blind spots - the more popular Kahlo's work became, the more reductionist the interpretations of her work became. That's a consequence of people consuming Kahlo's work (and, arguably, Kahlo herself) without thinking about the work.