Sunday, 22 September 2013

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes Biography

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Love is the territory par excellence of the poetic - which, for Frida, meant that which could not be contained. In her vision of verbal beauty, even new poetic words are justified, as long as the essence (the delivery) remains. Frida writes:"Classical love.../[without arrows]/only/with sperm." 

Frida Kahlo has been an exotic fashion and is today the durable synthesis of many distinct realities, as evidenced by her paintings, by the multiple aspects of her life (as artist, invalid, lover, Trotskyist, Communist), and by the various ways in which her work resonates. Frida notes: "You rain me - I sky you," and this surprising metaphor can be translated to the paintings, in which with supreme vigor it rains, and skies. 

"Nothing is so natural as painting that which we haven't achieved." In Frida case this means the development and multiplicity of the I. In a self-portrait from her diary, Frida, who is depicted as a broken vase, bellows: DON'T CRY FOR ME!, and in the next drawing, she replies: "I WILL CRY FOR YOU!" Pain is the supreme militancy, the cause she embraces and battle, the point of departure, the hell that will abolish death. In her pictorial and written invocation, the I rains down, the I splits and proffers light, the I descends into the penumbra, furnishing it with shape and color. In Frida there is a coexistence of "despair no word can describe," mockery in the face of death, conflation of memories imagined and true, the solitude of the body imposing itself on the gregarious spirit, the driving need to seize the poetic ( the spirit in full transcendence), and the extraordinary work - the desire to be sustained by what is irrefutably a succession, a bloodline, a landscape of lasting image.

In her pictorial versions of herself, Frida opts for a game of substitution. Allegory is the disappearance of an apparent or literal meaning in favor of another, deeper meaning. In this sense, Frida is the face that is effaced, that makes way for the emblematizing of melancholy, of the woman whose mask is her true face, of the creator who recognizes herself only in the crystalline surface of the canvas, of the woman who is solitary out of necessity and who has been alone so much she must create her double.


As a Baroque poet might have said, when you are no longer what you see, you have become what you have painted. Without resorting to such rhetoric, Frida nonetheless favored allegory as the concrete rendering of an abstract idea. Like all great self-portraitists, she ceases to be an abstraction only when she paints herself; she abandons unreality only when she turns herself into "fabula". Her most powerful and celebrated body of work is also the richest in meaning. 

If to the photographic camera Frida radiates her pictorial qualities ("I am a person, taking photos of me comes close to making a painting," could be her message), her self-portraits, guided by a remarkable intuition, overflow with symbols that may or may not be explained and that last like hallucinations. She is severe when she is tender and tender when she is harsh, she painted herself calmly so as not to admit emotions without pretext, and she ridicules herself and the ideas that people have about her. Frida - the Lovely Lady Without Pity, even for herself - records her raison d'etre et de souffrir, her heraldic motto, the strength and center of her frailties: the refusal to distinguish between dream and nightmare, foreboding and suffering. As in few cases, the work is the exorcism evoked by suffering and rage in order to relieve a body that harbors so much malignity; as in few cases, Frida's oeuvre translates inexpressible injury into visions of rebirth. Surviving tragedy is the first principle of resurrection. 

As we know, Frida also worked with other themes, producing portraits for friends and on commission, as well as still-lifes, political fantasies, and cosmic panoramas. But her self-portraits are her greatest achievement, the distillation of all her wisdom, love, resentment, and floral and faunal inventions, and the element without which everything else would be forgotten: her great plastic talent. It is that brilliant instinct that reworked the figure of Frida Kahlo, the Mexican, the partner of artist Diego Rivera, the woman eager for diverse amorous experiences, and turned it into an obsessive reference to one of the female creators of the twentieth century who begin as a marginal note and ends up in a central position. It did not take long after her death for her project to become clear. The key to her work is found in the way the author depicts herself to the world. 

Her whole discourse in encoded: the parents and grandparents; the nanny who is Earth and Tradition and the assurance of perpetual childhood; the recounting of her operations; the fetus as the family tree cut down by misfortune; and - the axis of life and of her mythology - her obsession with Diego Rivera, which can be seen as emotional dependence and symbolic desire. Diego portrayed on Frida's forehead is not so much the binding together of two being as a public rejection of isolation. The strong link with Diego is moreover the couple's complementation of two extreme: minute Eve and gigantic Adam; inconceivable Romeo and sacrificial Juliet; the man whose vocation is Genesis and the woman already living the Apocalypse.

In the retablos and ex-votos, Frida learns to construct a subverted Eden where the meaning of forms depends on the relationship between innocence and the desire for a reconciled return to childhood. In some of her most portentous canvases - The Broken Column and Without Hope, for example - the destruction of the body and the ingestion of entrails goes against any utopian, romantic, or sentimental vision; in other paintings, the evocation of retablos permits the equivalent of an act of thanks for grace received. In this sense, Viva la vida is an ex-voto without theology but overflowing with mysticism; so, too, is Tree of Hope. In this last works the tradition of ex-votos is magnificently transformed: one Frida, on the edge of a geological fault, holding her corset and a sign on which the lyrics of the song Cielito lindo are tantamount to a proclamation, accompanies the other Frida, who is lying on a stretcher in a fractured landscape, traversed by shadows and shinning celestial bodies. Life goes on, and this explains the religious undertone; but life is also a form of art, and this demands elements that crush optimism without eliminating it completely. 

Poliomyelitis, hypertrophic leg, rigid foot and bent, claw like toes, plaster casts, open ulcers, the resolute blood of everyday life ("my blood is the miracle that travels through the veins of the air, from my heart to yours" she tells Diego), orthopedic corsets, a fixation on the graft at the base of her spine, scoliosis, or curvature of the spine, painkiller... This horizon of illness is transferred to the paintings in order to suppress self-delusion and, at the same time, erase the boundary between art and tortured physiology. The strategy is extraordinary: It never guarantees relief (though some relief is gained), but rather it produces paintings detached from the suffering that is never completely neutralized. Here, indeed, is an indication of the artist's timelessness. Despite hundreds of thousands of reproductions and retrospectives in major museums, publications, and films, the essence of Frida Kahlo's paintings cannot be reduced to cause, to "national traits," to admiration for life at once so tragic and marvelous. How can we "assimilate" a painting like My Birth, in which Frida comes into the world at once an adult and stillborn? How can we incorporate this mixture of rejoicing and pain? 

From very early on Frida perceived illness as a visionary state. In a letter to her first boyfriend, Alejandro Gomez Arias, written one year after the terrible accident, she describes the battiness of her convalescence:

Why do you study so much? What secret are you looking for? Life will reveal it to you very soon. I already know everything, without reading or writing. Not very long ago, maybe only a few days back, I was a girl going her way through a world of precise and tangible colors and forms. Everything was mysterious, and something was always hidden; guessing at nature was a game for me. If only I had known how hard it is to gain knowledge so suddenly, as though the Earth had been elucidated by a single ray of light! Now I live on a planet of pain, transparent like ice. It is as if I'd understood everything all at once, in a matter of seconds. My best friends and the girls I know have slowly become women. I grew old in a few seconds, and now everything is bland and flat. I know that there is nothing else, because if there were, I would see it.”

The cost of sudden knowledge is very high, and much of Frida's work must be understood as her effort to turn lucidity into prophecy, to express extreme suffering pictorially, without allowing for pity or self-pity. 

For Frida, painting takes on the inevitable form of physical and allegorical liberation from sickness, from corsets, hospitals, and numerous operations, including the amputation of her leg in 1953. She tries to transform pain into artistic expression, routine everyday suffering into creative effort, memories into love scenes, and does so by combining her remarkable formal intuition, her all-pervasive lyricism, and provocative energy. Here, in this fusion of opposites, she immerses herself in the light her body refuses her, splits herself into desire and redemption, takes root and reverberates in her mutilations, finds refuge in the images she has appointed to represent her. She is free in her illusion and in the verbal and pictorial imaginings with which she counters suffering. She writes in her diary:

Why do you study so much? What secret are you looking for? Life will reveal it to you very soon. I already know everything, without reading or writing. Not very long ago, maybe only a few days back, I was a girl going her way through a world of precise and tangible colors and forms. Everything was mysterious, and something was always hidden; guessing at nature was a game for me. If only I had known how hard it is to gain knowledge so suddenly, as though the Earth had been elucidated by a single ray of light! Now I live on a planet of pain, transparent like ice. It is as if I'd understood everything all at once, in a matter of seconds. My best friends and the girls I know have slowly become women. I grew old in a few seconds, and now everything is bland and flat. I know that there is nothing else, because if there were, I would see it.”

The cost of sudden knowledge is very high, and much of Frida's work must be understood as her effort to turn lucidity into prophecy, to express extreme suffering pictorially, without allowing for pity or self-pity. 

For Frida, painting takes on the inevitable form of physical and allegorical liberation from sickness, from corsets, hospitals, and numerous operations, including the amputation of her leg in 1953. She tries to transform pain into artistic expression, routine everyday suffering into creative effort, memories into love scenes, and does so by combining her remarkable formal intuition, her all-pervasive lyricism, and provocative energy. Here, in this fusion of opposites, she immerses herself in the light her body refuses her, splits herself into desire and redemption, takes root and reverberates in her mutilations, finds refuge in the images she has appointed to represent her. She is free in her illusion and in the verbal and pictorial imaginings with which she counters suffering. She writes in her diary:
Nothing is more important than laughter." Laughing and letting go and feeling lighter give one strength. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing "man" has, and I am sure that however much animals "suffer", they never exhibit their "pain" in open "theaters" or "behind doors". Their colors are truer than any image that any man may "represent" as painful.”
How is it possible to uphold the extreme statement that "Nothing is more ridiculous than tragedy"? As an antidote to her physical condition, Frida has a store of images, sensations, feelings, and situations that quickly become dispensations from tragedy. At the center is Diego Rivera, the adoptable child, the being that can be generated, more a depository of words and tumultuous emotions than a person:
Diego:
Nothing compares to your heands, nothing compares to your gold-green eyes. My body fills up with you for days and days, you are the mirror of night, the violent flash of lightning, the Earth's humidity. The hollow of your armpit is my refuge, my fingertips touch your blood. All my joy is in feeling life flow from your spring-flower, filling all the paths of my nerves, which are your own.”

The metamorphosis of Diego, one of the axes of Frida's work, is unending. For Frida, Diego is creative impulse, terra firma, the lost creature in the great orphanage of time. She baptizes him, reverently, the "mirror of night":
You will be call AUXOCHROMOS, he who attracts color. I am CHROMOPHOROS, she who gives color. You are all the combinations of numbers. You are life.”
In Frida, there is the rational delirium of a spirit that uses mysticism as a deposit for its afflictions. In this small, immense world, in this sphere of contradictions, the real Diego and the one invented by Frida's loving mythomania, is religious worship, the transcendent answer to pain; he is the whole that, without paradox, is protected by one of the parts. "Nothing is absolute," claims Frida, and yet beyond this dialectical blueprint she does represent Diego as absolute, as diversity in unity, as the universe. In her rosary of attributes("Diego - the beginning, Diego- the constructor..."), Frida does not intend to be taken seriously, for, in converting to a religion where God, the saints, and the temples are named Diego Rivera, she passes through love to a cosmogony, from affliction to meditation:
No one will ever know how much I love Diego... if I had health I would give it to him; if I had youth, he could have it all. I am not only his mother, I am the embryo, the seed, the first cell from whose potential he was engendered. I am he, beginning from the most primitive... ancient cells, which over time have become "feeling".

"I am Melibeo," says Calisto in a similar context in La Celestina. In Frida's case, however - and there are numerous examples - pain is so ruthless that the amorous conversion becomes a pact with feeling, the coherent or rational thought that a belief will concede to its faithful. In order not to compete verbally with tragedy, Frida assumes the sanctity of (provisional and definitive) love, placing galaxies in ex-votos in which one glimpses the wonder of the resurrection in the simple act of unconditional love: Three of Hope. Frida expresses herself with tenderness, compassion, and frenzy, with her "eyes open, her Diego feelings"; she uses lively colors to brighten her spirit, draws pyramids and suns and moons and Fridas and eye lizards and dogs. She turns repeatedly to her religious obsessions, which may take the form of Lenin, Stalin, or Mao. While politics for Frida never is and never can be everything, politics does eventually become the most prestigious from of religious expression, the coal seller's faith (historical materialism), the belief that imposes itself on the barely heard barrage of information. Stalin died in March 1953, and Frida, with the anguish of a believer whose own life has merged with the conditioned reflexes of faith, wrote:
THE WORLD, MEXICO, AL LTHE UNIVERSE have lost their balance with the loss of Stalin."


Frida had an affair with Trotsky, bore witness to the monstrous Stalinist persecutions of Trotsky and Rivera, and knew about the Moscow Trials. Nevertheless, in the world of such personal and fantastic images and words, she proudly includes the most oppressive representations of history. "Faith," according to St. Paul, "is the substance of things that are wished for, the proof of things that cannot be seen." Faith in humanity, to be reborn as a particle among the masses, and in collective awareness, which will displace individual pain, leads Frida to apologize:
I am very uneasy about the enterprise of my paintings - especially because [I want it to be] useful to the Communist revolutionary movement. Until now I have painted only the expression of myself - honestly, but totally removed from the need for my paintings to serve the Party. I must fight with all my strength to turn what little positive energy my poor health has left me toward aiding the revolution. The only real reason for living.


We don't doubt Frida's sincerity in this passage, but we cannot deny the evidence of her work, where reasons both for living and for despair intertwine and do battle. In Frida's case, the revolution is at once a genuine passion and the promised land, but this militant zeal (the great embellishment of an existence guided daily by other premises) is by no means a central impulse. If faith, for Frida, is synonymous with Communism and with history and with the struggle against imperialism, at a certain level (that of destiny, which become clearer even as the emotional structure is defined by agony) faith is also the transformation of desire into something planetary; it is consolation through images and the poetic word. In one drawing, she boasts about her flights of spirit, declaring: "Feet, why do I want them, when I have wings for flying"; and in a text written after the loss of her leg in July 1953, the Frida-angel trembles, renounces her symbols but not her freedom:
Points of support
For my whole figure there is only one; I want two.
To provide me two they had to cut off one.
The one I don't have is the one I need to have
in order to walk. The other is already dead!
I have more than enough wings.
So cut them.
I'll fly away!


In this singular religiosity there is a constant yearning for poetic expression. If, at times, Frida appears, despite her denials, to lean toward surrealist forms and techniques, this is due not only to her personal contacts and the influences of her time but also to her love for poetry, which is, for her, the perfect language, the way to connect with art:

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

Romantic Morning Quotes For Her For Him For Girlfriend And Sayings Tumblr For Him Form The Heart For Her Form The Heart

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