BY RORY SYKES

In print | Published March 27, 2008

After my thorough disappointment over Renoir being the big Fall show at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I was greatly looking forward to the Frida Kahlo exhibition. To be totally honest, my knowledge of both her work and her life is incredibly minimal (I feel like a bad queer for not even knowing she openly identified as bisexual!), but even my superficial exposure to her paintings was enough to invoke expectant excitation. Everyone I knew who had gone gave the show rave reviews — including a friend of mine newly employed at the PMA who happened to be the person from whom I received my ticket this past Sunday.

Then I actually saw it. Not so great. Don’t get me wrong. her work is incomparable, but the curatorial choice to include close to 100 photographs was handled in a confused and unsatisfactory manner. The juxtaposition of Kahlo’s paintings with photographs, ranging from snapshots to works by distinguished artists in their own right, is highlighted on the PMA’s website as providing, “a unique perspective of one of the twentieth century’s most important and revered artists.” Although an interesting idea, its actualization falls short and detracts from the rest of work.

In celebratory recognition of the 100th anniversary of her birth, “Frida Kahlo” first opened at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis before traveling to Philadelphia, after which it will end its run at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Co-curated by Hayden Herrera and Elizabeth Carpenter, curatorial work was also provided by Michael Taylor and Emily Hage at the PMA. It was the scholar Ms. Herrera who wrote the book, “Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo,” upon which the 2002 major feature film, “Frida”, was based.

Upon entering the exhibit, one is immediately confronted with “Self-Portrait with Monkeys” (1943), an exemplary Kahlo piece. A few other paintings lead into a set of three galleries, all of which feature photographs taken from throughout Kahlo’s life. These photos, some annotated by Kahlo with measured self-deprecation, are largely the work of prominent photographers from the time, but also include amateur works among their ranks. Artists as diverse as Manuel Álvarez Bravo and Nickolas Muray were allowed access to Kahlo’s private life — with cameras no less! — and thus given the opportunity to be a part of the self-conscious identity construction that was so vital to Kahlo’s being. The photographs give way to galleries of paintings in Kahlo’s trademark style, some of which are fresh to the United States. The selections of Kahlo’s work is varied; not only does the museum predictably display many of the artist’s well-known self-portraits, but also lesser-seen portraits of others and explicitly political works such as the expansive and enduring “Moses (Nucleus of Creation)” (1945). There is also a series of compelling still-lifes, which were unfortunately disregarded by most patrons due to their exclusion from the audio tour.

Sufficiently fascinating as independent artifacts of Kahlo’s life, the three galleries of photographs trouble the exhibition with larger questions of just what is the subject of the show, and how are the paintings meant to be understood vis-a-vis such an overabundance of images. Detached from her displayed works in the galleries, I found the images thoroughly arresting, but ultimately ambiguous in their relationship to the construction of Kahlo. Was the show meant to be biographical? Autobiographical? A survey of her work or a survey of her life?

The curation seems intent on creating an elementary profile of the artist, a decision I found trite and uninteresting. The show of paintings following the photos is roughly chronological, creating a dichotomous exhibition. The candid photos present the biographical: friends, lovers and internationally renowned photographers who managed to catch the “real Frida” living “real life.” Her self-portraits, naturally, are the auto-biographical: her honest depictions of otherwise ineffable sufferings. Gliding from gallery to gallery, I felt the curator’s expectations burdening me, compelling me to make strict and banal comparisons between the two lives the museum was presenting. “Remember in that photo when Kahlo looked perfectly content?,” the curators seemed to be whispering in my ear, “Well, she was actually making these tortured paintings at the same time. Imagine that!”

If these photographs were intended to provide additional biographical context or to work in conjunction with the curatorial narrative framing Kahlo’s paintings, integrating them into the galleries to communicate more directly with the actual paintings (the ostensible subjects of the exhibition) would have been a more effective maneuver. Alternatively, if the photographs were intended as archival material — used to provide access to a wealth of compelling documents that are nonetheless supplemental to the main focus — they would have been better situated at the end in a more “educational” setting with additional textual resources, as some exhibits have been known to do.

Lastly, if exhibiting the full collection of photographs in the context of an art exhibition on the same status level as Kahlo’s paintings was truly that important, they would have been better served displayed in a concurrent exhibition of their own right — much like the PMA chose to do with “Fragile Demon: Juan Soriano in Mexico, 1935-1950,” a show currently at the PMA and meant to be seen in dialog with “Frida Kahlo.”

Despite my qualms with the curation, the power of Kahlo’s paintings are undeniable. The chance to see works ranging from her well-known and truly monumental “Two Fridas” (1939), to the enigmatic, miniature, and undated “Circle” is not one to be passed up. “Frida Kahlo” will remain at the PMA through May 18.

Additional Reporting by Mukethe Kawinzi

« RETURN TO LIVING & ARTS

« PREV ARTICLE | NEXT ARTICLE »