let the meteor of your laughter fly
Almost two weeks late - so sorry, but still:
Happy birthday, Frida!
Love from Leonora,
With painting it’s just you and the canvas. You don’t decide to paint. It’s like getting hungry and going to the kitchen to eat. It’s a need, not a choice.
and Keith,
My body is mad.
It listens to my bones exploding.
This is a close-up of my shattered column.
My face is mad.
My third eye is on fire.
They drive pins into my bones.
The hospital is mad.
They sew me together, bit by bit.
The floor drowns in blood.
My mind is mad.
Trapped in the hell of my body.
I paint myself falling from many heavens.
Mexico is mad.
Scarecrow dogs stagger to sugar skulls.
I paint my body as a cadaver.
My husband is mad.
I find him crying at my corpse.
And laugh and laugh, blessed by his pain.
and all the rest of us, of course.
Thanks for everything!
P.S.: Pablo says hi!
porque tú siendo tan pequeñita como eres
dejas caer la risa desde tu meteoro
electrizando el nombre de la naturaleza.
If you enjoyed this post, subscribe today to get free updates by email or RSS.
