This part weekend, I unexpectedly came across two of Frieda Kahlo’s self-portraits on display at an art show in our small town. One is pictured below. The other was a watercolour with pink flowers in her hair. The two became intertwined in the poem below, as my reaction became more important to me here than distinguishing between them.
Seeing a Frieda Kahlo –
All at once, there it is
Made with her own hand.
In my small Alberta town
I didn’t know I’d find this here
“Faces,” – the name of the exhibition
But Frieda’s face?
Yes, and two times over.
She stares at me,
Her chin straight
Pink flowers wound through her hair,
A woman of substance
Who faced pain, who explored her “imperfections”
(As we all do)
And found alignment with her true self
(Not as we all do)
It’s 35 below – that’s celsius
And the gallery is empty,
But for the volunteer host
And my mom, on the phone
I didn’t know I’d find this here
“Faces,” – the name of the exhibition
But Frieda’s face?
Yes, and two times over.
And I sink to my knees to really take it in
To be level
Eye-to-eye
Shivers.
