Everyone has experienced being the target of acrimony. The word "acrimony" derives from "acrid," which is a strong, bitter taste. This is an accurate description of revenge. Revenge results from a strong bitterness. For example, I was under fire from men in the art world who did not want to share the spotlight with a woman. The famous painters of my day were mostly men, save a few brave women. To be included, we had to sleep with an artist in order to arouse their sentiments towards us. If I appealed to their sexual prowess, then my art was not taken as competition. This is an interesting psychological fact about men; if they can "conquer you" sexually, anything else you will do will not be seen as threatening to them. They will see you as "their" girlfriend or mistress, and because they enjoyed the sex and hope it will continue, they will do professional favors for you, such as introduce you to the right men to further your career. Today this is known as "sleeping your way up the ladder" and not seen as respectable, although it still is the way the game is played in many corporations. But in my day, because successful artists were men, if you were a woman, your art was not going to be seen based on its merit alone.
If I had not slept with them, male artists and art critics critiqued my art harshly. They used words such as "quaint" and "colloquial," pointing out that I was a Mexican woman with no formal education in art. I was puzzled as to why men were so staunchly against women in the arts. Then it occurred to me that if women were allowed to perform alongside them, their talent would not shine as brightly. Women needed to make inroads to the art scene. I became an artist's wife and thus a member of the art community. I sat at cafes with the boys, smoking, drinking, and debating the different artistic movements late into the night. I traveled to America where I met influential art patrons and their favorite artists. This was the only way to break into the art scene as a woman.
Once my art began to be shown in public, I gained a following and momentum. Mine was a style the critics had not apprehended before. It did not strictly fit into any category but was a blend of Mexican peasant traditionalism and surrealism. Critics also did not know what to make of me personally. Like my art, I was an amalgum of old and new. The old Mexican Tehuana skirts and braided hair and the new statement that women were making in the workplace as depicted by my strong unibrow and serious, unsmiling demeanor were both feminine and masculine. This duality confused the critics. They were uncertain of how to approach me: as a vulnerable woman susceptible to manipulation, or as a formidable man who cannot be easily influenced? Had I not appeared as feminine, they would have rejected me outright. A woman dressing as a man would have been too much for them. I always thought about how I presented myself; how I must be careful not to intimidate or threaten male artists.
The male artists were free to be themselves and seldom had to "fit in" with others' expectations. Therefore, when a woman enters their domain, she is subjected to intense scrutiny. I was seen as an anomaly and a source of intrigue. If not sleeping with them, I was criticized, critiqued, evaluated, and adjudicated at every turn. They would offer their opinions on my art without being invited and explain to me as if I were a senseless child how I could improve my technique. I didn't mind if they were trying to help, but many used it to say, "I am your superior." In my naivete, I believed that artists would be a unique group of men, too cultured and refined to engage in competitive games, but I was mistaken. I eventually believed it is within the male psyche to conquer his environment. He must feel he is number one in something. If not, someone else will feel inferior. This is the disappointing conclusion I came to. Funny, but men do not see this as a problem. They see their need to conquer as a means to achieve success. All men are constantly jockeying for position, and none of them thinks of it as a pathetic character flaw. However, I can tell you that women see the ego-mania in a different way. Humility is seen as strength by a woman, so men and women look upon the ego in a totally different way.
Because I was a female artist in a sea of men, I learned to survive their ego-stroking competitions by being silent. Men do not concern themselves with women who are quiet. In private, among family and friends, I would smoke and talk incessantly. I would talk out of turn. But among my male colleagues I was quiet as a church mouse. I would ask questions, and the male egos were happy to offer me an abundance of free advice. But I did not speak unless spoken to. In this way, the men had nothing to fear. They knew that Frida would hold her tongue in public, never crossing them. Because more than anything, men fear being made a fool of in front of their peers, and especially by a woman. There were many occasions when I had to stop myself from smiling or laughing at what largess egos were on display. And it seemed the slighter they were in stature, the larger was their ego, and I saw this as compensatory.
The surest way, as a woman anyway, to escape criticism is to say little when you are the target. Let the egos boast, ignoring most of it. If your work is worthy, it will stand alone and stand the test of time. Art critics are never remembered for their smart words. Can you name one critic whose opinion was remembered? But the art endured, minus the criticism. These days women need not sleep with the boss to get ahead. This is because women who came before you did what was necessary. The work world has changed for the better in many regards, but men are ever men with fragile egos, and women must be mindful of this. A man will ruin your career if they feel threatened by you. So, take it from me—tread lightly with men. All men. And let your excellent work speak for itself.
With Love,
Frida
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