INTRODUCTION
The Painter-Saint Frida Kahlo
Everybody loves Frida. And why shouldn't we? She was a self-taught, bohemian, Mexican surrealist painter with the unibrow from hell and the Mona Lisa's smile. Even during her lifetime, everybody loved Frida, except for her heart's one true love, the painter and muralist Diego Rivera. Some would argue, "He loved her enough to marry her twice, didn't he?" Yet due to his infidelities, their rocky relationship was the premier fuel for Frida's morose paintings. To view Frida's art is to look into a jilted lover's soul, and who among us has not endured heartbreak? And therein is the secret of Frida's mass appeal: she as not ashamed to show us all the miserable, broken pieces. And for her vulnerability (which is the topic of several letters) and her clever representations of common subjects such as pain, longing, and rejection, the world has venerated her as Mexico's female painter-saint. I can hear the Pope declaring it now from St. Peter's balcony to the roaring crowd below: "I present to you, Saint Frida!" The price all saints pay for their posthumous fame is acute suffering, and her paintings tell the story of that. But what were Frida's miracles?
Painting from her wheelchair or bed, Frida transcended the common reaction of many invalids, which is to withdraw into themselves and succumb to powerlessness, calling it "game over." But such was not the shape of her lionheart. Instead, Frida cleverly devised a scaffolding and mirror to hang above her bed so she could paint as Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel. For, as she was quoted as saying, "I painted myself because that was the subject I knew best." Despite a withered leg in childhood due to polio; despite a broken spine and a multitude of botched surgeries that caused chronic pain; with a shattered heart due to her tumultuous and failed attempts to reconcile with her twice-husband Diego; and a sister who became Diego's affair (which Saint Frida forgave), and despite her addictions to alcohol, pain pills, and chain-smoking, Frida kept painting. When the average person would have become desolate and bitter at cruel fate, Saint Frida never closed the door of her heart, opening herself ever wider for the growing admiration of an adoring audience who glimpsed something of their own suffering in her. In retrospect, we call her a brave soul for letting the world see every wretched inch of her struggles. And if that is not miraculous given her pitiable condition, I do not know what is. For you and I would have been crushed beneath the weight of such physical challenges, emotional wreckage, and betrayals. Frida became a giant in the world of art and pop culture not because under Diego's tutelage she developed her technique without formal art training, not because her artistic talent was wholly unique and persuasive, and not because she was one of the only commercially successful female artists that Mexico produced, but Frida was a titan due to her uncanny ability to strike a resounding chord with her audience. Her paintings take one's breath away, for as we look, we are witnessing our own pain depicted clearly and unapologetically. This is the miracle of Frida Kahlo, which to this day rings loud and clear, still jumping off the canvas to smack you, her message reflecting the weariness, injustice, and brokenness of the human condition. She became our mirror; in her we see ourselves, both the worst and the best, which is Saint Frida's greatest miracle. And by proxy we are being asked to do as Frida did: not to shrink but to stay open despite the pain.
Upon studying her art, I think she profoundly understands me. If nobody understands the struggles I have endured, the queen survivor of all survivors knows what I have been through, and I take comfort in that. While I marvel at her self-taught ability, it is Frida the overcomer that I relate to and somehow miss. How can you miss someone you never knew? Easy. I miss lots of people who have graced the world's stage with their vivacious talent and presence, such as Hollywood's red-headed, googly-eyed funny girl, Lucille Ball. Or movie maven Mae West, whose crystal clip-on earrings I had to have and that sit glittering, tucked away with her memory in my humble jewelry box. Without these women, who I would call the sparklers, the world would be a dimmer, drabber, and much smaller place, and each left a piece of herself behind. Mae West left razzle-dazzle catchphrases like "Come up and see me sometime" and her blockbuster sex appeal. Frida left a body of work that is summed up by the title of one of her best-known paintings, "The Two Fridas." Two likenesses of Frida are set side-by-side both with hands folded, twins sharing a bleeding heart. One Frida is more demure than the other, the picture of what Mexican women were raised to be: docile and chaste, subdued and silent. The other Frida longs to detach herself from the misery of her fate, but tradition won't let her. This is Frida's dilemma: born at a time when society did not know where to put a wrecking ball like her.
Whether you consider her a sinner or a saint, one thing we can all agree on is that Frida has been venerated by each new generation. Her style, though arguably surreal, was one-of-a-kind. Frida objected to being lumped in with the surrealist artists of her day; she saw no justification for labeling her art or her life. Perhaps this is Frida's most defining quality, that she was a maverick. She sported traditional mexican peasant dresses and wore her hair braided, yet she was no wilting lilly. She dressed conventionally to make a statement: "I am a Mexican woman and proud of it. Even so I will rise above it." Certaintly, a family photo is the time to go with the flow, to melt into the group. But not for Frida. In a family portrait she donned a tweed 3-piece suit and pulled her hair back, flanked by her sisters and mother who by comparison appear drab. Everyone faced to the side while Frida squares off with the camera, stealing the show. Nobody had to tell her she was dressed provocatively; her unibrow and light mustache, now clelebrated as a symbol of women's emancipation, was too masculine, as was her square jaw and handsome scowl. Women were not supposed to be overly serious creatures. They were flip, saucy, goofy and loud, but not butch. Even Frida's sexuality was left of center. She had brief dalliances with women, including artist Georgia O'Keefe. One wonders if she acted the part of the butch in these relationshoips but we will never know as, like a lady, she did not kiss and tell.
The point is, in all ways Frida was unapologetically herself. Her wide appeal and devastating charm is proof that she did not try to impress, to comfort, and to reassure you, but somehow she did. She lived life on her own terms. Her forceful painting and tight-lipped public persona were not for the faint of heart, though above all she had hoped for just one man who could handle her fire. She was an uniquivically natural artist whose raw talent of capturing herself suprised and delighted all, from the common Mexican to the art critics. Her art will never be boxed up and put away, for history immortalizes true saints. She is Mexico's Joan de Arc, and her message of strength in the face of adversity will shine forever in our own struggles to find purpose and dignity in the heaviest of circumstances. Frida is the Mexican rose, a flower she grew in her garden, admired, and wore in her hair, a symbol of beauty surviving in thorns.
And how did I come to be Saint Frida's mail-delivery? For in the sum of it, that is all I am. These letters were dictated to me, for you. Some say it is impossible and unbelievable that people on the Other Side can speak to the living. And besides, why would they? Having kicked the earth's dust from thier feet, they would be loathe to return or even to look back at thier earthy existance. All worthy criticisms. But to be fair, spiritualists were channeling books by discarnate souls before Frida's time. And remember that Frida was a philanthropist. I do not mean she donated to the poor, which she may have; rather, I mean that Frida was a political activist. She was a registered member of the Communist party, and before you disparage her for it, she lived during an era where Communism was still a high ideal much as liberalism is today. Frida grew up watching Mexican neighbors struggle to survive, while Americans grew rich on capitalism. To her, Communism was a way by which the Mexican people would be looked after. To capitalists such as McCarthy, Communist ideals threatened the American way of life. Frida and Diego protested in marches, spoke out at University campus meetings, and entertained well-known Communists including Trotsky who was a Russian Revolutionist, and whom Frida had an affair with. Seen in retrospect, her affairs may have been a means of extracting revenge rather than abiding interest in her partners. Frida also had an affair with womanizer Pablo Picasso who admired her art and commented about it: "...adorable as a beautiful smile, and deep and cruel as as the bitterness of life." To say Frida was entrenched in the Communist movement is a true statement, for we have pictures of her marching arm-in-arm, and she was even jailed in the Summer of 1940 for a night in Mexico City with her sister when they were accused of Trotsky's assasination. History shows that Frida was a political dissident and therefore in my view, also a philanthropist.
My interest in Frida was kindled when I enrolled in a University to earn a degree in Creative Writing. We were exploring themes such as: what is the process of creativity, and who were the most influential artists? I noted that every one of my classmates commented something to the effect of, "I love Frida!" spoken as if she were a beloved friend. Nobody spoke of other renouned artists with the same familairity. Because I also have a degree in Applied Psychology, this piqued my curiosity. Why this fondness for her, and not for other artists? The more I uncovered about her, the more I wanted to learn. Here was a Mexican woman from a middle-class family who clearly had not abandoned her mother's Indian roots, but who also honored her father's European heritage. As I learned of Frida's many misfortunes, her paintings seemed more like confessionals. Her art was more than interesting to a Psychology major; they were fascinating. But her backstory was what made them come alive. I began to have one steady thought: What would Frida say to us today, so many years after her death? As I held this question I began to notice images of Frida everywhere. Granted, I was in Mexico where my writing studio is, and images of Frida abound in Mexico. There is also a phenominon called "Confirmation Bais." Let us say you are thinking of buying a certain car. Suddenly you start seeing them everywhere on the road. It is because our brains search our environment for validation of our desires. Have you ever been hungry and began noticing food advertisements? This is Confirmation Bias. I reasoned that I must have been subconsciously conjuring Frida. In one instance I had gotten lost and was trying to find my way out of a housing division. I had been thinking about the possibility of writing a book about Frida when the dusty lane I was traveling led directly to a huge mural of Frida that I had never seen, just one minute from my home. Another time, a handful of small butterflies went whipping past as I sat on the beach with a book about Frida in my hand. One landed on my knee. I thought it curious, because though Mexico is filled with all sorts of butterflies, one had never been so friendly and it stayed behind to keep me company for quite awhile. Arriving home, I checked a social media account and a video popped up and began playing. It was an AI version of Frida with butterflies landing all over her. Was this mere coincidence, Confirmation Bias, or a nudge from Frida herself? While murals and butterflies may not sound like much, at the time they seemed to be pointing the way.
Because I have chaneled books, I began wondering if Frida had something left to say. Her philanthropic nature could not have changed that much. That is when I began to receive these "love letters" from Frida. Some of them certainly sound like a more moderate form of Frida, with a mellower, more balanced perspective. I attribute this change in tone to her soul's growth. We come to earth to learn, but we also grow on the Other Side. She has grown out of the troubled woman she once was, into a wiser form. She probably would not consider herself to be an earthling anymore; so why should we expect her to sound exactly as she did? I do not think that is a logical expectation. Instead, I have allowed room for her expansion and growth as a person, and I offer these messages hoping that you will not put her in a box (because remember, she hated that). We can allow Frida to be a greater verson than she was-the Frida 2.0 version. Afterall, in 70 plus years you will not think the same as you do today, right?
And while decades have passed since Frida's time, these letters are still filled with strong opinions. For one, her criticism of the men who were her contemporaries is virulent, but I do not apologize for it, nor do I think would Frida. When she had a truth to tell, she did not concern herself as to whether the audience would agree. Hers was not the type of personality to pander. You may not agree with her conclusions, but whether you agree or not, the point she is making is still relevant and worth consideration. I always knew it was her due to her distinct manner of speaking. She tended to make strong statements without apology, and she also tended to leave unfinished sentences, which, for me, having earned a master's degree in composition and English and as an editor and publisher, was a difficulty. Mostly, I completed her sentences for her as I cannot stand partial or run-on sentences, and she did not seem to mind.
These are what she termed "love notes" for your personal life from a big sister who is not invasive but always direct. You may take them as suggestions or as commands; it is left to you. At no time does she claim to be all-knowing because she is speaking from the Other Side. But her insights are distinctly intimate in nature, discussing such topics as sex, a broken marriage, her addictions, and her disabilities. When recording her dictations, I would visualize us sitting at a cafe table with a coffee and writing as fast as I could while Frida smoked and looked mostly uninterested. I did not take her lack of interest personally; I think that is her way of being detached. There is a definite coolness about Frida which silently communicated, "I can take you or leave you." It was part of her charm, what people were drawn to. Frida was a cool character.
Her depth of self-disclosure impressed me, for she had insight into her own shortcomings and failings and called them out as such. Frida struggled with common emotions such as loneliness, feeling left out, and not being good enough, and she openly shares these heartaches. She "keeps it real" throughout, causing you to feel that you know her, that she is a kindred soul, and as such, one can relate to her very human struggles. She also shares about her ex-husband, painter Diego Rivera, in a way that is honest without being critical; which is also admirable. In one letter she chalks up her failed marriages by admitting, "I was too much for him!"
As to the question of whether these letters are my own words or the words of Frida Kahlo channeled through me, I cannot say with absolute certainty. Because I am a clairvoyant, meaning that I can hear the spirit world, I have channeled other books, so obviously I believe such a feat is possible. However, the ghost of Frida has never appeared in my living room; I have only clearly intuited the messages in my mind. When they arrived, I was not thinking about writing; they simply popped up as if she were dictating to me, and I dutifully paused what I was doing and wrote them down. I never had any idea what the topic was going to be until I began writing, and the way Frida phrased things was a bit foreign. She had a distinct manner of phrasing, which I would term "artistic and creative." Over the course of this book, we learned to work together to overcome translational barriers. For example, she tended to make statements that were partial in nature; her English grammar was not always perfect. I would frown the way English teachers do at her sentence structure, and she would good-naturedly oblige my need for complete sentences. If you are a Frida fan, you may have had the privilege of reading her diary. If so, you will know what I am referring to. If the phrasing of these letters does not sound exactly as Frida wrote (in her avant-garde way), it is because I cleaned them up. I did this not out of any superiority complex, because Frida was an superior writer. While reading her diary, I often thought, "I wish I had said that, just that way." However, it could be difficult to ascertain her intent and meaning.
I would like to state that if these letters are from Frida herself, she was a delight to work with. Her mind was agile and lightning quick. She made me feel comfortable with her immediately; I felt we shared similarities in our romantic relationships. Thus, I found myself nodding in agreement with her perspectives. Like the woman herself, these messages are warm but direct and pragmatic while still being spiritual. She readily admits to not being religious in life but explains that once she got to the Other Side she changed her opinion on God. When I think back to my time with Frida, I am left with the impression of a down-to-earth woman that I would have been honored to call a friend. Frida and I would have gotten along famously, but I believe that this is how most people feel, because she was easy to like. Everybody loves Frida.
I proudly present these poems and letters from your dearest friend, Frida. At the end of each she sends you her love, as do I.
With Love,
Devi Nina Bingham
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM IN THE FALL 2026: www.amazon.com/author/ninabingham
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