A catrina of Frida Kahlo, colorful alebrijes, and José Guadalupe Posada’s satirical skeletons are among the unmissable works on view.
Martín Mobarak may have broken Mexican law, but he burned the proof.
The musical is the first such telling of Kahlo’s life that has been sanctioned by her family, and draws in part on details from Intimate Frida, a book by her niece Isolda P. Kahlo.
Since antiquity, women’s eyebrows have been sites of intense scrutiny, constantly shifting between trend cycles.
Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Mexican Modernism feeds into the repeated use of Kahlo and Rivera’s work, and the mythology of their romantic relationship, as shorthand for an entire era.
Greatness, in this new golden age of wealth and vanity collecting, is inextricably linked to money, selling prices, and auction results.
The sale of “Diego y yo” (1949) skyrocketed past Kahlo’s previous auction record, $8 million.
Three art historians put the focus back on Kahlo’s artistic output.
Emily Rapp Black’s new book cuts though self-serving interpretations of disabled bodies like Kahlo’s, which have long emphasized the comfort or pleasure of others.
Kahlo’s aesthetic reflects the vogue of her time: the mythologizing of a homogenized Indigenous past afforded by her proximity to whiteness and wealth.
In the age of “social distancing,” reflecting on works by a number of artists who found themselves isolated, detained, or bed-ridden for various reasons.
Zeitgeisty is perhaps the best word to describe the Brooklyn Museum’s popular exhibition, which takes for granted the idea that Kahlo’s artwork is merely an extension of her constructed persona.