See Frida first. This poem is based on my viewing of the Frida Exhibit in Philadelphia in February 2008.
And Frida
As brushes bleed onto canvas
I see what I see as me
Not as you might see me
For of that, I give no quarter
So I paint and I am
Eyebrows connecting and far too full
Darkened moustache crawls along my upper lip
Ugly
For that is what I am inside
Bitter, pained, heartached
That you now can see what I feel
And what I feel, too
Copyright SGW 2008
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4 comments:
you were so right,, i had to go back and read the original post to really glean the meaning of this... i can so relate to this,, and i try so hard to paint myself,, with words,, over and over and over again,, in hopes that someday i will look at my "canvas" and say,,, look... its me....
what a powerful combination these two posts are...
Frida's self-portraits are so very disturbing because she looks right into whoever is studying her. Self-portraits invite such scrutiny; honesty like hers is rare. You have captured it so well, Scott.
I have always admired Frida for
having the courage to paint herself, her pain, to put her
entire being out there.
Her tortured personal life captured in these few poetic lines ... penetrating as her self-portraits
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