“Frida” is not a portrait of an artist I admire from a distance — it’s a conversation. Frida Kahlo has always represented strength without softness being removed, pain without victimhood, beauty without permission. I painted her not as a symbol, but as a reminder of what it means to survive honestly.
Her smile is exaggerated, almost forced, because pain doesn’t always disappear — sometimes it learns how to live alongside dignity. The flowers in her hair are not decoration; they are resistance. Colour here is not joy for joy’s sake, it’s defiance. When the body hurts, when life fractures you, colour becomes armour.
What draws me to Frida is her refusal to hide contradiction. She was fragile and fierce at the same time. Broken and whole. Proud of her wounds. This painting comes from my respect for that kind of courage — the courage to show yourself as you are, without smoothing the edges.
Painting her was also a way of looking at myself. At how pain, identity, and creation intertwine. At how art can hold suffering without being consumed by it.
“Frida” is not a portrait of an artist I admire from a distance — it’s a conversation. Frida Kahlo has always represented strength without softness being removed, pain without victimhood, beauty without permission. I painted her not as a symbol, but as a reminder of what it means to survive honestly.
Her smile is exaggerated, almost forced, because pain doesn’t always disappear — sometimes it learns how to live alongside dignity. The flowers in her hair are not decoration; they are resistance. Colour here is not joy for joy’s sake, it’s defiance. When the body hurts, when life fractures you, colour becomes armour.
What draws me to Frida is her refusal to hide contradiction. She was fragile and fierce at the same time. Broken and whole. Proud of her wounds. This painting comes from my respect for that kind of courage — the courage to show yourself as you are, without smoothing the edges.
Painting her was also a way of looking at myself. At how pain, identity, and creation intertwine. At how art can hold suffering without being consumed by it.