Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera march on Labor Day 1929
Frida: The Making of an Icon, a new exhibition at London’s Tate Modern gallery, tells you little about Frida Kahlo as an artist.
The Mexican painter was one of the most influential artistic and cultural figures of the 20th century, but here she is reduced to almost nothing.
The exhibition begins by patronisingly calling Kahlo a “rule breaker”, “a devoted wife” and “a political activist”.
Though all those things are technically true, they present a sanitised image of a radical socialist—and ignore decades of affairs.
The exhibition erases the reality of her life and her politics.
It does present an impressive selection of her works ranging from early experiments to major pieces later in her life.
It is also a surprisingly good introduction to Mexican art from the 1920s to 1950s. But any critical analysis, narrative or necessary context is missing.
Kahlo was a leading member of the Mexican Communist Party.
She spent her life relating her work to the Mexican Revolution—which lasted from 1910 to 1920. She documented her disability—from childhood polio and a near-fatal bus crash—the reality of women’s oppression and workers’ lives.
She devoted herself to making art that would be “useful to the revolutionary communist movement”.
Despite this, the only mention of her politics is to say that she was involved in “social activism such as feminism”.
Luckily, her works speak for themselves. The paintings clearly demonstrate the divides that defined her life.
A defining moment was a bus crash in which she was impaled on a metal rod through the pelvis.
Numerous paintings, sketches and a medical corset she’d painted over demonstrate how being a disabled person had a huge impact on her life.
Kahlo’s famous self-portraits dominate the exhibit. In Memory (The Heart) she is depicted straddling solid land and water.
In The Two Fridas, she is seen twice—the European Frida and the Mestiza Frida—representing her father and mother respectively.
In other works, we see the devotion she felt for her husband Diego Rivera—but also the turbulent reality of their relationship.
Then there is her childhood and aspirations before the bus accident and the life she built for herself after.
The exhibition both diminishes and fetishises Kahlo’s Mexican identity—as confusing as she found it herself.
The curators refer to her “adoption of a Mexican persona.” This must have been easy for her—given she was born and raised in the country.
A second part of the exhibition features artworks inspired by Kahlo.
Some of these are very interesting. And it’s important to note how massively influential she has been. But it became repetitive.
There are nearly three rooms ripping off one work, The Two Fridas.
One room, without any analysis, is full of magnets, teapots and t-shirts—you name it—plastered with her image.
It would have been very easy to provide a critique of this crass commercialisation. Instead, this room exits into the gift shop.
It is inspiring to be surrounded by her work. But the Tate has failed her and her work.
It is insulting to see such an incredible woman—a groundbreaking artist and life-long revolutionary—turned into nothing more than a poster.
I left thinking, “Why do women have to be consumable?”
- Frida: The Making Of An Icon is on at the Tate Modern, until 3 January 2027.
- More information available at: www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/frida-kahlo-the-making-of-an-icon
