Sweater Vests Are Cool
You did not understand what I am. I am love. I am pleasure, I am essence, I am an idiot, I am an alcoholic, I am tenacious, I am a painter. I am simply I am…You are a shit.
Frida Kahlo in a letter to Diego Rivera (via sissies-rule)
They sit for hours on the ‘cafés’ warming their precious behinds, and talk without stopping about ‘culture’ ‘art’ ‘revolution’ and so on and so forth, thinking themselves the gods of the world, dreaming the most fantastic nonsenses, and poisoning the air with theories and theories that never come true.

Frida Kahlo, in a letter to her lover, the photographer Nickolas Muray, expressing her disdain for the members of the art scene in Paris. Much of the letter is too salty to reproduce on a family blog such as this one; in other words, a good read!

Frida Kahlo, Paris, France letter to Nickolas Muray, New York, N.Y., 1939 Feb. 16. Nickolas Muray papers, Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.

(via archivesofamericanart)

This blog has never purported to be family-friendly in the least, so I have transcribed more of the letter: 

“They have nothing to eat in their houses because none of them work and they live as parasites of the bunch of rich bitches who admire their ‘genius’ of ‘artists’. Shit and shit is what they are. I never seen Diego or you wasting time on stupid gossip and ‘intellectual’ discussions. That’s why you are real men and not lousy ‘artists’…all these people—good for nothing—are the cause of all the Hitlers and Mussolinis.”

“I rather sit in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with these ‘artistic’ bitches of Paris.”

“I met Marchel Duchamp (a marvelous painter) who is the only one who has his feet on the earth, among all this bunch of coocoo lunatic sons of bitches of the surrealists.”

(via fuckyeahlatinamericanhistory)