Trigger warning: Artworks depicting injury and pregnancy loss.

Through a combination of recent family medical crises and my reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book The Lacuna (a novel from the point of view of a cook employed by Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera), I became interested in reading more about Frida’s life and art. I have always liked her art and fondly remember a wonderful retrospective exhibit of her work I saw at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2008. The Lacuna brings her to life in vivid (and not always flattering) ways, highlighting her strong personality and marital infidelity (although, to be fair, Rivera was also frequently unfaithful). The novel also shows Frida to be a clever, passionate, and resilient woman and artist.

One aspect of Frida’s life and work that grabbed me as I read more about her life and looked at pictures of her work was the prevalence of pain and medical trauma. As is widely known, at age 18, Frida was a victim of a terrible bus accident that resulted in serious injuries to her pelvis and spine and condemned her to a life of chronic physical pain, numerous surgeries, and pregnancy losses. Even before her tragic accident, she had serious health problems, having contracted polio at a young age, which left one of her legs shorter than the other and withered.

My family going through numerous medical events in the past few years, my own growing awareness of my mortality now that I am 50, and the suicides of three people I know over the past year have led me to think about health and death quite a bit. These experiences have made Frida’s focus on her own pain and mortality more poignant to me.

My perception of several of Frida’s paintings depicting medical imagery is that creating these works simultaneously exposed her pain while providing her with a vehicle for processing and coping with it. Frida herself noted that painting was a solace to her: “I lost three children and a series of other things that would have fulfilled my horrible life. My painting took the place of all of this.” As she approached her death at the young age of 47, she also stated, “I’m not sick, I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.”

“Henry Ford Hospital” was painted in 1932, shortly after Kahlo lost a second pregnancy. The artist depicts herself lying naked on a hospital bed in a pool of blood. Frida’s bed is surrealistically placed in a desolate landscape to heighten her sense of isolation and vulnerability. She is shown as a small, naked, crying figure with six umbilical cords emanating from her body, connecting her to objects with personal meaning to her: a medical model of a female torso (referring to her inability to carry a pregnancy to term), a male fetus (her lost fetus), a snail (said to represent the excruciating slowness of the pregnancy loss), a machine (thought to indicate the technology that saved Frida but not her unborn child), a purple orchid (a gift given to her by Diego Rivera; the flower also resembles a uterus), and a pelvis (referring back to Frida’s debilitating accident).

Not surprisingly, many critics at the time recoiled from the graphic and shocking imagery in this painting. Frida showed courage and passion in making her personal and devastating experience public. This courage is needed in breaking down the secrecy and stigma that many feel in relation to medical trauma, particularly around birth-related traumas. Healing is often done in private; however, community, connection, and the ability to share one’s story on their own terms are often important aspects of moving forward after a tragic loss.

A lithograph from 1932, “El Aborto,” also deals with this pregnancy loss. Several similar versions were created by Kahlo. The artist’s naked body is central and once again is surrounded by symbolic forms: a fetus (whose umbilical cord is wrapped like a bandage around Frida’s damaged right leg), dividing cells, a crying moon, and growing plants. These images contrast burgeoning life with death. The heart-shaped palette Frida holds speaks again to the transformational power that creative expression held for her.

“The Broken Column” was painted in 1944, shortly after Frida had undergone a surgery on her spinal column. Although the original injury to her spine had occurred almost 20 years prior, it had a lifelong impact, frequently resulting in pain and disability and necessitating several surgeries. The 1944 operation left Frida bedridden and forced to wear a corset to help alleviate her chronic and intense pain.

The classical column in the painting represents not just Frida’s actual spine but also the foundation of her body and spirit, which, while broken, continued to support her. As in other works, there is a dichotomy in the representation: Frida depicts herself as vulnerable in a barren setting, crying, split open, and riddled with nails. Yet, her posture, expression, and exposed breasts speak to her strength.

Like Frida, other professional artists, as well as amateurs, can find expression and solace in creating art. Those who do not make their own artworks can heal and process the pain of life through the shared experience of viewing art. There is something so powerful about the visual expression of emotion. It touches us in ways that words cannot always do. And, the bravery of those who choose to put their feelings and experiences on display can make us feel less alone, make us feel connected to others and to something larger than ourselves.