Excerpts from
The Diary of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait,

with an introduction by Carlos Fuentes and essay and commentaries by Sarah M. Lowe (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1995).

[p208] "...Today I wish my sun could touch you. I tell you, your eyeball is my eyeball, the puppet characters all arranged in their large glass room, belong to us both. Yours is the huipil with magenta ribbons. Mine the ancient squares of your Paris, above all, the magnificent -- [Place] des Vosges.

[p209] so forgotten and so firm. Snail shells and the bride-doll, is yours too -- I mean, it is you. Her dress, is the same one she wouldn't take off on the day of the wedding to no-one, when we found her half asleep on the dirty sidewalk of some street. My skirts with their lace flounces and the antique blouse I always wore xxxxxxxxx paint the absent portrait of only one person. But the color of your skin, of your eyes and your hair change with the winds in Mexico. [Crossed out: The death of the old man pained us so much that we talked and spent that day together.] You too know that all my eyes see, all I touch with myself, from any distance, is Diego.... I will write to you with my eyes, always....

[p210] ...I would not wish to harbor the slightest hope, everything moves to the beat of what's enclosed in the belly....

[p213] ...Leaves. blades. cupboards, sparrow / I sell it all for nothing. I do not believe in illusion. You smoke terrible. smoke. Marx. life. the great joker. nothing has a name. I don't look at shapes. the paper love. wars. tangled hair. pitchers. claws. submerged spiders. lives in alcohol. children are the days and here it stopped...." [Note: Kahlo kept in a jar on a shelf in her home at least one fetus she aborted.] "...the bleeding children. the mica micron. I don't know what my mocking dream thinks.... I have stolen you and I leave weeping. I'm just kidding."

[p227] ...I'll do what I can to escape from my world.... What would I do without the absurd and the ephemeral?...

[p228] DESIRE The one who gave birth to herself ICELTI who wrote me the most marvelous poem of her whole life I'd .. give / sea / do / kiss / I love Diego and no one else

[p234] Nobody will ever know how much I love Diego. I don't want anything to hurt him. nothing to bother him or to sap the energy that he needs to live -- To live the way he feels better....

[p235] ...Why do I call him my Diego? He never was or will be mine. He belongs to himself..... Diego beginning Diego builder Diego my child Diego my boyfriend Diego painter Diego my lover Diego 'my husband' Diego my friend Diego my mother Diego my father Diego my son Diego = me Diego = universe Diversity within unity.

[p243] ...xxxx the revolutionary struggle xxxxx in this process is a doorway open to intelligence...

[p244] Anniversary of the Revolution 7th of November 1947 Tree of Hope stand firm!... DIEGO I'm alone....

[p247] ...I have never seen tenderness as great as Diego has and gives when his hands and his beautiful eyes touch Mexican Indian sculpture.

[p251] 1st. I'm convinced of my disagreement with the counterrevolution -- imperialism -- fascism -- religions -- stupidity -- capitalism -- and the whole gamut of bourgeois tricks -- I wish to cooperate with the Revolution in transforming the world into a classless one so that we can attain a better rhythm for the oppressed classes 2nd. a timely moment to clarify who are the allies of the Revolution Read Lenin -- Stalin -- Learn that I am nothing but a 'small damned' part of a revolutionary movement. Always revolutionary never dead, never useless

[p252] ...I feel uneasy about my painting. Above all I want to transform it into something useful for the Communist revolutionary movement, since up to now I have only painted the earnest portrayal of myself, but I'm very far from work that could serve the Party. I have to fight with all my strength to contribute the few positive things my health allows me to the revolution. The only true reason to live for.

[p255] ...one has to make allowances for the fact that I had been sick since I was six years old and for really very short periods of my life have I enjoyed truly good HEALTH and I was of no use to the Party. Now in 1953. After 22 surgical interventions I feel better and now and then I will be able to help my communist Party. Although I'm not a worker, but a

[p256] craftswoman -- And an unconditional ally of the Communist revolutionary movement. For the first time in my life my painting is trying to help in the line set down by the Party. REVOLUTIONARY REALISM....Poles -- united in blood to me. And to the Mexican Indian. Among those great multitudes of Asian people there will always be the faces of my own -- Mexicans -- with dark skin and beautiful form, with limitless grace. The black people would also be freed, so beautiful and so brave. (Mexicans and negroes are subjugated for now

[p257] by capitalist countries above all North America -- (U.S. and England). xxxxxx ------------

Three wonderful comrades came into my life -- Elena Vazquez Gomez, Teresa Proenza, and Judy (the last was really my nurse). The other two are really astounding in intelligence and sensibility in the revolutionary cause in addition the three of them have collaborated so that my health has improved. They are very good friends of Diego's and great friends of mine....

[p278] 11 February 1954 They amputated my leg 6 months ago. It seemed to me centuries of torture and at times I nearly went crazy. I still feed like committing suicide.... I have never suffered so much in my life. I'll wait a while....

[p282] My childhood was wonderful even though my father was a sick man (he suffered from vertigo every month and a half). He was the best example for me of tenderness and workmanship (also a photographer and a painter) but above all understanding for all my problems which since I was four years old were of a social nature.... I saw with my own eyes the clash between Zapata's peasants and the forces of Carranza.... My mother opened the balconies on Allende Street getting the wounded and hungry and to allow the Zapatistas to jump over the balconies of my house into the 'drawing room.' She tended their wounds and fed them corn gorditas -- the only food available at that time in Coyoacan..... The clear and precise emotions of the 'Mexican Revolution' that I keep were the reason why, at the age of 13, I joined the Communist youth.

[p283] ...They used to praise Zapata in the Coyoacan marketplace with songs published by Posada. On Fridays they cost 1 cent and Cristi and I would sing them hiding in a big wardrobe that smelled of walnut. Meanwhile, my mother and father watched over us to that we wouldn't fall into the hands of the guerrillas.

[p285] ...I hope the leaving is joyful -- and I hope never to return -- FRIDA" [her last entry]