We met in Budapest, on October 2018, 64 years after her death.
The place – her (Frida Kahlo) retrospective exhibition at the Hungarian National Gallery. The brutal honesty of the art touched a raw nerve, a mirror to my troubled state of mind. Frida’s self-portraits became mine, their guarded expression concealing layers of restrained emotions and unspoken words.
“Meeting Frida” images emerged from the darkroom into the sun filled studio where burning shades of gold, amber, and red take over the black and white palette. Imperfections are accepted, even embraced. In life as in art.