Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf?

'For most of history, Anonymous was a woman' ~ Virginia Woolf
 
Lots of 'hear it for the girls' recently, but as it's the week of International Women's Day I figure, once more won't hurt. I watched The Hours recently, a film about the life of Virginia Woolf. It was well-crafted mixing three stories of three women from different periods of time, one was Virginia Woolf, the other two were more recent Woolf fans. I didn't realise how she struggled in her life and her fight for liberation from her husband, her friends and her society. After this, I was inspired to read Mrs Dalloway, before deeming Woolf, 'too hard'. It was pretty hard and unfortunately not as life-changing as I'd hoped. Even so it was an interesting read and it seemed semi-autobiographical.

Frida Kahlo and La Casa Azul

Self-Portrait with Monkey

Frida Kahlo is so cool it hurts.  I was aware of Frida Kahlo and her symbolic monobrow. On a recent trip to Mexico, my first trip off the continent no less, I went to her house. Not in a I-was-invited-round-for-tea way obviously, her house is called the Blue House and it’s now a museum/homage to Kahlo and Diego Riviera. La Casa Azul is in Coyoacan, a suburb of Mexico City. It displays some mind-blowing work alongside some possesions and annotations. It’s actually such a good idea for a museum. It remnoves that stuffy pretension that comes with so many formal art spaces. Its really accessible and appeals to anyone who likes people and their story as well as cool works of art.

Her paintings are really striking with vibrant colours and realism. Many pieces are self-portraits or relate to the difficulties she faced in her life. She really rose up and smacked adversity in the face if you ask me.

She was born just before the Mexican revolution began in 1910. Apparently she later said she was born in 1910 in order to be directly associated with the revolution. She got polio which rendered one of her legs pretty much useless. In 1925 she had a near-fatal road accident which affected her reproductive abilites and nearly destroyed her leg.

After her accident she gave up the idea of studying medicine to become a painter. I found her paintings of her fertility issues and disabilities really interesting and she very much faced dark subject matters head on. She was married to murualist Diego Rivera, a notorious womaniser to say the least, even having an affair with Frida’s sister. Frida’s love for Diego comes across from la casa azul and in literature, as incredibly strong. So strong it makes a revolutionary stubborn woman like Frida, weak. Love is an unfathomable power.

The couple befriended Leon Trotsky, Stalin-opposer in exile from Russia. Good grief.

I think I could go on and on. But I won’t. Just, if you happen to be in Mexico City, and have a spare hour or three, head over to the museo frida, and give her a salute from me.

Girl Power

Do it for the girls! I can't stand this kind of pro-feminist slang. I find it comes across to make females sound weak and pathetic, and let's face it- a bit of a joke. Nonetheless I've said already- feminism is a big 'yes'. But using the word 'girl' in a feminist statement is something of an oxymoron for me.

Anyway, the point is, I completely adore Women's Hour on BBC Radio 4, 10am weekdays. It's a small moment of brightening pleasure in my day. Sometimes I learn a bit, and usually thoroughly enjoy the chat. This week prior to Women's Hour Patti Smith is reading from her autobiographical novel. I don't know much about her but I really like the story. she writes beautifully. Another thing is I'm often irrationally drawn towards all things New York. I've never been, and quite possibly if or when I do go its shine will die a little. Patti Smith's story is one of finding your place, or finding a good place, and not trying to fit in somewhere you obviously won't be happy. Be yourself, and try hard. Good mantra for today.Thanks Patti.

Out of Kilter but thinking about my Valentine

Valentine- Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love.

Here.

It will blind you with tears

like a lover.

It will make your reflection

a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are,

for as long as we are.

Take it.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,

if you like.

Lethal.

Its scent will cling to your fingers,

cling to your knife.

Knitting a sweater

So I've just started to knit a jumper. And I am hugely excited about it. It's got me a little troubled though, because I like to think of myself as a feminist, or as I rather call it, equality. But when I enjoy to knit/cook/fit-into-the-proverbial-girl-hobbies-box. I feel as if feminism is just correctness gone mad. Men and Women are different. Actually.

Anyway, I'm doing my chunky knit. Knitting really fits me- its quite rhythmic and logical. It's a bit like a maths problem, you have to concentrate and take care and it'll get done. It is not about being creative and artistic. Which I'd love to be, but really I am not. I seriously hope I will finish it, because before now all I've done is a scarf. I have a couple of ancesterol generations on hand to rescue me when I don't understand the jargon of the knitting world.