My fascination with Frida Kahlo began when my eyes were finally opened to her art. Through a little booklet called “I Painted My Own Reality” designed by Bret Granato, and given to me by a mentor at the time, I came in touch with Frida’s story and artwork. 
     I had never really observed any of Frida’s art. My first impression of her work though, was a shock; I thought her art too harsh, too explicit, and too deep because I couldn’t unravel her mystery.
     The first painting of Frida’s that unfroze an ocean in me was “What the Water Gave Me.” With its precision and detail, I immediately felt drawn into this world. Frida’s pain seemed something alive, tragic, and beautiful; I fell in love with her work. 
     During my moments of inner turmoil in life, I have often kept Frida in mind. I feel connected to her. Frida has become a sort of spiritual mother aside from muse. 

I hope to do her justice! I also hope that she may smile upon me from heaven, and one day perhaps - hear from Frida’s own lips: “Gracias, Stéfanie.”
    Today I say, "Gracias, Frida querida!"

    The day the ambulance took me to the hospital they sat me on a wheeled stretcher. They strapped me up. Immediately, I recalled Frida Kahlo’s painting, the one where she wears a surgical brace after she had undergone spinal surgery: “The Broken Column.” 
     The ambulance moved on slowly, smoothly, almost like a magic carpet.  Sitting inside the ambulance, I felt important like Frida when riding on her bed to the art show. She wasn’t supposed to go to; her doctor had warned her she needed to repose. This is an example of how Frida has accompanied me in life. I was on my way to the hospital, but with Frida inside of my soul.

Did your life flash before you, broken ballerina?
Did you bargain with God?
Did He show you your brush?
Did your memories slip, oh magdalena?
Did your barrio - Coyoacán make you run back home?

Did you see Diego waving and waiting for you?
Did you see all the pain that you’d have to go through?
The flowers, the fetuses pink, the portraits?
The surgeries, braces, corsets, broken bones?
The treachery, tears, the cold wall, the rat race?
The ribbons of red, the loneliest years?

It will hurt immensely, but love will carry you through

Hurry Frida - golden dancer, 
        future painter
    Run back, 
fly back
            home.