Frida Kahlo

Hello. My name is Frida Kahlo, and I was an artist who loved to paint with all the colors of the rainbow. I grew up in a beautiful, bright blue house in Mexico called the Casa Azul. It was as blue as the summer sky. I lived there with my mother, Matilde, my father, Guillermo, and my sisters. Our garden was full of sunshine and flowers, and it was my favorite place to play. When I was six years old, in 1913, I got very sick with something called polio. It was a sickness that made one of my legs a little bit wobbly and thinner than the other. Sometimes kids would point, but my father encouraged me. He would say, 'Frida, you are my clever girl. You are strong.'. So, I learned to be brave. I would still climb trees, ride my bicycle, and explore my world, even with my wobbly leg. It taught me that even when things are difficult, you can still find your own way to be strong and happy.

When I was a teenager, in 1925, something very scary happened. I was riding a bus home from school when it crashed. It was a very serious accident, and I was hurt very badly. The doctors worked hard to help me, but for a long, long time, I had to stay in bed to heal. Imagine lying in bed all day, every day, just looking at the ceiling. It was so boring and sometimes very painful. I couldn't run or play or even sit up properly. My body was wrapped in a plaster cast, like a big, white shell keeping me still. I felt very lonely and sad, wondering if I would ever walk freely again. But my wonderful parents had an idea to help me. My mother, Matilde, brought me a special easel that was built to fit right over my bed. Then my father, Guillermo, hung a huge mirror above me so I could see myself. He told me, 'If you can't go out and see the world, you can paint your own world.'. So I looked up at the girl in the mirror. She had big, dark eyebrows that met in the middle and a very serious face. That girl was me. I picked up a paintbrush and started to paint her. I painted myself over and over again because I was the person I knew best. That accident was a terrible, sad thing, but it was also a new beginning. It was the moment I discovered my passion and truly became a painter.

My paintings became my diary. Instead of writing words on a page, I used bright colors and bold pictures to show everyone how I was feeling inside. If I was happy, I used sunny yellows and vibrant pinks. If I was feeling sad or hurt, I might use deep blues and grays. I painted my dreams, my thoughts, and even my pain. It was my way of telling my own story without saying a word. I also loved painting the world around my Casa Azul, especially my amazing pets. I didn't have regular dogs or cats. I had two funny spider monkeys who would sit on my shoulder while I worked, a beautiful parrot who loved to chatter, and even a gentle deer that would walk in my garden. They were my wonderful friends, and you can see them in many of my paintings, keeping me company. Later in my life, I met another famous artist named Diego Rivera. He was very tall and I was much smaller, but we fell in love and got married in 1929. We both loved our home, Mexico, more than anything. We painted its bright flowers, colorful traditional clothes, and amazing history. Together, we filled our canvases with everything that made our country so special and beautiful.

Even though my body often hurt from my childhood sickness and the accident, my imagination never did. My mind was like a big, open sky full of flying colors, animals, and flowers. I learned that what makes you different is also what makes you special. My wobbly leg, my big eyebrows, my feelings—they were all a part of me, and I put them all in my art. I hope that when you see my paintings, you remember that it's okay to be exactly who you are. You can turn sad things into something beautiful and strong. My body is no longer here, as I passed away in 1954, but my colors and my story live on, inspiring people everywhere to be brave, be creative, and be proud of themselves.