It's always hot in Mexico, there are three days a year that it rains and the wind never blows . The day of April 7th 1935 was no different. A balmy 98 degrees and dry. Frida was already in her studio with the windows open hoping to get even the slightest breeze to cool her down. She had on a flowy dress to keep her from overheating and all of her hair piled on top of her head. With paint brushes sticking out of her bun coming from all directions, covered in greens and yellows, she was working on a portrait of herself in the middle of a jungle to capture her drive and fierceness. Diego was already out of the house for the day, he took a trip into town to gather supplies and inspiration for his next project, a a man and woman from their village carrying flowers in a giant basket. Just a normal day at the Kahlo and Rivera house.
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On that day the mail came, everything was normal, frida had just made herself lunch and a cup of tea, sat at her table to answer the letters from her sister. Diego would do the same when he got home not shortly after. He sat to answer a letter from his Uncle when he noticed a letter his old friend from San Diego California sent . Jack was an american friend that he hadn't heard from in three years. Confused and worried he opened the
On that day the mail came, everything was normal, frida had just made herself lunch and a cup of tea, sat at her table to answer the letters from her sister. Diego would do the same when he got home not shortly after. He sat to answer a letter from his Uncle when he noticed a letter his old friend from San Diego California sent . Jack was an american friend that he hadn't heard from in three years. Confused and worried he opened the