'Self Portrait with Braid' (1941): An ode to Frida Kahlo's tainted and entangled existence

A portrait review the infamous Mexican artist’s intimate self-depiction

Often hailed as one of the most notable figures in portraiture, what separates Frida Kahlo from other artists is her ability to welcome us into her inner world. As Kahlo expressed, "I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.” Her love life was extremely turbulent, and such inner turmoil was an infinite source of inspiration for her work.

Accordingly, it would be impossible to begin unpicking Self Portrait with Braid (1941) – or any other works of hers, for that matter – without also untangling her relationship with her husband and fellow artist, Diego Rivera. Twenty years her senior, he is often featured in Kahlo’s portraiture, even when he isn’t ‘actually’ there. Their relationship was flooded with infidelity, but Rivera’s affair with Kahlo’s sister, Christina, tipped her over the edge, which led to her filing for divorce in 1939.

Since the Mexican artist paints so earnestly, it is impossible not to notice the imprint Rivera had on her, simply by documenting her work around this period. Of all her oil on masonite creations, Self Portrait with Braid feels particularly intimate and raw. It’s as though we have unexpectedly stumbled upon her in her garden - she shelters her bare body behind the leaves, but still struggles to hide.

Following her divorce, she attempted to rid her womanhood by cutting off her long hair, in the hope it would disconnect her from her tumultuous relationship with Rivera. Self Portrait with Braid was supposedly created to signify the resurrection of her femininity. Instead, for me, this image does a much better job at epitomising her internal defeat.

Despite the morbidity and emotional fragility present in The Two Fridas (1939) or Thinking about Death (1943), she still manages to present herself as impenetrable. In Self-Portrait with Braid, we gather much more of a sense of how much her romantic relationship has tainted her soul. Kahlo’s hair may be sculpturally spun on top of her head, but it’s coarse and bristly. Her eyes are hollow, and the grey sky hangs heavy around her.

Traditionally, Kahlo triumphs in her ability to connect with her darkness and bask in it, but in this self-portrait, she is a slave to it. Looking at the frayed, half-unravelled braid, it feels as though there is nothing more holding her together than that worn-out, crimson ribbon. However much she desperately tries to untangle herself from Rivera, her eternal love - symbolised as a ribbon - will not allow her to.

French writer and poet Andre Breton has often been dubbed the Father of Surrealism. He once described Frida’s works as “a ribbon around a bomb”. And that is what we encounter in this portrait - a ribbon around a bomb. This work remains a magnificent encapsulation of the eclipse of the soul, post-hearbreak.