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Frida
Kahlo, Hen
r y Ford
Hospital
(la camo
volando),
1932. Colle
c tion of
Dolores
Olmedo
Mexico
City,
Mexico.
Last
week, as
the
Mexican
holiday
D ia De
Los
Muertos
a pproach
e d, I
found
myself
eyeing
images
of Frida
Kahlos
more
macabre paintings. One, called Henry Ford Hospital (1932), showed the artist lying naked on a
hospital bed surrounded by floating objects: a flower, a snail, and a fetus.
The resemblance of the work to other small, mystical, and gruesome paintings I had once
happened upon in a vintage store was striking. As I pored over the little panels, filled with
images of people prostrate on hospital beds, pursued by evil forces, or ejected from the backs
of unruly horses, the shopkeeper told me theyd originated from a Mexican church altar. It
sparked my curiositywhat were those tiny paintings, rendered on tin and featuring childlike
portraits of people in strife? And why the likeness to Kahlos work?
The small panels, usually measuring around 11 by 15 inches or less, were ex-votos. The
abridged translation of the term reads something like the vow made or in gratitude or
devotion, but this style of painting deserves a lengthier explanation. As I delved into my
research, I found that these types of narrative ex-voto paintings originated in rural Mexico and
often ended up in Mexican churches as offerings of gratitude to various Catholic saints.
Ex-voto by unknown painter (Mexican, 19th century). Image courtesy of El Paso Museum of Art.
A
person wishing to thank a higher power, usually for a miraculous intervention that had saved
them from certain death or interminable suffering, would ask a local artist to paint her story.
The resulting panel would show an image that captured the commissioners anguish, along
with the divine presence of her savior, usually floating ethereally in space. The compositions
are usually bordered by a story, penned in looping cursive or scribbled in thick paint,
describing the tale.
In one ex-voto that I happened upon, a man stands in his pajamas, in a field rimmed by
mountains. Hes frozen in fear and staring at a UFO that radiates a purple beam of light
containing a big-eyed alien. Over the mans head, on a puffy cloud, levitates the Virgin de
Guadalupe. The few sentences painted below the scene reveal that the saint rescued the man
from abduction and the life of a mute: The day January 14, 1965 with this I give the most
sincere thanks to the Virgin of Guadalupe, who gave me the miracle of regaining speech after I
saw a ship with an extraterrestrial coming out of it and was left speechless. It was signed Sr.
Juan Manuel Gutierrez..., 20 April of 1984.
The piece, like all the ex-votos Ive come across, is intensely personalfilled with one mans
fears, idiosyncrasies, and spiritual leanings. But the ex-voto tradition began long before the
80s, or even Kahlos time in the 1930s and 40s. In Mexico, they first cropped up in the 16th
century, during the colonial era, as Catholicism spread like wildfire across Latin America. The
practice became especially popular, however, in the throes and aftermath of Mexicos
successful battle for independence from Spain in the early 1800s, and again saw a renaissance
during the early 1900s, during the Mexican revolutionary war.
Left: The Lost Soul. Betty Byerley Collection, Museum of the Big Bend, Sul Ross State University, Alpine, Texas. Photo by Jim
Bones; Right: Ex-voto by unknown painter (Mexican, 19th century). Image courtesy of El Paso Museum of Art.
Alexxa Gotthardt