We don’t have to love Frida Kahlo’s paintings

One of the worst diseases of contemporary art and culture is lat the end of the opinions, replaced by the consensus syndrome. Any negative judgment on a cultural or artistic product is automatically transferred to the identity of the creator or to the subject of the work. So, as happened recently on Instagram, if I venture to say that I don’t like it or rather that Frida Kahlo’s art really bored me, there is someone who immediately addresses me with “male pig who criticizes one of the few female artists who have had success in a of art dominated by other male pigs”. The Isis of political correctness, the racist phobics, the generophobics, the vintage Third Worldists and the lgbt brigades, do not understand that in doing so whoever pays the price of their hatred for White man walking, the white male culturally condemned to death, is precisely the ‘other’ artist, reduced and condemned to her own registry regardless of her good or bad creative talent. So a painting by Frida Kahlo is not beautiful because it is beautiful but beautiful because it is the work of a Mexican woman artist with different abilities and who lived in the clutches of violent and overbearing male artists.