Queer Women Throughout History: The Writer and the Painter
By: Jenna Mcrae
Tags: Women, LGBTQ, History, Feminism, LGBT

Queer Women Throughout History: The Writer and the Painter

The tales of two unapologetically bisexual artists from the early 1900s

Colette (1873–1954, France): The Writer

Colette. Picture found here

“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.” — Colette

The French writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette married her first husband Henry Gauthier-Villars (nicknamed ‘Willy’) in 1893. As it wasn’t as easy for a woman to find success and fame on her own during that time, and because Willy was already in the editing business, Colette had her written works published under his title. This was not new for him, as he frequently hired ghost writers to publish works in his name (the difference being that he paid them). Eventually, Willy relied on his wife’s writing for recognition, sometimes even locking her in a room until she wrote enough to satisfy him, and refused to give her any credit (until he finally relented and allowed the book to be credited to “Willy and Colette Willy”).

Colette’s written works were sensual and focused on matters of the heart, and were heavily influenced by her own life experiences. Her series Claudine became especially popular throughout France, and tells of the story of a bisexual woman who cheated on her husband, who she hated, with women.

Even Claudine’s adulterous behavior was based off of her own life, which she later found to be neither good nor bad, but natural, along with other Parisians. Willy, however, was the first to act in such a way:

“In the beginning, Colette was wildly jealous of Willy’s other women, […] Eventually she accepted his infidelity as incurable, she got Parisianized [infidelity was common in Paris, France at that time], and started having dalliances with women, but not with men. Down the road, about five or ten years, their marriage was open on both ends, and Colette proposed that rather than divorce, they go on that way. Willy didn’t want to by then.” — Judith Thurman, Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette

After she left her husband in 1906, Colette struggled financially and decided to join the theatre as an actress and dancer. During this time, she met French artist Mathilde de Morny, often referred to as ‘Missy’. It is probable that Missy was transgender, having both a hysterectomy and a mastectomy, dressing in male attire, and playing exclusively male roles, but such word didn’t exist at the time. They were described as such:

“Missy comported herself as a man, padding out her small feet with socks to fit her men’s shoes, wearing overalls and three-piece suits, a short haircut, and a rounded center that betrayed no breasts. She even tried making herself a mustache from her poodle’s tale.” — Toni Bentley, Sisters of Salome

The two of them shared a powerful connection and decided to live together, which lasted for five years. During this time Colette’s divorce to Willy was finalized (1910), and she began to write again after the short intermission. Missy became a muse for Colette, given the role of romantic interest La Chevalière in her novel Le Pur et l’Impur (The Pure and the Impure, 1932), which was written under her own name. In it, she described Missy as:

“in dark masculine attire, belying any notion of gaiety or bravado… High born, she slummed it like a prince.”

Colette also wrote about her newfound freedom apart from Willy, writing in her book La Vagabonde (1910):

“I have found my voice again and the art of using it…”

Colette and Missy did not feel the need to hide their relationship, France being rather accepting of the lesbian community.. to a degree. They performed plays together, with Missy as Colette’s (male) romantic interest. In 1907 they shared a kiss on stage while performing Rêve d’Égypte (Dream of Egypt) at the Moulin Rouge, which resulted in public uproar.

Colette and Missy on stage. Picture found here

After the riot they caused settled down, they decided it was best not live with each other anymore. Their relationship, however, lasted until 1912, when Colette married her second husband Henry de Jouvenel.

During this marriage, Colette had a daughter named Colette (after herself), and sexually enticed Bertrand, who was only 16 (31 years younger that herself), and her stepson. It is likely that her novel, Cheri (Premonition, 1920) was inspired by these events. Henry de Jouvenel, undoubtedly disturbed when he later found out about her ongoing affair with his young son, divorced her in 1924.

Eleven years later, in 1935, Colette married her third and final husband Maurice Goudeket, who was 17 years younger than her. Maurice — a Jewish man— was taken to a detention camp during WWII, and Colette successfully fought for his release. Over time, and perhaps also due to both the couple’s close proximity when hiding for the duration of the war and to Colette’s increasing age, she became less promiscuous, Goudeket writing of her:

“I set myself gently by the side of this woman whom life has so wounded,” […] “and I did so with the firm determination of proving to her that fidelity was not an empty word. Year by year she grew more persuaded of this, and her last books bear witness to a serenity that she would not otherwise have acquired.” — Close to Colette (1957)

Colette lived her life loudly and unabashedly, making both friends and enemies along the way (as is impossible not to when standing out against the social norms). She proved herself to be a skilled writer both in and out of the shadow of her first husband Willy. According to her, she lived a good life before dying at the age of 81, saying:

“What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”

Colette wrote more than 50 books, including L’Entrave (The Shackle, 1913), Mitsou (1919), Le Blé en Herbe (Green Wheat, 1923), La Femme Cachée (The Other Woman, 1924), La Naissance du jour (Break of Day, 1928), La Chatte (The Cat, 1933), Julie de Carneilhan (1941), Gigi (1944), Pour un Herbier (1948), and Le Fanal Bleu (1949).

“Books, books, books. It was not that I read so much. I read and re-read the same ones. But all of them were necessary to me. Their presence, their smell, the letters of their titles, and the texture of their leather bindings.” — Colette

Frida Kahlo (1907–1954, Mexico): The Painter

Frida Kahlo. Picture found here

In 1925, Frida Kahlo got into a car accident when a car crashed into the bus she was on, causing a handrail to pierce through her mid-section and leaving her with broken spine and pelvis bones. Some would call this a tragedy, and others would call it fate: While she was recovering and didn’t have much else to do, she took up painting, and finished her first self-portrait of many in 1926.

A few years later — in 1929 — Kahlo married Diego Rivera, a Mexican fresco muralist. Kahlo’s parents called them the “elephant” and the “dove.” Together, they became two of the most influential painters of the 1900s.

It is said that in 1922, while Kahlo watched in awe as Rivera painted a mural — Creation — she knew that she would marry him and carry his children. Of only the former she was correct; The latter was soon made impossible, as her accident in 1925 left her infertile, having three miscarriages in her lifetime.

Rivera saw that Kahlo had artistic potential and encouraged her to pursue it, even admitting that she was better at painting than he. She also became his muse, especially when it came to Communist murals, which is seen in his works such as The Arsenal (1928) and Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park (1947).

As Kahlo’s skills as an artist were blossoming, her personal life did not reflect the same sentiment. She suffered from chronic pain and — as if the physical pain wasn’t enough — struggled with the emotional burden of being unable to conceive and of infidelity in her marriage. Rivera cheated on her, rather frequently, with the girls he painted. He even cheated on her with her younger sister, Cristina. Frida wrote harshly of him,

“There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the train the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.”

Kahlo had affairs of her own, too, possibly out of spite and a yearning for connection. She became romantically and sexually involved with not only men, but with women also, and it is rumored that her and Rivera even shared a lover at some point.

One of Kahlo’s affairs was with the American artist Georgia O’Keeffe, who she met in 1921 while at one of her husband’s galleries in New York. Kahlo and O’Keeffe had many things in common, such as their fondness of colorful, expressive clothing and their similar marriage situations. It is no wonder they found a lot to talk — and flirt — about. Rivera was not ignorant of this, and as opposed to being upset by his wife’s flirtations with another woman, he made boasts about it.

After their parting, Kahlo kept contact with her, especially upon learning that she was not doing well and later ended up hospitalized. She wrote in a letter:

“Georgia,

Was wonderful to hear your voice again. Every day since I called you and many times before months ago I wanted to write you a letter. I wrote you many, but every one seemed more stupid and empty and I torn them up. I can’t write in English all that I would like to tell, especially to you. I am sending this one because I promised it to you. I felt terrible when Sybil Brown told me that you were sick but I still don’t know what is the matter with you. Please Georgia dear if you can’t write, ask Stieglitz to do it for you and let me know how are you feeling will you ? I’ll be in Detroit two more weeks. I would like to tell you every thing that happened to me since the last time we saw each other, but most of them are sad and you mustn’t know sad things now. After all I shouldn’t complain because I have been happy in many ways though. Diego is good to me, and you can’t imagine how happy he has been working on the frescoes here. I have been painting a little too and that helped. I thought of you a lot and never forget your wonderful hands and the color of your eyes. I will see you soon. I am sure that in New York I will be much happier. If you still in the hospital when I come back I will bring you flowers, but it is so difficult to find the ones I would like for you. I would be so happy if you could write me even two words. I like you very much Georgia.”

Kahlo and O’Keeffe . Picture found here

Kahlo visited O’Keeffe again in New York while she was still ill in 1933. She wrote of the visit in a letter to her husband’s assistant Clifford Wight:

“She didn’t make love to me that time […] I think on account of her weakness. Too bad.”

Less letters were found addressed to Frida, but it is likely that they phoned and met many more times in secret, even up until 1951.

Kahlo was also rumored to have affairs with German art dealer Heinz Berggruen, American actress Paulette Goddard, revolutionary Soviet communist Leon Trosky, American photographer Nicholas Murray, Mexican actress Dolores del Río, American-Japanese artist Isamu Noguchi, Italian photographer Tina Modotti, and singer Chavela Vargas, to name a few. Many of these lovers were connected to Rivera in some way.

The affairs on both sides of the marriage led to her and her husband’s divorce in 1939.

In 1938, the French writer and surrealist André Breton was impressed by Kahlo’s work, and tried to push his surrealist beliefs onto her. She refused to join the movement, as she wanted her work to remain deeply introspective and personal, although she is still categorized in part as a surrealist painter.

“They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn’t. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.” — Frida Kahlo

A year after meeting Breton, he helped her to set up her first gallery in Paris, impressing and befriending some of the greats like Pablo Picasso, Marcel Duchamp, and Wassily Kandinsky. Although she was greatly admired in Paris, she did not return the sentiment to many of the intellectuals she met, writing of such Parisians:

“They are so damn “intellectual” and rotten that I can’t stand them anymore… I [would] rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than have anything to do with those “artistic” bitches of Paris.”

On Kahlo’s trip to Paris, she met one of her more popular alleged romantic lovers, Josephine baker, who was openly bisexual. It is impossible to know for sure if anything more than friendly occurred between them, as Kahlo was discreet about her interest in women, although it was no big secret.

A while after Kahlo’s exhibition in Paris, Rivera and her remarried in 1940. Kahlo had two conditions for this remarriage: No more sex would take place between them, and they would contribute equally when it came to finances. The affairs continued on throughout the rest of their marriage, and they did not remain close.

Although Kahlo continued to find the love she desperately craved in others, she still struggled to cope with the hurt that Rivera continued to inflicted on her, and she often conveyed this pain in her painting.

This painting, Diego and I (1949), was made after she heard rumors that Rivera was planning on leaving her for actress Maria Felix:

Diego and I, Frida Kahlo, 1949. Picture found here

Kahlo admitted of herself and Rivera:

“I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.” “I love you more than my own skin and even though you don’t love me the same way, you love me anyways, don’t you? And if you don’t, I’ll always have the hope that you do, and I’m satisfied with that. Love me a little. I adore you.”

Kahlo hopelessly fell for those who she connected with — giving her love freely and in good faith — and was passionate about her beliefs and her work. Self-portraits were her forte, and she gave reason why:

“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.”

Kahlo lived a difficult and painful life, getting Polio at the young age of 6 and it permanently damaging her legs, suffering with infertility and chronic pain due to her accident at 18, and spending most of her life bedridden, yearning for love.

She committed suicide in 1954 at age 47, the year after her leg was amputated and she held her first solo exhibit in Mexico at the Galería Arte Mexicano.

Kahlo once said:

“The only reason I go on living is to paint and to love.”

With her health rapidly declining, she was unable to do either; struggling to even hold or use a paintbrush properly. As her reasons for living dwindled into nothing, she felt as though there was no longer a reason for her to suffer any longer.

Days before her death, she wrote:

“They amputated my leg six months ago, they have given me centuries of torture and at moments I almost lost my reason. I keep on waiting to kill myself. I hope the exit is joyful and I hope never to come back.”

Kahlo finished an estimate of 143 paintings (although some claim there are closer to 200), 55 of those being self-portraits. Some of her more famous ones are, Henry Ford Hospital (1932, about one of her miscarriages), The Two Fridas (1939), Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird (1940), The Broken Column (1944, about her spine surgery), Without Hope (1945), and The Wounded Deer (1946, depicting the pain she felt).

It was not until the 1970s that Frida Kahlo was truly began to be appreciated for her work, her paintings resurfacing with the help of activists and historians. Today she stands as one of the most important artists of the 1900s, having created many colorful paintings of self expressionism. These paintings tell the tragic and inspiring story of a politically charged, optimistic yet woeful, and loving person, and inspire the LGBTQ+ community, women, and artists throughout the world.