Our friend Cathy Stewart from New York City sent us this small but beautiful image of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, the two brilliant Mexican artists and lovers. Theirs was a spectacular  on-and-off again relationship. Rivera, a famous muralist and political radical, had numerous affairs, one with  Kahlo’s sister, and so did she, including an affair with Leon Trotsky before he was murdered.

But they had the most powerful creative connection, they supported one another in their work throughout their lives, and never stopped caring for each other. It was a great and fiery love.

I don’t imagine Cathy Stewart could have known this, as intuitive as she is, but I have always seen Maria and me in these two, not because we are famous or brilliant but because ours is a creative connection, and we fiercely support one another in our work and creativity. I relate to Rivera in a number of ways. He was a big and opinionated man, much as I am. He made many people uncomfortable with his beliefs and values, as I seem to do.

He was a rumpled man, as I am. She was small and stylish, as is Maria, an artist in every inch of her being.

I look at this image, and I will be honest. I see myself,  I see Maria. I see us.

Rivera worshiped creativity, as I do, and fought for it every day of his life, for himself and for others, including Kahlo.

Kahlo has a brutally painful and difficult life, marked by accidents, illnesses, betrayals. Maria has always admired and identified with her work, and the honesty and courage of it. Kahlo had many reasons to quit or surrender her artistry, she never did, and Rivera never walked away from her work.

Kahlo never gave up on her art, she painted from her sick bed, through her tragedies and struggles, and she painted on  her death bed.

I don’t speak often of this, as I am very reluctant to compare myself to someone like Rivera, he was a fiercely independent and creative artist, and Kahlo’s life is unbearably painful to complete or read about. Maria would not compare herself to Kahlo, but they remind me of one another.

Maria and I each discovered the artist in the other, literally dying to come out, and we each reached out to the other to free these choking spirits. Our failure to heed them was literally killing both of us, and our love for one another gave each of us the strength to become who we wanted and needed to be. Through the prism of the other, we each discovered who we really were, a process that will never end for us.

That is the heart and soul of creativity, the very thing that so marked the love of these two great artists for one another.

And my love for Maria.

We do not have a fiery relationship, although Maria can be as fiery as Kahlo if so moved. Our time together is deep and quiet. I supposed I can be fiery as well, although I do not see myself in that way, I am more guarded than any of these people. The creative life is a beautiful life, but it is also a hard and uncertain life. Creative people badly need the support and encouragement of others. It is so easy to succumb to the fear and doubt that kill so many artists and writers, snuff out their adventures and dreams, turn them towards substitute lives.

Creativity is my life.

I have been fighting for my work my entire life, and so has Maria, and I think I was ready to give up when I met her. I was tired, battered, going to pieces. So was she.

She had, for awhile, given up. We committed ourselves to helping each other heal and do our work. We have come back to our lives, our adventures, and this was also the great bond that connected Rivera and Kahlo. A powerful, even pure, kind of love.

They never gave up their souls and passions, they fought for one another and inspired each other until the end of their days. So, I believe, will Maria and I.  I trust this completely, as much as I have never trusted anything.

I appreciate this image, a remarkable thing to get in the mail. Sometimes, it takes others to help us see who we are.  I will keep it near me, it speaks to me of love and meaning. Of my life.