An Article by A. V. (595 words, 3 min. read)
A Garden Beyond The Pain
Confined by illness but liberated by color, Kahlo and Matisse transcended suffering in their final works leaving behind not pain, but joy.
There is something humbling—almost miraculous—about the way some artists choose to say goodbye. When bodies are frail and movement becomes burdened, one might expect silence, resignation, or retreat. But not Frida Kahlo. Not Henri Matisse. Against all odds, both artists created, at different times, works that sang with color, pulsed with life, and spoke louder than ever.
Frida’s Viva la Vida, painted just days before her death in 1954, shows nothing of her broken spine or amputated leg. There is no martyrdom here, no visible trace of her physical torment. Just watermelons—bright, bursting, red as blood and joy—eight of them arranged with harmony and fullness. And on one of them, inscribed in her own hand, the words: “Viva la Vida.” Long live life.
It was her last painting, and notably, not a self-portrait. After a lifetime of chronicling her face and fractured body, Kahlo chose instead to offer fruit—sweet, ripe, and generous. It was a tribute, a farewell, and perhaps a rebellion. “I hope the exit is joyful,” she once said. “And I hope never to return.” Viva la Vida is not a cry; it’s a celebration.
Henri Matisse, too, knew the limits of a suffering body. In his seventies, after a major surgery left him wheelchair-bound, he could no longer paint as he once had. And yet, this was the beginning of what he called his “second life.” With scissors and paper, he invented an entirely new form: the cut-out. From his bed or chair, he composed works of stunning simplicity and exuberance—vivid shapes dancing across white walls.
The Snail (1953), one of his last major works, is an explosion of swirling, joyful color. Spiraling outward in a square format, it gives no hint of the man who could no longer stand. “Only what I created after the illness constitutes my real self,” Matisse once said. He did not fade; he evolved. Both Viva la Vida and The Snail are testaments, not to decline, but to resilience. They are not about death, but about how much life remains, even when everything else is stripped away. Kahlo gave us fruit; Matisse gave us paper petals. Each, in their own language, refused to be dimmed.
The Final Gift of Art
There is something eternal in the way both Kahlo and Matisse faced the end. They did not paint sorrow. They painted freedom. They gifted us the reminder that the soul can sing, even when the body falters. That color can defy despair. That creation is, perhaps, the most life-affirming act there is.
As Matisse beautifully said:
“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”
And as Frida whispered with her brush:
“Viva la Vida.”
When Art Becomes Therapy
In the face of suffering—bodily or spiritual—art becomes more than a craft; it becomes a refuge. For Frida Kahlo, painting was a way to reclaim her identity beyond pain. For Henri Matisse, cutting paper was not merely adaptation, but reinvention. When words failed or faith flickered, the act of creating became a form of resistance, a kind of prayer. Even when life feels unbearable or meaningless, art can whisper a reason to stay. It does not cure but it consoles. It allows beauty to bloom amid despair, and reminds us that the spirit, like color, can never truly be extinguished.
