The Dangerous Frida Olympia

“The Daring Olympia
A name borne of gods, from Olympos’ height,
Where beauty reigned in celestial light.
Yet here she lies, not a goddess divine,
But a woman of earth, her power aligned.

Olympia reclines in a courtesan’s guise,
A mask for truth that shatters lies.
No myth, no dream, no veiled delight,
She meets your gaze with fearless might.

The weight of her name, a double-edged word,
Cuts through illusions, a truth unheard.
Between Venus reborn and black cat on white sheet,
Prude morality and flesh collide when they meet.

Not golden, not gilded, not draped in air,
Her body is real, her skin laid bare.
She is not your muse nor your painted toy,
But a woman of strength, unmasked of joy.

Her name whispers power; her name speaks of shame,
It burns with rebellion; it carries no blame.
Olympia rests in a world unjust,
Demanding respect, shattering trust.

A tribute, a challenge, a flag unfurled,
She redefines woman in Manet’s world.
No longer ideal, no longer confined,
Olympia’s name is a weapon refined.

And in her eyes, a question still burns:
Do you see her truth, or what you yearn?
For Olympia’s name, so layered, so wide,
Is a mirror to you, not just what’s inside.
Malmö, December 2024

In July, Frida had been in Malmö for almost a year and had already performed in three plays at the Nöjesteatern. By autumn, she was scheduled for a fourth. It was also seventy years since she had left Earth to journey to her star. The thirteenth of July held no special reason for her to celebrate. Time-travelers rarely have cause to commemorate their death dates, as they dislike speaking about death. Moreover, most perceive eternity as infinitely preferable to their time on Earth. Behind them, they leave pain and illness, and in eternity, they can live at any age of their choosing, free from the fear of death or other anxieties.

However, Frida chose to honour her short life on Earth—only forty-seven years—because of a celebrated event in the art world: the Frida Kahlo Retrospective. This retrospective, not just a collection of paintings but a celebration of women's strength and resilience, uplifted and empowered all who experienced it. Frida's version of Klimt's ‘Woman with Fan’ was one of many important paintings, each a testament to the power of art to inspire and empower.

It brought together all the paintings Frida had created after she had laid down her brush for the last time. Her life had been marked by severe health issues, and from 1953, she was bedridden following an amputation. However, this did not deter her from her passion for painting or even participating in political events; her bed was carried wherever she wished to go, a testament to her unwavering determination and courage. Her resilience in the face of adversity is a source of inspiration for all, a reminder that creativity and passion can thrive even in the darkest times.

Frida embarked on an ambitious project that set her apart from other artists in eternity. She encountered creators from all eras and decided to paint extraordinary women from history with whom she identified. This unique project, with its fresh and innovative interpretations of historical art, was a testament to her creativity and the power of art to transcend time and space, sparking intrigue and appreciation among audiences. It remained unknown until the paintings were discovered recently—not by chance, but carefully orchestrated by Frida herself.

Thus, the paintings at Malmö’s Moderna Museet, including canvases and statues featuring Frida, reimagine well-known motifs but now incorporate her face and body. The entire collection was discovered in a hidden room behind a wall at Casa Azul, her home in the Coyoacán neighbourhood of Mexico City. Three dozen previously unknown paintings caused a global sensation and sparked intense debate, as their style did not match her known works. The international attention these paintings received underscored the exhibition's significance, making it a cultural event of global importance. The world was particularly captivated by Frida’s interpretation of Botticelli’s Venus, a testament to the universal appeal of her art.

Frida Kahlo shared with me her personal and spiritual reflection on this piece. I cannot recount the entire story except as part of a whimsical exhibition presentation. However, art experts summoned to study the collection were supported by notes Frida had left alongside the paintings. The handwriting was unmistakably hers, and the commentary was essential for understanding the purpose of the works and why she had hidden them. Simply put, the world of the 1950s was not ready for such messages—they had to wait for their time, and that time is now.

Jag: “The next painting, ‘the Dangerous Frida Olympia’ rocks.”

Me: “The large painting on the far-right wall—is your reinterpretation of Édouard Manet’s infamous Olympia. It rocks.”

Frida: “Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. Indeed, it is Olympia. The same chaise longue, the same defiant pose, the same Black woman presenting a bouquet, presumably from an admirer who is probably still waiting outside. There wasn’t much in the original image I couldn’t live up to. But when I stood before the mirror, I realised I could never expose my breasts the way Manet’s Olympia did. Not then, and not now. Not because they sag with age or are unattractive—on the contrary, they remain firm—but because they are private. My breasts are for those who deserve to see them.”

Me: “So you dressed her—yourself—in that bikini?”

Frida: (Smiling slyly) “Yes, I pulled out an old polka-dotted bikini from the 1950s. It was frayed at the edges, but I thought, ‘It’ll do for a 117-year-old bird like me.’ Sitting on the chaise longue, I noticed how the yellow-and-black-dotted fabric clung to me, holding my body together and my history. As I looked in the mirror, it struck me—this was what Manet wanted us to see. Not just the body, but the woman behind it.”

Me: “Many were outraged when Manet first exhibited Olympia, weren’t they?”

Frida: (Laughing) “The understatement of an era! When Manet painted Olympia, he shocked the world—not for depicting a nude woman, which artists had done for centuries—but because she looked back. Her gaze, direct and confident, was not there to seduce. It was there to confront. She seemed to say: ‘Here I am. Who are you? Do you want to sleep with me?’ She wasn’t the passive, idealised woman men wanted to see. She was real—her body, life, and defiance—which made her dangerous. It’s also what I wanted to show in my version.”

Me: “Do you think Olympia is a ‘bitch’?”

Frida: “If you mean unapologetically in control by that, then yes, she could be seen that way. Olympia’s gaze doesn’t ask for approval; it demands recognition. She doesn’t blush or try to make herself palatable for the viewer. That was shocking in Manet’s time when women in art were idealised and passive. Olympia was self-aware and assertive, which was—and still is—intimidating to many.”

Me: “Would you say she’s ‘seen through it all’?”

Frida: “Absolutely. Her gaze suggests she understands her place in society and the viewer’s imagination. She seems to say, ‘I know what you’re here for, but I’m not playing along.’ Her expression has sharp intelligence as if she’s evaluating you as much as you’re evaluating her. She’s stripped away the illusions of power, class, and desire.”

Me: “And is she a prostitute?”

Frida: “Yes, Olympia is presented as a courtesan—a high-class sex worker—which was another scandalous element. Her name, pose, and the black cat (a symbol of sensuality and promiscuity) align with that identity. But unlike other depictions of courtesans or odalisques, she isn’t romanticised. Her nudity is practical, not seductive. She’s a working woman, not a mythological Venus or a fantasy.”

Me: “And yet, you dressed her.”

Frida: “I’m a bit prudish, I suppose. And that old bikini emphasises her nudity more than it hides it. It’s a different kind of defiance.”

Me: “So, what is Olympia to you?”

Frida: “She is a woman who refuses to conform to societal expectations. She challenges the viewer with her presence.”

Me: “Much like you do in your self-portraits.”

Frida: (Nods) “Exactly. Olympia is empowered. She’s in control of her body, her gaze, and her space. Even as she reclines, naked or half-naked, she’s dressed in confidence.

“She’s also disruptive. Manet rejected the softness and idealisation of traditional nudes, replacing them with stark modernity. Olympia exists in the real world, not in a dream. And let me tell you, my bikini upset more people in its time than Olympia’s nudity ever could. The nudity in Manet’s painting feels like bad taste.”

Me: “But you’ve painted yourself nude in some of your works.”

Frida: “I have, but only to emphasise my physical suffering. Those paintings breathe of the morgue, not arousal. They were never meant to excite men—they were meant to tell the truth of my body’s pain.”

Me: “Do you think Olympia is relevant today?”

Frida: “Olympia is a modern woman. She is human—flawed, complex, and entirely herself. She doesn’t exist to flatter or play a role. She’s a revolutionary symbol of modern femininity—bold, honest, and unapologetically her person. Whether people find her intimidating, empowering, or transgressive, it says more about them than it does about her.”

Me: “But your Olympia doesn’t carry the same danger.”

Frida: “That was intentional. I’ve lived too intensely, loved too fiercely, and suffered too greatly to be merely dangerous. I am not a semi-prostitute or courtesan, as Manet’s Olympia suggests, but I have faced the world with the same defiance in my gaze. Reclining in my bikini, I thought: ‘What does the world see when it looks at me? Do they see me, or just my body?’”

Me: ”Her name provoked, didn’t it?”

Frida: “The name Olympia is central to the painting’s provocative power. It connects the artwork to the idealised goddesses of mythology and the courtesans of 19th-century Paris, creating a tension between tradition and modernity, between ideal and reality. Manet offers a sharp social commentary and a confrontation with the viewer’s prejudices and desires through this name. Olympia is a woman who cannot be reduced to an object—she is an individual who refuses to conform to the audience’s expectations. The name is a tribute to female strength and a bold statement about women’s right to define themselves.

Me: “Is there anything else you want to add?”

Frida: “Yes. In my painting, the Black woman still carries the bouquet but is not a supporting figure. She’s not an accessory, nor is her presence racist. She’s a sister, an ally who has seen and endured just as much as I have. Those flowers aren’t from an admirer—they’re a tribute. A reminder that we women aren’t here to be consumed. We belong to no one but ourselves.”