"In a back room tucked behind an antiques gallery in this cobblestone mountain town there is a shrine to the painter Frida Kahlo. A dozen paintings jostle for wall space. A trunk is open to show off folded huipiles, the traditional Oaxacan blouses that Kahlo favored. Loose-leaf binders hold copies of pages of notes scribbled at dawn and airmail letters never sent, filled with anger and passion for her husband, Diego Rivera, the muralist. The question is whether any of it was hers."
NYT
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