More About This Painting
Frida went out to get the day’s bread, greeting the baker, a friend from across the street, and continued on her way. She thought she also needed to get meat for the weekend. She greeted the butcher, collected her groceries, and walked home with a half-smile. Frida is known in the neighborhood. She is a good woman with three children, a husband, a home, and a cat. But what people don’t know about Frida—or perhaps they do, but what can you do, that’s life—is that Frida experiences abuse in her own home. She, her children, and even the abuser himself… difficult situations, someone in the neighborhood might say. But for whom?
For Frida. For her children. For the abuser. A sick situation behind a closed door, holding captive the screams of anger, rage, and despair. A door whose wood has soaked up tears… whose key turns silently at night—not for a sweet goodnight. And in the morning, the door opens, and life goes on. For Frida, for her children, and for the abuser, their wounds bleeding into the sidewalk. Until the next weekend. When Frida will go out again to get the day’s bread, greet the baker, the butcher, and her friend, and walk toward her home, to close the door once more.