The last ten years of her life in her own hand — a facsimile of the journal she kept from about 1944, reproduced in full color, so you get the actual pages: Watercolor and ink drawings, blots she turned into figures, dense automatic writing, love notes to Diego, and lists of colors with what each one means to her. Green: warm and good light. There’s a full translation and a commentary alongside. It’s not a diary of events. It’s the inside of a mind that had been in pain for twenty years, and the drawings do things her finished paintings never risk.
The Diary of Frida Kahlo