the palacio nacional at night

At over two hundred meters long, the baroque facade of the Palacio Nacional stretches impressively along the entire eastern edge of the Zócalo. It is from the main balcony of this august building that the president shouts the “Grito de Dolores” on the eve of Mexican Independence to the tens of thousands of people crowded below. Despite the beauty of the building, particulary at night when it is handsomely illuminated, I had never considered venturing inside the complex, which houses several small museums, the national archives, as well as the president’s office.

admirers of rivera's mural

How foolish I was; as any guidebook will tell you, the Palacio Nacional also boasts a breathtaking triptych of Diego Rivera murals. The series, collectively known as “The Epic of the Mexican People” dipicts centuries of Mexico’s history, from pre-Hispanic myths and cultural traditions, through the violence of the conquest and Independence, up through the early twentieth century. These murals are incredible; a person could spend hours examining the endless details, each fragment of a scene revealing something else about Rivera’s take on Mexican history. Currently, the murals are undergoing a renovation, but they seem to only be working on one section of the triptych at a time, leaving the others exposed for the public.

prior to the construction of the third story

The site of the Palacio Nacional is itself historically significant: here was the palace of Moctezuma II, known as the “New Houses.” After the fall of Tenochtitlan, the Aztec palace was nearly destroyed, and Cortés ordered a new palace for himself constructed on the same spot, supposedly using some of the very same red volcanic tezontle stones. After the death of Cortés, the palace became home to the viceroy and was nearly destroyed again when it was lit on fire by supporters of a rival archbishop. It was reconstructed and then went through a new renovation in the late seventeenth century, softening it’s fortress-like appearance into the stately facade we see today. (Although, interestingly, the third floor wasn’t added until the 1920s under Plutarco Elías Calles.) Anahí says that it’s rumored that the plans for the palace were mistakenly interchanged with those of a prison in Peru, and although I haven’t been able to substantiate this myth, it’s easy to imagine this imposing building being used for incarceration.

detail from "the epic of the mexican people"

I suspect most tourists who visit the Palacio Nacional don’t go much further than the Rivera murals, but the complex actually extends back several blocks east of the Zócalo. Beyond the murals, the people wondering around the grounds are an odd combination of soldiers and bureaucrats, with a sprinkling of well-dress families admiring the church that lies at the center of the palace. I was pleasantly surprised to find a small, but lovely garden of indigenous Mexican plants. We also discovered a small gallery featuring rotating exhibits on Mexican art and culture. Unless you’re really in a bind, I would skip the unimpressive gift shop, where you can buy such incongruous gifts as a traditionally embroidered neck-pillow for airline travel.

The Palacio Nacional also is home to the Benito Juarez museum, where you can visit the offices he kept when he was the president. Hailing from a peasant family in Oaxaca but eventually becoming the first (and only) indigenous president fo Mexico, Juarez is a fascinating historical and political figure. I was therefore frustrated to find that the museum was closed, with no useful information about how or when the museum is open to the public.

Despite my disappointment, the Palacio Nacional is definitely worth visiting, not just for the impressive Rivera murals, but for the history of the building itself. As you wander through the grounds, it’s easy to imagine the different historical periods reflected through each renovation. Mexican writer Carlos Fuentes described the palace as “both a traveling and an immobile construction” in how its architecture contains design elements that span continents and centuries. Reading this description, however, I chuckled, thinking of the limits of this immobility: like many builings in the Centro Historico, the palace is sinking, with many stone door frames that had once been at right angles now visibly askew.

Palacio Nacional; Zócalo (eastern end); Centro Historico. Tourists are limited to entering and exiting from the main gate on the Zócalo where they must pass through metal detectors and show identification, so be prepared. Free admission.

The New York Times reports that the publication of Finding Frida Kahlo, a new book on the collection published by Princeton Architectural Press,  is the immediate cause of the controversy, as the Mexican government trust that runs Kahlo’s estate moves to attempt to block the sale of the book, claiming it is presenting these objects as something they are not. Handwriting experts, art historians, and others disagree on whether or not the collection is authentic.

Anyone who has been to Mexico (or to any Mexican-inspired “kitschy” shop anywhere else), knows that the image of Frida Kahlo is used to sell anything from shopping bags, to compacts, to ashtrays, to aprons, the emotional force of her self-portraits reduced to a souvenir. With that in mind, I appreciate the effort to maintain some sort of authenticity about her body of work and the objects she used in her own life.

Apparently the collection was authenticated by Rivera’s granddaughter several years ago, but there are many inconsistencies among the objects that don’t seem to add up. Based on the information in the Times’ report, I’m inclined to believe they are fakes, but what do you think?

Is this a real Frida Kahlo sketch?

A couple of years ago the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City opened a major exhibition of Frida Kahlo’s works, photographs, and personal letters to celebrate her 100^th birthday. Hordes of people lined up outside the building, waiting more than an hour to see Kahlo’s works, which were gathered together in Mexican territory for the first time. After three months, official numbers registered 363,000 visitors, which made the promoters and curators proud. Proud of having brought such an attractive exhibit to Mexican audiences, both experts and fans, as well as curious individuals willing to know the life and work of Frida Kahlo.

Far from trying to explain the fridomania, there is no wonder that the chilangos who went to the exhibit wanted to know why this woman is so fascinanting. As ironic as it sounds, Kahlo’s presence is all over Mexico City, but her work is hard to reach here. Those who want to look at a real Kahlo’s painting have to travel to Austin, New York, or San Francisco, chasing private collections. As far as I know, one of the most important Kahlo’s paintings that remains in Mexico City is “Dos Fridas” (Two Fridas) at the Museum of Modern Art, near Chapultepec.

Yet, Mexico is still the Mecca of Frida’s fans who want to explore the same scenarios where she lived, suffered the consequences of a terrible accident, and enjoyed all the lovers that legend has attributed to her, including Diego Rivera, Leon Trotsky, and an alleged list of women. Somehow, Frida’s life and whereabouts allow her fans to dream about a woman who represent some kind of free spirit, sexual liberation, and strength against adversities–as well as to travel through an old Mexico City that doesn’t exist anymore.

Frida was lucky enough to grow up in Coyoacán, a little town that was still outside of urbanized Mexico City back in 1907 when she was born. The neighborhood is now part of the city but has been able to keep some of its cozy cobbled streets that attract hipsters, bohemians and students to its cafes, bars, and stores. Her childhood home, the Casa Azul, is in this area, the official museum and worship place of Frida’s life where you can take a peek into her private life (as private as a museum can be). After that, if you want to follow the same thread, you can take a cab or a pesero to reach the Anahuacalli Museum, Diego Rivera’s collection of pre-Hispanic art. (Your ticket from the Casa Azul also grants admission to Anahuacalli for one month.)

Frida studied at San Ildefonso, a beautiful building right in front of the Templo Mayor in the Centro Histórico. This is where Frida and Diego met when she was a 19 year-old student and he already was a famous painter, notorious for his political opinions and affection for Russia and the Communists. During this period, the Centro Histórico was a campus where young students crowded into cheap restaurants, used-book stores, and last but not least, cantinas.

Traces of Frida can also be found near Xochimilco, at the Dolores Olmedo Museum which is a gorgeous house worth to see just because of its beautiful gardens where peacocks and xoloscuincle dogs (Fridas’s favorite dog–with no hair at all) hang out with visitors. Olmedo was Rivera’s long-time lover and became later the administrator of Frida and Rivera’s art. Several of Frida’s paintings, such as The Broken Column, are part of the permanent collection, but they are often on display at exhibitions around the world, so it’s a good idea to call and check the status of specific works you are trying to see.

Right after the Frida Kahlo anniversary exhibit, the museum tried to repeat the success with a collection of Diego Rivera’s work. This time neither the press nor visitors rushed to the museum. Frida proved to have more fans and worshipers maybe due to the legend and mystery that still surrounds her as an interesting character to be explored. Maybe, deep in the ground, Rivera’s extremely high ego hurt a little.

Museo Frida Kahlo: Casa Azul; Londres 247, Col. del Carmen, Coyoacán; Phone: 5554 5999; Open Tuesday -Sunday, 10-6; Admission: 55 pesos

Museo Dolores Olmedo; Av. México 5843, Col. La Noria, Xochimilco; Tues-Sun 10am-6pm

According to the Anahuacalli website, Rivera’s aim at the Anahuacalli was to create a City of the Arts, where architecture, music, theater, dance and crafts could flourish. This was what Diego had in mind when he designed the museum’s courtyard as an open-space theater, along with a gallery and a place where seminars and workshops could be held. The physical presence of the building is awesome–it rises up like a cross between a fortress and a pyramid–but perhaps because I visited on a weekday afternoon when the courtyard (and museum) were largely empty, I found the museum grounds to be desolate, almost sterile.

Access to the museum’s collections are only allowed via guided tours that begin approximately every hour throughout the day. The tour I attended was in Spanish, and was led by a listless though well-informed young lady who recited a memorized script describing the high lights of each room’s artifacts. Our guide kept a fast pace, despite the fact that there were only six of us on on the tour, which didn’t allow more than a minute or to wander around each room.

When I did stray from the tour guide to explore some of the objects in the room that she wasn’t elaborating on, I became aware that the displays were without the explanatory labels one might expect in a museum with artifacts from dozens of different pre-Hispanic cultures. Apart from the information out guide was providing, without any previous study of pre-Hispanic art, I felt lost in the museum, ignorant of the context and history behind the pieces around me. In that respect, Anahuacalli is not an anthropology museum, but truly an art museum, with pieces left to be approached as works of art, rather than artifacts. Without the opportunity to explore the museum at my own pace, however, it was difficult to carefully examine more than a piece or two in each room.

Several ceilings throughout the museum were designed by Rivera. My favorite is a mosaic picturing two faces framed within a vaguely anatomical heart; a hammer, sickle, and white dove loom above. The view from the top of Anahuacalli is a dramatic end to the tour. On a clear day, you can take in the expanse of the southern part of the city and even see snow-topped Popocatépetl to the southeast.

Unless there are special events or exhibitions going on during your visit, I would recommend Anahuacalli only to those with a great deal of interest in pre-Hispanic art or to the most dedicated Diego Rivera stalkers. For those in search of Frida, you will find none of her art and will be left to guess at her influence on the conception and design of Anahuacalli.

Located in Colonia San Pablo Tepetlapa in the southwestern part of Delegación Coyoacán, Anahuacalli is reachable by taxi (one from central Coyoacán would cost less than 40 pesos) or, for the more public transportation savvy, one of the peseros on Division del Norte.

The cost for entry is 45 pesos, which also includes entry at the Blue House Frida Kahlo museum in Coyoacán within one month of your visit.