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MARY SKLAR 65 CENTRAL PARK WEST NEW YORK

Thursday
June 11

Frida darling —
I write you when I suffer
disillusion, experience disappointment
and cry out in pain. When I am
joyous, I am content to think of
you; when I am struck by life,
I clamor for your understanding
and your quick scintillant warmth.

I have thought of you every day
for two weeks, every day since my
mother died, all alone by herself
in Florida, only an hour or two after
she was stricken suddenly with a
heart attack. And she is buried
now in cold unprepared ground
and I have not seen her and I

cannot believe outside of my
brain that she is gone. There’s
no meaning in it for me.

She lived zestfully, always
hopefully, always prepared for a
good life. Towards the end she
began to be a little afraid, her
buoyancy already unreal. I think
in her heart she must have given up.
And I didn’t help her.

Frida, will I see you again? Will
I know with my eyes how dear you
are to me — and that we are close to
each other? What is happening to you—
for I have hoped for victorious news
from the Guggenheim foundation for you
and I have had none. You have sent
me many messages, and I am grateful
for so much evidence of your thought
of me. But answer my thought

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of you and tell me what I can
do to hear you, maybe to see you.

If you do not come to New York
this Fall, maybe I can arrange to
bring myself to Mexico in the winter.

I miss you, Sol misses you, Alma
misses you, Linda draws pictures of
you to keep her memory alive. I am
more lucky not to need pictures,
but I need you more.

Write to me, only a little at a
time, maybe a line a day. And
when it adds up you will be
surprised what a long letter
you have for me, alive with your
feelings everyday. I am tempted to
convert the old American proverb,
“An apple a day keeps the doctor

away” to “a line a day keeps —
— —” but that would be like
taking apples from a child to
give to an elephant.

Anita and David are well, their
children are growing rapidly into a
semblance of long married life. Political
talk today is full of strange contra-
dictions and we have reverted to
the broad talk of pre-party-line days.
Meyer is in Vermont with his family
and sends you his love. When he was
last in New York he saw Chavez and
Covarrubias at the Guggenheim office.
Have you had any letters from them?

We have heard of Diego in California
and seen Orozco in New York. We
got him very mad and he left our
house saying that we were fools
and he was sorry for us.

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And some weeks ago I saw Alfaro
Siqueiros at the fair with three
curious looking men. I’m almost
sure I was right and Anita has
her nose to what she thinks is
an important scent.

I have not seen Nick or [Mam]
nor have I talked to him since
months ago when he read one of your
letters to me on the telephone. and
then he was very disappointed that you
planned no show here in October.

The news from Europe is more
ominous every day. The lonely frightened
children are arriving on every boat
looking for homes and kindness and
love. I want to take care of one
as soon as they will let us.

What has become of your friends
in France? Do you know where
they have gone or what they will do?
Can any of them come to you in
Mexico. Soon we must all
huddle into one dark cavern
together and shut out the new
threats we are learning.

Frida dear, if there is anything
here I can do for you — or send to
you, please only say of what you
are in need. I can do only what
I can, but that I shall.

And I send you my love and
implore from you a sign of love and
life.

Mary