What's
in
a
name?
Robbie
was
rightly
and
loyally
devoted
to
his
family
name.
When
he
accepted
a
knighthood
at
the
second
time
of
its
being
offered
to
him
I
asked
him
what
he
was
to
be
called-Robbie,
Robin,
Robert,
or
Theodore?
"Well,"
he
said,
"what
was
inappropriate
as
a
name
for
me
at
my
prep
school
might
now
come
into
use."
So
Sir
Theodore
he
became.
"Your
father
would
have
been
pleased,"
I
said.
"Did
you
know
my
father?"
he
asked.
I
did
not.
But
I
knew
that
as
Dr
Fortescue
Fox
of
Strathpeffer
spa
he
had
been
a
lifelong
hero
of
my
95
year
old
grandmother
for
long
after
she
had
been
able
to
pay
her
yearly
visit
to
him
for
treatment
of
her
arthritis.
Just
as
Dr
Fortescue
Fox
was
a
hero
of
my
grandmother,
so
his
son
Theodore
is
a
hero
of
mine.
Sir
Theodore
Fox
died
in
1989;
obituaries
were
published
in
the
BMJ
(1
July,
p
47)
and
Lancet
(1
July,
p
56).
Medical
imagery
in
the
art
of
Frida
Kahlo
David
Lomas,
Rosemary
Howell
Frida
Kahlo
held
her
first
solo
exhibition
in
New
York
in
1938.
Included
were
paintings
that
narrate
her
experience
of
a
miscarriage
six
years
earlier
in
Detroit,
where
she
had
accompanied
her
husband,
the
Mexican
mural
painter
Diego
Rivera.
Reviewing
the
exhibition
Howard
Devree,
an
art
critic
for
the
New
York
Times,
dismissed
Kahlo's
work
as
"more
obstetrical
than
aesthetic."'
Underlying
this
reproach
is
an
attitude
that
art
should
not
concern
itself
with
obstetrics,
a
view
that
any
cursory
glance
at
Western
art
would
confirm.
To
describe
artistic
creation
by
using
metaphors
of
gesta-
tion
and
birth
is
commonplace,
yet
to
depict
such
events
is
tacitly
proscribed.
In
Western
art
scenes
of
childbirth
are
rare
and
visual
accounts
of
abortion
or
miscarriage
non-existent.
They
have
remained
the
province
of
medical
texts.
Openly
flouting
this
conven-
tion,
Kahlo
produced
a
unique
body
of
images
such
that
Rivera
could
proclaim
her
"The
only
human
force
since
the
marvellous
Aztec
master
sculpting
in
black
basalt
who
has
given
plastic
expression
to
the
pheno-
menon
of
birth."2
In
the
culture
to
which
Kahlo
belonged
miscarriage
was
a
source
of
shame:
the
abject
failure
of
a
socially
conditioned
expectation
of
motherhood
and
a
travesty
of
creation
in
which
birth
yields
only
death
and
detritus.
No
rituals
exist
to
commemorate
the
loss
associated
with
miscarriage,
which
is
thus
relegated
to
a
private
domain
of
silent
grief.3
By
speaking
out
Kahlo
FIG
I
-HerFrosia,92CletinoDlrsleoMxcoCt
FIG
1
Heniy
Ford
Hospital,
1932.
Collection
of
Dolores
Olmedo,
Mexico
City
articulated
the
unspeakable
in
a
hybrid
language
derived
partly
from
artistic
traditions
but
also
from
textbooks
of
anatomy
and
obstetrics.
Kahlo's
medical
history
is
a
catalogue
of
misfortune.
She
was
born
in
1907
and
was
affected
by
poliomyelitis,
which
left
her
right
leg
withered
and
her
spine
scoliotic.
When
she
was
18
a
tram
accident
caused
devastating
injuries.
She
was
impaled
through
her
pelvis
by
a
steel
bar
and
sustained
multiple
fractures
of
the
spine,
pelvis,
right
leg,
and
foot.
In
subsequent
years
she
underwent
numerous
orthopaedic
operations
in
vain
atttempts
to
alleviate
pains
in
her
back
and
right
leg,
which
was
eventually
amputated.
Her
death
at
age
47
followed
soon
afterwards.
More
than
one
pregnancy
was
terminated
by
therapeutic
abortion,
and
she
had
two
(possibly
three)
first
trimester
miscarriages
of
uncertain
relation
to
the
accident.
Though
the
severe
penetrating
injury
may
have
caused
uterine
deformity,
her
debilitated
physical
state
manifesting
in
chronic
infections
and
anaemia
was
a
more
probable
contribu-
tory
factor.
Her
best
documented
pregnancy
was
proceeded
with
only
after
much
equivocation
and
weighing
of
the
potential
risks
of
a
caesarean
section.
It
ended
abruptly,
however,'in
a
miscarriage
in
1932.
Henry
Ford
Hospital
(fig
1)
was
painted
shortly
afterwards.
Kahlo
lies
naked
on
a
hospital
bed
in
a
pool
of
blood.
The
title
alludes
to
the
medical
setting
yet
her
bed
is
displaced
into
a
desolate
landscape
to
heighten
the
sense
of
isolation
and
vulnerability.
Superimposed
on
this
scene
is
an
array
of
objects
referring
to
the
miscarriage;
some
evoke
it
literally
while
others
allude
more
obliquely
and
subjectively
to
the
event.
These
are
depicted
in
a
larger
scale
and
a
contrasting
diagrammatic
idiom.
In
this
painting
Kahlo
is
the
hapless
victim
of
an
event
over
which
she
exerts
no
control.
The
impression
of
helpless
isolation
is
aggravated
by
the
lack
of
a
visual
language
to
express
her
trauma.
The
awkward
dis-
juncture
between
two
pictorial
modes-schematic
and
naturalistic-seems
to
gesture
towards
a
grief
that
is
representable
only
as
discontinuity.
Where
the
news-
paper
critic
recoiled
in
distaste
before
this
spectacle
one
sees
Kahlo
striving
to
render
visible
a
blindspot
of
high
cultural
vision.
Medical
imagery
helps
her
to
achieve
this;
immediately
after
the
miscarriage
she
began
foraging
in
obstetric
texts
and
evidently
drew
the
fetus
and
pelvis
from
this
source.
Yet
its
incapacity
to
evoke
the
subjective
dimension
of
her
response
is
indicated
by
the
sharp
discrepancy
between
these
prosaic
forms
and
the
snail,
a
private
allusive
reference.
Frida
and
the
Miscarriage,
1932
(fig
2)
has
a
similar
composition.
The
naked
body
is
central
and
once
again
surrounded
by
axially
arranged
forms:
a
fetus
(the
umbilical
cord
wrapped
like
a
bandage
around
her
damaged
right
leg),
dividing
cells,
and
growing
plants.
The
effect
is
harmoniously
balanced,
however,
where
formerly
it
was
disjointed.
Leaves
shaped
like
phalluses
Courtauld
Institute
of
Art,
London
WC2
David
Lomas,
MA,
postgraduate
student
Queen
Charlotte's
and
Chelsea
Hospital,
London
W6
OXG
Rosemary
Howell,
MRCOG,
registrar
Correspondence
to:
Mr
D
Lomas,
119
Swan
Court,
Flood
Street,
London
SW3
5RY.
BrMed3r
1989;299:1584-7
1584
BMJ
VOLUME
299
23-30
DECEMBER
1989