Frida on Fire

I have a matchbox that leans against the crayon box on my desk, to the left of the computer monitor. Just a usual small matchbox, full of many small brick red tipped matches, waiting to be lit for a cigarette, or a stove, or a campire. Definitely not for garbage can arson, or self-immolation, because this is a Frida Kahlo matchbook. Someone took the time to glue gold glitter on one side, and silver glitter on the other, then pasted two small Kahlo paintings on either side, and I wonder whose hands made them, where they sat, and how long it took. Jo brought it back from her trip to Mexico for me, bought in a tourist store probably along a beach.
I wonder if the artist become an artist merely as a way to make some money to get through the day, or whether s/he supports their other art with these small tokens. I wonder if the artist even likes Kahlo’s paintings, or if they’re just such a tourist sell that s/he uses them anyways, getting sicker each day of having to stare at these potent images.