The Black Madonna
Painting from a MUSEA Class
What Painting Class or Training is the artwork from?
The Black Madonna
What year was this painted?
Original: 2017 and repainted in 2020
What medium is this painted on (i.e. Acrylic on Canvas, Acrylic on Watercolor, Watercolor, etc)
Acrylic
Share with us the STORY of you painting to give context to the work and what it means to you! This can be a poem or a few paragraphs
Many years ago and over a period of time, while driving to work in the downtown area of Los Angeles, I watched the Black Madonna living under a lamppost on Bixel Street. She was strong and fearless, and I was curious about her history, but I was too afraid to speak to her.
Her home was a ragged silver tent with the moonlight shining through onto her ebony skin. She greeted each morning with outstretched arms and birds at her feet.
She had matted dark hair wrapped in a bright yellow turban and a gossamer scarf embellished with memories of her past. She was cloaked in a gown of swirling yellow, orange and green, the soft cloth caress her velvety black skin. She leaned against the fence that locked her out and strolled the street that she called her home. She was the purveyor of a manicured universe and elegance amid littered trash and broken glass.
In the evening with time to spare, she spoke to the invisible multitudes in low whispers. I wondered what guarded secrets she shared.
I watched from afar as she met each day with a yawn and a smile. She dressed like a hostess awaiting her guest.
She became my muse, the fixed object of my fascination. I watched the Black Madonna survive the terrors of the night, while I, on the brink of madness, closed the door to my world, while the business suit crumbled. Yearning to hear her truth, I approached her timidly one morning, and her story unfolded. She, with a proud stance and a noble face, responded:
My children are dead
and so are my parents.
They were killed.
I was an accountant
But now I am the Queen of Egypt.
Soon I’ll return to my country and
reign over my subjects, the camels.
It took me a number of years to heal my mind, but I knew I would survive because the Black Madonna had spoken, and through her eyes, I saw the possibility of myself dwelling in the same dark abyss.
Finally, the day arrived when I noticed the moon rising over the mountains, and all the beauty it contained on a dark summer night, and I saw the Black Madonna known as Julia , my muse, become the Notre Dame de Bonne.
I want to clarify that I did not see Julia as the Mother Mary in guise of The Black Madonna, but rather I witnessed her strength and determination to survive amid the dangers of the street.
In her, I saw Mother Mary’s strength and love of nature. My painting is a reflection of Julia’s beauty, much like Our Black Madonna, Mary.
