Of course while in Paris I did all of the touristy things like a photo under the Arc de Triumph and going to the top of the Eiffel Tower. But the unique part of my studies was exploring Black Paris. A typical day at the Louvre wasn't just standing amongst droves of people trying to get pictures of the The Last Supper or Mona Lisa, I was tasked to explore art from across the diaspora in the infamous museum.
Of the many paintings I saw one forever stands out to me, Portrait d'une négresse, by Marie-Guillemine Benoist. I loved this painting so much that I bought a printed copy of it which still hangs in my bedroom 12 years later. This past Sunday as I was focused on throwing the whole room away, I looked up and saw the woman in the painting staring back at me.
Now, Louvre art historians will have one to believe that this piece, painted six years after the abolition of slavery in France, became a symbol of the emancipation of Black women. However, if you look at this woman staring directly at the artist with one breast exposed her eyes tell a different story. She doesn't look emancipated, she doesn't look free, she doesn't look happy, and she damn sure doesn't look like she wanted to be in that space and moment in time. I do not claim to be an art historian but her eyes (nor mine) are not playing tricks on me.
Let's pause here for a brief history break. I know, I know, but I couldn't write this piece without some facts. Post the abolition of slavery in France Black women were in fact not "free." They became minor class citizens lower than their Black male counterpart. Though legislation had changed gender relations had not. Race and social relations had not either as we are fully aware of 170 years later. So needless to say the delusions of some historians, art and otherwise, romanticize slavery, emancipation, and gender relations in the world far too often than not. It's repulsive. Reminds me of the time I was visited Robert E. Lee's plantation and the guide told my tour group (full of Black folk) that Lee paid his slaves and slaves wrote Lee letters thanking him for enslaving them. I was there the day before the white supremacist tiki torch death rally in Charlottesville refuting the removal of Lee's statue. Again, repulsive.
With historical context enlightened I proudly stare back at the woman in the painting that graces my bedroom wall. She was not where she wanted to be, internally in pain, and externally tired. The years of constipated tears stain her sclera. Adorned with borrowed cloth she exposes one of her two breasts clearly not by choice but demand. Who exactly is she being painted for? The skeptics? The stakeholders? The white women who chastise her to her face yet secretly admire her body's shape and her mahogany skin that they cant seem to recreate with their cosmetic blends of beeswax and cochineal? The white men who love to control every ounce of her mind and body but can't ever tap into her soul by violating her temple?
None of the later deserve this painting and since I can't rip this painting from the Louvre walls, I'll do the next best thing and attempt to tell her truth.
This painting is in fact for you Black girl as a reminder that you are not defined by the perception of others.
No matter the pain and hurt you may experience throughout the years hold your head steady upon your shoulders and stare your tribulations right in the eye.
Learn to love yourself unwaveringly.
A smile is not a requirement to remedy the discomfort of others.
Find your rightful place and space.
Take charge of your healing.
You are love.
You are hope.
You are art.
You are emancipation.
You shape the discourse past, present, and future.
& even in your silence your eyes will tell your truth.
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