Black Label Box- The Devil of Tarot

Her creation was touched—strangely, unexpectedly—by the spirit of Da Vinci. Not in imitation, but in the way certain ideas arrive like ghosts, uninvited yet insistent. The paintings on the surrounding walls honor the Margaret Martyrs, reimagined in contemporary handmaid style garments. Their stories are brutal and often forgotten, women named Margaret who were crushed, drowned, executed for their faith. Margaret Wilson. Margaret McLachlan. The Pearl of York, Margaret. Perhaps the name was simply common, but the suffering attached to it is anything but ordinary.
There is also a nod to Linda Nochlin’s 1972 photograph Buy Some Bananas—a work that sparked conversation but never earned her the compensation or recognition she deserved. And if we’re going to talk about consumerism, we can’t ignore Maurizio Cattelan, whose provocations force us to confront the absurdity of value itself. Natalia LL’s Consumer Art ties the thread together, reminding us—painfully—that women’s art still sells for less, still fights to be taken seriously, still battles the “devil” of inequality that refuses to die quietly.
This painting is my answer to that devil. My refusal to look away. My insistence that the conversation continues.
She has stitched herself into my being, thread by thread, until her presence feels like a second heartbeat. I love her fiercely. Every artwork I create absorbs pieces of me—my energy, my tenderness, my rage—and reflects them back in ways I never expect. This painting glows under black light, not as a gimmick, but as a pulse, a living atmosphere. In darkness, she reveals what the world tries to hide.
Black Label Box – The Devil of Tarot is the first in a series of seventy eight—a journey through the Tarot, but also through the shadows women are forced to walk. She is still a work in progress, but she is the first to step forward, demanding to be seen. Others are forming behind her, but she is the one who insisted on being born first.
Thank you for giving her your attention. My hope is that she unsettles you in the best way—sparking change, discomfort, or recognition. This 48" x 36" oil painting on gallery wrapped canvas is meant to stop you, to provoke you, to make you question what you think you know. She is layered, complex, unapologetic. I could explain her, but I don’t need to. Her truth is not subtle.
Her creation carries strange echoes of Da Vinci—not in imitation, but in the way certain ideas arrive like whispers from another time. The paintings on the walls honor the Margaret Martyrs, reimagined in contemporary handmaid style garments. Their stories are brutal: women named Margaret crushed beneath stones, drowned in cold water, executed for their faith and their defiance. Margaret Wilson. Margaret McLachlan. The Pearl of York, Margaret Clitherow. Perhaps the name was common, but the violence against them was anything but ordinary.
And woven through this work is another truth. One that is older than the Tarot, older than the church, older than the canvas itself: women’s bodies have been currency, spectacle, battleground, and commodity.
Objectification is not abstract. It is a lineage. Sexism is not subtle. It is a system. Oppression is not metaphor. It is memory.
From the witch trials to the art market, the story repeats: women are consumed, displayed, judged, and undervalued. Their suffering becomes entertainment. Their beauty becomes a product. Their autonomy becomes a threat.
A nod also goes to Linda Nochlin’s 1972 photograph Buy Some Bananas—a work that sparked conversation about the sexualization of women in art, yet she was never compensated as she should have been. And if we’re going to talk about consumerism, we must confront Maurizio Cattelan, whose provocations expose the absurdity of what society chooses to value. Natalia LL’s Consumer Art ties the thread together, revealing how women’s bodies are packaged, sold, and consumed—literally and metaphorically.
Women’s art still sells for less. Women’s stories still cost them more. And it is because of this devil—this ancient, persistent, shape shifting devil of exploitation—that I feel compelled to speak, to paint, to confront.
This painting is not just an artwork. It is a refusal. A reckoning. A reminder that the devil is real, and that I can’t afford for my art to be polite. My box is worth as much as his banana!