La Santa Muerte: A Conversation and Historical Overview by Alina Gannon

November 3rd 2025

Altar to Santa Muerte founded by Doña Quetta, Tepito, Mexico City, photo by Erin Lee

In the midst of Tepito, Mexico City stand some of the most visited shrines of La Santa Muerte.

I've heard stories about her for years now. I see her in markets, inked on people's skin, in street altars and on pendants hanging from the beautiful witches of Mexico City. Even though socially controversial and misunderstood, the cult that praises this Mexican Saint of Death grows every day. This may appear strange at first, given the fact that Mexico is predominantly Catholic and the religion already has countless Saints one could choose to venerate. Yet still, people are drawn to a figure deemed “dark” and “evil”.

But why exactly has she been so demonized by both society and the church? The devotion to the saint reflects a deeply socially unjust country. Amidst these classist, racist, sexist and homophobic realities, La Santa Muerte opens her arms and welcomes all marginalized minorities excluded from the norm of Mexican society.

Mictlantecuhtli, seated stone figure, c. 900 CE, Museo de Antropología de Xalapa, Mexico

During the Spanish conquest starting in 1519, the inquisition prioritized an extensive annihilation and replacement of pre-hispanic spirituality with Catholicism. In fear of losing their gods to this new religion, Mexicas took attributes of Catholic saints and found ways to combine them with their own divine figures. In pre-hispanic traditions, believing in a god of death is common.

For instance, Mexicas believe in Mictlantecuhtli, a central god whose name means “the lord of the mansion of the dead.” He was created by Quetzalcóatl – a primary God to Mexicas – who sought to make humans grateful for life. The lord and his wife Mictacaicihuatl reign over Mictlán, the underworld. It might be tempting to compare this place to Hell, but it is far from it. It's not dark nor used as a torturous chamber for punishment, but rather another realm of existence. The lady of the dead, Mictacaicihuatl, shares her husband's attributes and duties, although she is known to be more flexible and embodies stereotypical feminine characteristics. She is more caring and responsible for the dead, keeping an eye over Mictlán and granting the souls of the dead the privilege of visiting the living on occasions such as El Día de los Muertos. Within Mexica cosmology, these deities were not conceived as morbid emblems of death, but as vital affirmations of life itself. They embody the duality between both states.

In Christianity, the possibility of losing eternal life makes death a taboo. If you aren't a faithful, sinless Christian, you end up in Hell and not Heaven. This makes a lot of Mexico’s population susceptible to “eternal damnation” since it's hard to remain “sinless” within their context. Mictlantecuhtli however, offers humanity a different afterlife. Hell, like Mictlán, is considered the underworld, and Satan, like Mictlantecuhtli, is the Lord of this realm. Although their stories couldn't be further apart, these few similarities – and moreover the general corpse-like depiction of Mictlantecuhtli – sparked rejection of their god from the Catholic colonizers. This made it difficult to associate the Mexica god to any Catholic Saint approved by the church. Which is why, from Mexico to Medieval Europe, the modern day iconography of the Saint is borrowed from a mix of different cultures.

During the 16th century, Europe was struck with the black plague, responsible for mass deaths which would wipe out most of the continent’s population. Christian Europeans thought of the plague as a universal punishment caused by the sinful nature of humanity. The allegorical animation of death was on the rise in the arts. Eventually making its way from Spain to Mexico during the inquisition. The iconography of Saint Death is the consequence of religious repression: the macabre skeleton figure cloaked in dark robes, with which we associate death throughout the West, was re-appropriated by Mexicas to disguise their worship of Mictlantecuhtli.

From Jean Colombe’s Book of Hours, Death Personified, 1473

Danse Macabre, fresco in Holy Trinity Church, Slovenia, 1490

La Santa is represented by a female skeleton. She wears a monk-like cloak which covers her head to toe. It's often black, but the colors can differ depending on what you want her to bring to your life: red for love, white for purity and protection, purple for health, and so on. Her devotees give her different names to make their relationship with the Saint even more personal and intimate. They also adorn her with trinkets of their own to further personalize her, clad her in different clothing, Mexican embroidery or jewelry, such as a rosary. She's almost always standing upright, holding a scale in her right hand – symbolizing the balance between life and death – or at times a globe to represent the universality of dying. In her left hand she firmly grips a scythe, which represents the split of life and death. However, as is the case with most oral based traditions, iconography and mythology can vary slightly depending on who you ask.

Some say she is the daughter of Christ, who gave her a burdensome responsibility: collecting the souls of the dead. Worried about the pain it would cause her to take away the souls, she begged Christ to at least relieve her of the pain of her senses. Without sight, scent nor vision her job would hopefully be easier, relegating her to a skeletal physical state. Contrary to popular bias, she is believed to do God’s work, not the Devil’s. She is known to be on the jealous side, to be overprotective and highly emotional. She is quick to act, fast and efficient in answering prayers. Yet she is mostly kind and caring, associated by many to a "comforting mother figure" and treated as such by her cult

The way Mexicans honor their Saints is most notably recognized during the Day of the Dead. We make altars for the people we've lost, topped with offerings designated to each one, as we do with our deities. On a day to day, La Santa Muerte likes to be spoiled with flowers, tobacco, notes and letters, even tequila. But she isn't necessarily extravagant: she will appreciate anything big or small as long as your intentions are pure and genuine. She doesn't discriminate; there are no requirements to be a part of her cult. She has no strict expectations for her followers and no reasons to condemn them, different to the Christian Church.

Photo by Erin Lee, La Santa Muerte, Mexico, 2014, Mexico, Vice News

Tepito is located in the historical center of Mexico City. It's a lively, busy, tumultuous neighborhood. Historically, Tepito was one of the last sites of resistance against Spanish colonialism. Once it was finally defeated, Hernan Cortez made sure to place extensive security around it since the area was used to expel and segregate countless Mexicas. This segregation has had persistent effects up to this day in Mexican society. The reality is, Spanish colonialism never left Mexico and its effects on Tepito are as noticeable as ever. The neighborhood (barrio) is home to the lower working class of Mexico City, for those who can’t afford the expenses and rates of the wealthier neighbourhoods. Those who can't afford an education. Those who have a hard time getting medical assistance. Those marginalized by prejudices of their skin color and denied “respectable” employment. Those born into businesses outside the law. Tepito houses working mothers who struggle to feed their kids, who can’t get legal protection against their abusive husbands, trans women who are fetishized in sex work but rejected in their day to day, and children who are forced to labour before they can even speak.

Tepito's reputation is tainted on many levels: it's considered to be dirty, uncared for, dangerous and incredibly busy. It’s hard to walk through, loud, and uncomfortable. The streets are even lined with plastic awnings that block out the sky, creating a claustrophobic sentiment. It's an infinite outdoor market where everything and nothing is possible. You can find cheap clothing, blocks and blocks of blenders, jewelry, stuffed animals, cleaning products, shoes, washing machines, pirated movies. Blocks and blocks and blocks of books and perfumes, fabrics, furs and so much more.

Mexico City is the most enchanting place in the world. But like any country, it has more problems than one could count. Poverty is intoxicating. Women are raped. Murdered. Everyday. Families are torn apart by systemic organized crime. This way of life makes it incredibly difficult to stay unconditionally faithful to a supposedly omnibenevolent God whose institution forbids your culture and traditions, who is often depicted with white skin and blue eyes, dressed in Roman drapery surrounded by gold – far from most of Mexico's reality. A God who has historically been used to outlaw homosexuality, or as a pretext to confine women into hysteria, vessels for sexual reproduction, wives, property – stripped of their full humanity.

La Santa Muerte is often associated with crime because most of her followers are victims of this perpetual systematic poverty which constricts possibility. Yet, she's a glimmer of freedom veiled by the institutional marginalization of the Catholic Church. She represents a new hope, one that hasn't been corrupted by western men, politics and binaries. She is a refreshing figure because she’s a manifestation of our ancestry overlapping with modern folklore. Despite her devotees' requests to canonize her, the Vatican declared the cult to be “blasphemous” in 2013. She was deemed a temptation of the devil to trick people into falling in love with death. On the contrary, La Santa Muerte shows the resilience and determination of the Mexican people to resist the neocolonial attempts of the Catholic Church who, like the Spanish, want to stomp out Indigenous and Mexican spiritual practices. The cult invites us to question why it is that we deem death so negatively. We all live our lives with an expiration date. Natural death in some cultures is a great achievement. In Mexica mythology, death is just as precious as life is, it is a blessing even. There’s no fear nor resentment. But through history we've been made afraid of the one thing we can never avoid. The Saint welcomes us to reconsider our relationship with death in a way that might grant us some comfort. Especially in cases where one is exposed to systematic risks and hardships. If the Catholic Church isn't welcoming for minorities and if your government won’t protect you in the face of death, where should your faith stand?

Interview: A conversation with Estela

Estela is a family friend from Mexico City that I've grown up with. For the past 15 years she has worked as a housekeeper in my best friend's home, but really she’s part of the family. I remembered she used to have a boyfriend that was devoted to La Santa. Although Este didn't used to like speaking about the cult, her feelings for the faith have changed. After a short call, this is what I learned from her:

Estela: Well, you can ask her for favors and stuff. Supposedly she doesn't “charge” for the favors she grants you because, well, at the end of the day, we are just a living image of her. Your flesh is your flesh but what are we underneath that? Obviously. We are the same. We are the same because when your flesh leaves you, well, you end up just like her, calaquita

Alina: Yes, of course.

Estela: So, it's logical. Look, if you go online right now and do some research you'll find good things and bad things. Because of course, there's people that still can't accept the reality that she's good. The same way that you see people talk bad about the Catholic Church, so. That's my… my… but I don't know. What else would you like to know? Tell me. You tell me what you want to know.

Alina: Mmmm. Well. Like, how did your ex boyfriend end up being part of the cult? Like, was it his family or…

Estela: He, well, they had this woman that did these things and she obviously was a devotee to the saint you know? That woman would have been given the gift to cure you. Like, she… Well once she told him "I don't do harm. My saint doesn't allow me to”. Like if you go and you tell her “I feel bad” such and such, it would be like the doctor. He'll tell you “oh well you're alright” then you'll know you're good. But then if you go and the doctor tells you “no you're sick” and so on then you know something is off. If you go with this woman the first thing she'll tell you is if there's something wrong with you. And you'll be like, “Why?”. And she'll tell you…“Oh well because there's this person in your home that wishes you harm, or the neighbor or friend, whatever whatever. So she takes care of that. She keeps you safe from that. Just like a doctor, she'll diagnose you. But remember that it's the Saint that works through her.

Alina: Right, right. So she’s like a medium.

Estela: Aha. Exactly.

Alina: So, did your ex go to this woman for health reasons?

Estela: Exactly. And that's where they started to believe in the Saint, because they saw that she was… mmmm how can I say this. Like, Alina, everything this woman would tell them was true.

Alina: So she would literally just know what was wrong with them and she would be right?

Estela: Exactly.

Alina: Have you ever asked her for anything?

Estela: Well, remember when I lived with him that I would go there a lot?

Mhm well, I was very honest with this woman, I said… I don't know if I ever told you this, I don't think so. But I told her “I’ll do my thing, you'll do your thing cause I don't believe in that”. Like whatever. I mean it's not like I'm pretending like I don't know anything about that. Because obviously, people tell you about their faith and stuff which is why now I know more. But like I said, it's not that I think she's bad like other people do but I also am not super into it.

Alina: And do you think the cult has been growing more and more?

Estela: Of course, because now there's more churches that allow her to be venerated. Like once I went to this Basilica with a friend and there was the market and everything, obviously the market of the Basilica. And there were a lot of devotees you know? If you go by some place that sells santitos the first thing you'll see is her. Because it's not like… it's not like before, you don't have to hide your faith anymore.

Sources

Lacunza, Michel A. Olguín, “Te presento a Mictlantecuhtli, el dios mexica de la muerte”, octubre 29, 2020, UNAM Global Revista: https://unamglobal.unam.mx/global_revista/te-presento-a-mictlantecuhtli-el-dios-mexica-de-la-muerte/

XIU, “La historia de 5 deidades prehispánicas que fueron sincretizadas con figuras católicas” Matador Network, 24 Abril 2020, Mexico: https://matadornetwork.com/es/santos-catolicos-sincretizados-con-deidades-antiguas/

Silleras-Fernandez, N. (2024). Performing death in medieval Iberia: an introduction to the end of life. Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies, 16(1), 1–14. https://doi.org/10.1080/17546559.2023.2296993

“Region at the corner of Bliss and Nirvana, Politics, Identity and Faith in New Migrant Communities”, Lorentzen, Lois Ann “Devotional Crossings: Transgender sex workers, Santísima Muerte, and Spiritual Solidarity in Guadalajara and San Francisco”, Duke University Press, 2009, Durham and London.

A. Calvo-Quiros, William, “Undocumented Saints: The Politics of Migrating Devotions. La Santa Muerte: the patrona of the Death-Worlds”, 2022, Oxford University Press, New York, United States of America

Osegueda, Rodrigo, “Tepito, historia del barrio bravo más icónico de México”, Mexico Desconocido, Ciudad de Mexico: https://www.mexicodesconocido.com.mx/tepito.html

“El Vaticano considera “blasfemia” la Santa Muerte”, BBC News Mundo, 9 mayo 2013 https://www.bbc.com/mundo/ultimas_noticias/2013/05/130507_ultnot_vaticano_santa_muerte_mexico_cch#:~:text=El%20cardenal%20Gianfranco%20Ravasi%2C%20secretario,a%20venerar%20la%20figura%20esquel%C3%A9tica.

Kent Monkman: History is Painted by the Victors, The Review - Isabelle Ede

October 20th, 2025

Kent Monkman, born in 1965, is an interdisciplinary visual artist and member of Fisher River Cree Nation in Treaty 5 Territory located in Manitoba, Canada. He is presently working and living between New York and Toronto. Monkman identifies as Queer and Two-Spirit, an inclusive contemporary term adopted by North-American Indigenous communities signifying a dual or non-binary gender identity.

Son of Rilla Unger, an Anglo-Canadian and Everet Monkman, a Cree nation member, Monkman was born during a visit to Rilla’s hometown of St. Mary’s, Ontario. He grew up as the third of four children. This family of five soon returned to the Cree community of Shamattawa First Nation in northern Manitoba. His mother was a schoolteacher, and his father worked as a commercial fisherman on Lake Winnipeg. When they moved to Winnipeg, Kent drove cabs, was a vacuum salesman and was a social worker to help support his family.

An important figure in his life was his great-grandmother on his father’s side, Caroline Everette. She lived with them on and off until he was ten, and she only spoke Cree. Kent considers her birthplace of St Peter’s, Manitoba to be his ancestral home. Everette’s own childhood was tumultuous due to the unforgiving Canadian colonial forces. Her community was subject to Treaty 5 that was signed in 1875, the year of Everette’s birth. Since then, her family was forcibly displaced three times. She had thirteen children, some of them were sent to nearby residential schools and only three survived into adulthood.

In 2015, Monkman was quoted in the American Indian and Research Journal 39, in an article by June Scudeler, titled “‘Indians on Top’: Kent Monkman’s Sovereign Erotics,” saying “I was fortunate enough to have parents and grandparents who were very confident in knowing who they were and who were confident in their own culture. They knew that you can exist in the modern world and still carry your roots and your culture with you.” In fact, he admits that his family and upbringing significantly shaped his artistry. As a child, he was picked among his classmates to attend free Saturday morning classes at the Winnipeg Art Gallery. Monkman discloses that the paintings on display inspired him. Such artists include Honoré Daumier, Théodore Géricault, Albrecht Dürer, Anthony Van Dyk, Pieter Bruegel the Elder and Leonardo da Vinci.

His newest exhibit is currently being displayed at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts from September 27, 2025 until March 8, 2026. Titled History is Painted by the Victors, it displays 40 monumental paintings, the biggest Canadian exhibition dedicated to his works. In collaboration with the Denver Art Museum, the creation was credited to the MMFA’s curator of Indigenous Practices, Léuli Eshrāghi and Denver’s Curator of Native Arts, Andrew W. Mellon. Described as showcasing the subversion of the art historical canon, it recounts history with the intention of interrupting the colonial gaze. The artists whose works he grew up seeing on the walls of the Winnipeg Art Gallery were part of the same canon he is now questioning. It depicts themes of acts of resistance, bodily violence, environmental exploitation, nudity as well as love, pride and compassion. This exhibit really has it all!

In the official website of the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, they have an entire page titled Indigenous Initiatives. On it, they repeatedly state their dedication to “committed to becoming places that prioritize reconciliation between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples, and that highlight Indigenous aesthetic, musical and ceremonial practices.” Note that they also offer free admission to both local and international Indigenous communities. According to an article published by MUSKRAT in 2024, an on-line Indigenous arts, culture, and living magazine, the MMFA has “been a pioneer since 1953 in the research and collection of Inuit art.” The MMFA also lists some exhibits that they have put up that reflects their words and promises. In fact, they put up a Kent Monkman exhibit in 2009, and since then, many others’ artists through the years. They claim that their Bourgie Hall on 1339 Sherbrooke West, is dedicated to First Peoples’ musical traditions. In the first level of the Michal and Renata Hornstein Pavilion is where the ᐆᒻᒪᖁᑎᒃ uummaqutik essence of life exhibition is presented. Conceived in collaboration with asinnajaq, an Inuk artist and curator, it “invited us to meditate on the rhythms of life that are particular to the circumpolar territories known together as Inuit Nunangat.” Overall, one could argue that the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts located on Turtle Island is consistently sensitive to North American Indigenous communities and does what it can to make their space more inclusive, welcoming and artistically diverse. However, one can also argue that there is always more to do.

I visited the Kent Monkman: History is Painted by the Victors exhibit on September 30, 2025, on National Truth and Reconciliation Day. All of the museum’s exhibitions were free for everyone on that day, so the museum was quite busy. However, the Monkman exhibit would have been packed regardless. Once I arrived at its entrance, I firstly noticed that all the descriptive and contextual writings were written in English, French and Cree, which was a nice touch. I felt immediately at ease as I looked around, such vibrant colors popped up; pinks, burgendies, blues and yellows. As I made my way into the first room of five, it seemed as though I entered a different world, one where color, movement and line are absolute and divine. After speaking with Violette, a customer service employee, she verified my theory that the exhibit is chronological. The first room criticizes the depictions of Indigenous peoples in paintings by 19th century and early 20th century Canadian and American artists like Albert Bierstadt, George Catlin, Edward S. Curtis and Paul Kane. Monkman uses the famous landscape imagery as well as the representation of leaders who promoted the western expansion which led to devastating consequences of forced dispersals and widespread massacres. By changing the narrative, Monkman is able to reclaim the Indigenous landscapes, identities, experiences and truths. Most scenes seem to show the first or continued encounters between colonizers and nations, some include humor, some exaggeration but all are full of dynamism and colour.

The next room introduces an important and recurring character in Monkman’s work; his alter ego, Miss Chief Eagle Testickle, described as a fierce provocatrix who appears as a sort of mystical presence. Meant to embody resilience and the ambiguity of gender and sexuality, her appearance in a work is the result of Monkman’s observation that non-Indigenous artists in the 1800s painted themselves often. Miss Chief herself is mocking the customs of the canon. Much to my delight, she shows up a lot in the rest of the exhibit, often recognizable by her pink drapery that flows around her.

The last few rooms depict more contemporary scenes of continued acts of violence against Indigenous peoples. Disclaimed by a warning of trauma and attempted genocide, Monkman includes the dark truths of Canadian residential schools in his chronology. Contextualized by the description of the Indian Act in Canada (1876) and the Indian Removal Act in the United States (1830) that removed multiple generations of Indigenous children from their homes, these paintings are a part of the historical record of cultural genocide created by the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission established in 2007. Monkman’s family members are survivors of this system. The wall is decorated with a touching quote from Miss Chief, “To all those who were lost, to those who were broken, to those who never returned - there will always be empty spaces where you should have been. The unspeakable loss is forever wrapped around our hearts.”

The very last room of the exhibit is dedicated to a series of portraits or “wâse-acâhkosak (Shining Stars),” of culture bearers, Land and Water Protectors as well as important political advocates. Such personalities include Nick Estes, a Sicangu American community organizer, journalist and historian at the University of Minnesota as well as a cofounder of The Red Nation, a decolonial and marxist indigenous advocacy group. Violet Chum, painted in a wild river landscape while holding a banner that reads “Water is sacred, no pipelines,” is also part of the portrait series. Tasha Beeds, a Scottish-Metis and Bajan academic and lawyer, suffers with a disability due to a car crash and yet continues to travel and guest speak for the Indigenous cause. Finally, Pauline Shirt (Nimikiiquay) is painted seated on a rock near a river during a sunset, wearing a traditional dress and holding a feather. She passed away last year at age 80, and she was very influential as an Elder at George Brown College in Toronto. On the other wall, modern depictions of police officers armed to the teeth, engaging in violent actions against Indigenous women especially, creates a solemn energy in the room. Most of them having been painted and completed in 2023, the urgency and immediacy of the issue becomes evident. The last painting is separated from the rest and illuminated. Titled The Great Mystery and finished in 2023, it's a depiction of Miss Chief with a dark war bonnet, mounted on a stationary horse with her arms up as if she was asking us, ‘what now?’ This work is accompanied by an illuminated quote by Miss Chief that reads, “Kisê-manitow gave me…the gift of being both male and female and a multitude of spirits beyond gender together in one body… It was my role to help human beings love one another.”

Kent Monkman, Miss Chief’s Wet Dream, 2018

Acrylic on canvas, 365.7 x 731.5 cm

Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, Halifax

Théodore Géricault, The Raft of the Medusa

Oil on canvas by Théodore Géricault, 1818–19;

in the Louvre, Paris.

The one painting that stood out to me due to its size and content was Miss Chief's Wet Dream. I was drawn to it because it reminded me of Théodore Géricault’s work titled The Raft of the Medusa. Completed in 1819, it is a French Romantic oil painting measuring 4.9 x 7.16 meters that depicts the shipwreck of the naval frigate Méduse. Monkman specifically recreated some of its main elements for his own monumental painting which measures 7.5 x 3.5 meters. The Méduse was a merchant ship that crashed and sank off the coast of today’s Mauritania. Its mission was to accept the Peace of Paris policy for the British return of Senegal, so it was bound for the Senegalese port of Saint-Louis. It was holding 400 passengers and during mid-crisis, the captain decided that the elite and the crew would go into the life boats while the other passengers were put on a built raft that carried 150 people. The captain released it into the ocean and they were abandoned for two weeks. When they were discovered, 15 people were still alive. This story was recorded in the newspaper and it shocked many. Most reports concluded that the cause of this tragedy was entirely due to Captain Viscount Hugues Duroy de Chaumareys’s incompetence. In addition to the insight that many resorted to cannibalism in order to survive, this incident was deemed a huge public embarrassment for the French monarchy which was only recently put in power after Napoleon’s defeat in 1815.

Géricault was only 27 years old when he finished this work. He was inspired to paint it after reading about it in the newspaper. After interviewing the survivors, drawing many preliminary sketches and visiting the morgues so he could study the look of dead bodies, he boldly represented the descriptions in a dramatic fashion, completely disregarding the prevailing Neoclassical regulations at the time. When showcased at the Salon of 1819, it was met with equal praise and condemnation. Regardless, it is now considered part of the canon for it was one of the first Romantic works, hence a great source of inspiration for many more artists to come such as Eugène Delacroix, J. M. W. Turner, Gustave Courbet and Édouard Manet.

What makes The Raft of The Medusa a Romantic painting as opposed to Neoclassical is due to the excitement it incites rather than feeling calm, cool and orderly. Romanticism, as a movement, is more an attitude rather than a style. Often prioritizing a painterly quality than line work and a freer approach in terms of composition, Géricault adopts many ways to move away from the painting conventions of the Neoclassical school. His processes of creation and the final result itself suggest that he was more interested in observing the different possibilities of human emotional response faced with challenges, than simply stating the moral value of hope. The color of the figures’ skin and the way they are dramatically sprawled reflects his prior study of decaying bodies but also reveals his tendency to idealize them. He quite literally romanticizes the scene, enhancing the intensity by creating obvious diagonal lines and energizing it with bodily and windy movement. The Romantic goal is to sway your audience with sympathy, and Géricault succeeded magnificently.

Finished in 2018, Miss Chief’s Wet Dream is an acrylic on canvas masterpiece. While it does represent some struggling figures in need of a rescue, the narrative is completely different. Clearly, the presence of aristocrats and what seems to be the captain, makes it known that Monkman is not concerned with following Géricault’s portrayal. He is interested in capturing the fame of The Raft of The Medusa and bringing to light a more modern and pressing issue, and that is reconciliation for all Indigenous communities. Monkman paints his people with dignity in comparison to the Europeans. The first thing that jumps out to me is the skin color of the two groups. While one could argue that Monkman was remaining true to Géricault’s choice of painting them as weak and sickly, one could also say that it was intentional to keep them ghastly pale. Looking at them creates displeasure, therefore associating a feeling of uneasiness and disgust with the figures on the left, while Miss Chief and her crew look admirable, healthy and strong. Another element that flaunts Miss Chief’s crew is their mode of transportation. Historically, it was taught that Indigenous peoples seemed to have less advanced technology, while their European colonizers introduced them to ‘civilization.’ The most classic example would be the use of guns over spears or bow and arrows. However, in this work, and considering the story behind the Méduse, the Indigenous canoe is the safer and more reliable vehicle. The raft is in disarray, appearing to be moments away from tipping over thanks to the drowning horse on the bottom left. Meanwhile, the canoe is securing all its passengers and safely being rowed away from the raft. This highlights the embarrassment of the French monarchy by contrasting it with the glory of the Indigenous culture and identity. Another aspect that increases such an impression would be the attitude of the surrounding water. A big menacing wave is bound for the raft, signaling trouble and stressing their culturally inherent disharmony with nature. On the right side of the painting, the water looks calm, almost hinting that nature is in favour of Indigenous peoples. If one looks closely enough, one will notice Miss Chief’s full erection and her look of total bliss. Her dream is not to submit to a quick peace since the painting shows many facial expressions of hateful skepticism for the other. What makes this a fantasy is the reversal of power, the image and message that the colonial history taught in schools does not reveal the full truth. Monkman actively uses the canon to unveil unknown historical certainties that would have been recognized if it had not been for the unforgiving colonialist European attitude toward the Indigenous peoples of Canada.

Kent Monkman’s exhibit is one not to be missed. As someone who has a lot to learn about Indigenous history, this show will warmly invite you to step out of your comfort zone and absorb something new. History is Painted by the Victors may shock, offend or humble you, but it's about time for all that. Every single non-Indigenous person must be held accountable for their potential ignorance and luckily for us, Monkman is accepting us with grace. No shame, no judgement and no hate seem to be the three conditions upon entering the building. Come with respect, attention and an open mind, for you will be glad to walk through this colourful, informative as well as heart-breaking story and leave with greater knowledge on continued reparations with the various Indigenous tribes of Turtle Island.