Oubliette confronts one of the most glossed-over transitions in the history of rock & roll: the movement of music from Africa to the Americas through the brutal machinery of slavery. While many historians reference “slave songs,” few trace how these spiritual traditions became the foundation of gospel, blues, and ultimately rock & roll.

Across the canvas, a haunting diagram appears—rows of black bodies arranged as they were forced to fit within the hull of a slave ship. Based on a contemporary witness illustration, this image is not metaphor. It is fact. It is the architecture of trauma that underlies the music we celebrate.

And yet, from this horror, something extraordinary blooms. Vibrant flowers dominate the canvas—blue and orange petals, red stems, radiant with life. Within each bloom, rhinestones shimmer: music born from pain, resilience, and spiritual defiance. These are not embellishments. They are echoes.

Floating in the background are keys—symbols of unlocking, of potential, of freedom. They suggest that within this buried history lies the power to understand rock & roll not just as entertainment, but as cultural resistance. As survival. As truth.

In the upper corner, a “No U-turn” sign hovers like a verdict. Once the music was appropriated and rebranded, the original voices were pushed underground. But Oubliette insists that we look down into the hole. That we name what was taken. That we honor what was given.

This canvas is not just a painting. It is a reckoning. A bloom from the depths.