About Madre Roja
Madre Roja is the creative home of True Rodriguez, an Black Puerto Rican artist, writer, and lifelong storyteller from Queens, New York.
Around here, art is more than something pretty to hang on a wall. It's culture, memory, curiosity, and conversation. Sometimes it's a celebration. Sometimes it's a challenge. And sometimes it's just a beautiful piece that makes you stop and say, "Oh, I need that!"
Inspired by hip-hop, the African diaspora, cultural and spiritual traditions, and the wonderfully complicated experience of being human, Madre Roja brings stories to life through digital art, prints, and merchandise.
Some pieces might remind you of somebody you grew up with. Others might introduce you to a story or tradition you've never encountered. Some might make you laugh, think, or question what you thought you knew.
And some? They're just beautiful. That's reason enough.
I believe art should make you feel something. It might spark curiosity, challenge an old idea, bring back a memory, or simply make your space a little more beautiful.
You don't have to understand every reference or know the story behind every piece. Take what speaks to you.
There are no right answers here, and there's definitely no need to be perfect.
Come on in. Look around. Find something that feels like you.
Welcome to Madre Roja. Make yourself at home.
Artist Statement
I believe shame thrives in silence.
We inherit shame in countless ways; through our families, our communities, our histories, and the expectations society places upon us. Racism, classism, and sexism have taught generations of people, particularly within Black and Brown communities, that acceptance comes through respectability, perfection, and conformity. We've learned to hide our mistakes, disguise our vulnerabilities, and sometimes distance ourselves from the very cultures and experiences that make us who we are.
My work is both a confrontation with that shame and a celebration of the freedom that comes from letting it go.
As an Black Puerto Rican woman raised in New York City, my understanding of culture was shaped by a world where differences existed side by side. We embraced one another's cultures, contradictions, and stereotypes, sometimes imperfectly, but always in conversation. That experience continues to influence the stories I explore.
My work is deeply rooted in the African diaspora, particularly the experiences of Black and Brown women. I draw inspiration from hip-hop, our shared histories, everyday life, and the cultural and spiritual traditions that have survived generations of misunderstanding, suppression, and reinvention.
My curiosity about spirituality began with my great-grandmother, a Spiritist whose influence encouraged me to question, explore, and seek understanding. That curiosity eventually led me to Lukumí, a tradition I seek to celebrate and make visible through my art. For me, culture and spirituality are inseparable; they are part of how we understand ourselves, our histories, and one another.
I rarely begin a piece knowing exactly what I want to say. More often, I begin with a question- sometimes about the world, sometimes about an idea I've inherited, and often about something I believe myself. I want to understand the why and how of things. I want to question what makes us uncomfortable and why we've been taught to look away.
I don't believe art has to explain itself to be meaningful. Sometimes someone connects with a piece because it reminds them of home. Sometimes it makes them laugh, feel beautiful, or remember something they've forgotten. Sometimes it challenges a belief or starts a conversation. And sometimes, it's simply something beautiful to look at.
All of those experiences matter to me.
I've spent much of my creative life telling stories through poetry, theater, and visual art. The medium may change, but my purpose remains the same. I want people to recognize themselves, even in the parts they've been taught to hide. I want them to know they aren't alone and that their imperfections, experiences, and histories do not make them less worthy of belonging.
Above all, I want my art to feel like home.
Sometimes joyful. Sometimes chaotic. Sometimes uncomfortable. Always familiar, always evolving, and never something we should have to apologize for.