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I once heard Carlos Santana telling an anecdote on the radio about playing at Woodstock. They were meant to go on later that night, so the band decided to relax and drop some acid, thinking they had plenty of time to ride it out. Then, unexpectedly, another band cancelled. Suddenly, Santana were pushed on stage while the acid was already kicking in hard.
Carlos said that by the time they played Soul Sacrifice, they were completely gone. He remembers looking at the neck of his guitar and thinking it had turned into a snake, ready to bite his face. He was terrified. But he kept playing.
What moves me most is not the fear, but what happened despite it. If you watch the footage, you can see how unbelievably tight the band is. There is a deep, almost spiritual connection between them, especially between Carlos and the drummer, Michael Shrieve, who was incredibly young at the time. They are locked into each other, holding the music together through instinct, trust, and pure surrender.
This painting is about that moment — when fear, ego, and control fall away, and all that’s left is commitment. The mouth is forced open into a rigid smile, not of joy, but of endurance. The heart-shaped maracas become an offering, a symbol of giving everything you have, even when you’re scared. The guitar is both weapon and lifeline.
I once heard Carlos Santana telling an anecdote on the radio about playing at Woodstock. They were meant to go on later that night, so the band decided to relax and drop some acid, thinking they had plenty of time to ride it out. Then, unexpectedly, another band cancelled. Suddenly, Santana were pushed on stage while the acid was already kicking in hard.
Carlos said that by the time they played Soul Sacrifice, they were completely gone. He remembers looking at the neck of his guitar and thinking it had turned into a snake, ready to bite his face. He was terrified. But he kept playing.
What moves me most is not the fear, but what happened despite it. If you watch the footage, you can see how unbelievably tight the band is. There is a deep, almost spiritual connection between them, especially between Carlos and the drummer, Michael Shrieve, who was incredibly young at the time. They are locked into each other, holding the music together through instinct, trust, and pure surrender.
This painting is about that moment — when fear, ego, and control fall away, and all that’s left is commitment. The mouth is forced open into a rigid smile, not of joy, but of endurance. The heart-shaped maracas become an offering, a symbol of giving everything you have, even when you’re scared. The guitar is both weapon and lifeline.