Hasta la Victoria’s Secret

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In this series of watercolors and lipstick, the mirror of the people fogs over with smudged mascara, frayed flags, and phrases lifted from the gospel of Steve Bannon. The aesthetic is intimate and brutal: bodies pulled from social media, rendered with the disobedient softness of watercolor, paired with incendiary declarations handwritten like private confessions on a motel mirror.

 

The title —Hasta la Victoria’s Secret— is a shapeshifting slogan. It parodies the revolutionary chant while dressing it up, eroticizing it, turning it into a brand. Here, Victory is no longer political or military—it’s lingerie. And the Secret doesn’t conceal desire anymore, but resentment.

 

This series portrays a social class in crisis turned spectacle, involuntary performance, aesthetic subject. The images don’t mock; they expose. And in that exposure, something more complex than caricature emerges: a made-up rage, a proud precarity, an identity built from broken slogans and pixelated selfies.

 

Here, the revolution won’t be televised—it will be livestreamed from a trailer park with a vintage filter.

It will be painted in watercolor and written in lipstick.

It will be feminine, grotesque, confused, hyperreal.

It will be, until further notice,

Victoria’s Secret.