Red Rose Cubana Nude: Art, Identity, And The Politics Of Representation In Contemporary Latinx Performance

In the early hours of June 18, 2024, a single phrase began trending across social media platforms in both English and Spanish: “red rose cubana nude.” At first glance, it appeared cryptic—a poetic collision of color, nationality, and vulnerability. Yet, as digital discourse unfolded, it became clear that the phrase referenced not just a performance piece but a cultural moment. The subject, Red Rose Cubana—born Marisol Vázquez in Havana in 1995—has emerged as a provocative force in the Latinx avant-garde art scene, blending burlesque, Afro-Cuban symbolism, and feminist critique into performances that challenge the boundaries of public decency, racial identity, and diasporic belonging. Her recent appearance at the Bronx Latinx Arts Festival, where she stood on stage adorned only in a single red rose over one breast while reciting poetry by Julia de Burgos, sparked both acclaim and backlash, igniting a broader conversation about the ownership of the Black and Latina female body in performance art.

Vázquez’s work arrives at a time when the boundaries between art and activism are increasingly porous. In the tradition of artists like Ana Mendieta and Carolee Schneemann, she uses her body as both canvas and manifesto. Yet her aesthetic is distinctly rooted in the syncretic culture of the Caribbean—incorporating Santería iconography, rumba rhythms, and the visual language of Cuban street murals. Critics have compared her to contemporary figures such as Beyoncé in her “Lemonade” era and performance artist Narcissister, but Vázquez resists easy categorization. “I’m not trying to shock,” she said in a recent interview with *Artforum*. “I’m trying to reclaim. Every curve, every scar, every drop of sweat on that stage is a refusal to be silenced by colonial beauty standards.”

The resonance of Vázquez’s performance extends beyond the art world. In an era where TikTok dancers are censored for “inappropriate content” while male rappers flaunt hypersexualized imagery without consequence, her act becomes political. She embodies a lineage of resistance—echoing the defiance of Josephine Baker in 1920s Paris, the raw honesty of Frida Kahlo’s self-portraits, and the unapologetic presence of modern icons like Lizzo and Hunter Schafer. What sets her apart is the deliberate fusion of Cuban heritage with radical self-expression. Her use of nudity isn’t gratuitous; it’s a reclamation of space, a declaration that the Afro-Latina body will no longer be exoticized, hidden, or policed.

This moment also reflects a larger shift in cultural institutions. Museums like El Museo del Barrio and the Whitney have begun commissioning more work from Afro-Latinx artists, signaling a long-overdue recognition of their contributions. Yet, the controversy surrounding Vázquez’s performance reveals the tension between progress and puritanism. While some praise her courage, others—both within and outside the Cuban diaspora—have criticized her for “shaming” Cuban culture. These debates underscore a generational divide: younger audiences see her work as liberation, while older, more conservative voices view it as betrayal.

What “red rose cubana nude” ultimately signifies is not scandal, but sovereignty—the right of a woman of color to define her own image, on her own terms. In a world still grappling with representation, Vázquez’s art insists on visibility, complexity, and truth. Her rose is not just a symbol of beauty, but of resilience—blood-red, thorned, and unyielding.