From the gallery to the street, from the doll to the avatar, El Pelele’s practice proposes a “Sudaca” laboratory of indiscipline: a neo-baroque carnival that transforms performance and object into interfaces to activate the power of mo(n)strar.
0. Introduction
A whip cracks the air. “Make way!” “Careful!” La Boca opens like a slit, its sidewalk narrowing into a corridor. El Pelele (Lucas Gabriel Cardo, Deán Funes, 1993)—heels, latex, horns, and megaphone—enters, followed by two hooded, almost naked bodies, who will later integrate into the gallery performance. Outside, the warning is brief and effective. Inside the gallery, when the audience is already in the white cube, the phrase stretches and twists in a loop: “Careful, careful, careful, my love. Careful—with believing—that we are—twooo.” Repeated like a poem, the refrain changes meaning every time it emerges from his masked mouth. Between lashes that are sometimes caresses, the tone oscillates between threat, incantation, and protection.
MUÑECO, by El Pelele, video still, 2:57 min, 2024. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
From its very name, El Pelele opens a popular genealogy that runs from the muñeco manteado (and its Goya-inspired version) to a contemporary carnival of clubs, galleries, and networks. We are not aiming here for Eurocentric inscriptions of the motif (Goya, Prado, court tapestries) or an exhaustive history of the manteo, but rather the gesture of inversion itself: puppet, mask, momentary suspension of hierarchies. Mainly because the artist’s grammar engages intimately with local lineages—the clown, the cabaret, the neo-baroque, trans-travesti thought, the Drag Parade—where mask, failure as method, glitch/trash, and a neo-baroque grotesque operate as devices of indiscipline. A Rioplatense dialect allows reading from here, without folklorizing or sanitizing: where the mask does not imitate but deforms, and where trasheo (waste, leftover) does not degrade but empowers.
MUÑECO, by El Pelele, video still, 1:57 min, 2024. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
Since 2014, El Pelele has sustained a transmedia project crossing painting, sculpture, performance, sound, poetry, and video, establishing milestones where object and scene feed into each other: Ponzoña (El Gran Vidrio, 2018) as the first major statement, Amatorio (Sendrós, 2022) and La red del viento (El Sielo, Barcelona, 2023) as project expansions, La multitud agazapada (Centro Cultural Recoleta, 2024) and El espanto (Sendrós, 2024) as a consolidation of a hybrid repertoire. In parallel, his performative circulation stretches the avatar through Rome, Barcelona, Leipzig, Zurich, and Prague, and his dialogue with the local ecosystem includes arteBA and the exhibition Dos sin tres at Colección Balanz (2023). Cardo joined the UTDT Artists Program (2020–2021) and in 2023 was distinguished in the National Painting Prize of the Central Bank of Argentina in the under-35 category. He lives and works in Buenos Aires.
1. From the Puppet to the Avatar: Mask and Affective Apparatus
To call oneself “El Pelele” carries both mockery and ritual: from the muñeco manteado of popular carnivals to Goya’s famous painted scene. If we previously highlighted the figure of the puppet—muñeco manteado, mask, momentary suspension of hierarchies—as part of a local grammar, here we see how, in Cardo’s work, it is not reduced to a historical reference, but activates as a device that organizes action and opens new forms of meaning. At times, the puppet ceases to be an inert thing and becomes an avatar alternating states: sometimes a resting object, sometimes a speaking agent. This oscillation organizes his scene—from the prone body to the interrupting voice, from the gallery piece to the performance—and, at the center, a mask that is not a screen but a key that ignites the body and its affective apparatus.
In a Sudaca key, El Pelele’s masks do not appear in a vacuum: they are inscribed in a travesti grammar. From the neo-baroque lineage Naty Menstrual pushes from Perlongher, he adopts failure as a method to turn what canon called residue into jewel. With Susy Shock, he affirms the right to be a monster: not to “represent otherness” but to mo(n)strarse as an enunciative position. And in the aesthetic affinity with the Drag Parade resonate processional echoes: shared artifices, precarious materiality, fierce humor. There lies the power of mo(n)strar: not showing from outside, but inhabiting the monstrous as a travesti-drag gesture, a language that interrupts and disorder the public space. This is not background: it is an operational kit enabling oscillation between puppet and agent, object and voice.
This masked practice is inscribed in what Argentine researcher Andrea Torrano, in her posthumanist reading of El Pelele’s work, describes as a critique of the centrality of the face: dismantling the political anatomy that turns it into a guarantor of human identity to recombine it into another affective regime. Torrano warns that the face is not just a body part but a device organizing hierarchies—who is recognizable, who deserves care, who may be abandoned—and intervening it is a way to question them. De-facializing, then, is not erasing the face, but fracturing the norm that makes it the measure of the human and opening it to other sensitive configurations.
Meanwhile, Tija Uhlig, a German academic, uses a queer approach to situate the clown at a productive threshold between the familiar and the strange, where the recognizable mixes with the disturbing and produces estrangement that interrupts any immediate reading of the body. In her 2021 study on a genderqueer clown in a post-Soviet context, she describes this threshold as non-neutral: a space of tension that destabilizes identity and allows other forms of relation. In El Pelele, this notion is amplified and displaced: the mask does not cover a preexisting self but produces it in act, and does so from a Sudaca repertoire that turns liminality into a method of indiscipline—a logic already embroidered into the material of his objects in Colección Balanz.
Retrato, by El Pelele, 2019. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
2. Balanz: Objects as Interfaces to Mo(n)strar
In Colección Balanz, three of El Pelele’s works function as a triad of interfaces. Far from being mute relics, they are sensitive hardware: devices that, from their very matter, contain latent choreography. La cabeza del Siluetador, Muñeco 001, and Espejo mágico activate three fronts—voice, body, gaze—that unfold as living software in his performative repertoire. Seeing them together allows reading how mask, avatar, and visual play knot together in a single circuit articulating these dimensions.
La cabeza del Siluetador (2016) concentrates Cardo’s investigation of the face as a field of dispute. At head scale (44 × 26 × 33 cm), made of foam and textile with deliberately visible folds and seams, it presents slits without eyes or mouth, a truncated base, and a single enameled horn. It is a mute prosthesis and wounded fragment: displacing the anthropomorphic toward the hybrid and dismantling the face as an identity guarantor. This form is not contained in the object: it returns in the cover of Baptisterio (2016), in the video Micción (2018), and in the video performance El ángel de la guarda (2021), where Silvio Lang embodies the Siluetador character, counterface to the Angel represented by Cardo. Activated in Dos sin tres (Balanz, 2023), the Head of the Siluetador reaffirms its condition as a material and narrative node: a key that turns presence on/off and displaces the sovereignty of the face: more than denying the face, it dismantles the perceptual regime that made it the measure of the human.
La cabeza del Siluetador, by El Pelele, 2016. Foam, textile, horn, and synthetic enamel, 44 × 26 × 33 cm. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
Muñeco 001 (2020) represents another side of El Pelele’s repertoire: from absolute rest to the eruption of voice and gesture. A humanoid, filled and articulated figure, with slightly elongated proportions and exposed seams, it evokes the puppet shaken and thrown in carnival and bodies “moved” by external forces in the artist’s audiovisual work. Yet it is not passive prop: in its tense stillness, the doll accumulates agency. It can lie as a corpse or activate as a double, and that ambivalence—manipulated object/performative subject—is central to El Pelele’s repertoire, making the piece an emblem of the avatar. Its visibility was early and incisive: Muñeco 001 was presented at arteBA with Galería Sendrós, occupying a central stand position, and its morphology (quilted textile, soft joints, thickly stitched skin) condenses the material program of his pictorial and sculptural dolls: bodies that, even “disposable,” insist.
View of the Galería Sendrós booth at arteBA 2017 with works by El Pelele and Andrés Piña. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
Espejo mágico (2023) closes the triad, shifting the dispute to the realm of gaze: who frames whom, with which body, and under what conditions a face “counts” as readable/human. From the floor emerges an arm holding a mirror with a hybrid hand: half human, half animal, long fingers, near claws. An iron sculpture clad in textile, with visible seams, blunt edges. The spectator’s reflection is literally held by that monstrous member. It is not a neutral mirror: it exhibits its construction and returns an image already framed by the hand that holds it. In Amatorio (Sendrós, 2022) the piece was shown with a persistent, ominous sound loop: although the reflected image is not optically deformed, the setup reframes perception, destabilizing the face with the object’s breathing and the room’s murmur. Shifting focus to an anomalous limb, El Pelele’s piece highlights that all vision is situated and embodied, and that this frame (material and affective) conditions what can be seen and recognized. The gesture of holding oscillates between care and capture: the hand offering the plane of the face can also appropriate it.
Together, these three works institute protocols of face, body, and gaze. The Siluetador head unthreads the face from its position as pattern, Muñeco 001 tests ambivalent agency of soft bodies, between corpse and double, and Espejo mágico exposes the hand that frames and reframes vision. They are material scores that, when activated, produce a living archive of gestures and affects. Here, El Pelele’s avatar operates as a technology of mo(n)strar: a travesti–drag language remaking the grammar of the human in real time.
Espejo mágico, by El Pelele, 2022. Iron, textile, MDF, mirror, dimensions variable. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
3. Local Genealogies: Deformance and Other Travesti Licenses
El Pelele works from a territory where the stage is assumed as a laboratory of indiscipline, a space in which form is never delivered intact. Here, the notion of deformance—a concept developed by theatre historian and critic Mina Bevacqua to describe the performative and conscious manipulation of a scenic form in order to dismantle its codes, expose its internal fissures, and open it to unexpected critical readings—is not an isolated device but a guiding principle. This is not about altering form on a whim, but about forcing it until it reveals what it conceals: ideologies, hierarchies, exclusions. In El Pelele’s practice, mask, voice, rhythm, and matter do not merely “fail”: they are remade live, they grope for new edges, they test unforeseen configurations. Within this grammar, failure ceases to be a technical accident and becomes political: a way of asserting that no form is neutral, and that all forms can (and must) be bent, recomposed, contaminated.
El juego que jugamos todos, by El Pelele, 2025. Performance documentation, 15 min, ACUD Galerie, Berlin, Germany. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
This politics of failure connects with what Naty Menstrual inherits from the Río de la Plata neobarroso: trasheo as a strategy of disobedient beauty, where “perfection” (that ideological chimera that orders and normalizes) is dismantled through excess and overflow. Scatological excess becomes poetic filigree; spillage turns into method. In El Pelele’s work, this pulse takes shape in assemblages that turn irregular finish into an aesthetic and political declaration: wrinkled folds, crude prostheses, open seams that refuse cleanliness. In Nosotros (2022), a performative installation at Amatorio, two textile, monstrous bodies lie on a set of failed love: soft tentacles, discarded fabrics, uneven stuffing, all lit by greenish LEDs and accompanied by a soundtrack composed by the artist themself. The scene transforms precariousness into luxury and makes desirable what was previously marked as abject. Here, what overflows is not hidden, but polished, displayed, and celebrated.
On this substrate, following Bevacqua’s reading, claun cuir functions as a device of disidentification (Muñoz): a deformance that wounds form in order to render it unstable terrain. In El Pelele’s scene, this travesti-cabaret lineage is radicalized toward the monstrous, in tune with Susy Shock’s proposal to embody the monster as a position of enunciation. In a recent study on transformist audiovisual productions, Argentine researcher Agustina Trupia analyzes how audiovisual language can host and amplify undisciplined aesthetics. For Trupia, this monstrosity is not the opposite of the human: it slips in through its edges, reorganizes its internal rules, and fractures its grammar without destroying it.
In Buenos Aires, the Comparsa Drag—forged around Silvio Lang’s Devenir Drag project—left a mark that went beyond aesthetics, reconfiguring urban space as a geography of cuir pulsion and disobedience. Their actions in the city’s nightlife deployed bodies without asking permission, and their garments—made of luminous “safe-conducts” replicating banal traffic signals—became notices of presence. More than carnival, this was a poetic usurpation of the urban, a way of inhabiting. That memory also projects itself into El Pelele: their masks and dolls extend that reservoir of gestures, codes, and strategies, insisting on the monstrous as a force of appearance. Inflated and theatrical silhouettes, non-hegemonic figures in shrill nylon or latex, the megaphone that turns voice into a scenic act—these are resources that turn ornament into manifesto and performance into a field of symbolic dispute.
Seen from here, Balanz’s pieces do not exhaust themselves in their condition as objects: they throb like scores. Each one inscribes, in folds, materials, and scales, a series of possible gestures, a repertoire of activations that exceed the exhibition space and wait to be rewritten live. It is in performance that this potential unfolds, deforms, and becomes contaminated with other materialities—the street, the amplified voice, bodies rubbing against their masks. Hence, rather than a mere transfer of the object to the stage, what occurs is a reciprocal mutation: sensitive hardware finds its unpredictable software in performance. Two recent scenes allow us to trace this transfer and its overflow.
4. Two Scenes of Activation
From its earliest appearances on the Buenos Aires scene, El Pelele has approached performance as a territory of friction between the scenic, the plastic, and the carnivalesque. Painting, sculpture, installation, live actions, and online work intertwine within a single practice in which works do not reach the public as closed products, but as bodies under tension, traversed by masks, prostheses, textures, and voices that refuse transparency. There is a clear continuity between gallery work and performative work: the pieces do not freeze inside a display case, but rather breathe and mutate on stage, contaminating themselves with sound, the street, the screen, and direct contact with other bodies. This “transmedia” quality is not a mere label, but a way of thinking artistic production as a laboratory, where the visual, the tactile, and the sonic intersect within a shared pulse.
In Buenos Aires, this logic has found a privileged space in Galería Sendrós. There, in dialogue with the neighborhood of La Boca and its mestizo materiality (the dark water of the Riachuelo, mud, the dull shine of painted corrugated metal), El Pelele has unfolded actions that both condense and expand its language. In this sense, Sendrós does not function as a mere container: it becomes a resonant box, a stage and a workshop, where the pieces are put under tension with local history and with an audience that moves between intimacy and festivity. Within this framework, Amatorio (2022) and El espanto (2024) stand out for subjecting their objects to a new regime of use, rewriting live—and on record—the materiality from which they originate.
Amatorio. Installation view, Galería Sendrós, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 2022. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
Amatorio (Sendrós, 2022). In the homonymous exhibition, the performance took place in the same gallery space that also housed another piece from the group (Magic Mirror). The audiovisual documentation itself, available on YouTube, announces that we are witnessing “a part” of the performance: an excerpt that preserves atmosphere, low light, and proximity.
Now: the camera opens and the bed breathes. Above it, a black heart, textile tentacles. El Pelele, wearing an enlarged bald mask, a slightly crooked pointed hat, gloves up to the elbows—the open tunic falls over light-colored trousers. Bringing the microphone close to the mouth of the mask, they sing a distorted version of a classic song by Miguel Abuelo. The voice stretches, releases a brief laugh, returns to lament; a low piano sustains it. The light shifts to green and, on the bed, two soft figures—one light, one dark—become entangled within the installation. A third human body, semi-nude, has entered the scene and lies face down, face hidden, embraced by a green tentacle. El Pelele circles, turns slightly, pauses for a second, withdraws the hand, repeats lines of solitude and abandonment until a sonic удар, similar to a thunderclap, cuts through the air and leaves a hum behind.
Amatorio, by El Pelele, 2025. Performance documentation, 15 min, Galería Sendrós, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
The piece suspends climax and pushes immersion: folds, seams, prostheses remain visible. Is it the ventriloquized voice of the mask that animates those bodies, or are the soft bodies dragging the voice toward them? Is the bed an altar, a set, a gurney? Does the third, immobile body unite or separate the living from the inert? Perhaps what in Muñeco 001 pulses as ambivalence here tightens without resolution: vulnerability does not collapse, but is set to work. The eroticism, grotesque and tactile, opens questions.
El espanto (Sendrós, 2024). According to records and chronicles of the opening day, the action unfolded between street and gallery. Outside: sirens, lights, the open trunk of a hearse. El Pelele appears wearing a bright red suit, high heels, a pointed hat, a whip, and a megaphone. In latex, a protruding phallus and multiple breasts, sewn with thick stitches. The pale mask, with bulging eyes, stares fixedly and shouts a chant: “Careful… careful…!” Two nearly naked performers, wearing red hoods with a disciplinary air, follow closely behind. El Pelele provokes them, makes them spin, moves through the crowd, carving a path. The megaphone distorts the voice—shout, whisper, demon—while the whip cracks like a dirty metronome. We enter.
Inside: the phrase turns into a mantra, the red body poses and twists, the conical hat cutting a sharp silhouette. The voice cuts through the room and rebounds: at times it sounds like a circus call, at others like a black mass. On the walls, reliefs of dark carved wood (circus, port tavern, small theater) inscribe peripheral scenes, as if the white cube had basements. Beneath the cut-out title, a book-object displays script and images, and the ensemble assembles a fairground theater where the solemn and the burlesque tread on each other’s heels.
The pulse belongs to El Pelele: mask and megaphone stretch a voice that oscillates between command and shelter, while the whip marks its rough tempo. The mantra mistrusts the binary, and the mask–megaphone pairing produces a plural voice. Satellite bodies orbit the central gesture (companions, or living dolls returning the scene to the territory of the avatar?), and the scene organizes itself around that presence without becoming rigid. Here, the monstrous does not illustrate: it arranges distances, thickens the gaze, and multiplies registers of voice. In the background, technologies rehearsed in the objects return—the displaced face, the insistent soft body, and a framing, now audible, that does not allow for a clean reflection. Thus, what the Collection condenses as a material grammar breathes in this action.
In both actions, the monstrous does not merely qualify: it acts. In Amatorio, the tensed softness of the bed sustains a material eroticism without climax; in El espanto, the mantra and the mask with megaphone pluralize the voice and make the framing audible. Together, they displace hierarchies of vision and agency and blur the edge between object and subject. The avatar does not represent: it intervenes, turning the face into a mobile threshold, the body into an insistence, and listening into a territory. More than a closed image, what remains is an activated procedure.
El Espanto, by El Pelele, 2024. Performance documentation, 15 min, Galería Sendrós, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
5. Choreographies in Suspension
After passing through Amatorio and El espanto, the pieces in the Balanz Collection return to the gallery bearing the marks of a pulse that has not cooled. Each one, in its state of rest, distills action. Understood as capsules of deferred movement, they accumulate tension and release it slowly, waiting for a body to interrupt them. For this reason, they are less objects to be contemplated than territories to be traversed: they activate themselves in the hesitant gaze, in the gesture that approaches without quite touching, in the silent conversation between desire and materiality.
This condition makes them, within a curatorial dispositif, something more than objects to be displayed: they are scores that demand to be conceived as part of a cycle that includes activation. Installing them in the gallery entails assuming that their full meaning emerges in this oscillation between material stillness and the agitation of the scene. A display that fails to account for this latency would risk fossilizing them, cutting off the breath that connects them to their living software, and losing the uncertain margin where the work can fail, deviate, or overflow.
Mediation, then, does not translate or explain: it invites. It invites viewers to imagine, to rehearse, or to witness their reactivation—whether through workshops, interventions, or even screenings of previous activations, or, ideally, the programming of live actions (such as the one Balanz hosted in 2 sin 3). In doing so, it reinforces the idea that these pieces are not closed objects nor static remnants, but nodes within a broader network of aesthetic, political, and affective relations. Like a whip at rest that still holds the echo of its last crack, or the hybrid hand of Magic Mirror holding a reflection that has yet to reveal itself, these works wait for—and prepare—the body that will activate them.
MUÑECO, by El Pelele, still video, 1:57 min, 2024. Photo: courtesy of the artist.
6. Coda: Proposition
If posthumanism seeks to decenter the “human” as the measure of all things, and carnival subverts hierarchies in order to rehearse temporary worlds, El Pelele’s work proposes a possible intersection: a situated carnivalesque posthumanism. Situated because it does not emerge from an abstract laboratory, but from a sudaca, travesti, and neobarroso grammar; carnivalesque because body, mask, and object are set in motion to disorder the hierarchies of the human and the living.
Here, to mo(n)strate is not to represent the monstrous as an “other” observed from a distance: it is to cohabit with it, to allow it to interrupt taxonomies and reorganize modes of coexistence. El Pelele, in this sense, is not a stable character but an operator of monstrous coexistences: a living mechanism in which the mask produces identities in action, failure becomes method, and the scene turns into a laboratory for rehearsing forms of life that do not ask permission to exist.
The monstrous, understood in this way, does not remain outside the we: it expands it, complicates it, overflows it. Faced with a world that insists on including only what it can normalize, El Pelele rehearses another strategy: not inclusion, but cohabitation. Not correcting failure, but cultivating it. Not restoring the face, but opening it to other ways of seeing and being seen. Because the regime of the human—that set of norms, appearances, and affects—is not destiny. It is available matter, to be deformed, unsettled… and celebrated, like a whip that cuts through the air to open new passages.
Reference Map
i. Books and Academic Articles
Bevacqua, M. (2020). Deformances: Destellos de una cartografía teatral desobediente. Libretto.
Frerichs, E. (2022). Towards a travesti subjectivity and system of aesthetics: Trasheo travesti, irreverence, and bold visions for a new humanity in Argentinean literature and culture. Chasqui, 51(1), 303–323.
Menstrual, N. (2008). Continuadísimo. Eterna Cadencia.
Muñoz, J. E. (1999). Disidentifications: Queers of color and the performance of politics. University of Minnesota Press.
Pierce, J. M. (2020). I monster: Embodying trans and travesti resistance in Latin America. Latin American Research Review, 55(2), 305–321. https://doi.org/10.25222/larr.563
Rose, L. (2023). Trans poetics in translation: Desire and feminist capacity in the work of Susy Shock. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 10(1), 59–70. https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-10273238
Shock, S. (2011). Poemario trans pirado. Ediciones Nuevos Tiempos.
Torrano, A. (2022). Figuración posthumanimal: Una mirada sobre la obra visual y performática de El Pelele. Desbordes, 13(1), 149–170. https://doi.org/10.22490/25394150.6770
Trupia, A. (2023). Reelaboraciones de lo monstruoso: Producciones audiovisuales con artistas transformistas entre 2015 y 2022 en Argentina. En la otra isla: Revista de Audiovisual Latinoamericano, (8), 66–83. https://enlaotraisla.com/index.php/Laotraisla/article/view/93
Uhlig, T. (2021). Failing gender, failing the West: The monstrous (un)becoming of a genderqueer clown in a post-Soviet borderland. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 8(2), 223–237. https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-8890607
Villanueva, S. (2024, August 6). The cult of deformance. Performance Art Reviews, PAMuseum. Retrieved July 15, 2025, from https://www.pamuseum.org/review/the-cult-of-deformance/
ii. Sculptural Works (Balanz Collection)
El Pelele. (2016). La cabeza del Siluetador [Sculpture]. Balanz Collection, Buenos Aires.
El Pelele. (2022). Magic Mirror (Espejo mágico) [Sculpture]. Balanz Collection, Buenos Aires.
El Pelele. (2020). Muñeco 001 [Sculpture]. Balanz Collection, Buenos Aires.
iv. Exhibitions at Sendrós Gallery
El Pelele. (2022). Amatorio [Performance documentation]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84VSQLGwxdg
El Pelele. (n.d.). ESCÁNDALO [Performance documentation]. Vimeo. https://vimeo.com/973151224
El Pelele. (2024). Muñeco [Video art]. Vimeo. https://vimeo.com/979612574
El Pelele. (2016). Baptisterio [Music album]. SoundCloud. https://soundcloud.com/elpelele/sets/baptisterio
El Pelele. (2018). Micción [Video art]. Vimeo. https://vimeo.com/177171389
Lang, S., & El Pelele. (n.d.). Ciclo Luz y Cuerpo [Video performance]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsqjVXBflQQ
iii. Online Videos and Performances
Galería Sendrós. (2022). Amatorio — El Pelele [Exhibition]. Galería Sendrós, Buenos Aires. https://galeriasendros.com/2022-07-pelele
Galería Sendrós. (2024). El espanto — El Pelele [Exhibition]. Galería Sendrós, Buenos Aires. https://galeriasendros.com/2024-05-pelele
v. Visual Works and Documents
Balanz Collection. (2023, August 30). Dos sin tres [Instagram post]. Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/p/CwlYu-Pu_Vb/
Da Rin, F., & Comparsa Drag. (2021). Futuridrag [Poster-book]. Comparsa Drag.
El Pelele. (2024). El espanto [Self-published artist book].
Ruiz, E. (n.d.). Devenir Drag & Comparsa Drag [Photographic portfolio]. https://endiruiz.com.ar/portfolio/devenir-drag-comparsa-drag/
Ruiz, E. (n.d.). Galería Sendrós – ArteBA [Booth design]. https://endiruiz.com.ar/portfolio/galeria-sendros-arteba
vi. Persons Consulted
El Pelele (Lucas Gabriel Cardo), Juliana Fontalva (Balanz Collection), and Pilar Alfaro (UNA).
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Lolita Copacabana is an independent researcher and critic based in Buenos Aires. Her work focuses on contemporary Latin American performance, queer visual cultures, and neo-baroque aesthetics. She has published essays in Ramona, Diario de Arte, and several exhibition catalogues.
