One of the standouts in last year’s Venice Biennale was Ana Segovia (b. 1991), whose work was shown in its own small room in the Arsenale but was visible on the floor just outside it. Such was the intensity of neon colors used in Pos’ se acabó este cantar (2021), a series of films and paintings that showed Mexican charros—cowboys, basically—wearing garish, queer-coded versions of their recognizable costumes. Segovia’s work in this series can now be seen adorning the 2025 José Cuervo Reserva de la Familia collector’s box, which each year is designed by a contemporary artist. We caught up with him in Tequila to hear more about his work and how No Señorita, Esos Colores son Prohibidos for José Cuervo came together.
What inspired the color choices in your Venice piece?
The neon-like colors came from studying black-and-white films. I realized that trying to guess the real colors felt limiting, so I decided to invent them. This experimentation became exciting, especially when applying color to traditionally masculine imagery. It created a contradiction that intrigued me.
How did color become your tool for exploring masculinity?
When I started using color on these hyper-masculine figures, it felt like a subtle way to put them in drag. Color, something seemingly harmless, suddenly became a powerful disruptor of gender stereotypes. Some tailors outright refused to work with certain colors, calling them “forbidden.” This resistance made the project even more significant to me. This was in the middle of the pandemic, everyone was desperate for work, and six people refused to make them for me.
How does this idea connect to your tequila project?
Tequila is often framed as a macho drink, but my perspective is that tequila is for everyone. Challenging this traditional association felt natural, just like challenging masculinity through color.
How do you see aggression in your work?
The bright colors are both inviting and aggressive. I wanted viewers to be drawn in and then be confronted with the work’s intensity, making them feel a sense of unease.
Was Venice the first time you worked with color this way?
No, the Venice piece originated during the pandemic for the Carrillo Gil Museum in Mexico. That time allowed me to slow down, reflect and explore film—a medium I always wanted to work in.
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What do you feel are the masculine associations of tequila in Mexico?
Tequila, like cigars, has been gendered due to cultural portrayals, especially in Mexico’s Golden Age of Cinema, where men always drank tequila. But today, tequila belongs to everyone.
I have to ask this: what are your thoughts on Mexico electing its first female president?
When Claudia Sheinbaum got in and gave her acceptance speech, she said something that—beyond her politics—gave me goosebumps. She said, “No llegué sola aquí, yo no llegué sola, llegamos todas… I didn’t get here alone. We all, as women, got here together.” So, independent of whatever politics and ideas that she might have, or her party represents, just the signaling to the collective gave me goosebumps. Now, does this mean, like machismo, like we’re moving in a better direction? Like, honestly, in this country, I don’t know.
How was designing the tequila box different from painting?
It was challenging. I worked digitally first, trying different compositions. I wanted each side of the box to stand alone while forming a cohesive whole when viewed together.
How does drinking culture in Mexico shape social interactions?
There’s a unique culture of sitting in cantinas, drinking quality spirits and talking for hours. It’s different from clubbing—it’s about bonding over conversation, which is something I cherish.
How do you prefer to drink your tequila?
Straight, neat. When the tequila is good, it doesn’t need anything else.
