Draped in black lingerie, fishnets, and diamonds, she stares straight through you—blonde curls soft, but the message razor sharp. One hand grips a pistol, the other cocks the slide. There’s no damsel here, no plea for mercy. Only a woman who has claimed her own power and knows exactly what she’s capable of.
The word REBEL anchors the canvas, not as a label—but a declaration. This is rebellion not for spectacle, but survival. The polished exterior—red lips, jewels, the femme fatale curves—conceals a hard truth: she doesn’t need rescuing.
This rebel knows the rules of the game—and has no intention of playing by them.
A meditation on feminine rage, power, and the refusal to be controlled, REBEL asks: What happens when the woman everyone tried to tame turns the gun around?
