Hydrocephalic bombshells frolic and swans with elongated, unnaturally curved necks abound in landscapes of lacquered pastiche, mixing shades of the classical underworld with the organic forms of art nouveau. In piece after piece as the viewer moves through the space, darkness-hearkening phrases like The empire digs a deeper hole and This heart’s on fire mingle with teardrops and oily, viscous fluids in a swirl of celebratory despair and nearly mythological fury.

In one somberly framed work, what appears to be torn fragments of vintage wallpaper form a partial backdrop for gleefully destructive robots taunting an oil-slicked swan in what is appropriately identified by the written text, “General Disorder’s Poison Party.”

An entire wall is devoted to sketches and drawings by the artist made as she conceived the exhibition and its attendant narrative, alongside handwritten notes like “Make the whole gallery a cave” and “Taxidermy bejeweled sparkly,” that are only slightly cryptic in the finished space.

As one proceeds through the show, it becomes clear that something sinister is happening in the gorgeous and grotesque environment Garcia envisions, and soon a unifying theme emerges: we’re going to hell in a handbag, and - despite the luxurious accoutrements we surround ourselves with as we consume precious natural resources - it’s not going to be pretty.

In a particularly standout piece (and there are many), a distorted, otherworldly version of a soigné siren holds a candelabra, illuminating both her dark destiny and one simple fact: this Cassandra speaks the truth.

Subterranean Death Clash mines a rich vein to deftly produce devastatingly spot-on political commentary that doesn’t outshine its impressive and wholly original artistic origins. It’s an impressive feat.

On view at the Jonathan LeVine Gallery through April 29.

Online | www.camillerosegarcia.com

Lauren Cerand writes about art, politics and style in New York.