The posts run in reverse order, with the newest on top. So if you've come to this one first, read the other one before this one. On the other hand, my writing is not particularly chronological, so perhaps it doesn't matter.
Internet is spotty at best in Cuba, as you may have surmised. I only tried
twice while there. Once I was briefly successful, long enough to retrieve
Giselle's contact info. which I had of course misplaced, and to also briefly
say hi to Loring via email.
Internet access was very intermittent and difficult to get. First one needs to buy the scratch ticket card
for $8 that gave you a code and an hour's worth of service, and then to
actually access the net. That can take a good portion of the hour in itself.
Then, it came and went. Some days there weren’t even any cards to purchase, I’m
not sure why.
So here I am, a week later, back in the US and up in the woods of Maine,
with finally the time and inclination to write.
We did stroll the Malecon, at least most of us, on a later day. It is a
wide boulevard with a lot of fast traffic, not easy to cross, and installations
on both sides. Leonora wanted especially to see a large sculptured head she'd spotted from the bus, so she
strolled along the city side. The rest of us, five I think, walked along the
water side. Looking at the catalog later, back at home, I realized that there
were a number of pieces I never saw at all, although most could be seen from
either side of the boulevard.
We started at the "ice" rink, on the city side. It sure looks
like ice, but is actually plastic. There was a stand with skates for rent, but
it was only "open"" at night. Nevertheless, there were eight or
ten teens playing hockey, barefoot and in shorts, with sticks. Very
entertaining for us, as well as for them.
A nice counterpoint to the rink was a "beach" on the other side
of the street and further down. There were lounge chairs and and umbrellas and
imported sand, and a little cart with refreshments for sale. And people using
them, including us. One of my travelling comrades offered to take a picture of
me lounging, one of the few photos of me from this trip. The beach is very
reminiscent, and maybe inspired by, the Paris Plage along the Seine each
summer. It started out some years ago with whimsy and a share of irony, I
think, but has now become a standard part of Paris' summer, more for residents,
I think, than for tourists. I remember an aqua aerobics class in a pool along
the river, which seemed absolutely surreal.
Just a day or two earlier, our group had gone to an actual beach about a
half hour from Havana. I know that Americans aren't supposed to go to the beach
(recreational, not educational) but I assume since it was paired with a visit
to the studio of Janette and Norberto it was allowed or ignored.
We had met Norberto and Janette a few days before our visit to their
home/studio. In fact, I think they may have been the first artists we met, on
our first day. They are both printmakers, and both part of a collaborative of
bookmakers that I believe was organized by Janette. The exhibit that first day
included both of their work as well as others. When I examined one piece, a
book splayed open into a circle, very appealing aethetically, Someone, (our
guide Grendy, I think) pointed out to me that it was comprised entirely of
ration books the artist collected in his neighborhood. It didn't occur to me
until later to wonder if they had never been used, which didn't seem to make
sense, or perhaps they would be stamped and kept, not torn off. Maybe I'll
write and ask Grendy. I liked her a lot and want to be her fb friend. She is
perhaps 30, divorced with a toddler son, and is going travelling to Europe soon
with a group of other Cuban travel guides. Obviously one of the privileged, as
those in the travel industry seem to be. I wonder if that extends to the maids
in the hotels. They get good tips, so maybe so. Then again, the hotel is owned
by the government, so who knows.
Two of the other books in the exhibit used white ink on a waxy looking
paper. I was very taken with these because the technique was identical to the
way Max's birth announcements, which we had made by a woman we'd met in Lima
all those years ago, a technique I'd never seen before or since. "It's
vellum," said Deb, the master printer in our own group, who'd studied at a
prestigious printmaking school affiliated with the University of New Mexico.
Vellum is a word familiar to me but I never knew more than that it was a kind
of paper. When I looked it up, I read that it was made from skin. Was this, or
Max's announcements, made from actual skin? I doubt it, and hope not. Although
it isn't any different than leather shoes or eating meat, it doesn't seem very
appealing to me as a birth announcement. As a work of art? I don't know.
With much of the art we saw in Havana, we were treated to the artist's
description of techniques and significance. It certainly always matters to me
if I've met the artist or craftsperson who made something I've admired or
purchased, whether a papier mache mask or an arpillera ( the appliqued and
embroidered hangings I collected in Peru) or even a piece of jewelry I
purchased on a street someplace. And I did meet the three artists from whom I
purchased a lithograph or woodcut print in Havana, and the ISA student whose
ceramic piece I purchased. And of course
it deepens my interest to hear about the intentions or significance or
symbolism in a piece. But what always hits me first is just a visceral reaction,
something just pleases or speaks to me in the aesthetics. And that is true
whether it is a street artist or a work in a museum. I may appreciate it more
when I know more about it. But often I don't know anything about a work of art
except that it strikes me as appealing, or startling, or even upsetting.
The pieces I purchased in Cuba have been sitting on my dining room table
for almost two weeks now, while I try to figure out where to possibly put them.
Every time I walk by them I feel a jolt of pleasure, that the description by
the artist may or may not enhance, I don't yet know. The prints all feature
symbols of native religious significance, which seems to influence a lot of
Cuban artists. One is called Mothers of the Waters, and is two female heads.
One is crowned by small fish, the other by shells, and they represent
"sweet" water and salt water. The artist showed me the woodblock and
several others. One of our group, Daniel bout another of his pieces, a much
larger one. Where do these New York City residents find room in their
apartments to display their art? I asked Ben, who with his wife, Robyn,
purchased several large pieces this trip, (and one $1500 knife.) Robyn had come
to Cuba last year, on the UNM trip, and bought a number of pieces then. They
live on the Upper West Side and are both lawyers. I can imagine a large apartment
there, with plenty of room for art, because my high school friend Nancy , also
a lawyer, also lived in one and did have lots of wall space. But when I asked
Ben, he just chuckled and said that most of the art wasn't hung. I heard him
mention something to one of the other folks in our group about putting it in a
closet.
Art collecting, and even more so, being a dealer, seems so out of my realm
and league that I was a little concerned about joining this tour, that the
group would comprise people from a so different world than mine, with whom I
might not feel comfortable. But the thought of going on an art focused tour won
out, and I'm glad it did. It's perhaps ironic that I was concerned more about
being out of synch with my fellow group members than with being in a foreign
culture with its differences and limitations.
Cathy was the art dealer in the group. My own stereotype of dealers being
austere personalities was totally belied by Cathy, perhaps the most warm and
friendly person in the group. She had made eight previous trips to Cuba to buy
art, although she hadn't been there in the last nine years. She. has a private
gallery in Montclair, NJ ( ie open by appointment).. She told me that she'd
previously made trips to Africa, I forget which country, to purchase art for a
client who knew what he wanted to collect but apparently had no interest in
travelling there. I suppose in certain circles that may not be uncommon.
Yet Cathy was the most down to earth person,
enthusiastic about everything, almost giddy and childlike in her appreciation.
She'd enter a studio or gallery with an "Oh, wow" that was so sincere
it made me smile. Also in our group was Julia, also from Montclair and a client
of Cathy's, who's bought a number of pieces from her in the past from her
gallery. Julia is in her 70's, a retired chemist whose husband died at age 68
about seven years ago. She moved from their home to a smaller house in
Montclair. A house which apparently still has room for plenty of large scale
art. Julia also hosts concerts in her home, and there was brief talk about
having a Cuban art and music reunion for the group. Half the group lives in
Montclair, the rest, beside myself and Astrid, in Manhattan. So it is feasible,
though I don't know that it would actually happen. I wouldn’t mind at all
keeping in touch with some of these folks, although most don't seem to use fb
aside from Lori, with whom I've already become friends. Lori is a self taught
artist (an art school dropout, as she said to me.) She showed me a piece on her
phone, but it wasn't really visible. I could only appreciate it when I saw it
later on facebook at home. It is incredible, and there is a certain resemblance
to some of the magic realistic work we saw in Havana. Lori is the one whose
daughter Ava knows my niece Naomi at college.
I realize I've been writing more about people than art, but that's okay.
There was so much art that it's hard for me to focus in and decide what to
write about. I'll try to describe the places where I bought my four pieces. One
was from Norberto, married to Janette, whose collective we visited, and then
studio by the beach. It was Janette who really appealed to me personally. She's
vivacious, and talented. I would love to have bought something of hers. Her
work, though, was mostly large, many in tryptichs, ie three different sections
though considered as one, bigger and more expensive that I could consider. But
Norberto had several small pieces, finally something I could afford and
(hopefully) find space for. I'd set myself a $500 maximum, and this was $150.
The piece I chose is largely black and white, with some bright color in the
middle. It depicts a head hinged and open, with another creature inside. I'm sure there's much more that I haven't yet
noticed or deciphered. Several others in the group also gravitated toward that
piece, and one of them might have bought it if I hadn’t noticed it first
Norberto and Janette came to lunch
with us that day, and another day later on as well. They had done a residency
at the Mass College of Art last winter. When I mentioned that I attended
classes at BU, Janette told me that they had worked in the printmaking studio
there as well. Astrid had been involved, I think, in making the arrangements.
She told us a funny story, which Janette continued, about how they had been
stranded in their dorm residence during the big snowstorm, when classes and
transportation were cancelled. And they had never experienced snow before.
I realize I've mentioned Janette a lot more than Norberto. He talked a lot
less, probably because he doesn't speak English very much, but maybe also
because Janette is more outgoing.
One day we visited ISA, the prestigious art school. Just about 10% of those
who apply are accepted. We visited ceramic, painting, and printmaking studios
there. At the printmaking studio I purchased another piece, done by one of the
professors there. That's the one with the two mothers of the waters.
And, at the ceramics workshop, I bought a heavy piece (although the artist,
a student, obviously wanting to sell his work, told me it was hollow and
therefore not that heavy. lord knows what it might have weighed if solid.) I'll
try to describe it. It's a cross section, half of some type of citrus fruit,
maybe a grapefruit? There are six sections, and three of them, instead of
consisting of fruit, are filled with myriad small gears, as from a watch. Any
significance? I don't know. He also had pieces that were the shape and size of
a conch shell, encrusted with the same type of gears.
Astrid's strong advice was that we pack the ceramics in our checked luggage,
not carry-on, as I'd intended to do. The reason - it might be considered a
weapon, ie to bonk someone on the head with, and therefore could be
confiscated. Okay. I wasn’t clear on whether this would be by Cuban or US
customs. But I carefully packed all my dirty laundry around my ceramic fruit
with gears and hoped for the best. Decided I'd rather risk it being broken than
confiscated, although the result for me would be much the same. Good news - it made it home fine, as did
Leonora's plate. One problem, it is very dusty in among all those tiny gears.
The artist indicated I should clean the ceramic part with water, and the gears
with oil. But I haven't figured out how to get in among all those tiny gears. I
may try first with a Q-tip. I didn't
really talk to him much, except to bargain a bit about price (he had three,
asked $200, or $300 for two. I asked a couple of my group if they wanted one,
no takers, so he eventually did sell me one for $150.) I have his last name
only because I asked him to sign it.
One of the artists we met, Kcho, was mentioned in today's Boston Globe and
a day or two on NPR's Newshour. Not so much for his art as for his open
community free internet access. Cuba is just starting this week to open its
access a bit, and that's what led to the mention of Kcho. He has a gallery
workshop, a classroom to teach kids printmaking, and some installations as part
of the Bienal, all of which I took photos of and will post. And, the internet access.
It's not really a cafe, but just an outdoor area to which people can bring
their own devices. That there seems to be plenty of, people with phones and
computers. And there they were, dozens of them, just sitting and using their
devices in the sun. At least one of my travelling companions did as well.
Since most of the population only gets the $20 monthly, like my friend
Giselle the math professor, it is still an elite, those in the travel, music,
and art fields, and those with family abroad, who can afford the technology,
and the restaurants, and the night clubs, etc. I just hope the new opening up
will bring more equality between the haves and have nots. Ironic, given the
spirit of the revolution, that there is such a disparity. Not that we don't have
it in the US, but it is so contrary to what the revolution was meant to
bring. And I must admit I feel
uncomfortable being part of the elite. That's true anywhere I travel. But here
there seem to be less choices. There aren't any greasy spoon restaurants or
corner cafes, at least not that I came across. We were fed sumptuous meals at
elegant restaurants, something I can appreciate periodially, but not daily. And
although I thoroughly enjoyed the hotel, as I did when we were in Havana
before, I think I prefer the casas particulares, ie bed and breakfasts, that Loring and I stayed at, in Havana and in
La Boca, outside Trinidad, where we stayed for a week on our last trip.
Back to artists, there was also Choco, an impressive looking black man in
white overalls, whose work we saw at the Bienal and then also at his studio.
This was one of the real delights of the trip, meeting artists personally in
their studios after seeing their work at the Bienal. And in a few cases, for
me, going back and seeing their work again at El Morro, the fortress which was
the main venue where we saw the majority of the art.
Choco's work at the exhibition featured pieces comprising flattened soda
and/or beer cans, made into large portraits. I am a big fan of art using
recyled materials, and there certainly is a lot of it in Havana. unfortunately,
the photos I took of his work on exhibit don't at all do him justice, nor, I fear, do my words.. Some of
the work at his studio, and of him, came out better so I will post some of
those on fb.
Another artist that impressed me used mostly buttons, and some other found
materials, to make a portrait of a woman. It wasn't evident until you got close
what it was comprised of, as was true also of Choco's beer can portraits.
One night some of the group went to a place called FAC, and raved about it
so much that the rest of us went the following night. I'd describe it as a
nightclub cum art gallery, peopled by Havana's young elite. It was fascinating
just for the scene, but also the art, and we met several of the artists there.
With your admission you got a card on which the bar would stamp each drink.
Upon exiting you turned in the card and paid for the drinks.
At FAC we ran into Susana Delahante Matienzo, an artist we’d
met on our first day. Her work for the Bienal was an
ongoing performance piece relating to black women’s hair. While we were there, a
lecture about black female hair and self images was taking place. The room was
filled with many women, and some men. Some of the women were just gorgeous in
their afro hair styles. I particularly noticed a woman who was probably in her
80’s, with a silver white head of Afro styled hair. Unfortunately most of us couldn’t understand
most of the lecture, delivered in a rapid Spanish. We left, but had had the
opportunity to speak with Susana personally, a treat. She explained that the
culmination of the exhibit would be a contest for people with Afro style hair,
adults and kids, women and men. Although
I’m not sure I like the idea of a contest, and wondered what the criteria would
be, it would have been interesting to see the contestants and variety of
hair. Perhaps it has been posted online,
I’ll have to look.
So, back to FAC, the gallery/nightclub. We ran into Susanna there, feeling
pleased to recognize and have a chance to chat with her again. Next, as we
wandered through the corridors, a woman approached me and greeted me, as if she
knew me. I told her I wasn’t who she had mistaken me for. She then introduced
herself as the curator of the site. I wish I had taken the time to talk with
her further. I wonder who she’d mistaken me for.
One of the most striking works at FAC was a room size installation, in a
round room, a large scale photograph of a group of men, each with arms on the
shoulders of those beside him, in a semi circle enveloping the viewers. Each man was wearing blue underpants, and
that was all. In the background music was playing. It was reminiscent of a folk
dance, perhaps Greek, I later found out that the artist was Cuban born, but
raised and lived in Israel. It turned out that Robyn, who’d been in Havana last
year, had purchased a piece of his then but hadn’t met him. She was very
pleased to meet him, and he seemed quite pleased to see a photo of his photo on
her wall at home.
In the middle of the room was a bin with what looked like the same underpants,
lots of them. I thought it would be interesting if observers tried to don a
piece. But when I went to touch them, they were all connected, in a long chain.
Meaning, who knows? Interesting, definitely.
The artist spoke with Robyn and Ben, and Deb, the other person who’d
attended UNM and who is a master print maker. As Deb told me later, his next
project was going to be a series of photos of faces, with the mouths covered,
so only visible from the nose up. He asked Deb to model for him, because, she
said, he liked her nose! I don’t know if
they managed to connect or not.
I haven’t yet mentioned Abel Barroso. We didn’t meet him, but I already was
familiar with his work from an exhibit we’d seen at the museum during our
previous trip. And his work was on exhibit at El Morro, the large venue we
visited early on, and to where I went back a few days later on my own. He’s the
only contemporary Cuban artist with whom I was familiar before this trip, aside
from Tanja Brugiera, an internationally known performance artist who is quite
provocative, and currently in the news for an event she organized for the
Bienal. She’s now under house arrest.
But back to Barroso. He works mostly in wood, sometimes quite whimsically,
often with political commentary. From the previous exhibit I especially
remember life size pinball machines and large scale monopoly boards. The spaces
on the board were the names of Latin American countries. So commentary on American rather than Cuban government.
Currently, he seems to be using a lot of pencils, and pencil points, and
shavings, in his two dimensional pieces. Again, not sure of the significance,
but they are visually impressive and pleasing. In the bookstore at El Morro, I
bought the only copy of a book on Barroso, and am glad to have it. I’m not sure
if it includes his most recent work, probably not, but it has good quality
photos of many others.
I’d like to describe some of the restaurants we went to. They are called
paladares. They were on of the first private enterprises allowed in the
country, beginning in 1994. They were originally in a room of a private home,
and limited to 4 tables, although many or most snuck in another few tables in a
back room. All the paladares we went to, one a day for lunch, are still family
owned, with, I believe, family still living in a part of the premises. In most
cases, we met the restauranteur. But they are far from the humble
establishments they must have been when they were conceived. They are elegant,
filled with antiques, memorabilia, items of whimsy, art. And the meals match
the environment in elegance and quantity. Some of them served a choice of
several entrees, lobster or fish or chicken or lamb. Others served a similar
menu, but family style. There were hors d’ouevres and salads, mojitos or beer
and desserts, more than most of us could eat.
It was wonderful, but after three or four days, I tired of lobster and
shrimp, hard to believe, and began eating other entrees. I was rarely hungry at
suppertime, just as well, although did go out a couple of times, once with
Julia, John, Daniel and the Reuters correspondent
we met with one night, at about midnight. Once with Giselle. Although I wasn’t
really hungry I wanted to take her out to dinner. (I think the dinner we took
her to three years ago may have been the first restaurant meal she’d ever had.)
And the last night our farewell dinner was included, so two big meals that day,
too.
I loved the environment of the big mansion filled with antiques and
memorabilia, just my kind of place, every wall space and nook and cranny
filled. (and the ceilings were probably 18 or 20 feet high!) And I loved the place with the whimsical
structures and art – ie a ferris wheel looking type thing made of old
typewriters, and, on the toilet stall walls, beautiful white roses made of
toilet paper.
Probably the most atmospheric old building we dined at was the one
located on the top, third floor of a building, very elegant, but with the lower
floors in a state of decay typical of the city. I had mixed feelings about the
environment – atmospheric, yes, but it also felt a bit as if the poverty and
decay was being exploited as a design element. I wondered how the people on the
lower floors felt about the restaurant. My impression was that there were a
number of people still living there. But when I talked to Lori, after our
return home, she said she’d talked with a friend who knew the restaurant, and
said that the owner had relocated all the tenants into better housing. Perhaps
I was mistaken, and the people I saw didn’t live there. I hope so.
On the floor below the restaurant, which looked as though it might once
have been a grand ballroom, there were pieces of white cloth, hung very
regularly along ropes strung diagonally across the vast space. I first assumed
that it was an installation related to the Bienal. I like it. Later, as we left
the restaurant, there was a woman unclipping the pieces of cloth from the line.
It was the restaurant’s napkins hung out to dry. Art is everywhere.
I briefly mentioned the writer from Reuters above. His name is Marc Frank. He is American, married to a Cuban, and
has lived in Cuba for 25 years. He has recently written a book about his
experiences and impressions. He talked to a few of us one evening in the very
pleasant courtyard of our hotel. Before we knew it, after several mojitos,
several hours had gone by, and we adjourned to a nearby restaurant. He said the
publishing of the book was very well timed, in view of the recent progress in
US/Cuban relations. Because his is one of the most recent books on the country,
sales are going very well. I’ve put it on my kindle list wish, although I may
need to take a hiatus from Cuba themed books after I finish Leonardo Padura’s
Havana Blue, second one I’ve read of his Havana Quartet.
Padura is one of Cuba’s most renowned writers. His books are literary
mysteries. He’s a wonderful writer, but I have found his plots quite
subservient to his descriptions. I may or may not read the remaining two.
The other book I read while there is The Other Side of Paradise, by Julia Cooke. She’s lived in Havana, went to
school there, and has made trips back, and her descriptions of the place,
people, and culture are illluminating, and it’s a good read. Several times I
came across things she mentioned, like Avenida G (a hangout for young Cubans)
which gave me a better understanding of the place. John, a quasi-member of our
group ( he came primarily so that he had a legal visa, but had other things
planned and didn’t spend much time with us) had read the book and felt the writer’s
approach was too negative. I think it got more negative toward the end, but was
generally well-balanced. It’s also fairly recent, and I recommend it for anyone
in getting some insight into Havana.
I’ve mentioned Giselle once or twice, and wrote at length about her after
my previous Cuba trip. We met her through another friend, someone I knew
briefly in Europe during one of my volunteer projects, and had stayed in
contact with thru facebook. Giselle is a math professor at a University outside
of Havana, a highly regarded IT school. She looks quite young, and I was
startled when we met her to realize she was a professor. She was 27 then, and
so about 30 now. She loves her country, but also doesn’t hesitate to criticize
the things she finds wrong. She earns the typical $20 monthly beyond her basic
living costs, room and board at the university, health care, etc. She told us
then that she saved enough money each month to buy a new pair of shoes once a
year, an item of clothing once. When I
asked what to bring this trip, she asked for razors, soap. I brought both, and
a few items of clothing, including Red Sox shirts. And some of my traveler
friends took the toiletries from their hotel rooms and a few other things to
add to the mix. Giselle was beyond grateful, almost in tears.
At dinner, she ordered fish. My immediate assumption was that was because
it was familiar. I remembered her discomfort over ordering from the menu three
years before, because she was overwhelmed. After we ordered, though, Giselle
commented that she never ate fish, and how ironic it was that in an island
country all the fish went to the tourists.
I walked her to the bus stop, a couple of blocks away, and waited with her
until the bus came. It was one of three buses she had to take to get home, an
hour and a half trip. She wasn’t sure if they were still running that late at night.
I asked if she had a way to check the schedule. She was incredulous that buses
ran on schedules in the US. I saw her
off and hoped she’d make it home okay. She’d told me, when I asked her how
often she came to Havana, that she never did, never really went out at night or
left campus at all.
I asked what she’d do if the other buses weren’t running, and how far the
one from the Old City would take her. She said to the edge of the city, and a
taxi from there would be about $20. I gave her $20, a month’s salary for her,
the cost of a restaurant meal in Havana for me.
I heard from Giselle a few days after I’d gotten home, thanking me again
for everything. She reiterated her previous offer that if we ever came to Cuba
again we had a home at her family home. It’s in Holguin, an eight hour bus ride
from Havana. She only goes there twice a year .Her parents and sister have never
been to Havana. She didn’t mention how her trip back to her University had been
that night. She also wrote that she’d repay me the $20 that she was embarrassed
to take from me, the next time I saw her.
And that the nice smelling soap in the beautiful box, that I’d bought at
Marshall’s for her was so nice, wasn’t sure she could actually use it, might
just keep it and enjoy the scent in the beautiful box.
Well, it will take her a while to get through all the small hotel bars that
I and the others passed along to her. Perhaps by that time she’ll have gotten
enough enjoyment from the fancy one that she can bring herself to use it. Or
the restrictions will have been lifted enough so that she has enough money to
buy her own. Right.
I’m glad, for the most part, to note the small changes In the three years
between my visits. It’s nice to see small individual vendors in the streets,
even if they are hawking Che t-shirts and toy wooden cars circa 1959. I just
hope Havana doesn’t get too Disneyfied in its frozen in time quality, and that
some of the changes bring some good to the people who live there.
Am I taking a break from Cuba themed literature as I mentioned above? Not
yet. I’m already into the next one, about Cuba’s “Sugar King”. And I’ve put
Cuban Revalations, by Marc Frank, the
Reuter writer we met, on my kindle wish list. After that, it’s on to my next
travel related theme, and my next trip, Paris. I’ll be writing again soon.
