IN Havana
A Report on the Complexities of Art in Cuba

Art Papers, May 2001, pp. 8-9

Four years of living in Miami (often referred to as “a bridge to Latin America” or even as a “Cuban extension”) prompted me to visit Cuba for the first time in March, 1998. Being acquainted with the multi-layered and multi-faceted politically-charged nuances of the local Cuban exilic art scene in Miami, I felt a curious desire to come closer and try to unravel the other side of the political entanglement. As an Israeli curator, I was also motivated by my gut feelings as to a certain affinity between Cuban and Israeli art.

As many other “west-oriented art professionals”, I must admit that ever since the first time, and even more so in my next two visits to Havana, I found myself enchanted by the virginal Cuban charms, attracted to the allure of taboo, and needless to say, fascinated by the exotics of “otherness” and the seductive appeal of the ruins (Havana is a captivating city whose dilapidated beauty encapsulates Latin urbanization, which has been petrified since the revolution – a mosaic comprising residues of colonial architecture, neo-classicism, art deco and modernism.) I found that taking place right in our backyard is a fascinating peripheral art scene, which is, in many senses, the ultimate response to the well-oiled New York interplay between SoHo and Chelsea.

Aware of the great privilege inherent in becoming acquainted with a foreign reality through the filter of art, I felt lucky to be able to penetrate through the official rhetoric (which in Cuba is perceived as a super-reality that has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual reality) and pave my way through the facade straight into the very heart and soul. In Cuba, this filter of art seems to have an added value. Assuming that art is perceived as a barometer of freedom and signifies the spectrum of expression and creativity in a given society – all the more so in an oppressive regime – the temptation to test the limits of freedom-of-expression in Cuba is irresistible. From my encounters with local artists, curators and art critics I got the impression that, despite the radical transformation that has taken place there in recent years (legalization of the dollar, increase in foreign investments, ostensible liberalization), censorship is still the hottest issue – which, like oxygen, feeds the fire of creation. Under the special political circumstances, the issue of freedom of expression is intertwined into nearly every conversation and encounter, at times bubbling under the surface, at others floating like overflowing sewage. Virtually all the artists whom I met respond in their art, in one way or another, to the political oppression. Some convey blatant messages, at times even controversial, and some have developed a sophisticated and encoded system of personal imagery which may be read on several levels and whose political implications can always be denied or refuted. This is manifested in rich and diverse iconography based on an aggressive use of symbols embodying flow or blockage of information.

The entangled complexity of life in Cuba is also reflected in contradictory aspects, occurring side by side and at times even in the work of one and the same artist. On one hand, narrativity and strong emotionality, and on the other, sophistication, wittiness, stratification and manipulation in conveying the political messages. One of the most conspicuous images recurring in different variations is the tangle image, at times in the form of spiders, at times as a labyrinth. Images of political oppression appear in the image of a headless body, in images of flight (wings), and in various expressions of robotics. I can also report numerous images of boats, rafts and life buoys linked with the mass immigration from Cuba to the shores of Florida.

There is one thing I have learned from my three visits to Havana: Transpiring beneath one reality there is always another reality, a much more intricate one. So many years of oppression have resulted in sophisticated mechanisms of adaptation, improvisation, and manipulation that allow the locals to walk through a mine field, yet make it very difficult to read and comprehend the situation from a foreigner’s point of view.

The terms “official” and “unofficial”, “subversive” and “political” are flexible and relative in Cuba, depending on both speaker and interpreter. Surprisingly, this intensive, conflicting, multi-faceted frenzy of life in Cuba was quite familiar to me. As an Israeli, who is used to similar patterns of intricacy, passion, paradox, skepticism, emotionality, politicization, polarization and radicalization, I was amazed at the indirect, cautious, suspicious modes of speech adopted over the years as second nature or a survival technique. The argumentative fervor with which I was familiar from loud public verbal scuffles in Israel acquired other tones here, lower and much more discrete.

Two important “official” art institutions operate these days in Cuba: The Wifredo Lam Center, which coordinates the Havana Biennial – an ambitious project which in recent years has been drawing the attention of the most important art centers in the world— and the Ludwig Foundation, which supports programs of residence in Europe for young Cuban artists, carrying out prestigious cultural activities (lectures, symposiums, theater, cinema and video) in Havana. Operating alongside these two institutions are the Visual Art Association (UNEAC) and the Photography Center located in the Old Square of Havana. Artists who are lucky enough to work with the official institutions receive exposure in one-person and group exhibitions in Cuba as well as abroad, having become a popular item in the west.

In contrast to these official institutions, there is only one single alternative space operating in Havana Espacio Aglutinador . Run since 1994 by two young artists, Sandra Ceballos and Ezequiel Suarez, it is one of the few places left in the world which truly justifies the title “alternative”. A long and narrow side-room in their modest apartment serves as an independent display space, committed to exhibiting artists rejected by the establishment. Recently, as an act of identification and support, internationally renowned artists, such as the American Ross Bleckner and the Israeli Tsibi Geva, have exhibited there. It is amazing to see how in such a short time Espacio Aglutinador has managed to establish a reputation, and integrate itself within the local system, despite being entirely unsponsored.

The consensus list of the most outstanding artists currently operating in Cuba will undoubtedly include Kcho, Los Carpinteros, Tania Bruguera, Luis Gomez, René Francisco, Carlos Garaicoa, Sandra Ramos, Esterio Segura, René Peña, Ernesto Leal, Lazaro Saavedra, José Toirac, Sandra Ceballos, and Ezequiel Suarez. Since The Havana Biennial in 1994 – in the wake of which contemporary Cuban art seeped into the international consciousness – these and other names appear in many group exhibitions in Europe, Canada and the U.S. One of the upshots of this mobility and the high level of the art schools in Havana is that the discourse of contemporary art in Cuba is updated and very well informed. Identity politics, the discourse of otherness, gender and pornography are prevalent themes in the work of young artists. Beuys, Haacke, Duchamp and Magritte were names cited repeatedly as the most conspicuous influences since the 1980s.

However, alongside these influences, the quick response to current trends and tendencies in the western art world is highly manifest. It seems that the postmodern language has become naturalized in Cuba in a manner which renders unique links and hybrids – a singular combination of post-Soviet East European communism, Russian futurism and constructivism, Catholicism, African rituals, popular art, kitsch and folklore together with the most burning issues of the postmodern agenda.

Translation: Daria Kassovsky