Cuban Street Art Lessons
I wrote this a couple of years ago while visiting Cuba. Each day was another opportunity to disprove common misconceptions about the island and its people and invite a new perspective into my own life.
People often ask me this question about my travels around the world: “What is your favorite place?” placing particular emphasis on “favorite.” Over the years, I’ve prepared for the query, choosing places that contain moments and people who have taught me lessons. I’m not one for superlatives, but there is a place in Cuba and a moment in time I will forever carry in my heart.
Traveling in Cuba is a journey in itself. Through the window of our van on one June day, I noticed the bustling hum of Havana transform into rolling hills and quiet neighborhoods. Storefronts changed from brightly-painted portals leading to fresh coffee and pastries to drab windows offering a glimpse of vintage housewares for sale, depicting the global economic differences often seen when traveling from urban to rural environments.
I remember rounding a corner and noticing bright tiles cemented to the sidewalk. Then, similar ceramic tiles spelling “welcome” in Spanish. Soon, the entire village, once lackluster and dull, would convert into a multitude of brilliant facades.
There is something I’ve experienced only a handful of times in all of my travels. It’s a sensation that manifests in the center of my chest and sometimes accumulates so much pressure, my eyes leak. It is an embodiment of awe and bewilderment, of feeling small and a part of something much larger than myself at the same time. When I entered the Fuster Project for the first time, a fishing-village-turned into a mosaic pallet for travelers from around the world, I got “the feeling.”
Upon our arrival, our guide said, "Art and beauty are born out of crisis." He reminded us when people are daring enough to try something different and defy the traditional script, things change. “Change is, after all, the only thing we can count on.”
As I stood atop the sweltering edifice built with tiles of all shapes and sizes. I reflected on some prominent themes I noticed in Cuba:
When resources are scarce, you innovate.
When something doesn't exist, you create it.
When something goes wrong, you count on others to help you fix it.
When the future seeps into your conscience, you don't allow it. You stay present in this moment because it's all you have.
Cubans are the original creators of Airbnb, Uber and “Closed-door” restaurants. These concepts, gaining popularity in the US, have existed in Cuba for decades. Out of crisis, people create.
The “feeling” I get is like opening a book whose chapters I have yet to read. It is a sensation of reverence for the mystery before me. It is a sense of wonder and possibility which helps me realize, if a people can alchemize disdain and anger into connection and creativity, our world can indeed discover positive change as the essence for peaceful transformation.