Cuban Art & Living

Eduardo and Orlando’s mother, Nena, insists I come for dinner at the Garcia’s, every time I’m in town. 

Hugs and Kisses, then knee to knee in the tiny, tidy living room on the 2nd floor of a Havana walkup.  News is shared that makes friends feel like family.  Orlando got a passport, father Paco lost 25 pounds, Eddy and Yuliett are getting married in November.  Small gifts from Florida are presented.

In time, Nena moves on to the kitchen, the twins and I squeeze into their room and sit on the bunkbed next to the computer.  Orlando brings out their newest works.  I purchase a dozen sepia photographs and note a stunning painting on the wall, Eddy’s first significant work in oil.  Two artist friends drop in and the talk is young and lively.

At dinner the talk is of changes in the  Cuban “system,” the Castros, the Bushes, ironies, inequities, hopes and dreams.  We are all the same, we agree.  It is the governments that are different.

After dinner,  Eddy gives me a gift from his unjaded heart - the painting on his wall.  And when it’s time to leave, every eye glistens, and hopefully, we talk of change.  For now, only one of us is fortunate enough to cross the Gulf Stream both ways, but the friendship we have is a sturdy bridge across those waters of time and space.