In Cuba, New Generation of Artists Is Drawn to the Taboo

She is a black prostitute. At a 24-hour gas station, she finds her prince, a “rich” Spaniard/Dutchman/American--whatever--it doesn’t matter to her so long as he’s not Cuban. They go dancing. They have sex. She brings him, loaded with gifts, to meet her family. Her family welcomes him into their home. He takes her out of Cuba, bringing her to his country. They marry, have two white children and live happily ever after.

This jinetera’s story--what could sardonically be called the “Cuban Dream”--is told in black-and-white paint on cardboard by Cuban painter Douglas Perez. Perez is one of 11 artists whose work is on display in “While Cuba Waits,” at Track 16 Gallery in Santa Monica’s Bergamot Station through Aug. 28. Together, they represent a new wave of Cubans offering a stinging take on contemporary life in their homeland.

This group of angry, bitter, yet witty artists explores taboo subjects like Cuba’s prostitution problem, racism, homosexuality, poverty and, of course, their perennial leader, Fidel Castro. The artists have been called the “mala hierba” (bad weed): They have come of age in a desperately impoverished country since the pullout of Soviet aid in the early 1990s, but like weeds they grow and multiply despite difficult circumstances. They range in age from 26 to 42.

Unlike the previous group of artists that emerged in the 1980s after fleeing the island because of censorship, these artists have stayed in Cuba and become national heroes of sorts, exporting their art to galleries all over the United States--particularly Los Angeles and New York--and Europe with Castro’s knowledge and tacit support.

As their work depicts it, life on the island has become surreal, bizarre, yet comical in its desperation.

“In Cuba, a person could be dying of hunger and yet people will find humor in it,” said Sandra Ceballos, 38, one of the artists whose work is on display at the gallery. “Maybe it’s the weather. I lived in Switzerland for a few months, and everybody was so depressed, suicidal. They have everything and yet they are depressed. I’d rather have economic hardship and a sense of humor.”

“While Cuba Waits” was co-curated by Kevin Power and Track 16 director Pilar Perez; it ponders not only Cuba’s present, but also its future once Castro dies.

“Seeing how people lived, we just got this sense of everything being in a standstill and people waiting to see what is going to happen,” said Perez. “It’s amazing to see that this art is produced under such difficult circumstances.”

Drawn to and Repelled by the United States

The exhibition reflects the feeling of suspension among many Cubans. Relations between the U.S. and Cuba may be forbidden, yet illicit tourism is rampant, with the currency of choice being the dollar. A fear of America’s commercialism and superficiality creeps into their work, yet Uncle Sam is alluring, taunting them.

In Pedro Alvarez’s painting “Cinderella’s Maid” the artist gives the Disney fairy tale a Cuban spin--the maid is Cecilia Valdes, a 19th century black woman often depicted in colonial Cuban art. She is sweeping, pondering her role as a maid as if saying this is how Cubans are viewed in America.

The art subtly attacks not only America’s view of Cuba, but how Cubans view each other--warts and all.

Even though the pulse of Africa is deeply ingrained in Cuban culture, racism is prevalent.

Douglas Perez takes on the African legacy in his “Gene Songo,” showing seven blacks dressed in colonial-period dress discussing their varying degrees of blackness. They are framed by DNA links with Afro combs inside. In Cuba, everyone talks about how much black blood they have, said the artist. Or better yet, how much white blood they were lucky enough to have reflected in the lightness of their skin and eyes.

“Race is always a polemic point in Cuba,” he said. “Some people say that the revolution made everything egalitarian and erased notions of racism. But there are a lot of limitations because of race and a lot of prejudice. You can’t get rid of racism with a simple commandment.”

On homosexuality, artist Ezequiel Suarez takes dozens of pieces of sandpaper and stitches together a secret conversation between two men. The front side, on view to the public, is a pretty sketch-like design sewn into the sandpaper with a needle and colorful yarn. On the backside however, in their private realm, the men have an intense conversation full of passion, aggression, passivity, sexuality and anger at the way they must hide their true natures. Castro has been criticized by human rights groups for his treatment of gays on the island.

“All of this work is very much filled with rage,” Suarez said. “My inspiration to make this work was my rage. Liberty in Cuba is a smoke screen. People are surviving on inertia.”

Choosing Their Approach Carefully

About Castro, the artists must be careful. While not overtly antagonistic, most of the art is nevertheless laden with metaphorical images and statements mockingly critical of the bearded dictator.

Ceballos’ “Adorado Wolfli,” for example, depicts an abstract geometric scene, full of cylinders, squares, and lines done in no particular order. The work is named after Swiss painter Adolf Wolfli, who was insane. On top of the drawing she has inscribed a speech plucked from the mind of what appears to be a rambling maniac. The maniac is Castro--the text is taken verbatim from newspaper accounts of his three- and four-hour public speeches.

“It is the text of an obsessive personality, as if I put myself in the mind of this fanatical personality,” she said. “It happens to be a speech given by Fidel.”

In this periodo especial (special period)--as the post-Soviet era has come to be called--the ideals of socialism have been derailed, and the art of commerce has prevailed.

The artists acknowledge that they are an elite group, allowed to travel and make a living off their art. Curator Power, who has taught art in Havana’s art school Instituto Superior de Arte for seven years, said the island has become a virtual “hunting ground for the new breed of global curator.”

“The artist has mobility, a certain margin of tolerance, a status and cash,” Power writes in an essay on Cuban art. “You only have to compare, for example, the price of the work of a young artist in the international market--between $2,000 and $5,000--and the monthly salary of a university professor--$28 a month. This gap is made even more acute by the fact that most Cubans literally invent their economy day by day.”

On their visits abroad, the artists horde paint, brushes, film, batteries, everything and anything they might need to continue with their art at home.

“Cubans are tenacious,” Douglas Perez said. “Since our backs have always been sort of up against the wall, we live by improvisation.”

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* The exhibit will continue through Aug. 28 at Track 16, Bergamot Station, 2525 Michigan Ave., Building C1, Santa Monica. (310) 264-4678.