Embraced by the Space

As an architect, I confess, I tend to pick restaurants based more on their interior aesthetic than the overall food quality. I feel it feeds me more. Whether it is a place to dine, a place of transit, or a place to stay, the experience is ultimately heightened by the feeling the space is able to convey. This “feeling” is hard to put into words, but it is usually a sensation of being embraced by the volume of the space and evoking a sense of serenity even in the midst of chaos. Sometimes, the magnitude of the space is so great, the feeling is so intense, that you can’t help but to stand still in humility and surrender to it. 

The first time I experienced this was in a tiny church, the Santa Maria presso San Satiro, which I stumbled upon while wondering the streets in Milan. The exterior facade is so unassuming (by Italian Renaissance standards) that I questioned if it was worth going inside. 

Of course, as soon as I stepped inside, it was a different story.

Santa Maria preso San Satiro with trompe l’oeil in the center.

The central nave is lined with pilasters on either side which are joined together by a radiant barrel vaulted ceiling overhead. The pilasters, crowned with corinthian capitals, and the resting entablature, are adorned in gilded motifs and beautifully carved moldings throughout. At the intersection of the nave and transept rises a sky-blue coffered cupola with golden outlines and rosette details. 

The real magic, however, happens at the choir portion of the plan. Originally planned to be thirty feet long, it was reduced to a mere three feet due to a back road abruptly cutting through the site. Nonetheless, the same depth effect was impeccably achieved by means of a trompe l’oeil technique where the architect “built” the illusion of three full length arches and a coffered vaulted ceiling using stucco and paint. What seems to be thirty feet long is magically compressed to a minuscule amount of space. This trick reveals itself only when viewed from the side. 

The combination of so many rich intricacies encased within such a small volume of space and having your eyes visually consumed by every glowing ornament and motif everywhere you look was, to me, the literal definition of having the heavens shine down on you. Or beam down. And so much so, that you don’t feel worthy of looking straight at it so you look down instead to give your eyes a break. In this moment you feel heavy with emotion yet relieved, you feel small yet part of the divine, and complete stillness and gratitude for having been chosen. 

Mi Cuba...in progress

My family and I left Cuba in 1995; I was 10 years old. Given the travel restrictions to the island at the time, the next time I returned to visit family was in 2000 and then again around 2004. After this, I always opted for traveling to the other side of the world rather than returning to the same place over and over. 

In December 2014, as I was getting ready to make a permanent move to the Middle East, I figured it would be a good time to go visit grandmother. And so, after a barely there forty-minute flight from Miami I arrived to this so close, yet so far island on the Caribbean that once was home. 

Even before we landed, as the plane was descending and I could see the terrain appearing closer and closer, I was hit with a sense of familiarity that was instantly activated by the deep greens in the landscape my subconscious remembered so well. As I took those first steps down the small narrow stairs and onto the open-air tarmac all the memories I didn’t know I had flooded me from the inside. The warmth of the sun, that deep, bright blue in the sky, the olive green in the officers’ uniforms, the royal palms in the distance soaring towards the clouds. All these insignificant elements had been dormant in my mind for a decade. 

Fui a comerme las nubes y a tomarme el agua del Malecón. Estoy serca. Enseguida vuelvo. / I went to eat the clouds and drink the water from the Malecón. I’m nearby. I’ll be right back

Over my two-week stay I was blown away with both a sense of excitement and awe for rediscovering my own vibrant country and people and shock over how dire everything looked. The places I remembered vividly from childhood had peeled away layers from their skin exposing their old rusted steel bones.  

Many tourists, photographers, etc. have walked the same streets in these images and, while they opt for capturing lively street scenes, I want to capture the reality of the situation. Central Havana is falling apart. Buildings stand as empty shells without a roof, doors, or windows while families still live inside. These are not beautiful vibrant ruins, this is an opportunity lost. 

My objective is to show these images through the eyes of, not a visitor, but as someone who was born and raised here, who has breathed and lived this island, and who was lucky to have left. These crumbling and decayed structures are the “what if’s” and “what could have been.” They’re the opportunity lost for generations that have not been able to achieve their true potential because of the circumstances around them.