When the routine gets monotonous, and you need to find a vibration, a line of tension to wake you into new forms of seeing, there is no better form of contrast than Cuba. When I speak of contrast I mean it in multifaceted arcs of visual, literal and sensual perception. The line of tension is so sharp at times that ones idea of reality can be blurred by the vibration, forming a kind of intoxication that leaves you stripped of any dead skin left behind by previous static states of being.

The break for me was from myself. Well, my focus on a 2 year long search for a more profound visual communication and relationship to human forms of understanding. Of course going on such a trip was also going to involve the visual realm of understanding as I spend much of my waking life in observation of the interaction that passes before me. But this was an exploration into another area of the senses. It was the instrument of the ear I wanted to tune, to inundate my surroundings with a continual stream of that famous Cuban rhythm.

Waking up to an alarm can be a tormenting experience especially if every bone in your body yearns to rest. And sometimes we further the torture by setting the dial to sound a gut wrenching artificial scream. This I suppose is our trick not to fall back into the depths of sleep. But if for instance, we set the dial to play the radio, sometimes we start the day with a beat in tune with our internal clock. Our body begins to move unconsciously to the combination of sounds filling the room. We begin to feel our limbs come alive and before even reaching a state of awareness we are up and moving into our day. Possibly even dancing as our central conductor pushes and pulls the blood to animate us to a waking state. I call that waking up on the right side of the bed.

I suppose I make this relationship to call attention to the importance we put on music in our daily lives to create an atmosphere. To set a tone and move us to places that exist outside of time, transport us to memories past, or future incarnations. This directness is the first level of feeling and no matter how much it is covered by ideas, it will surface in an instant with the right rhythmic composition. Don’t get me wrong the visual and literal arts have the same fantastic ability to transport us, yet they become somewhat temporary when we think in terms of the sustainability of environment. For as soon they have left out visual sight we become flooded with new visual stimuli, which slowly push the impression into a collage of experience. Now this also happens when the music is over, for the travel of sound can round a corner and drift with the wind to touch you from distances far greater than the limitations of human sight.

Listening to the Cuban rhythms of Son or Guaguancó in my small apartment I struggled to decipher where the march I had learned falls amongst the many layers of Cuban big band. My Cuban percussion teacher could only guide me so far, I felt isolated and out of touch with what was happening. Straining to train my ear I faltered over and over again becoming confused by intervening sounds. I felt I needed literally to see what was happening to understand more completely the sequences. So between lessons on technique and theory, I also frequented the local Salsa in town to catch a glimpse of the music live and locate what I had learned. Now this helped somewhat but it was only a baby step in terms of getting down to where this deeply layered music comes from. So I really felt that in order to grasp the idea better I had to immerse myself in the environment and go to the island itself. The goal was to isolate myself with the rest of the locals and see if I could comprehend what it means when they say it is in the blood.

Sounds emanate from every crack in the crumbling buildings of old Havana, like the smells of freshly baked bread from the corner bakery. Cu cu co pa TA pu co pa…….cu pu tu cu TA pa TA……Ting ta ting ting…..clack clack…..clack clack clack. Everywhere the music enters your pours mixing with the sweat and humidity. It is a hot place, in all facets of the word. It emanates in the speech, the sexuality and the movement of the people. With the high humidity, one literally feels the density in the air, while politically that density translates into a weight that is difficult to bear. There is heavy restriction on liberties, and until recently that was less of a problem for those in control, because there was little and limited outside influence. But now without the former Soviet backing, Fidel and his administration are in dire need to fuel the economy. So of course foreign investment becomes a must and along with that comes foreign ideas. So the high contrasts become immediately apparent as bridges are slowly formed to close the gaps with the neighboring world.

The place appears trapped in a material time warp. Aesthetically it is still 1950. With vintage American cars on all corners, Cuban style is right on schedule with the cycles of fashion. This makes for an excellent product, as tourist money becomes big business. Here we see the worlds separate. The use of the US Dollar topped by spendy prices, creates a division between the people who visit and those who live there. For all but a few with contacts, the Cubans must get by on their meager salary in the form of the poorly valued peso. There are government shops in which it is feasible to buy some necessities, but with more exposure to the world outside the people are continually more aware of that which has been restricted. Now as far as the average education is concerned Cuba has no par with a 97% literacy rate and a wealth of exposure to the arts and culture. Besides that all Cubans have the opportunity to receive an advanced education for free. The largest contrast here is that a lot of this knowledge can only ever be a theory or concept because it really has no chance to be tested or applied within the context of the world. Because the average Cuban is as isolated as the island they live on.
Here I want to come back to the question of temperature, and say that the place is ready to pop. How long can you give people knowledge but not let them put it to use?

So there is a constant struggle between the ideal of social equality and human liberties which we must now place in a larger context. As a world consciousness grows we have no choice but to break down the remaining barriers. In Cuba the contrast at present is visibly high as money begins to trickle in. The government has taken this money and has begun to reinvest it in the recent commodity and renew the historic Old Havana. Here there are beautifully restored plazas, monuments and hotels along side ruins and favelas. With continued exposure this contrast will begin to wane and the tension and attraction will also diminish.

That takes me back to the purpose of my visit and the profound realization I came away with. It seems that when given such an array of opportunities and material desires we some times lose track of simple important truths. Like the fact that we do not need much to find happiness. This I have understood before, but it was a heavy reminder, experienced directly through the music. Confined by a disciplinary regime, there seems little else to do but let the human spirit shine through the arts. A transcendence can be seen clearly as the people dance and play their Spanish/African rhythms into the night. The music has been the gateway of communication for Cuba and the rest of the world, as made evident by being their most famous export.
The Afrocuban percussion that is said to dwell in the blood, is at every turn. Inescapable and a part of the daily routine, everyone can turn a sour experience on its head and dance their way to a fresh outlook. In 15 short days I absorbed more from the environment than I could have in months of practice in San Miguel. Granted I threw myself into that world exploring every hidden knook of Havana, searching out the folkloric rhythms like Rumba, Yambu, Makuta, and Orishas. Playing the cajon, a wooden percussive box, became my obsession. I was enchanted by the percussion and skill that the Cubans had mastered on this rustic instrument. I wanted to feel the heart of Cuba.

I came away with an ample view of the Cuban reality and a deeper understanding for the music that they create. So as I see it we all share rhythm in our blood as we all are of the human race. Our heart is the source of our movement. It then comes down to the environment we create, finding the right rhythm to mold our world into something more vital and vibrant each day. This profound form a communication is what touches the root of understanding between human beings. Going far beyond a superficiality of the written word or even a visual image, it is an understanding that goes directly to the center of the human condition, manifested in the heartbeat. This is where the contrast becomes so prominent, in a people so constricted; the level of understanding must be stripped back to the essential. Thus out of a collective hardship comes a brilliant light and happiness, the continual ritual dance, a flow of movement and repetition that is the worship of life in its most direct form.