◎Huang Chongkai

◎Huang Chongkai

I walked to Triangle Park with some anxiety, turned on my phone and repeatedly checked the studio address given by Yunel. The appointed time hadn’t arrived yet, so I decided to walk around and check the street names and house numbers of these streets.

Yunel’s message said that the studio is located in a building converted from an old monastery, and the nearby landmark is the Parliament Building. I looked up and saw a small piece of the Capitol dome peeking out not far away. Across the street, the house numbers are close, but the building seems to be surrounded by a fence. Judging from the gaps in the fence, it is obvious that the building is too deteriorated to be inhabitable. I turned back and walked back to the park. There was an arcade on the roadside where many people were waiting for the bus. There were rickshaws and taxis on the corner waiting for passengers.

Please read on…

As I weaved back and forth through the waiting queue, Yunel appeared with a smile on his face wearing sunglasses. He took the lead up the stairs connecting to the second floor and entered the long and deep interior of the three-story building. Passing through the shady passage and passing through the sun-filled atrium, surrounded by zigzag-shaped residential units, scattered clothes hanging to dry are floating in the wind. Yunel casually greeted his neighbor, and we arrived at the fence gate of his studio.

He took out a large set of keys from the tote bag and opened the lock on the chain. There was a clanging sound, and I had the illusion that I was entering a pawn shop.

The door is open, and there are many works hanging on the high wall. Most of them are Yunel’s conceptual art practice, such as the huge black envelope full-page painting that means “black letter”, or the large painting with floating snowflakes that reads ” This is not snow.” Gorgeous chandeliers hang in the studio, a laptop is placed on the desk, a wooden figure for sketching stands on the bookcase, and several floral shirts hang on exposed hangers. The overall space is similar to the owner’s temperament, exuding calmness, order, and simplicity, and it is interesting when you look closely.

Hanging above the sofa against the wall is a row of black-and-white paintings about the size of a 25-karat book. They are his imagination for designing book covers for works by foreign poets such as Ginsberg, Han Bo, Pessoa, and Eliot. Cuba’s publishing censorship and lack of supplies made it almost impossible for him to have room to express himself.

He had just returned from a one-year residency in the Netherlands and had not yet had time to organize himself. In three weeks, he would fly to Taiwan for exchange, and then return to the French colony of Saint Martin in the Caribbean. He made a pot of green tea, and we sat relaxedly on the beige patterned sofa, drinking tea and chatting at the round table engraved with a phoenix pattern.

The longer I stay, the more I feel like this place looks a bit like a pawn shop. Except for his own creations, all furniture and supplies are full of hand color, as if they were exchanged and exchanged before they were transferred to him. He pulled out various literary works that could not be circulated in Cuba from the bookcase, and carried out two large baskets of handmade magazines, mimeographed comics, and scrapbook collections of newspapers and periodicals. He loves aged prints. Among them is a thin cartoon that depicts Castro as Jesus filled with holy light. It quotes government propaganda slogans throughout to present the reality of the gap and is full of irony.

I’m curious if it’s okay to draw this booklet like this? He smiled and said it was banned a long time ago. ●

■【Return to Havana】The issue will appear every other Monday.

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