Las Manos
A series of photos and short stories from a trip to Cuba.
The Barber
His hands fumble as he tries to place them in a suitable position. Although used on a daily basis with such accuracy and precision, they are suddenly out of their comfort zone. He laughs as I try to communicate with words that I don't have, but tries to follow as best he can. His fingers, once youthful and free, working through strand upon strand, are now ridged and aged, uncomfortable in their idleness. It is over in seconds, and once relieved of their burden, they lose the awkward and unsteady appearance. Their enthusiasm slowly returns as they resume normal service.
Petit Corona
She rests in the shade, the afternoon heat proving too much for those layers of colour. Not used to being photographed alone, her face fills with uncertainty. She proceeds as normal, lifting the cigar to her mouth and perching her hand on her hip. Attempting to smile, she falters, only revealing her few remaining teeth. Her voice, once upbeat and cheery, is quietly considering the task at hand. Her eyes, although peering at the camera, are detached and distracted. I hand her some money and turn to walk away. The lost smile finally breaks free as she whispers: "Gracias, mi vida."
Cobbler
Focussing hard on the task at hand, he's oblivious to the world around him. People brush past and cars drive by, but the ongoing activity does not disturb him. He doesn't lift his head, concentrating to ensure that every stroke is perfect. He glances in my direction as I ask to take his picture, lifting his shoulders ever so slightly, somewhat reluctant to acknowledge his work. Without saying a word, he lowers his hand to reveal the frail sandal, granting me permission. We proceed with our endeavours silently. No words are needed. His hand closes, and he briefly glances up once more as I express my gratitude. The smile that erupts ends the conversation perfectly.
Entrepreneur
Bunches of bananas dangle from the fence, while her arms are laden with treats to sell. She's well prepared for our late morning arrival. Others serve coffee, while she does the selling. It's a well organised system. Hunger and curiosity find you picking up something, her perseverance finds you purchasing one of everything she has to offer. Quietly confident, she has no fear of the language barrier as she explains everything she has to offer. I catch a glimpse of her insecurities as my camera and I approach. They quickly disappear as I ask her to extend her hands. It's business as usual while I take pictures. If it's good enough for me to photograph, it must be good enough to eat.
El Torcedor
Tourists crowd around, eager to see him at work. He doesn't seem fazed by the flashes or noise. He continues to roll, going from leaf to leaf without hesitation, the smile never leaving his face. He takes great pride in his work, displaying his cigars around him. He enthusiastically responds to any questions and his smile grows as people stop to read the frames on the wall. The reason they are all here to see him now. He follows their gaze as they look up to his handiwork, before returning to concentrate on the cigar at hand.