The journey began on a sultry and humid August afternoon in Havana. The streets were quiet and a few older men had pulled small tables into the shade to play dominoes. Hens pecked in the doorways to fading colonial facades as vintage cars drove by and the pulsating beats of salsa drifted from upstairs windows. It was everything that might be expected from the capital city of Cuba. What was unexpected were the unique characters I met and their willingness to share stories, insights and feelings about life in this contradictory country as I sat drawing.
Lost Postcard: Girl at the Zapatero
One recurring theme to many of the conversations I had in Cuba was over the issue of communications, isolation from the rest of the world and broken chains of correspondence. And so the “Lost Postcards” series began, each with it's own story. From the girl at the zapatero (cobbler) sending news to a distant fiancé, to a market stallholder with family in the USA, to Edelmira the nurse waiting for a travel permit to work outside Cuba.
During my several months stay in Havana I returned to the same spots on the streets and in the local markets many times and found friendship waiting there. The simple act of drawing seems to hold a universal appeal and forged instant links between us as I tried to understand this vibrant and contradictory country.
Midday, Havana
Travelling onward through Central America from Mexico through the Highlands of Guatemala and onward to the Pacific coast a diverse and rich cultural heritage presented itself in strikingly visual ways. The traditional costumes of the region were perhaps even brighter and more prevalent than usual during the Christmas and new year celebrations, as whole neighbourhoods took to the streets in a carnival atmosphere. Drawing in those moments could be almost overwhelming and often relied on the good nature of a stallholder or some other interested onlooker to find me a place into which I could squeeze away from the crowds or perch on a good vantage point as I worked.
Chichicastenango Church
Those bright colours and hand woven textiles of Guatemala sprang back to mind on arriving in Bolivia a few years later, although now often topped off by the characteristic black bowler hat worn by many women.
Leaving the hubbub of the chaotic cities behind for the austere and stark beauty of the highlands required an acclimatisation to altitude and to a landscape in which turquoise lagoons could be full of deadly minerals, boiling sulphuric pools would seethe and expanses of glittering salt desert stretched to the horizon. The landscape seemed fantastical or otherworldly in many ways with seams of incredible coloured rock, some of which had been wind sculpted into bizarre formations or overgrown by tiny flowering cacti and succulents.
Unyielding
As the journey continued south the landscape became ever more enthralling, arriving in Patagonia in springtime to find flowers and lush vegetation on the lower slopes which quickly gave way to ice, snow and jagged black peaks above. Purposely travelling light there were many multiple-day treks into remote and mountainous regions, wading torrents of frigid meltwater, eating rehydrated “slop”, camping under star studded skies, basking in the sunshine and trudging through torrential rain but always marvelling at the awe-inspiring surroundings.
The ice scoured mountains, glaciers, icebergs, lagoons and rugged beaches of Patagonia were deeply affecting on an elemental level, speaking of a landscape in many ways impenetrable to and unspoilt by humans. Much of it has been protected as national parks with access strictly limited to a few accepted trails and passes, allowing flora and fauna to flourish. Despite this, the evidence of our wilful destruction of the natural world is still to be found here as in so many other places and can be heart-breaking in its scale and level of devastation.
Solitude
To spend time in such places of wild beauty, to stop and draw even when fingers are numb and wind attempts to rip the paper away is testament to just how affecting they are and the need to protect them. As painting is an extension of those raw moments of observation in the landscape it is also an attempt to distil and convey something of the profound experience of place.
At work in Chile