In Havana time is an unavoidable character. Destructive or facetious, sardonic or nostalgic, political or imaginary, irreverent in any case, Time sprawls its texture and shadow all over the city. Half a century of defiant isolation and embargo has done its work. In the vale of years the revolution seems to have been confiscated, the superb and sensuous fabric of the city has crumbled beyond repair, people have gone into exile building a very vivid absence, heroes have aged, swimming-pools have been left empty and disbelief and reluctance towards propaganda are everywhere.
Time has collapsed here but is on the verge of unwrapping. On Havana’s streets, there is a charge of anticipation, and one senses a people yearning to embrace the world.
Those pictures have been taken in June 2014 and July 2015