Kordas

Here are the vintage Korda photographs which have been sent to the University of Oregon as part of an extended loan.

Alberto Díaz Gutiérrez, better known as Alberto Korda or simply Korda (September 14, 1928 in Havana, Cuba – May 25, 2001 in Paris, France) was the Cuban photographer who took the most reproduced photograph in history and documented some of the early days of the Cuban Revolution as it quickly evolved into the genocidal, racist, mass-murdering dictatorship that still oppresses the Cuban people and caused the Cuban Diaspora.

All images of the Korda photographs are by Pete Duvall, who is a wizard at photographing artwork.

Fidel y Niño (1960)

Prueba de una Cortadora de Caña (1962)

Ché Encima del Tractor (1962)

Ché con Hombre y Maquinaria (1962)

Miliciana (1962)

Fidel Jugando Golf (1959)

Guerrillero Heroico (1960)

David y Goliath (1959)

Ché y Raul (1961)

Ché Apoyando al Baston de Golf (1959)

Ché Arreglando el Tractor (1962)

Fidel Aprendiendo a Esquiar en Rusia (1962)

Fidel Sobre la Nieve en Rusia (1962)

Juego de Golf con Fidel (1959)

Fidel y Ché Pescando (1959)

Prueba de una Cortadora de Caña 2 (1962)

Ché Mirando con Anteojos (1960)

The two Kordas below remain with the collectors here in the DC area:

Jean Paul Sartre (1960)

Jean Paul Sartre (1960)

Finally, he's dead!

It had to happen, after all, the old Celt was in his ninth decade, and yet, it was still somewhat of a surprise when the announcement came that the world's longest reigning dictator, Fidel Castro Ruz was dead.

Those Celtic people from Iberia's northern mountains last a long time, and Castro's generation was a particularly long-lived ones. "Estan hechos de hierro [They're made of iron]", my mother used to say.

But he's dead, and it sounds like he died in his sleep, or otherwise peacefully, unlike the tens of thousands of Cubans under his boot who died in pain, or under torture, or drowning, or against a firing-squad wall, or while being lobotomized... all because of him, via him, through him, as a result of him... him, him, him.

"El Caballo" was one lucky Celt - he escaped multiple attempts on his life; all while millions of his countrymen also escaped the hell that he made his island into.

After Fidel died, his spirit, as all do, arrived at the Pearly Gates. He stretched his tall frame and started walking towards the gate. To his relief, he noted that they were open. He also noted a tall, bald man standing outside the gates.

"I've been waiting for you," the man said in Spanish... clearly Cuban Spanish from Oriente province.

"Campello?," said Castro, recognizing the man, after all, they once spent many months together in the Sierra Maetra, "Why are you here, outside the Gates?"

My father comes a little closer to Fidel, who is still a little unsure of himself, probably for the first time in his life... ah afterlife. "As I said," repeats my father, "I've been waiting for you." He also stretches himself and he's just as tall as Castro.

Two tall Galicians facing each other.

Castro begins to speak when my father's fist smashes into his mouth, and the meaty part of Castro's inner lip shreds into his teeth. He stumbles backwards, spitting blood and teeth; his inner lip is wedged between his front teeth, making it hard to speak. He looks back, fear in his veins, looking for an escape venue. He then notices that there is a black hole nearby, and that rancid smoke and screams of pain come from within it.

Even Castro knows where that leads - after all, he studied in his youth at exclusive Jesuit schools. A privileged part of his upbringing from the upper class landed gentry of Cuba's Galician blue blood society.

He turns to my father as another fist smashes into his perfectly Aquiline nose; a Roman nose like the ancient statues. It makes a crunching sound, the bone shatters and blood begins to pump out of the nose, joining the blood from his mouth.

This is pain like Castro has never felt before. Suddenly his mind is flooded with thousands of memories of broken noses and broken teeth; all the memories of the Cubans that his henchmen tortured and killed over the decades.

He stumbles a little, trying to avoid my father and at the same time trying to avoid the black hole. He thinks that he hears a melee of voices coming from the hole - they call his name.

His first name, like Cubans once called him.

He cannot defend himself; he was always a coward. Even in the attack against the Moncada on that 26th of July long ago, he was the first to run and only one of a handful who got away. When he was finally caught, the black Cuban Army Lieutenant who captured him, recognized Castro and protected him, as that Lieutenant had once known Castro as children. It saved Fidel's life.

How did Castro repay this honorable man? He was one of the first Cubans executed in 1959. It was clear that Fidel was too embarrassed by his cowardly behavior to leave that man as a witness to it.

He's gotta talk his way out of this, but his lip is still caught and jammed between his front teeth, and his stammers and lisps. The lisp brings to mind the thousands of maricones that he sent to concentration camps for the crime of being gay. Many were accused of being gay simply because of speaking with a lisp, a gruesome logic if one side is armed with guns and power.

"Work Will Make Men Out of You" said the sign to the entrance to the concentration camp for gays and lesbians.

The next fist strikes him on the forehead and he stumbles and falls backwards. Now he feels the heat coming out of the black hole and the voices calling his name grow louder. The soundings inside his injured head is augmented with the images of the tens of thousands of gay men that he ordered "cured" via lobotomies.

He screams in terror and the thin strand of lip meat that has been wedged between his front teeth finally snaps and he's free to beg for mercy, but the blood is now pouring really fast into his throat and lungs, and he gasps for air.

My father's next punch strikes at his throat, and the Comandante begins to choke. Now his brain is filled with the over 60,000 Cubans who drowned at sea while attempting to escape from Cuba. He's drowning in blood and cannot understand how one can die twice.

One can't.

My father looks at him, and whispers the accusation that only Cubans who fought against Batista on the streets of Havana and Santiago and Guantanamo and many other Cuban cities know. Cubans who fought in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra and the Escambray; Cubans who risked their lives, and their families' lives to fight against a bloody tyrant, only to have that tyranny replaced with one a million times worse.

"Traidor", my father whispers as he kicks Castro down the black hole into the waiting hands who want to tear, the waiting teeth who want to bite, the waiting flames, which wait to burn.

There is no scream on the way down.

My father turns and slowly walks through the Gates... he's been waiting for Fidel, and now his wait is over.

"Un hombre puede ser traidor, pero un pueblo... jamas!"

Lucy, Desi and Fidel

Below are three shots of "Lucy, Desi and Fidel." Charcoal, conte, LCD screen and Powerpoint presentation on paper. 3.5 x 13 inches framed to 16 x 26 inches.

Update: This piece is now in the collection of a major art collector in Miami Beach, Florida!

Fidel Castro as an Orthodox Jew

In Cuba, you can get in a lot of trouble if you depict "El Lider Maximo" in any sort of unfavorable light, or showing any kind of weakness. Big trouble... like jail time sort of trouble.

Castro manipulation of organized religion has been masterful, and the way that he has handled the Catholic Church in Cuba, as well as the decimated Cuban Jewry, should be a lesson to all despots and tyrants. Because Castro is essentially an atheist and deeply against organized religion, which he uses as just another tool of his regime, depicting him in any sort of religious or believer status would be cause for artistic concern in Cuba.

But this is America.

And although the old tyrant has never been very proud of his Celtic roots, his parents ancestral home in Galicia has actually offered him an exile home in the rugged mountains of Iberia's Celtic regions, in the event that Castro ever decided to leave Cuba, which I seriously doubt that he ever will.

But in Cuba there has always been an urban legend that Castro's mother, Lina Ruz, also described as a Galician, was actually Jewish, perhaps because her last name was said to be similar to a well-known hidden Sephardic Jewish family in Spain.

Also, because Castro was born out of wedlock to Lina (who was the 14 year-old daughter of a maid in his father's household); and because Castro was the third out-of-wedlock child of Lina; and because this affair was the cause of his father's divorce from María Luisa Argota (his Galician wife); and because Castro was not baptized until age 8, the children in the Jesuit school that he started attending at age 6 labeled him a "Judio" as a derogatory term in the racist Cuban society of the 1930s.

"Fidel Castro as an Orthodox Jew"
Charcoal on Paper, circa 2007 by F. Lennox Campello
And thus, and begging forgiveness from all Jews around the world, my drawing of an elderly Fidel Castro Ruz, who like many senior citizens, has suddenly discovered religion, begged and prayed for forgiveness for all his horrible sins and abuses of the Cuban people, and using his power forced his way and become an Orthodox Jew in Havana's historical synagogue.

Next (and definately more appropriate): Castro as Ayatollah Fidel...

Castro's Deathbed Portrait

When it comes to the brutal dictator who has caused a continuing exodus of millions of his countrymen and women, consistently violated political (and most other) prisoners' human rights, sent thousands to firing squads, jailed and terrorized gay Cubans for being gay, completely banned freedom of expression, and forcibly isolated and segregated anyone in Cuba suffering from AIDS into leper-colony type sanatoriums, I am not very objective.

But as he has done for decades now, this spectacularly intelligent and incredibly lucky man, even on his almost-deathbed still manages to permeate all levels of news and issues, including art.


Last year, this artist in New York apparently had the common "rosy" picture of Fidel Castro and Cuba, that most people who have never informed themselves about the real facts of Cuba and Cuban life under a Communist yoke, usually have.

And so he decided to create a massive Castro bust as a sort of an homage to the Cuban dictator. And he planned to unveil the huge homage to Castro in New York's Central Park. See the initial YouTube video here (by the way, if you look in the background, you see that this is the same artist who gave us the pregnant Britney Spears sculpture).

Those plans then changed.

Plans for an unveiling in New York's Central Park of Fidel Castro on his 'deathbed' have instead turned into plans for the deconstruction of his effigy in Miami, where he will be prematurely laid to rest. Capla Kesting Fine Arts announces the unveiling of "Fidel Castro's Deathbed Portrait" has been reconsidered by the artist, courtesy of the Miami FM morning show El Traketeo on WRTO 98.3 who protested the sculpture and arranged for the artist to come to their studio to hear the testimonies from several dozen Cuban exiles.

A ceremony for deconstruction of Castro's Deathbed Portrait will take place in Miami, November 8th at a time and location designated by WRTO.

[...]

After hearing hours of face to face testimony from Cuban people who have suffered under Castro, Edwards said on the air at WRTO, "I'm only sorry I wasn't aware of all that pain before my project started. After hearing all these painful accounts, in good conscience, as a friend of the Cuban-American communities, I cannot show the sculpture in Central Park."

And so, the colossal scaled clay model for "Fidel Castro's Deathbed Portrait" by Daniel Edwards, was instead "deconstructed" in Miami on November 8, 2006.

And the lesson here, taught to us by Castro in his deathbed, is that political art, which is more alive and well than many realize, can cover both sides of the political spectrum, and even in some cases, such as this one, switch to the right side of a debate, no pun intended.

My kudos to Edwards and to Capla Kesting Fine Art.

Viva Cuba Libre!

The curious case of John Leguizamo, Fidel Castro, and Latino Horror Vacui in Hollywood

John Leguizamo, the talented Colombian-born actor who once erred about his own ancestry by claiming that he was Puerto Rican on his father's side (I wonder how his Colombian dad feels about that) and once even carried the charade as the Puerto Rican Day Parade Global Ambassador of the Arts, has an issue with the casting of the upcoming Indie film “Alina of Cuba.”

Specifically with the casting of actor James Franco to play the murderous Cuban dictator Fidel Castro Ruz. The not Puerto Rican actor writes in Instagram:

“How is Hollywood excluding us but stealing our narratives as well?” “No more appropriation Hollywood and streamers! Boycott! This F’d up! Plus seriously difficult story to tell without aggrandizement which would b wrong!” “I don’t got a prob with Franco but he ain’t Latino!” 

The "boycott" was quickly joined in by such luminaries as Nicaraguan-American political strategist and commentator Ana Navarro, and the casting made fun of by Carolina A. Miranda, a really good and influential Wyoming-born Los Angeles Times art critic.

Have not heard of anyone of Cuban ancestry complaining... cough... cough...

Background:

Fidel Castro Ruz, known to many Cubans as "La Bestia de Biran", was born in 1926 out of wedlock in Biran, Cuba. He was the son of Ángel Castro y Argiz, an immigrant to Cuba from Galicia, the former ancient Celtic kingdom in the north of Spain, and Lina Ruz González, his Cuban-born maid who was the daughter of immigrants from Spain. 

That's Castro's father to the right and his mother to the left below.

Fun fact: A lot of Galicians left their rugged mountain villages in northern Spain and settled in Cuba in the early 1900s (including both my paternal grandparents). 

So many in fact, that Cubans routinely refer to all Spaniards, regardless of which region of Spain they come from (Andalucia, Castille, Catalonia, etc.) as "gallegos", which I suspect pisses off most non-Galician Spaniards.  

In my experience, Galicians are a very clannish people, have their own language, customs, etc. and in Cuba even their own community centers, separate from others. In Guantanamo, for example, there used to be a Centro Español and a separate Centro Gallego.

Fidel Castro as a child with his two of his four siblings

Back to the tempest of Franco being cast to play Castro in the film and not being of Latino ancestry, however widely and confusing that classification is.

Part of me understands that Leguizamo means well, but as often happens when one is too passionate about a debatable issue, he mixes apples mangoes and oranges when making this argument.  Passion is an unforgivable mistress - witness my own conversion when I complained about a Spaniard (Javier Bardem) being cast to play a Santiaguero (Desi Arnaz) - for all the non-Cubans who have jumped into this Franco boycott: A Santiaguero is someone from Santiago de Cuba, which is where Arnaz's family was from.

But distilled to the simplest fact:

• Latinos don't get enough roles in Hollywood films
• THEREFORE
• ALL, repeat, ALL roles where the subject is Latino, must be cast to a Latino/a actor
• HOWEVER
• Latino/a actors must also be eligible to be cast to play any and other roles regardless of the racial or ethnic background of the role

A great example of the last rule is the recent (and great) casting of Cuban-born actress Ana de Armas to play American icon Marilyn Monroe - as far as I know, neither Leguizamo, or Miranda, or Navarro bitched about that.

Are Leguizamo, Navarro, and Miranda hypocrites? Maybe, but I don't think so.  What I think they are, is a combination of passionate dogma plus misguided (maybe misfired) good intentions... the alleged Leguizamo trying to pass for a boricua episode bothers me -- sort of like when H.G. Carrillo spent years passing as a Cuban.

Here are better Campello rules to achieve the same goal:

• Latinos don't get enough roles in Hollywood films
• THEREFORE
• Hollywood casting must be sensitive that Latino/a actors come from every racial and ethnic background and must be eligible to be cast to play any and all roles regardless of the racial or ethnic background of the role AND should make an effort to increase Latino/a casting.
• HOWEVER
• The casting should go to the best actor for the role.

In this particular case, some points which destroy the Leguizamo effect:

• Alina Fernandez Revuelta, Castro's illegitimate daughter and the subject of the film endorses and likes the casting of Franco to play her father - technically that should be the end of the fucking argument!
• She is also proud that “the project is almost entirely Latino, both in front and behind the camera.” The clueless boycotters should be applauding this film!
• I am shocked as to how much Franco looks like Castro! The only other man who looks more like Castro on this planet is Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau! Cough... cough...

Almost done... now for my own complaining: 

I am having a hard time swallowing an Argentinean actress (Mia Maestro) playing a Cuban woman (she plays Naty Revuelta Clews - Alina's mom - that's Naty to the left).

And Ana Villafañe (she plays Alina): I'm keeping my eye on you! You're only half Cuban! Cough... cough...

Campello out.

Why Gabriel Garcia Marquez is an "hijo de puta" to me...

The gift that we humans have to express and have opinions, and use our subjectivity to apply to all sorts of themes, issues and people are the perfect weapon to express my intense dislike and repugnance for Gabriel Garcia Marquez's personal behavior and standards, while at the same time admiring his written words, although I must admit that my "admiration" is often colored by my intense dislike for the man. 

Charles Lane's article in the WaPo details the main reasons for this attitude:

In 1968, just as “One Hundred Years of Solitude” was propelling García Márquez to fame, Padilla published a collection of poems titled “Out of the Game.” Cuba’s cultural authorities initially permitted and even praised Padilla’s book, despite its between-the-lines protest against the official thought control that was already suffocating Cuba less than a decade after Fidel Castro’s 1959 revolution.

Then instructions changed: The Castro regime began a campaign against Padilla and like-minded intellectuals that culminated in March 1971, when state security agents arrested Padilla, seized his manuscripts and subjected him to a month of brutal interrogation.

The poet emerged to denounce himself before fellow writers for having “been unfair and ungrateful to Fidel, for which I will never tire of repenting.” He implicated colleagues and even his wife as counterrevolutionaries.

Intellectuals around the world, led by García Márquez’s fellow star of the Latin American literary “boom,” Mario Vargas Llosa, condemned this Stalinesque spectacle. Many cultural figures who had backed the Cuban revolution soured on it because of the Padilla affair.

For García Márquez, however, it was a different kind of turning point. When asked to sign his fellow writers’ open letter to Castro expressing “shame and anger” about the treatment of Padilla, García Márquez refused.

Thereafter, the Colombian gradually rose in Havana’s estimation, ultimately emerging as a de facto member of Castro’s inner circle.

Fidel would shower “Gabo” with perks, including a mansion, and established a film institute in Cuba under García Márquez’s personal direction.

The novelist, in turn, lent his celebrity and eloquence to the regime’s propaganda mill, describing the Cuban dictator in 1990 as a “man of austere habits and insatiable dreams, with an old-fashioned formal education, careful words and fine manners, and incapable of conceiving any idea that isn’t extraordinary.”

To rationalize this cozy relationship, García Márquez offered himself as an ostensible go-between when Castro occasionally released dissidents to appease the West.

What Gabo never did was raise his voice, or lift a finger, on behalf of Cubans’ right to express themselves freely in the first place.

Far from being “a representative and voice for the people of the Americas,” he served as a de facto spokesman for one of their oppressors.

García Márquez went so far as to defend death sentences Castro handed out to politically heterodox Cuban officials — one of whom had been personally close to the writer — after a 1989 show trial.

 Read the entire article here.

The curious case of Fidel Castro and La Quinceañera

Yesterday at the Context Art Miami fair, one of the cleaning ladies was nearby our booth and speaking on her cell phone using the machine gun steccato of Cuban Spanish that drives other Spanish speakers crazy.

"Cubans," once wrote the Argentinian writer Jacobo Timerman, "use Spanish as a weapon."

I could tell that she was trying to calm someone down on the other side of the conversation. When she hung up, she burst into tears.

Alarmed, I walked up to her and asked what was wrong. Prior to this event, we had exchanged pleasantries and she had told me that her family was from Matanzas. With tears on her face, she related that she had been speaking with her niece in Cuba.

It seems that her niece was in the middle of her Quinceañera party when the Cuban police showed up.

A Quinceañera party is the coming of age party that Cuban girls, and girls throughout Latin America celebrate on their 15th birthday. It remains one of the most important and strongest traditions of the Spanish-speaking world.

In Cuba, because of the extreme necessities of the Cuban people, setting up a Quinceañera party often takes years of preparation, usually in close coordination with relatives in other countries who can hand-carry and bring the required items needed to stage the most important social event in a young girl's life.

In this case, the teary cleaning lady told me that she had made half a dozen trips in the last two years binging party items, shoes, dress, candy, stockings; the list went on and on as she sobbed.

The local police showed up to the party, and informed the family that they were in violation of the official nine days of luto (mourning) for the death of Fidel Castro Ruz; parties and music-playing was strictly forbidden.

All guests' names were taken down and all were ordered to leave. When La Quinceañera's mother began to cry and complain to the police, she was pushed to the ground and punched in the mouth. When La Quinceañera's father tried to help his wife, he was also beaten and then arrested.

That's why this nice cleaning lady was trying to calm her abused family members across the miles, and then broke down once she hung up.

"Even after that desgraciado is dead, he's still abusing us," she sobbed in Spanish. I hugged her, and we cried a little together.

That's Cuba after Fidel, week one.

Miami International Art Fair (Preview Day)

Yesterday I described the arrival of a damaged huge painting to Mayer Fine Art's focus booth at the MIA and how that cast a bad start to MIA for Norfolk's best art gallery.

I got up early today, drove to Rico Bakery (3401 Northwest 17th Avenue, Miami, FL 33142-5537 (305) 637-0707), where they make 2-3 dozen different Cuban pastelitos and a lot of really yummy baked food, and bought two dozen Cuban pastelitos (they give you a free one when you buy six), plus a generous breakfast sandwich (a fried egg with ham and cheese on a Cuban bread bun that is then put on that hot press that is also used to make the famous Cuban sandwich.

I drove to MIA and passed the food to some of our gallery neighbors (both of them are galleries from Bogota, Colombia) and to Frank and Helen from Philadelphia's hardworking Projects Gallery. By the way, Projects Gallery's Frank Hyder has one of the coolest installations that I've ever seen in any fair. It has everything that a good installation should have: cool, intelligent sculptural elements, sound and an intelligent sense (actually aura, not sense) of truly transforming a space (a whole booth in this case) into a distinctive work of art. I will do a video of this installation later this week.

About eleven or so, a nice Cuban guy with bright blue eyes (Proof that Anderson and Cameron Diaz are not the only ones) and with the unfortunate name of Fidel (for a Cuban in Miami anyway) shows up. He is the restorer with the task of fixing the damaged Alexey Terenin mega-painting.

I will blow the climax of the story by telling you that by the end of the day this guy will prove himself to be a magician as well.

It is seldom in my experience that I have seen an "expert" not only be an expert, but also an aficionado of his expertise and a true hero in this case. For my fellow galleristas: when you come to Miami, if you need any repair work, or stretching, or conservation, or framing, then Obrapia Fine Arts (1648 Southwest 8th Street
Miami, FL 33135-5220 (305) 646-6751) has my highest possible recommendation.

Fidel arrived, looked at the work and initially began to repair the two holes right on the spot. He did that easily and quickly, and after he was done, it was impossible to find them again. Because the painting had been laid flat during shipping (even though the crate was marked with giant letters with DO NOT LAY FLAT signs), the canvas had stretched and was wavy and bubbly and had several pressure marks. Sheila Giolitti needed it re-stretched, and it became clear that the only way to get it back to a taut canvas would be to un-frame it and re-tighten it. This is no easy task for a huge seven feet by seven feet work of art, and the decision was made to take the painting back to Obrapia's shop and work on it there.

Easily said, but that meant that Fidel would have to go and rent a truck, come back, pick up the painting from the Convention Center, take it to his shop, un-frame it, upgrade the stretcher bars, stretch it, re-frame it, drive it back to the Convention Center and hang it. And it was 3PM and the fair opens at 6PM.

Somehow this dude did it. At 5:30PM he was back with a beautifully taut painting, and not only had he fixed the tiny pricks, and not only had he re-stretched the saggy linen, and not only had he upgraded the stretcher bars and added a cross bar and four angle corners, but the amazing dude had also touched up the frame and eliminated all the nicks and bruises from it. And then he hung it.

And then he gave Mayer Fine Art the bill, and Sheila was shocked at how reasonable that bill was, and the amazing degree of professionalism and expertise and joy for the job shown by this talented conservator. And Obrapia Fine Arts got a well-earned tip on top of the bill from Mayer Fine Art. And not only that, but a lesson learned as well: from now on, MFA plans to ship all the large Terenin canvases to Obrapia ahead of the Miami fairs. They can stretch and frame it and deliver it to the fairs for a heck of a lot less than it would cost to frame it and then ship it to Miami and take a chance for damage during the shipping.

At 6PM the crowds started pouring in and we were essentially flooded with people and press. The food was hard to get at, as the food tables were surrounded by a mass of humanity, but we still had a good stock of pastelitos left.

First sale of the night was a gorgeous trompe l'oeil painting by Michael Fitts. It was sold to a French collector who paid in cash. He counted in French and kept making mistakes and giving us anywhere from 5-8 twenty dollar bills in what was supposed to be $100 counts (that's five $20 bills equals $100 for you folks in California). We all kept having to recount the money and after a while it was either a farce or I was beginning to suspect that this guy was doing it on purpose for some kind of a scam. Finally we got it under control, and we ended with a lot of Jacksons and Benjamins and he ended with a cool trompe l'oeil (on reclaimed metal) of paper airplanes.

All through the night I was being accosted over my Che Guevara video drawing. Even a member of the press warns me that I shouldn't have that piece in Miami. "Someone will take a hammer to it before the fair is over," he predicts. Once I explain the whole reverse meaning of the piece, he becomes more understanding. Later in the night he brings his wife over and I see her eyes rage with fury - he's the one having fun with her now. And he's the one that explains the work to her. At the end she congratulates me on a well-done piece.

At one point the video drawing is almost sold to a Venezuelan collector, but I begin to discuss the second video drawing that I'm now working on (Frida Kahlo) and he wants to see that one instead (once it is finished). I get his business card and kick myself.

MFA then sells an Erwin Timmers glass sculpture to a very well-known Florida art collector. Timmers will be pleased when he finds out who this collector is. The buyer tells me that he'll be flying to DC for the WPA Auction.

And just like that, the preview night is over at 10PM, and with all the drama of the damaged painting behind, we're now looking forward to the real opening (to the public) of the fair tomorrow.

New Worst Ever

I have this hobby of trying to read as many books as possible (all genres) dealing with Cuba. And I've just finished reading Stephen Hunter's Havana, a fictional account set in Havana in 1953.

This is possibly the worst ever book with a Cuban setting that I've ever read; Especially surprising coming from such a decent fiction writer.

I was also surprised to find that Newt Gingrich reviewed this book in Amazon about eight years ago. Newt writes:

Stephen Hunter has a great knack for country attitudes, good shooting, complex stories and politics.

In "Havana" Hunter captures a moment in time when Castro is just emerging (the Yankees having failed to offer him a $500 signing bonus) and Batista is back in power with the help of the American mob.

Just as in "Hot Springs" where Hunter resurrected the great pre-Las Vegas center of gambling and prostitution (matched in that era only by Youngstown), here he reminds us that Havana in the early 1950s was a city of power seekers, tourist pleasures and American and Cuban mobster domination and corruption.

He weaves together a brilliant Soviet agent, Earl Swagger (hated by the Soviet system for his individuality and protagonist of almost half Hunter's novels), the CIA, the American mob, Fidel Castro and the Cuban secret police into a wonderfully complex and constantly intriguing story.

His characterizations of a young Castro are worth the entire book: "Speshnev looked hard at him and, try as he could, only saw a familiar type, thrown up by revolutions and wars the world over. An opportunist with a lazy streak, and also a violent one... No vision beyond the self, but a willingness to use the vernacular of the struggle for his own private careerism." (p. 101)

"He does carry on don't he? He reminds me of a movie star. They get famous too young and they never recover. They always think they're important." Earl Swagger on young Fidel (p 319)

Whether for fun or learning or both, this is a worthwhile novel.

What Hunter blows in this shoot-em-up story is the background setting of the city itself, plus he takes spectacular license with Cuban history to bend the story to depict a somewhat idiotic young Castro.

Young Castro was a killer and a student mobster in the violent daily activities of Havana University and the city in general, but no one can ever or should ever accuse this murdering dictator of ever being dumb. Castro has the feral intelligence of power-seekers, and he's always had it, especially in the violent days preceding his failed attack on the Moncada Barracks.

Strangely enough, in this key part of the beginning of the Cuban Revolution is where Hunter really torques my pedantic side. In the real course of events, Castro (who is very nearsighted and requires thick glasses for distant vision), was driving one of the leading two cars carrying the rebels attacking the Moncada Army Barracks in Santiago de Cuba.

In the book, Hunter depicts Castro having to rush and drive his car onto the sidewalk to run down three unexpected soldiers - he kills two of them, grabs their machine guns and in a heroic display fights against hundreds of soldiers as the hapless rebels, pinned outside the barracks are mowed down by soldier fire. Eventually, the heroic guerrilla is pulled away from the melee by a Soviet agent in a most unlikely escape.

In reality, what happened was that the rebels had essentially the element of surprise, and were driving into the Moncada compound; however, the brilliant and fearless leader's vanity got the best of him, and he removed his thick, black glasses in order to appear more manly. Not being able to see squat, he quickly drove his car off the street and onto the sidewalk, effectively attracting the attention of the guards, who then sounded the alarm and proceeded to wipe out the attackers.

Fidel, and his brother Raul quickly hi-tailed it out of there - they were about the only attackers who got away - and many witnesses claim that the Castro brothers got the hell out of Dodge as soon as the bullets started flying, leaving their fellow rebels to die on the streets or to be captured and tortured later on by Batista's murderous henchmen.

Perhaps this could be an entertaining read for someone not familiar with the sense of what Havana truly was in the 1950s; a complex, international city where dozens of languages were heard on the streets, with a huge Chinatown and a significant European immigrant population, all that in addition to the casinos and the mobsters and the whorehouses and the brutal police depicted as a single dimension in this book.

But to a pedantic Virgo, it is an offense to the senses; sorry Newt.

Che: El Chacal de La Cabaña


A while back in the mail I got some preview tickets to the opening of the new Steven Soderbergh two-part epic about the life of Ernesto "Che" Guevara, the Argentinean blue blood guerrilla leader, starring Puerto Rican actor Benicio Del Toro in the leading role (which has already earned him the coveted Best Actor award at the 2008 at the Cannes Film Festival).

Because I was away on vacation, I couldn't go, but I do plan to see this film, as I have been an avid Guevara follower nearly all my life. Here's a little known Guevara fact: His paternal grandparents, Roberto Guevara and Ana Lynch, were born in California!

"Che Guevara" by F. Lennox Campello. Charcoal c. 2003. 6 x 15 inches
My father fought alongside Guevara during the Cuban Revolution, and like most of those brave young men who fought against the Batista dictatorship (both in the mountains of Oriente province and the streets of Havana and Santiago de Cuba) he never expected the Cuban Revolution to institutionalize a worse dictatorship than Batista's bloody regime.

Che was a declared Communist all along, but Communists were rare in the ranks of the rebels.

In fact, to this day most people don't know that the official Cuban Communist Party was part of the Batista government while the Revolution was underway and even Guevara, a Communist all along, had harsh words for the Cuban Communists during the struggle. In 1958 he wrote that there were "mutual fears" between the rebels and the Party, and "fundamentally, the Party of the Workers has not perceived with sufficient clarity the role of the guerrilla."

After the revolution, Guevara further added that he "only knew of three Communists who had participated in combat." Besides himself and Raul Castro, one wonders who the third Communist was (Raul Castro's future wife, Vilma Espin was also a known Communist; however, she was one of the urban guerrillas working under Frank Pais, the anti-Batista leader in the streets of Cuba. Pais was strongly anti-Communist. Of interest, a persistent rumor blames Espin as the traitor responsible for Pais' death at the hands of the Batista police. Fidel Castro himself, always denied being a Communist, until sometime in the early 1960s.

Guevara was a very courageous and even reckless fighter (as opposed to Castro, who spent most of the war secluded in the relative safety of the Sierra Maestra mountains). But Che was also the grim executioner of the Cuban Revolution, a fact that he never hid and even bragged about, but which most Guevara admirers conveniently ignore.

It was Guevara who executed deserters and captured Batista soldiers and henchmen during the struggle; and it was Guevara who signed many of the tens of thousands of execution orders after the Revolution, when Cuba was bathed in blood by avenging firing squads.

See some of the documented Cubans executed by Guevara (including over a dozen shot by Che himself) here or if you have the guts, you can see an actual firing squad in action (broadcast over Cuban TV in 1959).


Because of that, Guevara is known to Cubans as "El Chacal de La Cabaña."

"El Chacal de La Cabaña" translates to the "Jackal of La Cabaña," although it is usually translated as the "Butcher of La Cabaña."

La Cabaña is an 18th century fortress complex located on the elevated eastern side of the harbor entrance to Havana, and the location for many of the thousands of firing squad executions which took place after January 1, 1959. Shot were former members of Batista's police, army and air force, informants, traitors, and counter-revolutionaries.

The best known story about this period (which I heard related in a Spanish language radio show in Florida last week) relates to how a Cuban mother went to see Che to beg for her son's life. The son was 17 years old, and was on the firing squad list, to be executed within a week. If Guevara pardoned her son, the mother begged, she would ensure that he never said or did anything against the Revolution.

Che's response was to order the immediate execution of the boy, while the mother was still in his office. His logic: now that the boy was shot, his mother would no longer have to anguish over his fate.

On the other hand, Che's courage as a guerrilla leader and his dedication to his caused are well documented and never challenged and cost him his life.

While Fidel Castro tightened his grip on the Cuban people and replaced the Batista dictatorship with the Castro dictatorship, Guevara put his life at risk fighting in guerrilla wars in Africa and Latin America, until he was caught in the highlands of the Bolivian mountains in 1967 and executed on the spot. Just as he would have done had the situation been reversed.

It is this glowing side of Che's complex character that Che's admirers and apologists always focus upon, and I am looking forward to seeing if this film addresses both the spectacularly courageous side of this iconic figure, as well as his war crimes and dark side of a man with little compassion and remorse.

I am also curious as to how the film handles Guevara's departure from Cuba. "Che", claims Dariel Alarcon Ramirez, who joined the rebels in 1956 and then went with Guevara to Bolivia, "left Cuba after being accused of being a Trotskist and a Maoist.... and because of the problems he had with the Cuban government, specifically Fidel and Raul Castro."

Once I see the film, I will tell you my thoughts on it. Meanwhile below are the lyrics (translated from the Spanish) from Olafresca's song titled "El Chacal."

They forced us to hold you
In historic prominence
They promoted your bravery
To the whole world after your death

Here your face remained
On t-shirts and posters
They don’t say all of the truths
Of the Jackal of the Cabaña

Your hand gripped so tight
That to history it sends
An image from Santa Clara
Where power seduced you

And now your face is in fashion
On t-shirts and posters
They don’t say all of the truths
Of the Jackal of the Cabaña

Aristidio followed you
Til the day he tired (of the lie)
When he told you he was leaving
With a 32. you silenced him

Here your face remains…
And even if you clean the t-shirt to its guts
It doesn’t wash the blood from the hands
Of the Jackal of Cabaña

Of the Cabaña you where the warden
You sent thousands to the death squads
But you preferred to play the warrior
You yourself dismissing the innocent

Now, there is your face
The women you made widows find it strange
How can he be everywhere we look
The Jackal of the Cabaña

A hero to some to others a criminal
Your face is known and your idealistic cause
But the path of violence will never win
Your passion consumed you and you became (the Jackal)

Here your face remains
On t-shirts and posters
They don’t say all of the truths
Of the Jackal of the Cabaña

History has already proven
That you don’t win peace with bullets
In any time or situation
What we need is compassion