Muraleando — Community Arts in a Havana Barrio

Children’s Puppet Workshop. December 2002. Photo by Henri Ewaskio. View slideshow of additional images.

In December of 2002, I was sitting in a hotel room in Havana, speaking with Manuel Díaz Baldrich, general coordinator of Muraleando Community Project. “How many children do you think there will be?” I asked.

“Oh, about 100, 150.” Fortunately, we were talking on the telephone and he couldn’t see the panic on my face. I had offered to teach a puppet-making workshop to the neighborhood children, but there was no way I could handle 150 kids. When I explained that I was not going to put on a puppet show and we agreed on a smaller number, I breathed a sigh of relief, but my worries were not over.

For decades I’ve been a professional puppet and costume maker in New York City, but I had come to Cuba with a group of film aficionados for a film festival. I hadn’t brought my toolbox and I didn’t have so much as a pair of scissors or a needle and thread. How would I find puppet-making supplies in Havana? Besides working in film and television, I’d done a lot of no-budget community work so I knew that it is best to start with what you can find in the street when resources are limited. That way, you know that you’re using available materials. I wandered down to the Malecón, the famous avenue and sea wall that run some eight kilometers along the northern coast of the city.

When the sea is rough, the waves crash over the malecón and onto the road in a dramatic spray that catches the late afternoon light. A storm the night before had left clumps of seaweed and scraps of driftwood all along the sidewalk. Ah, there at my feet was the rubber sole of a child’s sandal! It was a bit thick but quite usable for a puppet’s mouth. And then a few yards ahead, the sea had offered up what was, for me, its greatest treasure: a large, rectangular piece of flexible rubber an eighth of an inch thick. I couldn’t have found anything better in the shops of New York City!

Everyone in the group I was traveling with donated a pair of socks. “They don’t have to be clean.” I had said when I put out my request. “I’ll wash them.” Many people were returning home the next day and would scarcely miss a pair of dirty socks. I found a fabric store and bought cloth, buttons, thread and glue. Fortified with sea gifts and clean socks, I arrived in the barrio of Lawton, the home of Muraleando, on Saturday and was greeted by Cuban puppeteers Pedro and Marisela and two large green puppets. Baldrich had arranged for a puppet show after all!

A few artists and friends from the barrio blocked off the street, borrowed a table from a house and dragged it out into the road. We started with a small group of children and a stellar performance by Marisela and Pedro. Soon, word spread through the neighborhood that there was a happening on Calle Mercedes Muñoz and, one by one, more kids arrived. When the puppet making started, the artists and parents who had jumped in to help couldn’t keep up with the chorus shouting, “Me next! Me next!” Four hours and 50 puppets later, the weary artists who make up the directorate of the community project said, “Ya!” (Enough!) And we called it a day.

A Workshop in the Streets

When local artists Manuel (Manolo) Díaz Baldrich and Ernesto Quirch Paz began teaching art workshops in the neighborhood school two-and-a-half years ago they had no thoughts of starting a community development project. But their classes conflicted with the schedule of the state-run computer program so they moved the workshops into the streets, and there the seeds of Muraleando (literally “muraling” or mural-making) were sown. When a friend asked, “Why not take community work more seriously?” Manolo and Ernesto took up the challenge.

Mural painting on Lugareño near the corner of Mercedes Muñoz. Photo by Henri Ewaskio.

The most obvious aesthetic issue in the barrio, as in much of Havana, was its paint-starved walls. The murals that started springing up all along Mercedes Muñoz, and around the corner on Aguilera, were a natural outgrowth of the art classes. They depict fanciful celebrations of Cuban life: Albert Einstein buys fruit from a roadside fruit and vegetable stand. Che Guevara, dressed in medieval armor, stands beside John Lennon riding in a bicitaxi (a bicycle-powered taxicab) driven by a Rastafarian. Charlie Chaplin steps down from an overcrowded camello (the infamous, large, public buses nicknamed “camels” for their two humps.) Similarly, found object installations sprouted from the crumbling sidewalks in bright colors and whimsical combinations. In a country where nothing is disposable and everything is useful, broken typewriters, old telephones, tire rims, wrought-iron chair parts, all were fair game to weld and paint and turn into sculpture.

Less obvious than the long-unpainted walls were deeper issues of community cohesion. According to Baldrich, problems were exacerbated during the “special period,” the Cuban euphemism for the years of extreme economic hardship in the early 1990s, immediately following the collapse of the Soviet Union and the tightening of the U.S. embargo. The scarcity of these years pushed many Cubans to adopt an every-man-for-himself philosophy. Muraleando’s answer to this community fragmentation is the Peña Comunitaria, a block party that the project organizes every six weeks, when streets are blocked off, tables and chairs are set up, and young and old arrive to share in the festivities. Invited artists include musicians, dancers, singers, actors and poets from local, national and international realms. The Peña also gives emerging and aspiring artists from the neighborhood a venue to demonstrate their talents. Food is served, of course, and neighbors come together in a cultural celebration.

The Grandmothers, the Fox and the Sun

On January 25, 2004, Muraleando celebrated its second birthday. A little more than a year after my first visit to the project had passed and I was invited to return to work with the children’s theater classes and the Grandparent’s Circle. One of the primary goals of the project is to build intergenerational ties in the community. I’d read the story that the children were working on transforming into a play, "La Zorra y el Sol" (The Fox and the Sun), a contemporary fable written by Cuban writer and pedagogue el Niche, about a little fox who wants to go to the sun. It would adapt easily to puppetry, I thought. The grandmothers have a doll-making club; they could help make puppets. Much was unclear about how things worked there and what my hosts’ expectations were. But one thing was clear: This time I wanted to bring more than old socks and trash with me. The days immediately preceding my departure were filled with last-minute preparations and decision making. Afraid that anything I packed might be confiscated by U.S. Immigration officials as unallowable under the embargo, I chose carefully, sorting through bags of fur scraps from a teddy-bear company, art supplies, foam rubber and tools. On March 4, with my duffle bag of supplies miraculously intact, I stepped off the plane in Havana into the incomparable Cuban warmth of sunshine and hospitality.

A year ago, the corner of Aguilera and Porvenir looked like any other street corner in Havana. The long-suffering buildings with peeling paint and chipped facades had given no evidence of the transformations happening two blocks away. This time there is no doubt that we have arrived in muraling territory. High up on a balcony, overlooking the street corner, bright yellow and pink graffiti-style lettering points the way to Proyecto Comunitario Muraleando. Below, two long walls are covered with paintings of flowers, trees, rainbows and bombs with big Xs drawn through them, the children’s mural for world peace. Telephone poles are carved and painted like totems. Nivia Herrera López is turning a five-foot boulder into a sculpture. On the corner of Aguilera and Lugareño, I recognize the familiar gateway to the heart of the project, a large, freestanding archway of welded tire rims painted in bright colors.

Manolo’s house is the gathering place for members and friends of Muraleando. Since Manolo and his wife Mayra are my hosts, I meet a steady stream of people there over the course of the next few days. The day I arrive I meet 16-year-old Daily Gonzalez Arango. Disillusioned with the pettiness and cutthroat competition of fellow students, she has dropped out of the performing-arts school and given up a coveted scholarship, much to the dismay of the adults in her life. She’s teaching the children’s theater classes and the first performance of "La Zorra y el Sol" is less than two weeks away. It becomes clear that puppets won’t fit into the play at this late stage in the process. We discuss ideas for costumes and come up with a costume plot. She invites me to attend rehearsals on Saturday.

El Niche giving notes at rehearsal. March 6, 2004 . Photo by Henri Ewaskio.

El Niche, the story’s author, breezes through, moments later. Covered with sweat, he is a torrent of energy who runs everywhere he goes and talks as fast as he moves. We briefly discuss the fable and he promises to join us at rehearsals. Then he departs as suddenly as he arrived.

Muraleando classes and events are held in the street or, if the gate is not locked, in a nearby park where there is some protection from the sun. Tables and supplies are hauled from a member’s house where they are stored and hauled back when the activity is over. The next major goal of the project is the construction of a community center. It will provide a dependable space for activities and alleviate some of the demands on project members. They already have materials for the roof. A vacant lot has been claimed and its gate decorated with the signature archway made of old tire rims. Nivia gives me a tour of the grounds. They’re overgrown with weeds but found objects are piled there, awaiting designs for the next installation.

The theater class meets in the park on Saturday, March 6, a day and a half after my arrival. Afterwards, back at Mayra and Manolo’s house, I meet Aida who works with the Círculo de Abuelos (Grandparents Circle.) Retired, and a grandmother herself, she teaches doll making to weekly gatherings of neighborhood elders. She works with Dr. Ramón Sánchez Gutiérrez, a geriatrician, who chairs seminars on health issues and leads exercise classes. We chat over a cup of sweet, strong coffee on the terrace overlooking neighborhood rooftops and the Havana skyline. A plan is made that I will teach puppet techniques to the doll-making club and they’ll make costumes for the children’s play.

Chucho Finds a Home

It is Mayra who has made the coffee that Aida and I share. Mayra sweetens the coffee just so and offers a shot-glass-sized cup to all who gather. She is the diplomat, confidant, advisor and perpetual hostess of the group. In a rare moment when she sits down to talk and drink a cup of coffee herself, she tells me about a young man in his 20s who is a frequent visitor and friend of the project. She tells me the history that he doesn’t mention when we later meet. A victim of the special period, Chucho (not his real name) was a young teen when his mother died and his father left the country, abandoning four children in desperate times. Chucho was caught stealing and sent to jail. When he got out and moved in with his sister-in-law, he had been afraid that the community would ostracize him for his prison record. Muraleando welcomed him with open arms. He, in turn, threw himself into mural painting, preparing and scraping walls, building scaffolds and taking on whatever the task at hand might be. He told Mayra that without Muraleando, “I would just be sitting on any street corner.”

Monday, March 8, is International Women’s Day. A big event is planned to honor the neighborhood elders. There’s an exhibition of drawings from the children’s art classes and a display of dolls made by the Círculo de Abuelos. There are guest speakers, musicians, singers and poets. Well over 60 grandmothers attend. The aging, male belly dancer, sporting a black wig and silver crown, orange harem pants and a plastic sword, is one of a kind. But the richest moment for me is watching the grandmothers groove to original hip-hop tunes performed by Chucho and two fellow rap artists. With broad grins and rhythmic hand clapping, the elders dance in their seats. Chucho indeed has found acceptance.

After his performance we have a chance to talk and I ask Chucho how he got started with the group. “I began contributing to the project, doing whatever needed to be done, and then I discovered my talent as a rapper. They gave me the opportunity to write a song for the project, which I finished quickly, and -- the people liked it. I feel proud to be a part of Muraleando.”

Grandmothers making costumes. Nena is on far right. March 10, 2004. Photo by Henri Ewaskio.

On March 10, the grandmothers make costumes out of cardboard, foam rubber and glue. They cover a headpiece for the rooster in bright red cotton knit fabric. There is laughter and banter just like in any costume shop. I look up and see the gentle face of Maria Teresa. It’s her first visit to the Grandmothers’ Circle and I’m delighted to see her. Less than a week ago, her mother died after a long illness and Nena (as she is called) had cared for her throughout the illness. Muraleando folks have been urging her to come to the Círculo. The sorrow in her eyes is palpable. But she has come. She picks up a needle and thread and works on the rooster’s crest. Amid the laughter and sewing, stories are shared. They talk of a woman who lost two sons and then a month later her husband died. Someone says, “But she comes. And now she doesn’t cry any more.” A woman remembers, “My husband died while we were bathing together. Now I bathe in the kitchen. I can’t bare to bathe in the bathroom.” I hope that Nena doesn’t feel quite so alone.

Early in the evening, the fine-arts class meets to paint the cardboard headpieces that the grandmothers made. I help Nivia prepare paint. We scoop out globs of donated printing ink from old, rusty cans and mix it with a solvent called brillante, although I’m told that gasoline would do just as well. We gather up a fistful of the saddest, most worn-out, crusty brushes that I’ve ever seen. Miguel demonstrates shading and feathering techniques to the teenage students. They paint two large flowers and a sun. It is pure magic to see the “silk purses” emerge from the “sow’s ears.”

Still later that day there is a dance class. I’ve been hearing about this class since I arrived. A year ago none of the kids could dance. Now they win competitions and dance on national television. Ariel is the resident dance instructor. A dance aficionado with no professional training, he is a chauffeur and mechanic by day. At night he dedicates his time to “his kids.” Tall, svelte and super cool, his appeal to adolescents is easy to see. Working with teenagers is never easy, but winning national competitions has motivated them and the dance itself is also a great teacher. Rueda de Casino requires cooperation and responsibility, as does the rehearsal schedule. When they dance, they all have to work together and own up to their mistakes. Ariel runs a tight ship. He checks up on them at school. They have to keep their grades up to stay in the class. If they’re not focused in rehearsals they hear about it. After all, he’s a volunteer; if they don’t care, why should he? They’re learning a lot more than just dance steps.

Art classes continue the following day with the preparation of a backdrop for the children’s show. Someone works at the hospital and is able to get small cardboard boxes. They’re flattened and laid out on Manolo’s roof and spliced together with strips of cardboard and glue. Ernesto does a rough sketch and the students cut out a leafy stage door and prime the cardboard. They paint it the following day, the day before the performance.

Meanwhile, Daily has been rehearsing diligently with the young cast. Behavior is still an issue; they’re wild on Saturday mornings. They’re swallowing their words and not playing to the audience. But she’s had a chance to work with el Niche, who’s had a lot of experience staging stories with young children. His exuberant personality captivates them. Daily hasn’t cast for talent. This theater troupe is for anyone who wants to join. Its purpose is to give kids a chance to perform, regardless of skill, in a noncompetitive environment.

The play will be staged on a block down by the railroad tracks where the newest mural has just been completed. This is the most marginalized section of the barrio. Houses are much poorer and the street is unpaved. There’s a high incidence of alcoholism. When city water flows through the aged, cracked pipes underground, every other day, the street is filled with muddy puddles. On the days when it doesn’t flow, water storage is an issue for those who can’t afford a tank on top of the house.

The Big Day

Sunday, March 14, the day of the opening dawns. Ernesto and his students are stringing the backdrop across the road when the young actors arrive to block the play in the new location. The street is filled with mud and Little Fox worries that she cannot throw herself on the ground when she jumps from the treetops. Manolo assures her that the sun will dry up the mud by the time of the performance. Residents are already gathering to watch the preparations. There is a final run-through back in the park.

Grandfather Crocodile makes his entrance. Opening scene of "La Zorra y el Sol." March 14, 2004. Photo by Henri Ewaskio.

At three in the afternoon the block is filled with people of all ages. In costume backstage, behind the backdrop, the kids take their places with unbridled excitement. When Grandfather Crocodile makes his entrance, the action begins. Performing before an audience works its magic on the cast. They enunciate, project and play straight to their public. The audience loves it. The grandmothers applaud with particular pride, seeing their costumes come to life. Poetry, dance, storytelling and an original hip-hop number follow. The artists are all under 10 years old. There are riddles, hidden treasure and prizes. With a cup and bowl from home, the children line up for food and drink and cake. Muraleando folks pass out servings to adults on scraps of cardboard or “disposable” plates that will be saved and washed for the next event. By the time we carry the costumes back to Manolo’s house, the event has taken on a life of its own. The entire street has been transformed into a stage. The microphone is open and block residents are taking over and showing off their talents.

Since the opening of "La Zorra y el Sol," the children’s troupe has performed for the Peña Comunitaria and staged the play at Casa del Estudiante in Old Havana. The teenagers continue dancing with a rigorous rehearsal schedule, learning new moves from Ariel and preparing for the next competition. Nena has made a cat puppet out of old socks. Members and friends have spent a day clearing the vacant lot in preparation for the groundbreaking of the long-dreamed-of community center.

When I ask Manolo what he thinks the greatest accomplishments of the project have been, he says, “In two-and-a-half years of existence, the project has managed to physically transform our community, converting it into a People’s Art Gallery. In fact, the changes are spiritual as well as physical. A sense of belonging has developed in the barrio where people get involved and concern themselves more and more with solving problems with our own efforts.”

Referring to the dozen or so people who form the directorate of the project, he adds, “No one receives a salary. The only incentive that we receive is that things go well and that they move forward and that they continue having results.”

Henri Ewaskio is a freelance artist and teacher. She has worked in Jim Henson’s Muppet Workshop, at Plaza Sesamo in Mexico City, and with many other educational projects for children. Her writing has appeared in El Diario/La Prensa. She lives in New York City.

Original CAN/API publication: July 2004