From This Shore
HAVANA TIMES – Three women on a boat stranded on the coast—my daughter, my mother, and me, three generations carrying the weight of memory and the uncertainty of the present. That’s how I see myself, portrayed in a piece of visual art that expresses not only my truth but also that of the artist, who, through her technique, turns these women into protagonists of a collective story.
“From This Shore” stands as a visual declaration of fragility and hope. It was created on an island marked by material scarcity, diaspora, and the creativity of its people.
The structure of the piece creates a narrative that swings between the poetic and the critical. For some, this artist’s work is about feminism and the role of women in today’s society. I see it differently.
And because I know that art usually invites multiple interpretations, I’ll share mine based solely on the visual codes the artist used, beyond the personal echoes the piece stirs in me.
The acrylic painting on canvas is visually divided into three horizontal planes, incorporating symbolic elements in a technique that mimics stained glass, with soft pastel tones and black outlines.
A sky heavy with clouds and a sun shaped like a sunflower that, instead of radiating light, seems to observe from the center. Its presence suggests that, despite the surrounding unease, faith in a better future persists.
Mountains and palm trees are reflected in the water. This harmony is broken by waves crashing against the rocks at the shore, where some road signs lie twisted and useless. These signs, usually associated with order and progress, here symbolize the ruins of a failed system.
The water is no longer just a natural mirror. The mountains and palms place the viewer within the Cuban landscape, while the remaining symbols convey a sociopolitical message.
Debris and crows on the rocks in the foreground. These birds are traditionally associated with omens and survival in hostile environments. Taken together, this can be read as a metaphor for social and economic deterioration, as well as a reminder of the Cuban people’s capacity for adaptation.
The boat stranded on this shoreline becomes the narrative axis of the piece. Aboard it “travel” three women of different generations.
It’s hard for me not to see my daughter, with her dreams and plans for an increasingly uncertain future. My mother, aging among smoke from the stove, mosquitoes, blackouts, and so many farewells at her fingertips. And myself, as a link between the two, too old to dream, too young to give up.
I feel that many Cuban women are on the same boat, one that doesn’t take us anywhere, that keeps us stuck on the shore where an obsolete system is dying.
The final message of the piece may be ambiguous. On the one hand, it’s a critique of the island’s deterioration, abandoned infrastructure, garbage, the boat that doesn’t sail, symbols of a stagnant country. On the other hand, it’s an homage to the women who persist, who never stop seeking the light.
The title From This Shore is an inner voice narrating with pain, but without surrender, the complexity of inhabiting a territory in crisis. Every element weaves a story about the island as both a physical and symbolic space, where beauty and desolation coexist, and where resistance, though worn down, does not end.