Doors in Angel Delgado and Rafael
Villares
Angel Delgado (b. 1965) refers to the images in his
series Límite continuo (p. 24) as “intervened photographs.”
These are photographs depicting chains, locks, and barbed
wire, printed on cloth, to which Delgado adds a drawing
in wax pencil. The photograph is both the central piece
“intervened” by the drawing, and the context or setting for
a small sketch of a human figure lost in a Kafkaesque maze.
The images suggest an array of emotions, ranging from
the feeling of isolation to the idea of living in a politically
or existentially besieged state or in a state of suspension
between carefully guarded borders.
The title Límite continuo (p. 24) which can be translated
as “continuous limit,” reminds us of the impermeability of
Cuba, an island that is embargoed both from within and
from without. It can also and more generally speak of the
loneliness of modern man. The human figure, drawn in
wax pencil and embedded in a photograph of barbed wire
and giant locks, is almost abstract: a solitary man who
waits, or remains trapped, in an inexplicable world.
The photographic elements in the work are traditional: an image captured by a lens and printed on a sensitive
surface; in this case, a canvas. Yet, the drawing embedded in the picture frame produces the effect of breaking
or “intervening” in the photographic medium. The work
superimposes not only two artistic languages—painting
and photography—but two levels of interpretation, creating
a story when the human figure intervenes in the landscape
and serves as mark or index of subjectivity, however vague,
in the otherwise dehumanized scene. The human figure,
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moreover, is all the more powerful in its neutral, generic
appearance since it invites a multitude of identifications.
Photography and drawing together point to human patience, or despair, in an impossible, unnerving, perpetual
state of siege.
While Angel Delgado works with padlocks, Rafael
Villares (b. 1989) works with imaginary doors. Villares’
process of composition follows three steps: first, he photographs well-known Havana landscapes such as the
Malecón, the Focsa building, the Hotel Nacional, and
the Habana Libre Hotel. The artist includes himself in a
position that suggests that he is manually painting doors
in the air. Finally, he digitally adds doors. The series is
called Finisterre (p. 47), a title that only obliquely suggests
the disconnection from the world about which the images
so powerfully speak. Like the images created by Delgad o,
Villares’ suggest that enclosure is a perpetual state that can
only be transcended by magical or digital means. Though
virtual, the door on the Malecón, an esplanade and seawall that follows the contour of the island, is a testimonial
element: it attests to the fantasy of exit, of leaving and
returning freely (the images are from 2005, when exit visas
were required for Cuban citizens and were often denied),
or even the fantasy of canceling out the geographical and/
or political insularity. Similarly, the door that opens to the
Habana Libre (Free Havana) hotel seems like a joke: if you
open the door, what you find is a free Havana. Or it discusses perhaps an internal frontier posed by the double economy that gives rights to tourists to enjoy spaces that are
not available to most Cuban citizens. The double economy
separates those citizens who receive remesas (remittances)