It was a warm evening in the spring of 1996—I was seated at an outdoor cafe on the Zocalo, a large public square in the center of Oaxaca, a colonial city in south-central Mexico. I was there to scout this town as a location for a series of workshops for photographers.
A tall man set two bottles of crevasse on the table, dropped a worn-out Dumkey camera bag on a chair, and fell into the chair across from me.
“Lyman. I knew I’d find you here. You have to get into Cuba before it changes." It was David Allan Harvey, a photographer friend I was expecting. He’s just flown in from Cuba on assignment for National Geographic magazine to help. He hadn’t taken a sip of beer before he began telling me about Cuba.
“Havana. Cuba. That's the place for a photography workshop, Lyman. The colors, the people, time-worn Havana. Photographers will love the place. Besides, it's a forbidden city. Americans love the forbidden.” Then he added, “That in itself would be an immediate draw. It’s not just another country; it’s a whole other world. It’s like stepping back in time, into the 1950s. You remember the 1950s, Lyman.
He kept on: “The faded grandeur. Havana was settled 100 years before the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth. The country reeks of humanity; it’s on the streets, in the bars, and in the fields. You got to get into Cuba before it changes.
“Harvey. We’re here to set up Oaxaca.” He wasn’t slowing down. We’d finished three beers before he changed the subject, or perhaps I did.
Cuba certainly had its charms, but I put it on the back burner and got busy with the work at hand. Dealing with the Mexicans would be challenging enough; dealing with Cuba, with the US embargo, communist government, and its Third World infrastructure, would be far more than I was willing to take on. I already had a full plate.
- Chapter 1 -
"Get to Cuba Before it Changes."
First things first.
Harvey knew his way around Oaxaca. A year before, he’d spent a few months here photographing the place for his magazine.
The next morning, he introduced me to Mark Leyas, the US Consulate, and then amateur photographer Tom Baxter, an expat American living full-time in the city with his Mexican girlfriend. The four of us wound up spending a week drinking, exploring, and photographing the city, the nearby villages, and the people. Mark introduced us to Francisco Toledo, a thin, energetic Mexican Zapotec artist. He was also the unofficial mayor of Oaxaca's art scene. He showed us a new space the city was renovating at his request, as a new gallery and a teaching space. We made a deal—the space for my workshops, in exchange for setting up and equipping a black-and-white darkroom and training a photo lab staff, and accepting a few local Mexicans into each of the workshops—for free.
By the time I left Oaxaca, I had a hotel lined up, a teaching space, space for a darkroom to process students’ film, and a local onsite manager. The city, with its history, colors, colonial architecture, food, and rich culture, would challenge as well as inspire our photographers, providing them with an enriching experience.
Six months later, I was back in Oaxaca with boxes of darkroom gear and supplies, a slide projector, and 15 students enrolled in a two-week master class with Mary Ellen Mark. MEM, a renowned documentary photographer, had been leading one-week master classes in Maine for years. She immediately fell in love with Oaxaca and led workshops there each winter for the next 15 years.
But Cuba never left my mind.
Street scenes from my first visit to Oaxaca. Mexico
David Allan Harvey, National Geographic Staff Photographer, 2001, Havana, Cuba