Cuba, a street in Havana, is like all streets in Havana, fascinating. I found it quite by accident while exploring the city and decided to follow it. The irony of being on a street named ‘Cuba’ while in Cuba was not lost on me. As I neared the end of Cuba, I discovered a bonus—a boxing school. I had not set out to photograph boxing hopefuls on this day, or to find the school that in fact I didn’t know existed. However, from my vantage point outside I could see kids practicing in the open air. I went in.
Catching the eye of the instructor, I pointed to my camera and he nodded his consent. I knew enough to stay out of the way, and set to work. While there I was reminded of the inherent rhythms by which we live, the ways our bodies move through space, and the ways in which photography becomes a part of those same rhythms.
Three groups proceeded towards greatness that afternoon: the young boys learning how to protect themselves, the more professional tattooed man who trained with purpose, and the little boys, sitting in the stands, waiting their turns to move into the ranks of class members. In the end the instructor asked for a group picture. I was only too happy to oblige.