I’d been living in Cuba for about a year when I met Marta. She was sitting in her friend Mita’s car, a woman I was shooting a project for. Marta was smoking a cigarette and had long nails. I took a picture.
They were picking me up from the police station, I’d been taken into custody for photographing a police officer on the street, and I didn’t have my press credentials on me.
Marta’s hand, the first photo I took of her before seeing her face.
The photo I took which led to my being taken in to the police station.
Marta had “guara,” the Cuban word for a certain ease at befriending perfect strangers. I can’t remember what we did that day but Marta got my number and started calling me, often, asking me to come over and hang out Read more…
More about Immigration, Cuba, Photo Stories, and Watercooler
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