The Artisan

My mom is from Havana and my dad from Matanzas. Like many other Cubans who left after the Revolution, their story is one of displacement and profound sadness, but it’s also one of creativity and resiliency. I was raised listening to many stories about Cuba and eventually began traveling to the island as an attempt to engage with my culture. After returning multiple times and traveling to every place that my parents mentioned, I began to explore parts of Cuba unfamiliar to them. I realized I was trying to discover what Cuba meant to me independent of what the island meant to them, and it was during one of these visits when I stumbled upon Gibara, the remote fishermen town twelve hours east of Havana. Early into my trip, I noticed that the Gibara had a big cemetery sitting atop a hill, overlooking the ocean. I couldn’t help but think how spaces like this would generally be saved for wealthy constructions, but this town had reserved the area for the their loved ones who have passed, so that they can enjoy the majestic view forever. I’m not even religious, but found the idea profound, and it served as the impetus for “The Artisan.” I wanted my protagonist to resist visiting her grave on the anniversary of her death until interactions with his community give him the strength get there and properly grief. We are nothing without our community, and this short always reminds me that we’re never alone.