I bring the camera to my eyes, frame, shoot. I take three steps back, I turn, frame, shoot. I travel miles and miles on board a 1956 Chevrolet glued to these leather seats, I look out the window, snap. I try to capture it in all its beauty but I am always too far away, sometimes too close. It is like a large animal in motion, ferocious. I load another roll, I shoot, but I can only catch it in passing, its trail enchants me. It is a big wounded animal that smiles at me desperately, the soul of this country, Cuba. I continue to move, to travel for miles, on horseback, on the run, with makeshift transports. Shooting. I am disheartened because days and weeks go by and this big animal remains at a distance from me. Kilometers, click. The windshield and the mirror of the car replaced the edge of the film, frame after frame testify to my desperation. Havana, Viñales, my head is spinning, Santa Clara, I am stepped on but I smile, Trinidad. This is what remains, a moving, blurry photograph, hunting this wonderful animal. Cuba.

March 2020, Cuba