+ By Rahsaan “Wordslave” Eldridge
The work of art is a scream of freedom.
–Christo (1935–2000)
Freedom of speech is vital to art and its practitioners. However, in some countries outside of the United States, freely expressing oneself is not a constitutional right. As a result, some artists are forced to find ways to create under the radar to avoid censorship, harassment, or worse—imprisonment or exile. For some artists, the cost of freedom is their homeland. Mauricio Vega grew up without much opportunity, but that has never stopped him from his artistic pursuits, even when it meant leaving home.
Vega, who has been in Annapolis for a couple of years, never planned to come to the United States and was content building a life in Cuba despite its societal limitations. His mother made sure he learned English early because she knew it would broaden the scope of opportunities for success. Vega says that art has always been a part of him and credits his mother for fostering that early interest.
In elementary school, he didn’t have video games, so he created games in notebooks with drawings of different levels. He and his friends would apply pressure to a pencil, let it go, and where it landed on the paper determined whether a player advanced to the next level. His mother noticed his creativity early and placed him in an arts program. His first culminating project was curating a student art show—it was a foreshadowing experience to his future as an artist heavily invested in community and collective. In middle school, he received an internship in graphic design through a program at his mother’s job.
In Havana, where Vega grew up, the programs for artists were limited and under heavy government supervision and restrictions. An artist may have access to resources, but the ceiling for most artists is doing only government-sanctioned work. Working for embassies can also be a good way to work as an artist but can be risky if the government were to label the work as “foreign propaganda.” Anything that doesn’t conform to the government’s ideology can make life problematic for artists.
The evolution of computer and communication technologies in the 1990s and early 2000s played a big part in widening the horizon for independent Cuban artists. The emergence of flash drives and the internet helped propel underground artistic movements, which had its risks. Vega saw those advancements and the artists who used them as pivotal in his development. It sparked his belief that art could be successfully created and shared in spite of government restrictions. “One good thing that comes out of that intense restriction is that you have to engage with community,” he says.
Vega studied graphic design at the Havana Design Institute. While he was there, a friend introduced him to fanzines, also called zines, underground art publications consisting of illustration, graphic design, narrative, and poetry on a few sheets of folded paper. Vega loved the concept and started creating his own zines with friends. He would do all the graphic design and solicit the artists and writers. Because it was underground, printing options were limited, and only 1,000 to 2,000 printed copies could be made. Sometimes, they would get old printers from churches and restore them or the churches would print the zines for a low cost, but that was challenging due to the risk of the government finding out they were supporting the underground artists. The focus of the zines wasn’t political, but because they weren’t government sanctioned, it was inherently unsafe—creating them was fundamentally an act of resistance.
Havana has a wider range of media access than on the outskirts of the island. As a result, distributing the fanzines in areas outside of the city was difficult, especially since the operation was hand-to-hand and word of mouth. It also had to be done discreetly, for fear of repercussions. Vega’s school friends would help deliver the zines in areas outside of Havana, and people would pass them on when they were finished reading the issue. There were also more unorthodox ways the zines would circulate. A library in Havana collaborated with the Belgian embassy to make comics available on their shelves and reached out to Vega to include his zines under that umbrella. Also, a tattoo shop that used the front of the shop as a storefront and art display invited Vega to sell his publication there.
Vega’s artistic network expanded beyond zines. He created Festivo, a three-day arts festival that capitalized on the increased tourism in Havana after the United States started easing its travel ban in the 2010s. The increased tourism led to a boom in Airbnb housing. Vega and his friends took advantage by renting houses to host their festival. The first festival was so successful they upgraded to a bigger house the next year. Vega still needed to be careful about promoting it as it was unsanctioned, but the tourist traffic provided great cover. Even the church was helpful in the early phases of the festival—in Havana, people have the right to assemble at church without much interference from the government, but there is still tension because some religious teachings may oppose some of the law. After hosting an art opening at a church, Vega was asked not to return because it brought with it too much government attention.
Vega spearheaded zine publications and hosted Festivo successfully for years. Then came the COVID-19 pandemic. He was used to being detained or interrogated by police, but the government began using the COVID-19 lockdown to help crack down on protests. Anyone exercising freedom of speech, including independent artists, was subject to heightened legal action. Instead of just being detained and questioned, he saw friends exiled or imprisoned, with no prospect of release. It became increasingly dangerous for Vega and his family to remain in Cuba if he wanted to continue being an independent artist.
David Bempong is pastor of Downtown Hope Church in Annapolis. He and Vega befriended each other in Havana at one of Vega’s Festivos. Bempong became aware of Vega’s situation and offered him the position of director of music and arts at the church.
What Bempong and Vega have in common is deeper than a love for the arts. Vega recalls a conversation with a friend, a nonbeliever, he notes, who questioned him, “Do you really believe in God? If so, are you walking toward that, or living in a way where God is over there, but [you have your] life over here?” That conversation deeply affected Vega, who then reengaged in his faith because he believed it was God speaking to him.
For Vega, art is a form of worship. In addition to coordinating the music at Downtown Hope, he curates art events in the sanctuary and hopes to further integrate art into the church and the services it offers. He wants to continue connecting with artists in the community, such as those at ArtFarm Studios, with whom he collaborated on art installations during Annapolis Art Week in 2024. He also wants to continue creating zines and rebuild his network to include local artists and his Cuban artist friends, many of whom have moved to different areas in the world. Even under the heaviest restrictions, Vega has always found a way to express himself, and there’s no doubt he’ll continue to do the same here.
