Product Description

Robert Polidori, often considered an architectural photographer, is in fact a photographer of habitat. On the surface his subjects are buildings, but at the core his lens is focused on the remnants and traces of living he finds scattered in hallways, left in back rooms and worn on facades. His spectacular color photographs are presented here in an appropriately oversized volume that capture both their monumentality and their attention to detail. Havana is a particularly rich setting for Polidori's inquiries. The curves and columns that line the streets refer to past eras and speak of the political, social, and economic forces that have driven the city to its present condition. Through his rigorous and sensitive examination - facilitated by a sense of color and composition that makes his photographs feel like vivid memories - Polidori delicately peels away the patina of daily living and reveals the juxtapositions that create a city's identity. His photographs define the idea of faded grandeur. In this city the peddler lives where the countess once resided; children dance and tumble where merchants conducted their business. Each photograph is a discovery and a fragment of the city's biography.

Robert Polidori was born in Montréal in 1951 and lives in New York City. He has exhibited photographs in Paris, Brasilia, New York, Los Angeles and Minneapolis. He is a regular contributor to "The New Yorker," "Geo" and "Architectural Digest Germany." Polidori has received numerous honors, including a World Press Award for his coverage of the Getty Museum and two Alfred Eisenstaedt Awards for his work in Havana and Brasilia. Edited by Elizabeth Culbert. Essay by Eduardo Luis Rodriguez.

152 color.

15.25 x 11.75 in.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #372469 in Books
• Published on: 2001-08-15
• Released on: 2001-08-02
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 160 pages

Amazon.com Review
Robert Polidori's Havana is a haunting city of sherbet colors and peeling stucco, grand colonial architecture in decay, and real people who hang their laundry across a lofty foyer in an old mansion. Polidori's photographs, which fill the pages of this beautiful, oversized book, appear without comment, yet it is impossible to miss the affection and melancholy of his highly personal vision.

Review
...it's a lyrical romantic quality founded on fact, not just sweet romantic sentiment... -- The New York Times, August 23, 2001 --William L. Hamilton

…chronicles the faded grandeur of Cuba’s crumbling colonial architecture. -- Elms Street, September 2001

About the Author
Elizabeth Culbert is a New York-based art historian.

Customer Reviews

Melancholia made graphic
This is an extraordinarily beautiful book, extraordinarily well produced. Polidori is a graphic poet.

But then, what is it all about? No travel book, this.

There was a grand city, with grand, refined living, there was a sense of the visual, even in the simplest laying of stone upon a stone. The photographs attest to that. The grace, like the decay, is real. The rich, varied hues are real, if from fraying, unretouched paint, destined to change and pale with each passing day. Polidori's colors are not meant to be restored nor will ever there be a patina to be cleaned. Their destiny is to fade. One would like to think of this Havana as a grand opera set for a Nozze or an Ariadne where protagonists move like ghosts among the ruins, talking of betrayals, regrets and happy loves that are now merely wise. For some of us, that it is. For some of us it is the stones that are real, the peeling paint and the broken down chandeliers. People are the interlopers, people are like things, being where they do not belong. Yet in a grander sense those of us may be self-deceived. For in these pictures there is no real tension between flesh and wall. The grandiloquent decay, like an ever swelling musty velvet cape, gathers crumbling stone to unweeded garden to limpid sky to people ...... all into a deeply bundled melancholic recessional that will swallow everything and leave only moonless night behind. There is no future in this past, perhaps the most melancholy conjecture of all. It seems to me most photographs are lit by the late afternoon sun. The beauty makes one cry, we see our lives in the peeling paint and broken balustrades, the broken window frames, cracked marble, the rusted iron gates ....perhaps nowhere more than in the curious compromises of antiquated artifacts for everyday living pragmatically juxtaposed to broken down rococo splendor or dismembered bourgeois grandeur, trying to make do but never quite. This is brutally the passage of time with no attempt at cosmetic dissimulation or philosophical delay. We are all beyond reflection. Each picture seems to say unequivocally: all this has passed and all this will pass. Perhaps Havana has come to an old preordained denouement, arrived at a culmination old and forgotten, in the event, a summit, an end: Havana as a place never meant to truly be, a creature of our dreams, an incantation..... Wallace Stevens who only visited the Havana of the mind, wrote in "Academic Discourse in Havana" (1936):

"This may be benediction, sepulcher, and epitaph......
An infinite incantation of our selves
In the grand decadence of the perished swans."

The several "times" of Havana
Looking straight into this book, the author give us a remarquable view of old houses that are still fabulous under the architectural point of view. But if you are an inteligent reader, you will discover that this book is also about how time interacts with the other times, the historical, the political, the cultural and the social. Through the photos of Polidori you can understand more about Havana than through all the literature.
The best book on Havana that I own, among more than two dozens, and the one with the more interesting angle about the history of cuban people. I know the city quite well, and I can assure you that you will be delighted with the "perfume" you get from it.

Robert Polidori: Havana
Visceral images of a unique city, in which splendor and squalor are juxtaposed, and the past is suspended within the present, decaying yet enduring. Robert Polidori has captured the beauty and melancholy of Havana, gazing unflinchingly at the ruins and the people who inhabit them. When the boycott is finally lifted, all this will be swept away by a tide of new development, so try to see it now and use this wonderful book as an introduction and a lasting memento. (Michael Webb is the book reviewer for LA Architect magazine.)