I AM REUNITED WITH THE BROTHERS AFTER A LONG ABSENCE. WE MEET IN CENTRO HABANA AND DRIVE OUT TO VAST ROLLING FARMLANDS. AT THE END OF IT, WE FOLLOW A MAN ON A HORSE TO OUR FINAL DESTINATION.
Arrived, we catch up - the brothers and I - as we plod away from penned animals, the huffing oxen, away from the vaguely curious farmers, across fields and over ruts under a sharp sun. We are still catching up, when it is time to start.
I like this fertile smell of earth and grass and animal too. And we are under a tranquil sky that promises to go on forever. And so here we are and I breathe with relief and expectation too all the way down to my toes. My soul shimmers. It shimmers for the space and the sky and the grass and the trees and the earth and it shimmers for the brothers.
The honeybrown twins, Marlon and Andro, fix me and transfix me too. The brothers do not wilt from the shining black eye of my camera. Rather, here, in the light of the day, they uncover their affection, their vivid charm, like a peacock with its brightly bursting tail, and they lay bare their lucid sensuality. By now, more men than boys, the brothers are architects of their own performance, their own bodies, their own divine youth still, still invincible and indomitable.
The brothers always look like they are up to something. There is no resistance, no reticence either. They are keepers of some divine and shining secret; and I am an unworthy scavenger, a witness, as they stir up my body and my soul too. I can do nothing of course but consent and resign and submit to that worshipful disquiet, holy or profane, as the brothers laugh and cajole and whisper and play. –BM-
Photography and text by Kevin Slack.
KEVIN SLACK | BEAUTIFULMAG