Cuba
Words and Photography by John Hendrick
The Comment That Changed Everything
It started with a simple comment.
I was scrolling through Instagram, not long after relocating from Washington, D.C., to San Antonio, Texas. One of my newly found Leica friends had posted about a potential photography trip—somewhere big, somewhere bold. I left a reply: “Can’t wait to see what you create.” I meant it as encouragement. What I didn’t expect was a message back: “You should come with us.”
A few weeks later, I was sitting at a gate in Miami, purchasing a $75 visa and boarding a flight to Havana, Cuba, for what would become one of the most defining photography experiences of my life.
New Camera. New Friends. New Chapter.
Let’s rewind just a few months.
After buying my first Leica M240 in 2017, I quickly discovered that the boutique I purchased it from also hosted gallery exhibitions. I decided to attend one mostly out of curiosity, still unaware of what the Leica community truly was. That evening, I met two individuals who would go on to play pivotal roles in my photographic journey. They invited me out to shoot, to talk cameras, to connect.
But before we could build anything in person, life shifted. I was moving to San Antonio, and our friendship would have to survive through DMs and photo tags. It did and that bond eventually led to Havana.
Havana: A Study in Stillness
Traveling to Cuba wasn’t easy, especially as an active-duty service member. Securing leave, gaining approval, and navigating the politics of travel took effort. But somehow, it all aligned. And in February 2020, just weeks before the world changed, I found myself walking through the streets of Havana, Leica in hand, eyes wide open.
This was my first real introduction to the genre known as “street photography.” I had unknowingly practiced it before, mostly during travel capturing candid moments, observing people in motion. But this was the first time I understood the intention behind it. With my two friends both seasoned in the craft I began to see things differently.
They didn’t know it at the time, but they were opening a door for me. And I was ready to walk through it.
A Disconnect That Brought Me Closer
Cuba offered a rare gift: disconnection.
With limited internet access and virtually no contact with the outside world, there were no distractions. No scrolling. No notifications. Just cameras, conversations, and a country rich in texture, history, and human expression.
The Leica M system thrived here. Its compact design made me invisible; its simplicity made me present. I wandered through neighborhoods and plazas, absorbing light, color, and faces. I wasn’t chasing perfection, I was chasing connection.
What I found was more than just moments. I found story. I found rhythm. I found myself in the frame.
From Street to Gallery
One of the images from that trip would later hang on a gallery wall in San Antonio, a moment captured on a Havana sidewalk, now shared with strangers in my new hometown. That single image sold multiple times over four months. I printed one for framing and opened up an edition to accommodate the requests.
At the time, I didn’t realize what I was capturing. Looking back, I now see those frames as some of the strongest of my early career.
A Before and an After
That trip marked a before and after.
Before Cuba, photography was still something I was exploring grasping at, learning. After Cuba, it became something I lived. The timing was surreal. We returned home just days before global travel shut down and the COVID-19 pandemic changed the world. But my world had already shifted.
Today, those two friends remain at the center of my journey. What started as a gallery visit and a casual comment turned into a lifelong bond, one rooted in creativity, curiosity, and shared vision.
The Value of Yes
Sometimes, all it takes is a $75 visa. But more importantly, it takes a yes.
Yes to new places. Yes to new people. Yes to being the beginner. And yes to taking the first step, even when you don’t yet know where the road will lead.
I said yes to Havana. And in return, it gave me everything.