Posts by Robin Blackstone

At the Escuela Nacional de Ballet in Old Havana, the dancers train in front of mirrors their founder could barely have used. By Robin Blackstone The first thing I noticed was the mirror. It had a long vertical crack running from the top of the frame nearly to the floor, the kind of fissure that…

In Antigua, the faithful carry the weight of sin. With bowed shoulders they walk, swaying to relieve the burden, faces fixed on duty. The streets are choked with incense, the air thick with devotion and doubt. A family kneels for hours, shaping their alfombra—a carpet of flowers and colored dust. Dust to dust. At last, the…

The eternal mother and her child—she holds him tightly, her face lit by flame, her mind far away. Around them, the river glows. Thousands of lamps drift upon the Ganges, each a promise whispered to the night. This is Diwali—the Festival of Lights, when fire itself becomes prayer. She wonders if the ceremony can hold…