Each Cuban crisis sends a new wave of artistic talent to South Florida's shores

  BY FABIOLA SANTIAGO

  Cuba's loss is Miami's gain.

  Six years after he defected during a U.S. tour, Cuban master saxophonist Carlos Averhoff is jamming at the Van Dyke Café on Lincoln Road, an oasis for South Florida's jazz aficionados.

  Playing with Sammy Figueroa's Latin Jazz Explosion, Averhoff's fancy finger work on the tenor sax delivers one piece after another with intense rhythm and swing, from the American standard Invitation to Secuencia para ti (Sequence For You), written by his 23-year-old musician son, Carlos Averhoff Jr., who remains in Cuba.

  The senior Averhoff was a saxophonist for Cuba's world-renowned jazz ensemble Irakere, a musical revolution when it was founded in Havana in the 1970s. As if this weren't enough musical accomplishment for one lifetime, Averhoff was also a founding member of another Cuban sensation, the dance band NG La Banda, creators of the sexy timba style.

  Now, he's at Miami's doorstep, playing his instrument in top form, teaching privately and at Florida International University and Miami-Dade College -- another transplanted Cuban talent to a city still young and in the process of creating a cultural identity.

  ''I don't have the ambition of fame and money,'' Averhoff quips. ``I'm here with my music and I'm having a lot of fun.''

  So is South Florida, judging by the crowd packed at the club this Friday night, and by other audiences relishing the theater, book readings, art shows and a host of other blossoming cultural activities being infused with Cuban talent, exodus after exodus.

  It's a bittersweet reality: With every new crisis in Cuba, Miami gains another layer of contributors to the cultural scene.

  ''We were victims of a macabre totalitarian experiment in Cuba, but we have arrived with a lot of energy, with the will to create and to contribute here,'' says actress Lili Rentería, who came to Miami in 1997 and last year launched Teatro Abanico, a promising theater venture in Coral Gables that also doubles as art gallery space.

  NEW VISION

  The vision of the new exiles, colored by the freshness of their experience in Cuba, their rigorous cultural training on the island, and their travels to perform abroad, adds more layers to the Cuban arts community, which has been diversifying since the Mariel boatlift brought in 1980 an impressive cast of writers and painters.

  An example: One of Teatro Abanico's most successful works, a riotous adaptation in Spanish of Neil Simon's play The Last of the Red Hot Lovers, brought the packed theater to a standing ovation.

  Among Rentería's clever twists -- Simon could have never imagined this -- the work closes with the catchy tune Ahora sí tengo la llave (Now I Have the Key) by Habana Abierta, a cutting-edge but almost underground Cuban band beloved by the generation of more recent arrivals. Now in Madrid, the group is reuniting for its first concert in Miami in October, another anticipated cultural milestone.

  And the exodus of artists and intellectuals from the island doesn't seem likely to slow down.

  In the aftermath of Cuba's recent stiff jail sentences for dissidents and independent journalists, the heightened atmosphere of repression is already yielding notable new defections.

  After a period of soul-searching following his sold-out art show in Coral Gables, Requiem for Havana, artist Ismael Gómez Peralta decided to stay. A painter of mournful Havana buildings in a state of decay, he has a new studio at the edge of Little Havana and is preparing an exhibit that will feature Cuba's historic churches and cemeteries.

  Last May, the island's premier classical guitarist, Rey Guerra, in Mexico to perform, crossed the border with his wife and daughter and came to live with his parents and brother in Hialeah.

  Says the Latin Grammy-nominated Guerra, who is already busy composing new music, preparing to record and eager to participate in South Florida's classical music scene, "It's like being born again.''

  MODEST START

  In South Florida, the Cuban cultural infusion dates back to the earliest days of exile in the '60s when artists and intellectuals began to transplant their work here, building the modest foundations of a culture with small theater companies like Grateli, which performed zarzuelas, Cuban operettas and endeavors like bookseller Ediciones Universal, which doubles as a publisher.

  Back then, most exiled artists -- including high profile stars like Celia Cruz -- had to leave for New York or Puerto Rico to recharge their careers. But today, Miami is a more cosmopolitan, international city, and for many Cuban artists and intellectuals new to exile, it has become home base.

  ''We're living magical moments in Miami. I sense the awakening of a strong cultural life, and it's not just the Cubans, but the convergence of Hispanics from everywhere who are bringing many visions,'' says Félix Lizárraga, an award-winning playwright and poet in Cuba who traveled to Mexico to participate in a cultural event then crossed the U.S. border in 1994.

  ''I'm a balsero by generation, but technically, I'm a wetback,'' Lizárraga jokes.

  And it is his generation -- like the Mariel generation did in the 1980s -- that is coming into its own in Miami now, diversifying the scope of music, art, books and theater.

  At first, Lizárraga, winner of Cuba's prestigious Premio David in 1981 for his book Beatrice, had to work all sorts of odd blue-collar jobs to support himself. But as he attended tertulias -- get-togethers among intellectuals and artists -- Lizárraga started making contacts in Miami's theater community and cultural circles.

  As a result, he has published two poetry books with small Miami-based publishers, A la manera de Arcimboldo (In the Manner of Arcimboldo) and Los panes y los peces (Bread and Fish), he works as a freelance translator and editor -- and he has written two whimsical theater pieces staged by the theater group Prometeo before sold-out crowds.

  The first, La farsa maravillosa del Gato con Botas (The Marvelous Farce of the Puss in Boots), was a liberal adaptation of the famous children's story, Puss in Boots, written in verse. It had a three-month run and closed only because the actor in the lead role had to leave town.

  The second, Matías el aviador, was an adaptation of the classic The Little Prince. In Lizárraga's version, a guitarist sings verses to the tune of a mournful Guantanamera as the prince, named Matías, travels from planet to planet. The Matías-prince character is a reference to the legendary Cuban aviator Matías Pérez, who left the island on a hot-air balloon and disappeared, never to be heard from again.

  It was a story full of the wisdom of the original Little Prince tale -- but with a touching Cuban flair. The packed theater was moved to tears, laughter and applause. And in the actor-audience exchange following the performances, it became clear that there were more than just Cubans in the crowd.

  ''I thought the flaw was that the work was too weighty on Cuban references -- the Prince loses his roots as happens with all of us who leave Cuba or who remain in Cuba but in an internal exile -- but the piece turned out to have universal appeal,'' Lizárraga says.

  OPPORTUNITY ABROAD

  As it is for most other exiles, for artists and intellectuals the dramatic decision to leave Cuba is closely linked to a mix of political restraints and personal circumstances.

  ''It's not that there is a crisis in Cuba,'' says Averhoff, 56. ``Cuba is in a perennial crisis -- it's a disastrous place. For an artist, it's a matter of opportunity, of having the right one come along so you can escape.''

  For Averhoff, the opportunity came in the form of a tour with singer Issac Delgado at a time when the saxophonist had fallen in love with a Colombian woman he met while touring in that country.

  The two had reunited in the United States. Like a sad jazzy ballad, the love story ended, but Averhoff and his music stayed in Miami.

  He launched a modest new life with the help of a cousin who supported him the first nine months as he made contacts in the music world, tapped into educational
  institutions, found new students.

  He says he has no regrets.

  ''An exodus of artists and intellectuals is always a loss for a country,'' Averhoff says, ``but in the case of Cuba, that island generates more musicians than any place in the hemisphere. In Cuba, there's nothing to do but study your music, drink and have sex. So people study the arts seriously, talents flourish, and there's a constant churning of new artists.''

  Generation after generation, it's a pipeline that feeds Miami's cultural life.