Jenia Fridlyand grew up in the Soviet Union in the years just prior to perestroika. Visiting Cuba in the second decade of the twenty-first century felt like an uncanny homecoming. While both tangible and familiar, the grim fabric of the communist quotidian kept unravelling for Fridlyand under the bright, tropical sun. With a large-format camera and a photographic practice rooted in the American tradition, she traveled throughout the island during several extended trips, intuitively training her lens on moments holding both the known and the novel—from a pair of donkeys silhouetted against hilltops, a customer at a barber shop and a pair of rocking chairs seen through an open door, to drops of sweat on a man’s curved back and sweet fruit hanging ripe on a tree.