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IF IT SEEMS like there’s been an explosion in Cuban photography recently, that’s correct. "It’s an interesting time to go to Cuba," says Boston photographer Lou Jones, whose own exhibition of Cuban photography was at the DeCordova Museum a few years ago. "It’s like Jurassic Park — you find a culture that’s locked into a time 50 years ago. Everyone lives inside of this period moving slowly through history. Buildings that were regal and sophisticated 100 years ago are now crowded and useful. There’s a whole culture inside these buildings."

The impression a casual visitor will get of Old Havana, or the City of the Republic, is that glorious older buildings abound, yet the whole place seems abandoned because the structures haven’t been maintained for decades. But these are inhabited places. Polidori was intrigued by the juxtaposition of families dwelling in historic buildings that were intended for other purposes. "One of the things that attracted me to Havana was being able to look at a recent strata of history with certain stratas missing," he says. "There are other places in the world where you can see this — you can go to Yemen and see medieval architecture that’s untouched. This is all based on sociopolitical economics — that’s the determining factor here."

In another sweeping interior vista, Downstairs from the Paladar La Guarida, Concordia 418 (Between Gervasio and Escobar), Centro Habana, the tones are grades of glowing sepia and off-white. A staircase with a wrought-iron banister is at the center of the photograph, but the focus is more on the three Corinthian-topped columns balancing arches with decorative blooms. The light is natural — Polidori prefers using available illumination — and on the other side of the arches is another ceiling with crumbling plaster and exposed laths.

But there are also clotheslines hung with white sheets and garments. The white sheets echo the stark bleached sunlight pouring through wide windows topped with classical pediments. Pathos and austerity fuse in this still life. "Some people see the show and see sun-drenched tropics and rum drinks in the background, and others see sadness," says Padjen. "Those extremes are in Cuba itself, and that has something to do with our general broader fascination with the country and what these photographs capture."

But Cuba actually does have a window into the West. "It’s not like they’re completely cut off," says Polidori. "They get TV from Latin American countries." But it’s also problematic for Cubans to travel: "They don’t have the money or the right visas, so if you can’t go, you don’t mind people coming to you." As for Polidori returning to Cuba, each trip is different, and it’s not getting easier. "If I return, I have to follow the laws and go under the exceptions given to journalists," he says. "It’s a whole circumlocutious runaround."

The trade embargo has also made for some difficulties. "I did have some trouble because I published my Havana book with a German publisher, and the first time he sent royalty payments by wire transfer that simply said ‘Havana book,’" Polidori recalls. "Three months later, I hear from the Treasury Department wanting to know what it is."

It takes months to sort out the snags caused by such trifles, but that’s nowhere near the trouble Polidori takes with his development and printing procedures. He shoots a very large negative — four inches by five inches — on normal color-negative film that’s processed "in the normal way." The negatives are scanned on high-quality drum scanners for a digital print, which he then works with on his computer, where it’s "corrected and made precise. With a negative, it’s like an x-ray," he explains. "You have to know how to interpret the information that’s there." What Polidori finds is cubanidad through and through.

"Havana: Photographs by Robert Polidori" is on display at the Peabody Essex Museum, in Salem, through January 9, 2005. Call (978) 745-9500. Sally Cragin can be reached at sally@moonsigns.net