Yoan Capote’s fishhook paintings are as seductive as they are menacing. From afar they look like tranquil seascapes; from up close, they disorientate and threaten — just like the deadly waters around the Caribbean.

In Isla (Rojo), thick impasto creates a swirling, blood-red sky. Swelling beneath is a dark, stormy sea consisting of thousands of tiny fishhooks that pierce the canvas. For Cubans, the sea is both a symbol of hope and of death. Here, Capote explores that duality. ‘When I was a child, I looked to the horizon and would imagine the world beyond,’ he said. ‘The sea represents the seductiveness of these dreams, but at the same time danger and isolation.’