by Alejandro Castellote
There is something magical about the characters that inhabit Daniel Weinstock’s work.
They may have been drawn from a hallucinogenic journey or belong to that surreal universe that appears to be enveloped in an onirical halo in David Lynch’s theater, except that they are real.
Their unsettling presence elicits our most irrational fears, recalling the frailty of reason and the proximity of madness.
Images are manipulated in such a way that they further accentuate the fantastic, sometimes grotesque nature of their protagonists. The subtle reference to Diane Arbus that floated in the earliest portraits in black and white is now deactivated after some expressionistic interventions.
Rather than photographic references, its characters refers to the splitting of realities narrated by Juan Rulfo in Pedro Páramo.
Weinstock crosses the ambiguous borders of madness, using delirium and tenderness to create a self-portrait through borrowed figures, perhaps the self-same ones that I once was. This is one way of understanding what it feels like to be on the other side.