Daniel Fuster paints as action. We do not find in these canvases a revisionist, historicist desire or clear references. Because they are not in their strength, nor in the dynamics, nor in the organization of that table or that other.

Like Pier Paolo Passolini -another transhumanist- he has few principles, but very solid ones and the first of them is to resist painting, through a solemn affirmation of the most useless acts (the difficult ones).

Symmetry is not found in the work either: this author is not willing to generate equal visual weights, he prefers the dynamism of decompensation. because he has the desperate idea of ​​not allowing principles or dogmas to be necessary and in this way, not diminishing as a human being.

The performative exercise on the work of art has previously been resolved, stepping on the canvas, painting on the support and attacking the painting, as if it were a battlefield…
We will not find images in these canvases that summon sensations. It would seem rather that they are invocations, almost religious, of places of the mind and the viscera. They are sayings of violence, they are passages of life, they are vomiting of possibilities. They are paintings made by a guilty person. They are sensations. The guilt (another tool of beauty).

The aura that Walter Benjamin spoke of – that movement of the image towards the viewer – here could be developed as an attack from the memory of the action that occurred. We could think that the paintings in front of us are a place of transit that does not belong to the artist except under his eyelids while he makes them. They are moving towards the image.

(…)

Paints are not expected to have a smell. They say that Miquel Barceló’s ones stank of rotten shrimp. We may understand a poetic aroma, but not the deep stench that these paintings give off: of sperm, of saline sweat, of crushed bodies, of the moment in which everything impossible takes flight again during the time it crosses the partition, of foam and nodding off. They smell like diesel. It smells like someone unknown at a crosswalk of no return. It smells like images that whisper. They smell like that look (that disappears from us)

There seems to be no agreement on whether there is a life after this, as if one were not enough. You can live in these paintings. The author refuses to die without first trying to decipher, think and interpret the painting that is enclosed. It refuses to be a single thing, it refuses the narcopolitics of classification, it refuses silence or noise. All this work presented here is conceived as a present. We see a past and consummate a luminous future (in the hands of its author).

About Daniel Fuster by Javier Lozano