He spent his youth in Israel (Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Kibbutz Galed), and later lived for three years in Florence, Italy, where he began his career as a painter. In 1985, he returned to Mexico City and spent two years attending engraving and lithography workshops at the Academy of San Carlos. “I have always been suspicious and uncomfortable with words. From a very early age, the world of images has always been a more solid and secure space for me. Therefore, painting, with all its limitations, has been the ideal medium for me to weave together my multiple and contradictory personalities. At times I feel like an intuitive caveman; at other times, a conceptual artist.”

Viskin produjo "TEMPLO DEL (Cielo y el) DESTINO" en el marco de PATIO de ABC Art Baja y permaneció en el Jardín Escultórico para ser reactivado unos meses después. TEMPLO DEL (Cielo y el) DESTINO Acostarse en la hamaca, a una hora que la ubicación del sol permita mirar el cielo, es un rezo. El vaivén de la hamaca pone el ritmo, tu mente la plegaria. Empezamos como siempre por las deudas no pagadas, por las deudas no cobradas. Algún tramite pendiente, un pleito judicial en puerta, un divorcio, un dinero perdido, robado, confiscado. Aparece el amigo traicionado, el sueño sacrificado. !Ah! ¡Las encrucijadas! Ella o ella. Él o ella. Canadá o Mérida. Tenerlo o no tenerlo. Renunciar o esperar. Huir o resignarse. UNAM o la Ibero. Participar o mantenerse al margen. Suspiras y justo a través del suspiro, ves el cielo. Ves el cielo y lo ves mirándote. Si logras mantener su mirada empieza el verdadero rezo. Pero esa es otra historia. Curioso que los templos tengan techo. Como si quisieran protegernos de ver el cielo. Algunos, la Capilla Sixtina como líder, pintan el techo. Quieren sustituir el cielo pero solo logran darnos torticolis; lástima que no cuelguen hamacas. Alguna vez tuve una novia que adoraba el I Ching. Cada noche tirábamos las tres monedas y buscábamos las respuestas que ni la hamaca ni el cielo nos daban. Añoro algunos fragmentos de aquel libro grueso. Estar frente al tribunal de los sabios budistas barbudos que con palabras como “carreta”, “río”, “dragón”, nos asesoraban sobre las deudas no pagadas o no cobradas. Sobre el amigo traicionado. Sobre la Unam o la Ibero. Con el tiempo las “carretas”, “los ríos” y “los dragones” se alinearon para separarnos. Wikipedia escribe: El I Ching describe o interpreta la situación presente de quien lo consulta y aconseja el modo en que se puede resolver el futuro si se adopta ante él la posición correcta. Y más adelante: El I Ching describe un universo en el que la energía creadora proviene del cielo. Quise crear un techo que mire al cielo. Que distraiga de verlo pero a la vez invite a verlo. Recordé los sesenta y cuatro hexagramas que conforman el I Ching y sus líneas verticales largas o cortas. Cada uno: una letra de un abecedario extraño. Por un lado símbolo ancestral de profundas raíces, por otro un anodino microchip de pilares binarios. Nos acostamos en la hamaca y miramos el techo de símbolos. Presentimos que el mensaje con la respuesta correcta esta ahí. ¡Es lo que tenemos que hacer! Luego, miraremos el cielo. Pero esa es otra historia. Boris Viskin TEMPLE OF (Heaven and) DESTINY Lying down in the hammock, at a time when the location of the sun allows you to look at the sky, is a prayer. The swing of the hammock sets the rhythm, your mind sets the prayer. We start as always with unpaid debts, with uncollected debts. Some pending procedure, a legal dispute, a divorce, money lost, stolen, confiscated. The betrayed friend appears, the sacrificed dream. Ah! The crossroads! She or her. He or she. Canada or Merida. To have it or not to have it. Give up or wait. Run away or resign. UNAM or Ibero. Participate or stay out. You sigh and just through the sigh you see the sky. You see the sky and you see it looking at you. If you manage to keep his gaze, the real prayer begins. But that is another story. Curious that temples have roofs. As if they wanted to protect us from seeing the sky. Some, the Sistine Chapel as a leader, paint the ceiling. They want to replace the sky but they only manage to give us a stiff neck; it's a shame they don't hang hammocks. I once had a girlfriend who loved the I Ching. Every night we threw the three coins and looked for the answers that neither the hammock nor the sky gave us. I miss some fragments of that thick book. Being in front of the court of the bearded Buddhist sages who, with words like “cart”, “river”, “dragon”, advised us on unpaid or uncollected debts. About the betrayed friend. About UNAM or Ibero. Over time the “carts”, “the rivers” and “the dragons” lined up to separate us. Wikipedia writes: The I Ching describes or interprets the present situation of the person who consults it and advises how the future can be resolved if the correct position is adopted before it. And later: The I Ching describes a universe in which creative energy comes from heaven. I wanted to create a roof that looks at the sky. That distracts from seeing it but at the same time invites you to see it. I remembered the sixty-four hexagrams that make up the I Ching and their long or short vertical lines. Each one: a letter of a strange alphabet. On the one hand, an ancestral symbol with deep roots, on the other, a nondescript microchip of binary pillars. We lay down in the hammock and looked at the ceiling of symbols. We sense that the message with the correct answer is there. It's what we have to do! Then, we will look at the sky. But that is another story. Boris Viskin