It is odd to be speaking about my paintings. I always felt they had their own language, and my words always felt either to short or too long-winded to adequately translate for them.
My identity is hidden behind a curtain of being American, being half Jewish, being a minority, an artist, being emotional. Being alive inside of a culture which is often horrifying. Being sensitive. Being of a broken family.
Being able to see feel and define and create what cannot be defined: you cannot say what it is you are only able to experience it and that is magnificent.
My hope . . .. .my humanity.
I have never been an observant Jew. Ironically, as I paint, my ethnicity exposes itself to me. Tiny villages, vaudeville faces, humble goats, secret lovers and floating fairy tales crowd my canvases. Scaring me and delighting me through endless scenarios.
The process is dangerous. It’s impossible to plan a composition and maintain a raw unencumbered aliveness that I strive for. The finished piece wants to be like an open book, with all the pages layered over itself—in semi-transparency. Vibrant, yet fragmented. Complete yet mysterious. Dreamlike.
I strive to take you on a journey but I want you to see my bruises and scrapes along the way.
It breaks my heart sometimes—that the first layers of a painting are mostly hidden at the end, but I leave you a trail of clues. So you can feel perhaps some of what I felt as I painted.
In closing, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to Sol LeWitt for thinking into the future to allow artists to display their work in this magnificent space.
Juniper foster 4/29/2015