Foster shows the warping of history and the heroism that can so easily be clung to when reflecting on bloodline lineage.
The friction behind what makes this place home and what can make it feel threatening can be found in the places where our inherent natures go against Southern hegemony – a hegemony made up of whiteness, hetero- and cis-normativity, and Christianity.
I have a tendency to hold things back, to wait for the right moment. In Japan, I observed a deep respect for process and for work that is still evolving. Seeing others who took initiative to start their projects, exhibitions, or galleries inspired me.
I step into the clear, caustic night and realize that’s what this whole event has been: a dispatch from some place of harmony we all sense but struggle so mightily to attain.
Anderson’s visual language of strain and suspended motion reveals a carcass of American idealism. Repetition that persists without momentum builds an irresolvable tension that grinds hollow promises of prosperity into trails of burning rubber and collective exhaustion.
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I am drawn in by landscapes familiar to this fictional home; images of Southern suburbia in autumn beckon associations of Halloween, trickery, and the all-too-familiar damp heat that brings creatures to the surface.