throughout his career, he looked at things near his home in Tywardreath. He made paintings titled Lockdown Diaries, which picture plants, insects, birds, objects, and other assorted items he found nearby. He looked closely, as he always has, addressing the smallest and most delicate of things, expressing a visual tenderness for his subjects, just as he does when looking at grand places. Whether observing Mt. Everest or a petite buttercup in bloom, Tony’s practice of close observation is a practice that can be traced back to the scientific and artistic discoveries of Leonardo da Vinci.7 Tony Foster continues the artistic tradition of looking closely, demonstrating through his notes and diaries and souvenirs that to see something clearly, one simply cannot be in a hurry. We cannot rush close observation, and those who take their time to look slowly at Tony’s paintings are richly rewarded for their effort. He has seen a great deal of the world, looked at it closely, and expresses his concern about the fragility of our planet. He understands the importance of preserving natural areas, which is ultimately why Tony does what he does. He speaks through art about the limited time we have in life and how we must use our time to not only see and enjoy the world, but to use our time to care for our planet and protect the wilderness areas that remain. Tony has indeed gone a long way, traveling more and likely further than anyone I know. His many trips bring to mind a personal story: I once found an eyeglass case under the seat of my car and inside was a compact MP3 player with earphones. Puzzled, I looked at the hard plastic case, wondering who could have been in my car and dropped it? The case itself had a somewhat generic-sounding corporate name printed on it, Optic Eyes Clinic or something similar, as I recall. There was nothing special about it, and it could have belonged to almost anyone. Only when I looked closer did I notice the street address — it was from a shop in Kathmandu. I didn’t have to think long before I realized who it belonged to, and I soon returned Tony’s music player. As a curator, I’m often asked how long it takes to plan an exhibition. Sometimes things come together quickly, but in my experience, it typically takes at least two to three years to work out the logistics. In 2019, Tony and I first talked about this time-based venture and showing it at Dayton Art Institute, Ohio, where I now work. Tony’s trip to Dayton stands out in my memory. My wife, Vickie, and I especially looked forward to the visit since it corresponded with her birthday. During the day, Tony and I walked through the museum, looked at the galleries and discussed ideas about showing his work. That evening, we enjoyed drinks, dinner, and celebration, catching up and enjoying one another’s company. It was February 11, 2020, a wonderful evening, a fleeting moment of laughter and cheer. That was the last dinner I had in a restaurant for at least two years. At the time, none of us could have imagined that the following month we would be facing a global pandemic. Travel was halted and much of the world went into lockdown. It was a strange time. Days, weeks, and months seemed to blur into one another and human time suddenly took on new meaning. We stayed indoors, worried for the safety of those in our pods, we followed the news and worried for friends, loved ones, and those who became ill, some sadly dying from COVID-19. We passed time reading books, took up hobbies, learned to navigate the technological wonders of Zoom and perhaps watched too much television. Tony, being the industrious type, responded by working. Unable to explore the far reaches of the planet as he has done 7 As curator at Phoenix Art Museum in 2015, I included Tony Foster’s work as a contemporary example of close observation in the exhibition Leonardo da Vinci’s Codex Leicester and the Power of Observation, Phoenix Art Museum. “Watercolor can be a rather unforgiving medium that is difficult to master but is easily portable and ideal for travelers. Tony’s paint tin has about 24 small squares of pigment and is roughly the size of the palm of your hand. It is a tiny container, yet from this he can paint the world.” — JERRY N. SMITH Foster’s Winsor & Newton No. 2 Bijou Box 25
