NIKKI FOSTER

  • Everything Colliding

    The first thing I ever sat down and properly painted was a horse. I think I must have been 13. It was quite funny because I didn’t particularly like horses. On a visit to the New Forest as a younger child with my family, I broke away from them and approached a group of horses…

  • Body Building

    I have been looking recently at the work of Alex Katz and Wilhelm Sasnal. What they appear to have in common is their use of film stills, photographic imagery, and an interest in the influence of illustration and advertising. Music is also present in both conversations. I draw these comparisons from listening to both of…

  • Red Shoes

    Last night I slept downstairs on the sofa; it is so cool and peaceful down there. I woke in the night to hear running footsteps above me. I thought maybe it was one of the kids, though when I checked, no one was there. It struck me this morning that, despite the initial withdrawal, I…

  • 100 days

    I am writing this after emerging from a house that has been in the throes of norovirus. We all dropped like flies, first the youngest two, then myself and my daughter. Beforehand, I had planned to do the 100 Day Project, which starts on 22 February. This year I wanted to approach it differently, without…

  • Ephemera

    Last week, I found a Ferrero Rocher wrapper tucked inside a library book. It felt like a small interruption, a trace of someone else’s moment. I love this residue sometimes found in library books: the folded corners of pages, the underlined passages of text. I began thinking about the idea of found ephemera and the…

  • Work in Translation

    Dear fellow artist, I’m writing to you from 100 days of rain in Dublin, honestly, it feels biblical! It was difficult writing this letter as I am always anxious about writing because I’m never sure if I will get my point across clearly or articulate my work properly. I’ve had this hang-up since Camberwell, where…

  • Wide Open

    My daughter moves through the house aloofly, often on the make, keeping herself on the periphery. It is strange to see. I flatter myself by questioning: is this why I took so many photographs of her last year? Some sort of pre-emptive foresight that she’d soon be more independent, moving out of the fold. My…

  • The Green Room

    Getting off the train at Bournemouth Station, the town strikes me more as a city now when I come home. There is a beehive-like cluster around the ticket gates before we are released into the dark. I nip over to ASDA to get treats: whiskey, beer, gin, chocolate. I have it in my head to…

  • Roadkill

    Strange childhood memories and how they linger. I keep getting images of roadkill in my head; January tends to have that effect. Not roadkill when it’s completely dead, but when it still has just enough life to drag itself off the road and into a ditch. I wonder what sort of roadkill I would be:…

  • Just Outside the Frame

    Motherhood exists in constant flux. Caregiving shifts as my children grow, and I face a reckoning with how quickly intimacy transforms into independence. My focus is on the everyday, moments that might pass unnoticed. Taking a photograph requires me to step outside the moment, even when my role as a mother usually demands I stay…