In that devastating, delirious moment when the momentum of emotions catch up to the destiny of their consequences, when the proverbial tires hit the road and the rub attains a velocity that chafes pleasure, the sensory subsumes the rational and everything becomes a bit of a blur. Ecstatic or traumatic, it hardly matters, for such an instant is always ultimately about nothing more than the loss of self to the imperative of situation. In the stretching of beauty beyond its anatomical frame, the scarring of the visual plane with the incendiary violence of vice, the hurling of surrogate sexuality against the certainty of futility, or simply the fathoming of our terror in the shadows of our uncertainty, Erik Foss conjures the uncanny blur of events as a kind of fetishist abstraction. Creating conceptually driven action paintings in which the impact of obsession fractures the figurative and narrative alike, Foss maps psychological distortions as visceral facts with the forensic acuity of a visionary deviant.