-ironic, isn't it/?, that the year of perfect vision happens to fall in a period of extant persisting utter myopia and rampant idiocy -but never mind; I just paint & draw untitled nonrepresentational or abstract stuff, and in the work itself, do not address societal issues.

I couldn't say that anything transpiring in The Real World has ever affected any continuum in my work as it remains generally politically irrelevant, not socially engaged, not of its time.

Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable. -George Bernard Shaw

correspondence from a guy who has followed Hoskins' work for 40 yrs (since Iowa City) / unsolicited observation by an accomplished artistpolymathaesthete, now from across the pond:

Have been looking at your website, you cantankerous git! / Your work from 2020 is as delicate, exploratory, and uncompromising as ever, old boy— this eloquent language of yours and its vocabulary of line, tone, scratch, slip, fidget, scumble, smear & rip.  Full of folded fields of luxuriant crystalline chroma, celestial crunchy candy covered in veils, bulges, rectilinear, orthographic projections meeting and joining in untranslated conversation with organic, mycological spread and flux.  The Hyphae… It spools and couples, then decouples, wraps around forms forming, then abandons them, but somehow never forgets its old, well-trodden, circuitous paths along the straight and narrow. How old is it? does it have an age? Are there nutrients in there? Phosphorus? Enzymes? Following the mind’s eye up to the ceiling and down to the moldings along the baseboards of the memory of some paint-spattered room in a seven floor walk-up? Eighty drawings mapping drawing as a way of thinking, feeling, scratching an endless, but deliciously painful itch, bathing in bath water drawn in a bath which has been bathed in until its boiling bubbling percolating molecules, have joined in a kind of juicy radioactive ballet with a rubber ducky… then falling asleep in a bed whose mattress is a folded, rippled, angled thing like a sharp pillar in the hallway… I don’t know, but I think this is more like one big poem/prayer before bed-time, with a lot of verses, stanzas, rewrites, thank you Lord, for this railing, these stairs, this spoon, this distance, this almost object thingy and this F-hole and fru-fru, which now and ever shall be… world without end, Amen, Amen.   John Smalley -December 29, 2020