A.J. Fosik has been haunted by his last name for 12 years now. “The etymology of that word is sort of interesting and a little cheesy, but it’s a metaphor that I like and one that has served well enough. The word is Australian, originally spelled f-o-s-s-i-c-k: a verb to describe the act of people sifting through mine washings or waste piles to look for any gold that might have been missed; sorting through the garbage to find gold.” It seems appropriate that he would have adopted it as his moniker. Like any good idea miner, A.J. Fosik digs through folk traditions. In doing so, he’s found an aesthetic that feels at once old and new. Of course, like any good overseas name coming to America, it got slightly butchered on arrival. “From what I can gather,” he says, “the spelling I use means ‘to shit oneself’ in Hungarian.” There is a distinctly American quality to the three-dimensional ursine beasts and delicately rendered paintings that Fosik has poured out over the last years. Many people mention it to him, and he understands why. But “American” can be a challenging feeling to articulate, however much one knows it when they see it.