The initial inspiration for this work comes from the art of my dear friend Tess Metcalf, who unearths tender delight out of the hard, desolate cold of outer space.

Flying saucers (isn’t that a wonderful phrase) invoke campy tropes from 1950s science fiction films thinly masking Cold War paranoia. They are symbols of magical transformation, either as plot devices or real-world sightings, these strangely comma-like forms punctate people's lives. I am on the side of the flying saucers.

These works are either made up or taken from photographs of UFO activity. These “sightings” become moments of the duality of divine presence in the western painting canon. Is it a god, is it a monster (not to mention the ineffably camp nature of historical Christian art)?