Watchers is about a moment of apocalypse, hung in suspension. A red star begins to glow over the tamed landscape, growing hotter and hotter until the fat of the earth itself is rendered in a boiling broth. This is a version of the world born from and ended by paranoid observation. It is a dark utopia concocted by Russo-American mutually assured destruction, an anticlimax of order melting into soup, just as dreaded by the powers that be. The birds. Their faces are glamorous—pumped and surged for the gods. In the voice of a fleshy trumpet, they sing for you songs of joy and sorrow—what is and what could have been.

This project was completed as part of Stanford Arts Institute's Honors in the Arts program.