My connection to the Shreveport area is a very personal bond to Barksdale AFB. As the son of an Air Force officer and growing up within the military realm, a great love of aviation and a deep respect for the service members has been instilled in me. I am very grateful to all who serve and make it possible for us to live in this beautiful, free country as well as fly the most incredible aircraft in the world.

The inspiration for this sculpture comes from my love of military aviation as well as the imagery of the beautiful poem, "High Flight". The poem was written by an American Spitfire pilot who joined the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1940 before the United States became involved. His name was John Gillespie McGee, Jr and he died in a midair collision over Tangmere, Sussex in 1941 at the age of nineteen. The poem is sometimes read at memorial services for military servicemen and it was included in my grandfather’s service. The poem is full of descriptive imagery of the open sky and the feelings of freedom and happiness.

How do you manifest those feelings and memories together into a physical form? As you can imagine, it’s not easy. My approach was to create something visually that sparks those emotions for me. The form of my sculpture mimics the smoke trail left behind an aircraft as it reaches the apex of a vertical climb, falls over, spins and regains control in a steep dive.

The sculpture is carved from three blocks of marble and incorporates stainless steel components that transition from the marble down to the base. The base is a nod to the mechanical aspects of an aircraft with interesting fasteners and a rugged and worn cold steel surface.

"High Flight"
- John Gillespie McGee, Jr.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, – and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through the footless halls of air…

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.