A viewer familiar with Slovak art history would probably recognize the reference to Martin Benka (1888 – 1971) the father of modern Slovak art, who often illustrated folk dresses. This particular man who fell to earth is based on a plastic toy the artist found on the beach at around the same time he was thinking about his plan to incorporate actual Slovak folk costumes into the faktur of a series of paintings, to give them texture and tactility, as part of a larger project, intended to be “rich in color and ornamentation,” that would become his life’s work. In this fantasy, he would find favor with the Slovak nationalists as he explored their cultural ideology. But the project was never realized. He had an epiphany while walking on the beach that allowed him to condense it all into a single work. At the same time, he had an insight about his own sense of alienation. The small, plastic warrior in armor, with golden wings, holding a bow and arrow, was an alien like himself. The modern “nomadism” of contemporary artists did nothing to ameliorate his isolation in America, separated from his country, and without a strong compensating connection to his new home. Thus, he felt two kinds  of estrangement. Knowing this was a common psychological dilemma for immigrants didn’t help. The significance of his obsession with these folkloric motifs only becomes clear to the artist when he posits the cosmonaut in counter-point to the folk woman — and sparks fly. A “map” is created between them, so complex that it requires decipherment by an outboard computer wired directly to the painting’s heart. This close encounter is no ordinary love. There is no pre-existing imagery to illustrate Polívka’s predicament. The cute meet of a man from space with 

a Slovak woman in traditional, national garb is distanced and formalized, mocking any sentimental reading. The folk woman’s dress — a popular motif in modern Slovak art  — has become a cipher, a diagrammatic, displaced image, as the two figures hover in a grey, postmodern void.