Around 2015, Frank’s self-doubts reached a peak. He was in the midst of painting a large, elegant red bird hovering over a garden. At that point he abruptly stopped working. He had to step away from his easel, and for several months, he didn’t pick up a paintbrush. It seemed as though he couldn’t simultaneously grapple with his doubts and wield his brush.
It’s not clear precisely what helped him navigate this challenging period. Perhaps it was spiritual work with his partner, Tom, or the enduring love of his sisters or his close friendships. Somehow Frank found the inner strength to choose the brush and choose himself. During this hiatus, he came to realize that painting could be more about self-expression than pleasing others, and that the act of painting could serve as a sanctuary.
This newfound perspective led Frank to rename the painting he had abandoned, the one with the graceful red bird, Oasis. Not only did he change its name, but he also modified the canvas itself. This transformation might not seem like a big deal to some, but for Frank, who cherished control and meticulous planning, it signified a significant shift.
If you examine Oasis now, you’ll find in the final version alongside the graceful bird there is a small artist palette with a smiling face. It replaces the original plan, which featured a flower in that exact location. This change is a new self-portrait of Frank as an artist in his Oasis. Subsequently, his approach became more liberated. While he still planned some of his pieces, the experience of Oasis gave him permission to play, experiment, and trust his artistic instincts without excessive concern for how his work might be received.
This painting is in a private collection.
Oasis always makes me think of Frank, of course, and not just because he painted it: he actually included an avatar of himself in this work, a small artist’s palette with winking eyes and a bright smile, so every time I look at it, I see him smiling back. But the piece also makes me think of possibility. It came at an inflection point in Frank’s artistic journey, when he was starting to trust his instincts a bit more, starting to play a bit more, and that little artist’s palette was a last-minute change to the canvas — a bit of whimsy, yes, but also a new kind of flexibility he brought into his practice. It’s a few swaths of paint, sure, but it reminds me that we’re all changing, we’re all growing, we all contain — regardless of age — the possibility of something new.
Darrel F.