Nothing Lost

This past Monday, we said goodbye to Frank Frazetta, an unparalleled giant of the art world. He was 82 years old and his time was not premature, however without him there is something of a hole left. I am hardly alone in the personal relevance of his passing, and I have spent the better part of this week contemplating Frank and what his legacy is for me.

The power of his work goes without saying, and his painting technique is almost as mythic as his subject matter. But it is not his paintings that inspire me half as much as it ever was the man behind them. Frank seemed to just look at something and think to himself, “You know, I could do that.” And then he did it. The very paintings he is so regarded for, while to say he had no training in oils would be a lie, were for those that knew him as shockingly superb as they were for the rest of us. It was as though he just said, “I think I’ll make oil paintings now.” Just as how he looked at photography and said to himself, “I think I’ll start shooting photographs.” And I’ll be damned if the man didn’t have a great eye. When Frank lost the dexterity in his right hand he mused to himself, “I guess I’ll just have to use the left.” And he did. Just as good as he ever used his right. And Frank was an athlete. While most of us spend our time sitting on our asses, Frank would be outside, he’d play baseball, spend time with his kids, and put off his work because he was so much more interested in living. That’s the life that refused to give up through years of a misdiagnosed thyroid disorder, when he was accused of dementia and psychological instability. And that’s what really inspires those who see his work, because all that spirit and life informed the drama on his canvas and kept it sincere.

That’s what Frank Frazetta means to me. He never let anything stop him from doing what he set out to do. Failure was just another rung in the ladder. He was the ideal American. And that’s what saddens me the most, the knowing fear that with him that died too. That we will be want for others with that spirit and that pride. That the digital age has given us aesthetic technicians instead of artists. That myth has truly died. So, to those that have come after, the children of the industry that Frank defined, let the fire of your life inform your work more than your talents and your skills. Otherwise we really will live in a world without Frank Frazetta.