Ode to Francis Bacon
When I was a poor, starving artist in Seattle in the ’70s, a friend's dad purchased many of my paintings, including this one. Years passed, and I had long forgotten I painted it—until one day, a man contacted me about it. He had purchased the piece from my friend a long time ago, but as he prepared to move to the East Coast, he needed to downsize his art collection. So, this painting found its way back to me.
Have you ever looked at a Francis Bacon painting? That guy knew how to tie a paintbrush directly to his nervous system. His paintings—especially his portraits of the Pope—are just unbelievable. There’s something raw and unnerving about them, almost like he was painting what people really looked like underneath it all.
His studio was a masterpiece of chaos. It started as a big room, but over the years, the clutter closed in, until he was left painting in a tiny corner—just an easel, a chair, and a narrow path to the door. Out of that mess came pure, visceral expression.
‘Ode to Francis Bacon’ is exactly that—an ode, not an imitation. At 15.5" x 22", it doesn’t claim to be on his level, but it’s my way of tipping my hat to an artist who wasn’t afraid to strip things down to their essence.
