01Seek Grace2020Oil on canvas Field note · The instruction itself. Look first; the story comes later.
Five decades. 456 works.
Still making the next one.
Twenty-two works are online. Hundreds more are stacked, hung, leaned, and waiting inside Studio X.
Start anywhere. Stay with the one that starts talking back.
Dogs, birds, beasts real and invented. They usually get top billing.
The figures are mostly his people: artists, thinkers, neighbors, peers.
Traditional lacework, stenciled or appliquéd straight onto the canvas.
Structures borrowed from folk objects and antiques that caught his eye.
01Seek Grace2020
02Infinitude 822026
03Medieval Disco2024
04Sausalito2022
05Cave Paintings for the Quarantine2020
06Prometheus2020
07Spellunkin2026
08Encore2025
09El Nesto2023
10View from the Bridge2024
11Sunday at the Beach2025
12Senile Sublime2020
13Baby Fadah2026
14Jeroboam2026
15Wallpaper Tenements2026
16Ta Da2025
17Untitled2020
18Lampost2023
19Unknown2026
20Untitled (FXD ’07)2007
21NYC “The Chameleon”2021
22Mondo and Cane and their friend Bad Poochie2025Nothing in this drawer right now. Try another filter — the work is all still here.
Francis worked for a living, built a room for the art, and kept returning to it. The practice begins the same way each day: gratitude first. Then he goes looking for the extraordinary hiding inside the ordinary.
Paint. Oil stick. Carved wood. Paper. Lace, stenciled or stitched straight onto the canvas. Whatever is close enough to become necessary.
Painted as a ring on the studio wall. Four verbs moving outward, with gratitude holding the center.
The work is not a thumbnail to clear. Stay until the first impression gives way to the thing underneath.
Back up to the archive↖Charlestown raised him. Bellingham keeps him. The work has had him the whole time.
Longshoreman’s son. Charlestown kid. He landed on the other corner of the country and stayed. He and his wife, Tota, drove into Bellingham on a Friday. By Sunday morning, they had put an offer on a house.
No art school. No apprenticeship. No waiting for permission. He worked for a living the whole way through, and the art was never the fallback. It was the thing everything else was arranged around.
Animals, people, travel, visual structures, folk objects, patterns, memory, and whatever the unconscious sends up: it all enters the work. He also carves — wood pieces that nod to the native art of the tribes of the world. The styles move. The hand stays unmistakably his.
An avid traveler, Francis absorbs a place until its style and symbolism come home in the work. In his own words, he infuses the canvas with:
His list, his order. The suitcase is never fully unpacked.
“Traveling from the depths of obscurity to the heights of oblivion.”
He has shown around the world, and the work lives on in public and private collections far beyond this list.
View Francis at Cordata Gallery ↗Give the man his flowers
while he can still smell them.
Francis is here. The work is here. The chance to ask him why is here.
Meet him while the conversation can happen ↓
If the van is out front, he is probably in.
More than twenty years in the same waterfront room. Work on every wall. Canvases stacked in closets. Decades of it. Some people buy something. Some just look. Some stay an hour. Francis prefers it that way.
Free tour. Give him a heads-up. Mondo and Cane like new friends.
Every sale begins the way Francis prefers: with a person and a conversation.
Save the work that keeps pulling you back.
See the room. Meet Francis. Let the screen fall away.
Talk it through, shake on it, and keep the story moving.
Save what keeps pulling you back. Ask about availability, price, or seeing it in person. Then work it out with Francis.
Francis is looking for the person or institution capable of keeping the larger archive together: five decades of work held as one living record.