"Don't Rush Me” dedicated to Frank Russell (10-15-1952 to 1-19-2026)

Frank Russell (10-15-1952 to 1-19-2026) dedication 1-20-2026

I dedicate the "Partial Truths and Outright Fabrications" show to a man we all know and love, the madly prolific Frank Delano Russell.

I met Frank way back in the late 1970's, soon after my decision to move to Greensboro in pursuit of a MFA degree at UNC-G. He immediately impressed me as a quivering livewire of creative energy, and we would bump into each other now and then. Early on, his age and peers put him in a cultural sub-stratum that I only occasionally shared. Greensboro had a significant punk music element starting in that phase, and Frank was immersed in it with all cylinders firing. He was in the early chapters of a sustained, highly productive output as a “found object sculptor and kinetic abstract painter” - to put a loose tag on his genres.

Fortunately for me, I re-connected with Frank in a more comradely way in recent years when circumstances had slowed his pace somewhat. We had been completely out of touch for about three years, then, to my amazement and delight, made contact again, and began several years of close conversation about a myriad of topics. We were all over music, contemporary and modern art, personalities, the raging insanities of American political history. For some reason, he was fascinated about the inside history of the American war on Vietnam, which I had attended as a Marine Corps medic. He knew far more than I did about my own experience, as he was a voracious reader on a subject I was laboring to forget. We went driving around in nowhere, with the volume up, just free-larking and laughing to hysterics.

I treasure those gifted times, and the permanent memories of sharing time with what I consider a genius of the commonplace. Frank would make me hit the brakes... I thought “did we hit somebody?” - no, it was a piece of junk on the shoulder we had to pick up. In a month it showed up as an integral part of a porcupine, a shark, you name it.

He had an uncanny way of pulling together disparate pieces of consumer goods, souvenirs, cast-offs of the endless production of American capitalism, skillfully “re-purposed” to make you giggle, reminisce, seethe. His work traveled all over the nation, often in high circles.

And Frank, for all his occasional gruffness or impatience, was a most generous soul. He connected in spirit with folks that had come up, like him, from humble origins, but who could follow a dream with a steady bead and not get knocked off course. He grew to believe in himself, and the lights went on, high intensity.

Frank, the universe is lucky to get you back.