“Yes, there are those raw, gut-wrenchingly honest paintings that when I first saw them made me gasp, the slashes, like black lightening, sending a shock down my spine. Oh, those pictures. But it is he who stays with me as well. Whenever I see one of his paintings or hear his name, I think of his dark-haired paleness, his deep melodious voice. And his soft brown velvet eyes with a smudge of sadness under a mesmerizing widow’s peak. A romantic view. And why not? With his black fedora, thirties mov...ie-star mustache, and flower-in-his-lapel ways, he certainly projected that image. Franz’s beginnings are so stark and bear so little resemblance to the man I knew, not well, but somewhat, from 1955 until his death in 1962. As so often happens, those who people our lives have stories we never hear until they are long gone. Only later would I think of the disparity between the open, fun-loving Franz, the Franz who was wild about dancing and took such bold strides that he took my breath away, and the Franz of the harsh early years.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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