Kubrick to J. Francis
—
October 3, 1957
Francis,
The image of smiling to protect others stayed with me.
I’ve started reading Vonnegut and Ballard again—authors who write the fracture line instead of the story.
I’d very much like to read that original piece on “floating” if you’re willing to share it.
Sincerely,
Stanley
J. Francis to Kubrick
—
August 6, 1957
Stanley—
“Floating” is what command does to memory. You numb to survive. You smile to protect others. Eventually, you forget the difference between pretending and belief.
If you're interested, I’ll send you the original piece where I tried to make sense of it—it's rough, but maybe you'll find something useful.
I’m working on new pieces. If I finish them before the world finishes me, I’ll send them.
—J.
Kubrick to J. Francis
—
March 28, 1957
Francis,
Your letter meant more to me than any critic’s praise. Most war films use uniforms as props. You seem to know better.
Tell me more about “the floating.” That line stuck with me like shrapnel.
Sincerely,
Stanley
J. Francis to Kubrick
—
March 12, 1957
Stanley,
Paths of Glory is the most honest film I’ve ever seen about command. You didn't just show war—you unmasked it. It reminded me of something I scribbled years ago: “floating is just sinking in denial.”
What you’ve made is more than cinema. It’s an x-ray of military myth.
—J. Francis
CONCEPT STATEMENT FOR VINYL V
I’ve been mulling over ideas for the next vinyl show and even bought my record—but last night, it all clicked at once. Eureka—I know exactly how to proceed.
For the upcoming Vinyl V: Cut Corner show at ABA Gallery, I’m diving headfirst into a new black and white oil painting on vinyl (no time for color)—an original copy of the Dead Kennedys’ Bedtime for Democracy (1986). But this isn’t just about putting paint on a record again. I want to do a bit more, beyond the Iggy Pop 'The Idiot' vinyl I did in 2021, where I complimented the artwork with a dangling microphone and Fender amp below the piece. This is going to be a full-fledged alternate history experiment.
In this imagined timeline, John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy never enter politics due to their fathers financial collapse in the 1930's. Instead, they never reach the political podium, and instead follow other pursuits only to later find their voices in the raw, defiant pulse of the 1970s London and New York punk scenes. Together, they start a zine called Rebel Sons—a manifesto of rebellion, commentary, and blistering social critique. They become fixtures of the movement, influencing its aesthetic and anarchic philosophy.
Beyond the painting itself, I want to bring this alternate history to life by creating real copies of Rebel Sons zine, started in 1977 (black and white) for the gallery—available alongside the vinyl. I'll start with issue #4.
I’m going to need to build a narrative timeline that tracks the brothers’ rise as punk provocateurs. I plan on crafting a fictional interview with some period scene writer, and even writing some articles by JFK himself for their zine under the pseudonym J. Francis—think "JFK on Anarchy vs. Order".
This isn’t just a record with a double portrait of the brothers—it’ll be a relic from a universe that never was, a set of documents of a parallel rebellion. I’m excited to push this concept beyond the canvas (vinyl), to let the punk-era Kennedys walk among us, fists in the air... shouting.
MAILING TRANSFERRAL
March 29, 2025Art, by its very nature, is an intimate act of creation—an extension of the artist’s perspective, experiences, and inner dialogue. It is not a service rendered but a statement made. As such, I do not believe it is the responsibility of the artist to simplify or adapt their work to fit within the framework of the viewer’s familiarity or comprehension. The burden of interpretation lies with the audience, not the creator.
When I create fine art—the work I do for myself—it is born from personal exploration, symbolism, and often, a nuanced language of references that may be obscure or layered. Some viewers may find my works and even artist statements daunting or esoteric, while others may find them familiar and resonant. This disparity is inevitable and, more importantly, acceptable. Art is not meant to hold the hand of its audience; it is meant to exist on its own terms, regardless of whether it is immediately understood or even understood at all.
To clarify my perspective: not every viewer approaches a work with the same knowledge base. Some may recognize the symbolic weight of a specific material, while others may only see its surface. This variance in interpretation is natural and, in many ways, the lifeblood of art itself. The viewer brings their own narrative, biases, and insights, meeting the work where they are—whether at a glance or in deep contemplation.
However, when an artist alters their work to cater to the broader expectations of accessibility or clarity, they cross the threshold from fine art into commercial art. Commercial art serves the masses. It seeks to be understood, to resonate with the largest possible audience, and to offer immediate familiarity. This is not a lesser pursuit—it is simply a different one, often bound by external objectives. But in my own practice, I reject the notion of tailoring my creative output to meet the interpretive ease of others.
My fine art carries its own language—sometimes cryptic, sometimes accessible—but always honest. I offer my thoughts and process through my statements and works, but I feel no obligation to dilute them for the sake of universal comprehension. The artist's role is not to render meaning palatable; it is to express it authentically. If the viewer cannot or does not wish to decipher it, that is their choice. And if they do, they have engaged in the very dialogue that makes art enduring.
Thus, I remain committed to creating work on my own terms. Whether met with understanding or bewilderment, it will remain a reflection of my vision—uncompromised by expectation.
Thomas Arthur Schaefer — 2025
