He embodied that rare kind of figure who, despite the slow weight of time, always managed to stand tall; reaching the age of 96 was not just a biological feat but a symbolic act of endurance in a life profoundly devoted to art and wonder, and though from my perspective he sometimes looked like he might fall—as we say informally—it was clear he never truly did, possessing that ineffable quality that sets greats apart: the ability to remain upright through legacy, through sensitivity, through an unwavering artistic vision; within the artistic realm, Frank became more than a creator—he became a presence, someone who didn’t just produce art but lived inside it, using it as a lens to see, to question, and to reshape the world around him, leaving a mark not only through his works but through the way he carried himself; a striking example was his final exhibit at 94, where the physical fragility of age stood in stark contrast with the fierce clarity of his strokes, proving that time never dulled his creative force; thus, bidding farewell is also an act of celebration, an acknowledgment that Frank was one of those souls that do not vanish with death but instead become living memory, a reference point, a model of artistic and human coherence; a giant, truly—one who looked like he might fall, but never did, because he knew, wordlessly, that art too holds us up.
