Back around the turn of the century, a website popped up called gigposters dot com (GP). Don’t look for it, it’s gone now. I was referred to it by someone, possibly Jared Connor, whom I had just met after I moved to Austin in ‘99. GP was the creation of a Canuck named Clay Hayes, who had… no idea what he was getting himself into. GP, at its core, served as a web-based gallery of poster art. What it became in the years to follow does not easily allow for categorization. It always served its original purpose, but it also became a digital club house, a place for poster artists to connect with others of their ilk and get inspired to make something new. With the addition of comments on art submitted, and a message board, it hosted lively discussion from the community. It could at times be an intoxicating cocktail of encouragement and support, and blistering critique. The piling-on of outsiders, the in-fighting and shit-talking… it was epic. Friends and enemies were made and many of us felt like we had found our home on the internet. (this was before most of what we know as social media)
Eventually, the GP community sought to spill out into the real world, and the idea of a gathering gained momentum among users. This discussion culminated in what we now know as Flatstock, an itinerant poster art convention that usually is part of a music festival. There have been 87 Flatstock conventions as of this writing. Flatstock number 1, however, was at a modestly-sized art space in San Francisco called Cell Space, not part of a festival. It was an experiment, and it was quickly apparent to most of us that it had legs.
Among those integral to the transition of GP from digital mosh pit into real-life gathering of artists and their work, was Frank Kozik. A monster of poster art in the 80’s and 90’s, his work was familiar to just about every artist on GP before the site existed. Frank joined the GP community early, and became our resident avuncular curmudgeon. He was one of several artists responsible for setting up the Flatstock 1. I was of course excited beyond belief to attend, but I wasn’t confident I had enough work to actually have a table, so I showed up with a box of maybe 12 each of a few different poster designs, just to trade with people. I met Frank in person at the event. He was tall, and gruff, but so pleased, in his own tall and gruff way, to talk to everyone. When he noticed the giant box under my arm he asked what I was doing shlepping so much stuff around. He then gestured at a folding table, and an available spot next to the recycling bins and said “set up over there and sell some stuff.” I guess my first impression of him was that he wanted people to succeed, and he was keen to remove barriers to see it happen. He was of course very concerned with his own success, but he didn’t let that stop him from helping others. His DIY ethic was that if he could do it, so could you. He was humble, but driven, and just cocky enough to get shit done. I needed to have someone like him around at the time.
I had stumbled into printmaking in order to promote bands that I was in during the 90’s in Rhode Island, where the poster zeitgeist (Fort Thunder and friends) was very scrappy and not very focused on monetary gain. I wanted to feed my poster making obsession, and that took a little bit of marketing prowess. People like Frank made that seem feasible, while also doing work that I loved. Flatstock 1 was a glorious time for me, because it was a gathering of so many people whose work I admired, and would become friends with over subsequent years – Guy Burwell, Chuck Sperry, Lindsey Kuhn, Uncle Charlie and Keith Herzik, just to name a few. Of course a bunch of other Austinites were there too, whom I had already met. To meet this larger community meant everything to me, and I have Frank Kozik in part to thank for that first pivotal event. Many events followed, all around the US and Europe. I stopped attending over a decade ago, but I have great memories and crazy good times with the original Flatstock community.
Frank Kozik could always be counted on for sound, no-nonsense critique and strategy in the business of art. He once told me that as a freelance artist I should establish a daily income goal, and do what I could to meet it. That simple advice helped me prioritize work and keep my business going. Of course, for me it was only a side business, I also had a full-time job, but I didn’t want to call it a hobby. It was a passion for graphic art, music and being part of a movement that melded the two. I didn’t make much money selling posters, or at my day job for that matter, and times were lean. One day on GP I was talking about how Jim Woodring just released a new huge book about his iconic cat character simply called FRANK. I guess at the time, $50 was too much for me to afford, and I was lamenting online about how much I wanted that book. I then got a notification from PayPal, $50 from Frank Kozik with a note “go get your book.” RIP Frank, and thanks again for FRANK.