When I graduated from high school, I was deeply frustrated and resentful, as most teenagers were in those times. A particular point of contention for me and my parents, was the fact that, with three younger brothers behind me, it was impossible for my parents to send me to a “real” college. The plan was to send each of us to the local community college for two years and then a four-year school after that. I was ready for college, not some two-bit technical school.
The Sunday after my graduation, the family drove over to Gaston College (our local 2-year community college) to attend their open-house. I tried very hard not to let on that I was not entirely unimpressed by the school, its library, student union, and even the technical school, which specialized in mechanical engineering. But there was this little old house on the outskirts of the campus that kept drawing my attention. So finally, I suggested that we walk down to the house and see what it was.
Approaching the building, in much need of painting, we saw a rather elaborately sculptured sign, Art Department. Art was not one of my interests. I was much more drawn to music as an avenue of expression, but we walked on in and found two young and highly enthusiastic men, taking a couple of families on a tour of their facility and the courses that they taught. I was captivated by the tools, materials, the junk pile they had in the back, including a dilapidated old Volvo. I was most captivated by the teachers, Frank Creech and Dexter Benedict. I turned to my Dad and said, I want to sign up tomorrow. So I started Gaston College that summer semester, and for the next two years, went non-stop, taking, along with college parallel, almost every art class they offered, and some of them twice, enjoying the sculpture the most.
Frank Creech taught most of my classes, and what I remember most about this teacher was that he seemed to spend as much time listening as talking. It didn’t matter what sort of something you brought in to work with, or what tools you selected to reshape it and mix it with other stuff. He would listen to you talk about it and help you to discover the art in it.
I haven’t seen him since I left Gaston in 1972, though I continued to hear of his work as an artist and teacher. Frank Creech died this week. The world is a little less interesting without him.
technorati tags:warlick, frankcreech, education, art, artist
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I was also a student of Frank Creech\’s at another community college, Johnston Community, in Smithfield, NC. I remember so many wonderful things about Mr. Creech, like his desire to teach us, even when it seemed that most of the students couldn\’t care less. He would paint with coffee, using a gigantic brush, just to see what it would turn out to be. He would become \
I graduated from Johnston Community College in the late 80â€s and was a student of Frank Creech. I happened upon this website and learned of his recent death. It saddens me greatly, he has always been an inspiration to me and his teachings have made me the successful artist/painter I am today. One day in class I was working on a painting and there was a black tube of paint lying on my board. Frank came by my area and picked up the black tube and threw it in the trash. He then replied “there’s no room for black in your world of color.†To this day, I have never bought another tube of black. I think of him each time I finish a painting and wander what he would think of it. We have lost a great artist but his work will always live through his students. Gale Gann, Palm Harbor, FL
09/24/08—i too knew and loved frank creech– i left gaston college in 1968 to go to vietnam but did return to see frank as well as dexter bennedict—frank was only 6 years older than i was at the time per his obituary—but i didn’t realize that at the time–1965 i had started taking mechanical engineering with jay royal who was starting a ceramics lab in the old house in the woods with absolutely no tools of the trade—and he enlisted myself and a couple of other of his students to draw up the plans–go the local web metals junk yard and purchase the parts needed to build a kick wheel –which i copied to make myself one–still have most of it–and we built the brick kiln– during all of this frank creech came into my life—loved him immediately and got fairly close to him–and i kick myself for not having kept up with him all these 40 years– but thought of him often–the way i found out about his death was by reading a book by david sedaris (spell check) recently–consumed in flames or something similar to that –he mentions his mother buying odd and crazy art works one of which was a large moon faced clock that they just called “mr creech” after the artist that made it–and i knew it had to be frank– because that was one of his favorite subject matters in the early days at gaston—casting belt buckles in brass–drawings–paintings of full faced man in the moon faces that always reminded me of himself—anyway–just wanted to say hello fellow alumni and put in my 2 cents worth about a great man in my life– write back if you want to—thanks for the bully pulpit– not sure if you’ll even get this–but it’s only 2 cents worth and i feel better for having written it anyway– peace