Too Disturbing for Instagram: Frankly Tired on Censorship, Madness, and Art Without Fear
The work of the Paraguayan artist Frankly Tired (real name Francisco Tabakman) rejects the ornamental and the comfortable, tearing apart the conventions that turn art into decoration. His work is a rebellion against galleries that confuse beauty with silence. He paints the forgotten, the exiled, and the unstable, transforming their anguish into surreal visions where cruelty and tenderness coexist. Each piece emerges from dialogue with those society hides, creating dreamlike and brutal worlds that expose the rot beneath privilege. His dark industrial scenes whisper and scream at once, demanding that viewers face their own shadows. Like a descendant of Goya and Bacon, he captures decay with precision and fury. Frankly Tired’s art is not meant to please but to disturb, confront, and awaken what complacency has buried deep within us.
Importance to Shock
Together with art history professor Alexandre Rodrigues da Costa, the digital artist will delve deeper into his challenging art and the ideas behind it, including more on the importance to shock, the relation between beauty and repulsion, his use of pixelated images, the great influence of Kurt Cobain and much more....
Fig.1 Flamma Furoris (2024)
1. Your work often confronts the viewer with uncomfortable or disturbing images. Do you consider it important to provoke this sense of discomfort? What role does the audience’s reaction play in the development of your work?
I’ll start by saying: Hello, Alexandre! Nice to meet you, just call me Frank. This is one of the best questions I’ve ever had to answer about my art, and one I’ve even asked the audience several times.
I dare say it is important to me to shock the audience. Most of the themes I explore relate to mental health issues. Mental health has always been very poorly attended to worldwide, and it’s gotten worse in this post-COVID era. I, for one, don’t think these are pleasant topics to discuss, yet we must speak about them to address the problem. My work addresses those feelings and experiences that not only I, but many people, continue to go through, and I seek to give them a voice for the audience: showing the bad side, the ugly side, the nasty, little macabre side of human nature.
I depict the fragile lives of those dealing with personality disorders while lacking societal and systemic support; a struggle I know all too well. Accordingly, the reaction of the audience is part of my art, because it reflects how they would respond to people facing the aforementioned issues. The human mind can take a toll on its host’s body; I explain my art to audiences with the phrase, “the state of mind is the body and the body is shaped like the mind.”
I want audiences to reflect on the pain of a body deformed, literally, by the afflictions of the mind, since in this context they are one and the same. The grotesque nature that discomforts audiences stems from the fact that none of these struggles are pretty, and yet that does not preclude a certain beauty within them. Audience reactions have ranged from awe to disgust; I’ve found that many neurodivergent people find a voice of comfort in my work, while many others simply shy away from it, as often happens in society. Once they realize they have been shying away, the grotesque quality can reach them, leading them to embrace the wounds in the minds of those who need it most and to conclude that avoiding the issue only turns our backs on suffering.
Fig.2 The Charming Captive (2024)
2. I see in your works an exploration of the boundary between beauty and repulsion. For you, can the grotesque be a form of beauty? How do you understand this relationship?
Grotesque and beauty, we humans have both. When Baroque artists painted still lifes, much of the subject matter was not only rotting (or nearly rotten) fruit in a room, but also carcasses of dead animals (as seen in some of Monet’s works) or even human skulls in Pieter Claesz’s paintings. All of those images are wonderfully woven and crafted in a dramatic, canonically beautiful, aesthetic way.
Death, states of decay, and the reminder of mortality (memento mori) have always been present in the arts; therefore, to me the grotesque is the same as beauty. There’s beauty in death as there is in life, because the peace of death can be soothing. The in-between of life and death is a whole different story.
Therefore, I think that’s the core relationship between beauty and repulsion: like a rotten carcass in a field turning into a mass of tulips and attracting all sorts of butterflies.
Fig.3 The Wounded Deer (2024)
3. One of the first things I noticed in your work is your use of pixelated images. Is this a way to avoid censorship? How do you deal with it?
Yes… Many of my heavier works contain explicit necrophiliac imagery, exposed viscera, sexual horror and graphic physical cruelty. I use necrophilia as a resource because it speaks to resurrection: we all originate from sex, animals, insects and humans alike, and mixing the concepts of death and sex helps suggest a plane where, again, the mind becomes the body and the body becomes the mind.
I do post uncut pieces on platforms outside mainstream social media, but rising censorship and restrictions imposed by payment processors, complicate that. To post in Japanese domains (I’m using Pixiv more than Instagram lately) I have to “bend the knee” and follow Japanese regulations. That means I can’t fully explore the more complex aspects of who I am or what my statement is on those platforms, but I’m enjoying the small, growing audience, I’ve found there.
Fig.4 腐愛 #3 (2025)
4. In your work, the body almost always appears disfigured or deformed. Which artists do you admire, and who influenced you to approach the body from a grotesque perspective?
It started when I was a kid, around five to nine years old. I had an uncle (RIP) who ran a black-metal/noise band in the ’90s, and I spent a lot of time with him. He was deep into horror metal and a huge Rob Zombie fan, as he used to say, Rob did a lot with both lyrics and art. Thus, at a very young age I was exposed to metal culture, with all the good and the bad that implies. I remember being too traumatized by Alien to get up at night to go to the bathroom, and discovering H.R. Giger through him. We watched many bloody films, from Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula to Kenneth Branagh’s Frankenstein. Horror became important not only because of my uncle but because it allowed me to see the presence of evil in both those who are to blame and those who are not.
As I grew, I discovered other artists who left a deep mark: Francisco de Goya and Francis Bacon are huge influences; Kubin and Beksinski as well. I find Goya’s depiction of human cruelty especially powerful. I’m also inspired by Hokusai, Kentaro Miura and Katsuhiro Otomo; I love how Otomo and Miura develop technical skill and create massive perspectives. I appreciate the textures and colors of Klimt and Kandinsky, and Rothko’s material exploration (we can thank him for advances in acrylic techniques). And of course, Pollock’s raw, ordered chaos, photographs don’t do his work justice; his greatness is best experienced in person.
Fig.5 Speculum Interioris (2024)
5. Some of your works oscillate between painting and video. What led you to merge these media?
Since I work with 3D rendering for several brands in my day job, I decided to try animation because I already have the tools. I’ve always been curious about rotoscoping. I remember watching American Pop at about fifteen and being blown away by its story and visuals. Hence, I try to integrate techniques from my day job into my art, bridging that double life. I’m still figuring it out.
Fig.6 腐愛 #2 (2025)
6. There are many elements of horror in your work. It is as if each piece were a paused moment of a film. Has horror cinema influenced your production? If so, who are your favorite filmmakers?
I can’t deny the influence of filmmakers on my palette; Dario Argento, Ruggero Deodato, and John Carpenter have all shaped how I use color and atmosphere. I also appreciate the crudeness of Ralph Bakshi, and I’m a big fan of German Expressionism. Music is equally important in my life, from Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin to Napalm Death and Stalaggh. I don’t try to fit my tastes into a neat category; my rule is simple: “I like it, I enjoy it
Fig.7 腐愛 #1 (2025)
7. At what point in your career did you decide to engage with the grotesque? How did this come about?
I was already a native of the alternative movement of the ’90s when I was a kid, and back then I was all sunshine and rainbows. I wasn’t as deeply sunken in the nihilism I have now; I think my fascination with grotesque and morbid art began around age eleven. Back then there wasn’t a proper way to deal with bullying or what most people would just call “jerks,” and most advice was “suck it up,” “flight,” or “fight.”
I took refuge in art, and luckily, I had several good guides among my family and their friends. I already owned several Guns N’ Roses, AC/DC, and Iron Maiden cassette tapes, which I still possess to this day. While some imagery from those bands was spooky to me, they were certainly my first steps toward grotesque art.
It came into full bloom with a band we all came to love: Nirvana. I remember going to the usual record store and seeing a CD of In Utero. Merchandising wasn’t widespread here, so all I really knew of Nirvana at the time was their sound. The moment I bought the album and glanced at the artwork: Oh, boy! Kurt Cobain’s motifs, collage art, and cynicism were the best way I could describe how being a teen felt at that moment. I felt drawn to its art: the angel of flesh, and that back cover filled with skin tissue and exposed organs. It didn’t take long before I wandered into Garbage, Smashing Pumpkins, and other grunge territory.
Some years after… one fated day I found some old mixtapes with Cannibal Corpse, and it clicked. It made sense in a way it hadn’t before. I’m not sure why (maybe it was the bad day I’d had, or maybe I was maturing faster than I realized) but it fired me up to dive deeper into these countercultural movements. In time, there’s the place I found a sort of nest, a void that needed feeding with all the rage I was carrying. I began expressing myself through writing and drawing the nastiest fantasies about the people who had done me wrong; it felt cathartic and healthier than putting anyone at risk, it was escapist fantasy. Because, as we all know, whenever the bullied kid defends himself either verbally, mentally, or physically, the man (the system) tends to do what it always does best: defend the bullies, punish the victim and keep tickling the sleeping dragon’s tail.
Even more so, as I grew older, I realized I wasn’t alone in those struggles. I wasn’t the only person in therapy because of people who wouldn’t go to therapy. I began using art to express what many call “weird and awkward,” creating places to escape… some filled with mystery and peace, others less so. I know there are others out there going through the same phases, the same issues, and the same pain, so my art is also for them: we’re not alone. We may be freaks, but we freaks have to support one another rather than inflicting the same suffering on each other by gatekeeping.
Fig.8 Entre Sombras y Piel (2024)
8. I also notice similarities between your images and those produced by ero guro artists. Is Japanese culture a reference for you? If so, in what ways has it influenced you?
Japanese culture has been a huge part of my life. For most of my life I lived next to a Japanese family; their kids were Nikkei and my age, and as a Jew I felt as alien as they did in a typical Paraguayan setting, so we bonded and learned a lot from each other from my early years into my early twenties. While I read Superman comics, they read Dragon Ball manga that felt more advanced than anything on TV at the time.
When I grew bored with yet another Friday the 13th sequel, I began exploring Japanese horror and artists. By chance I found Hokusai’s yokai works in my local library, internet access in early-2000s South America wasn’t what it is now, and that discovery opened a door. I remember finding Ju-on films at a rather shady downtown video club, discovering exploitation films like Doll of Flesh and other heavier material, and thinking, “Holy f#ck! This is beyond my wildest dreams.” I realized there was so much more to learn, and since then I haven’t stopped admiring the eroguro genre. I’ve begun working within it: I’m finishing plans for a manga series called The Meat Chamber to explore everything I mentioned in this interview. I don’t know if I’ll become a famous artist, but as long as people support my work because they connect to it, I’ll keep going. This is not only for me; it’s for us.
Fig.9 The Enabler (2024)
9. What are your future plans?
In 2024, I spent two months in France and thought I might have a chance in external markets after managing a small sale. However, without access to proper services like PayPal, Wise, or similar platforms in my residing country, it now feels much more difficult. With the increasing restrictions imposed by payment processors, alongside the rise of censorship, moving forward has become a real challenge. The closure of art galleries worldwide, combined with the spread of AI-generated images, the lack of media literacy on social media, and the presence of money laundering in the arts within my region, makes it unlikely that conditions will improve for artists trying to live solely from their work.
Which brings me to consider my future artistic plans, a question that is difficult to answer. This year I tried several times to secure spaces to exhibit my work. While some were initially open to me, in every case I was asked to produce something “safe” suitable for all audiences: even if slightly “eerie” as they described it. Although I complied, these projects eventually fell through because of the nature of most of my previous art. Living in a very conservative and religious country makes it increasingly difficult to push boundaries. Still, I want to be able to express myself, and I want others to have the freedom to do so as well even if I disagree with them. As Evelyn Hall once said: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”
Right now, I feel that even if I don’t manage to advance much further, I will always find a dark corner where I can connect with others, and that in itself is good. Since I already have a day-to-day job creating what others request from me, I’m looking forward to expand different mediums and I’ve decided to start working on a comic, most likely a manga, because I’ve found that audiences in Japan are more open to grotesque imagery, while being warmer people that can tell the difference of fiction and reality, therefore I think they’ll enjoy it the most. Although I would like to still exhibit regularly in art galleries and cultural centers.
Fig.10 La Espera (2023)
Fig.11 Loculus Decompositionis (2024)
Fig.12 The Factory (2024) by Frankly Tired
Fig.13 Around the Next Corner (2024)
Fig.14 Ante Pater
Fig.15 Delectio coacta
Fig.16 Obsessio Nocturna
Fig.16a
Fig.16b
Fig.17 Socius Tapetis
Fig.18 The Dame
Fig.19 The Girl in the Street
Fig.20 The Voyeur
Fig.21 White Silence
Frankly Tired's work can be found on ArtMajeur and in a modified form on Instagram
Click HERE for an interview with the creator behind the most disturbing Manga ever
Let us know your thoughts about Frankly Tired's work in the comment box below...!!