In his flower series, Russell Young has shifted his lens inward—trading celebrity for stillness, flash for feeling. These works are tender and intricate, layered both in process and meaning. As Russell reflects on memory, nature, ritual, and music, the paintings become more than visual experiences—they become vessels of emotion, symbols of survival, and notes in a larger song. Whether stitched in linen or named after a New Order track, each piece is an invitation to slow down and see what’s really there. We’re grateful to have spent time with Russell in his California studio, and even more thrilled to share his newest works with our collectors.
View Russell Young's Flower Series HERE
One of your friends once described you as "relentless." How has that mindset shaped your career as an artist?
That’s all I am, really. In my early twenties, I worked 18 hours a day, seven days a week for three, three and a half years. I was shooting three sessions a day, learning to light, learning to look. I’d process everything myself, print all night, sleep on the couch for a few hours, then do it all over again. I was in the music industry, getting invited to insane concerts—but I didn’t go. I just kept working. That relentless period gave me all the tools I use now. I find it quite easy to make decisions, to look, to see. That time taught me everything. It’s not about 10,000 hours—it’s more than that.
Do you have a favorite piece from the flower series?
Ecstasy, at the moment. I hadn’t unrolled it for six months, and when I did this morning, I just went “Wow.” I wanted to keep it for myself—and that’s how I know when a piece is magic. That changes all the time, of course, but right now, that’s the one. I even posted it on my Instagram this morning—@bankrobbercalifornia—with the New Order song “Ecstasy.” That’s something you might not know: all the flower paintings are titled after New Order songs. You can always pair the music with the artwork. It doesn’t always go directly, but it adds a layer of experience.
The materials and process for these flower works are very unique. Could you walk us through it?
They’re made through traditional screen printing—old-fashioned screens, four or five of them layered like CMYK printing in magazines. Each color layer takes a day to dry. Then I come back, add another, maybe offset it, add texture or streaks. Sometimes I even use a press to really sink the ink in. The larger diptychs involve eight or nine different archival materials—linen, fine bookcloth, and others. They’re hand-stitched together by a friend of mine who’s one of the best sculpture facilitators in the world. He’s worked with Claes Oldenburg and Richard Serra. I also stitch some myself—those are a bit raw, but I love that. And yes, sometimes they’re diptychs, sometimes quadrants, sometimes even a line of three or six. It started from a desire to make the works more abstract. I’ll move panels around on the wall, pin them, push them, until the composition sings. I always think about the golden rule of painting—guiding the eye in, through, and out. But I also know when to break that rule, when I want the work to jar. It’s all intentional.
Can the pieces be rotated or displayed in different orientations?
Absolutely. I encourage it. If a client wants to hang a piece upside down or sideways—go for it. Don’t feel restricted. Try it. See what it does to the energy. It’s part of the fun.
Do you have any rituals that keep you centered creatively?
I try to wake up every day and put my boots on. That means I’m alive and ready. I’m hugely connected to nature—we live right on the beach now, just steps from the ocean. I walk the dog, sit with a coffee, and let my mind loosen. That clarity fuels my studio time. I work best early in the morning. We're also renovating a house in Ojai that has a natural swimming hole. I can’t wait to swim there at 7 AM—rain or shine. I’ve always loved surfing, always loved the water. I used to hike for 24 hours at a time, 7,000 feet up, sleeping rough. I still go out in the desert with my Jeep, just to disconnect from tech and reconnect with the world. There’s a great little film made by a Swiss director—Little Maddox—where you see me walking in the mountains, printing, making art. It’s quick, dynamic, and full of story. Nature talks to me, and that conversation is part of everything I create.
What do you do during a full moon?
I walk. Next full moon, I’ll hike up into the mountains at sunset and wait for the moon to rise. It changes how you see the world—your steps, your shadows, your thoughts. You almost feel like you’re walking on the moon. It’s quiet, poetic. And that energy? It ends up in the work. With the flower series, Russell Young invites us into something more intimate than fame — the act of healing through beauty. The work is both a personal reckoning and a universal meditation on love and loss. In pairing music and painting, Young reminds us that art, in all its forms, can hold the weight of memory — and carry us through it.
View Russell Young's Work HERE
With the flower series, Russell Young invites us into something more intimate than fame — the act of healing through beauty. The work is both a personal reckoning and a universal meditation on love and loss. In pairing music and painting, Young reminds us that art, in all its forms, can hold the weight of memory — and carry us through it.
