A Tribute to Phil Geiger
Phil and I met over thirty years ago when I was a finalist for a painting position at the University of Virginia, where Phil was a professor. I did not get the job but got something better: a friend for life and fellow painter with whom I shared a lot in common.
Phil’s paintings champion painting from perception, never with bravado but with unassuming, quiet dignity. At first glance they appear to be meditations on the quotidian aspects of life. His characters are portraits of acutal people who are usually in quiet conversations set in the peacefulness of a comfortable domestic environment.
In most of his paintings the characters do not speak; it seems Phil prefers to meditate on the pauses, those silent moments that one takes to form a response before speaking it. In perceptual painting, this quiet contemplation is necessary to notice, create, enjoy, appreciate, and celebrate what one can discover just by looking hard. Consider this against the unmitigated bluster of popular culture, the media, and politics that we are subjected to everyday. Consider this against the bluster and noise of our own ideas!
The quietude of his paintings is a mirror of Phil. Phil hardly spoke about himself or his work but preferred to listen. Phil possossed in abundance what might be the visual equivalent to listening: watchfulness. Phil was so watchful as a painter that very little escaped his eye. Like being a good listener, which requires one not to form a response while trying to listen, his watchfulness empowered him to notice what most overlook, which he then would record as something special in his paintings. His watchfulness precluded—or at least greatly mitigated—how one’s own importunate thoughts can interfere with feeling with one’s eyes.
Phil had the uncanny knack of being able to balance penetrating insights and forthrightness while also being supportive and encouraging. He still influences me: while I have all kinds of goals for my paintings—elaborate narratives and a multitude of stylistic ideas, for instance—he reminds me that a gateway to the eternal can lie in the close examination of the visible world.
With great affection,
Michael Ananian