Some journeys begin with resistance, only to reveal the path we were meant to follow all along. I wrote this essay for a group exhibition honoring Phil Geiger, whose guidance at UVA transformed my relationship with painting. The exhibit was hosted by Steven Francis Fine Art Gallery, part of a year-long celebration of Geiger’s work and legacy. You can find the gallery’s full collection of essays on their website.
In 1989, I arrived at UVA certain of one thing: I did not want to be a painter. I knew I enjoyed drawing and making art. But I had other, more serious interests. And since house-painting was the family business, I definitely wanted to do something that didn’t involve a brush. Paint thinner and surface preparation were in the past.
I followed my nose and declared a biology major when I had to choose. But somewhere in the first year or two I couldn’t resist and signed up for an intro drawing course. I don’t remember whether or not I had researched the class carefully before signing up. But I do remember that when I arrived on the first day the classroom was packed. Everybody wanted to study with Phil Geiger. I stuck it out while the class was whittled down to a manageable number and somehow I made the cut. From that first encounter, I felt lucky to be in his classroom.
The first assignments are lost to me, but I remember drawing with charcoal from still life setups and being amazed at the level of work that was expected of us and the energy with which the students responded. At the end of each class a few drawings would be pinned to the wall for discussion. It was a big deal when your drawing was selected, and I worked hard to earn a place on that wall. Before I knew it I was hooked and I began to take at least one art class a semester.
I eventually approached Phil about taking on studio art as a minor. In his clear and concise way he suggested perhaps I should sign up as a major. This would give me some priority when enrolling in art classes. I was surprised by the suggestion, but agreed.
There are several other classes with Phil that I remember distinctly. Figure drawing was a big one. Drawing from the nude was pretty far outside what I could imagine myself doing coming from my modest Mennonite background. And as you know if you’ve attempted it, drawing from life is challenging. By this time I had seen Phil’s own work as a figure painter, and so I had an ambitious idea of what was possible. I think the rest of the students felt it too. The atmosphere in that classroom was electric. I remember hearing Phil say “Good. Now… have the courage to vigorously erase.” Which we did, again and again. Reworking things, it turned out, was a key I was going to need.
Learning to work with artist oils felt slippery and chaotic, even if the brush in my hand felt familiar. But Phil taught in a way that was organized and systematic. In advanced painting he assigned precise palette preparations—neat grids of hue and shade that we mixed as homework before the next class. While mixing a greyscale felt natural enough, creating a grid of tertiary shades was mind bending. Yet these constraints gave me wings, somehow. I remember a still life setup lit by a large bank of electric lights, which I chose to place in the middle of my composition. And I remember I won praise for whatever I managed to paint while staring into this artificial sun. I’m not certain what was said at the time, but it made an impression. I am still obsessed with back-lighting, and it reoccurs in my artwork to this day. There were also a few meaningful classes where we learned the vocabularies of color and facture. It was enabling to have Phil’s systematic presentation of words for the way paint behaved and was manipulated. These were things I had felt strongly when working with a house-painters brush. I didn’t have the perspective to know it at the time, but being taught that vocabulary validated my previous experience with paint in a deep way.
The moment that changed my mind about my major came as a surprise, fallout from a conflict with a physics lab-lecture teaching assistant. When the TA pointedly refused my request to occasionally miss his class—which my biology major depended on—so I could attend an art class, something clicked. I realized I was fighting for what I truly loved. It was suddenly clear: I would much rather study art. Once again I went to find Phil, and he cleared his throat and said we’ve got work to do. In order to complete the studio art major in the time remaining I would need to double up on classes. Phil became my thesis advisor for some independent study to get me over the finish line. With his encouragement I received a small research grant that enabled me to pay for extra time working from the model, a practice I have returned to repeatedly throughout my career. At the same time he nurtured my desire to work from imagination, drawing and painting the landscape spaces I had grown up in—a theme that continues in my work today. I never stopped feeling challenged by him as a teacher. I also remember feeling a great deal of joy at working hard at making art and receiving his feedback.
In 1993 I was awarded a diploma with highest distinction for a BA in studio art. It said quite clearly on the piece of paper that I had specialized in—ironically enough—painting. An entire world had opened up for me in those four years, leading me to graduate school and then eventually to New York, where I live and work today. Phil Geiger’s guidance and encouragement transformed not just my art, but my life’s direction. Thank you, Phil. You made a difference.
