In memoriam: Philemon Reid, 1945-2009
Long before DIY became a Portland catch-phrase, Philemon Timothy Reid was quietly doing it himself. A self-taught artist, Reid spent a lifetime doing the things you need to do. Born in Eatonton, Georgia, he spent nine years in the service, went to night college, and worked many years for the Bonneville Power Administration. He settled in Vancouver. He raised a family.
And through it all he did the thing he loved to do, which was to paint and sculpt images of the African American musicians who played the blues and jazz. He often listened to Coltrane or Miles or Ella while he was making his own art.
“Phil” Reid died June 9 of pancreatic cancer, and while for many people who knew him that was a very personal loss, for me he was a missed journalistic opportunity. I never met him, and for a long time I meant to. I just didn’t get around to it.
There are a million stories out there, and every writer knows that for every one you manage to tell, a hundred get away. Phil Reid’s story was one of my many hundred untold tales.
As far as I know Reid wasn’t much aligned with any particular group of Portland artists. He wasn’t part of any art-school crowd. He wasn’t avant-garde. Technically, there wasn’t much novel in what he did: He adapted familiar Cubist techniques to his own subject matter, although he maintained more representational roots than Picasso, whom he cited as a major influence: I think that might have had to do with the African American tradition of storytelling and its superreality, although I don’t know for sure. He had a loyal, even enthusiastic following, but for the most part it didn’t seem to include the people who haunt museums and galleries.
Yet every time I saw his work it made me stop and think. And usually smile, because invariably there was a gusto, a joy, in the images he made. And I’d think, this is an interesting guy. I should look into this. His sense of men and women at work, immersed in the pleasures and tribulations of their trade, harked back to the social realists of the 1930s.
The exaggerations of his shapes — great guitars that swoop across the canvas, eating up half of the picture; strong chord-plucking fingers that seem like limbs on a mighty Sequoia tree — suggest the tall tale: John Henry; the nameless narrator of St. James Infirmary Blues.
And his colors! Every time I saw them I thought about the pleasure that so many black people take in dressing vibrantly, in reveling in the brightest of rainbows. Remember how, in the movie Watermelon Man, Godfrey Cambridge dressed brighter and sharper the more he became immersed in his black identity?
Unfortunately, anything I say about Philemon Reid is guesswork, the flawed and incomplete deductions of long-range, occasional observation. I’m sorry about that. This is a story, I suspect, worth much more than I can tell.
June 19th, 2009 at 7:01 pm
Thanks for telling as much as you know. In our “star driven” culture, which applies even (especially?) to artists, many of talent get lost or ignored or under-appreciated, and I’m glad you took the time to tell as much as you can. Maybe someone else will tell us more. I, too, am impressed with his work.
June 20th, 2009 at 2:09 pm
Ditto. And the point you make about color well-taken by the way. I do love the tone of this piece Bob, at once rueful and respectful.
June 22nd, 2009 at 11:19 am
Bob,
I’m Phil’s brother and I want to thank you for sharing your thoughts and observations about Phil’s art. After Phil was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about six months ago, I conducted five hours of on camera interviews with him, covering everything from his artistic influences, use of colors and experimentation with different styles and media, to his unwavering commitment to artistic freedom. The interviews will serve as the basis for a feature-length documentary I’m producing on Phil’s life and art. It is my hope that we’ll be able to premiere the completed film in the Portland/Vancouver area in conjunction with an exhibit of Phil’s work. As the film takes shape in the coming months, I would be happy to share an early cut with you.
Regards,
Bob Reid
June 22nd, 2009 at 12:33 pm
Great news! I edit Oregon Literary Review, which focuses on video about artists … we’d be glad to help publicity when it’s time by publishing a trailer if you have one.
June 22nd, 2009 at 12:44 pm
Mr. Hicks,
Thank you so much for this article and your thoughts on my husband, Phil. Like you stated, he wasn’t much aligned with any particular group of Portland artists, not because he actively chose not to be, but because Phil was unique - both in his life and in his art. His seasons were all uniquely shaped and vividly inspired. I, too wish that you had gotten the chance to meet him. I can guarantee you that you would not have forgotten him easily. Phil loved his family, jazz, blues and the art form of women. Thank you to all those who have taken the time to submit your comments. I sincerely appreciate it.
Marion Reid
June 22nd, 2009 at 3:43 pm
Thanks Bob and Marion,
I’m thrilled to hear there’ll be a documentary film about Phil and his work — I’d love to see it. We live on in the art we make and the memories we leave in others. A documentary will bring those two things together. And thanks, Charles, for offering to run a trailer on Oregon Literary Review. That’s a splendid idea.
In case you missed it, Barry Johnson also wrote a piece on Portland Arts Watch, his Oregonian blog, about Phil and Robert Colescott, who also died recently. Here’s the link:
http://blog.oregonlive.com/portlandarts/2009/06/taking_a_moment_for_robert_col.html