How does one begin to write about the recent body of work of Geraldine Javier, one of the key figures in Philippine contemporary art? How can an exhibition text truthfully illuminate an artist's existential struggle and her acts of protest?
Having spent an entire day in conversation with Javier at her studio and residence in Cuenca, Batangas, I had a singular question: Beyond the available literature on her decades-long studio practice and beyond the rich body of work she has produced, what does her current work reveal about her struggle as a visual artist, her commitment as a climate activist, and her sense of agency as a community-builder and as a human being?
With the effects of the climate crisis impacting communities across the Philippine archipelago and around the world, one is left to wonder: does humanity still stand a chance of turning the tide? How can contemporary art change the temperature of the discourse or help reframe ways of seeing?
In our conversation, Javier began by addressing the overlooked and underappreciated potential of plants in her studio practice.
"In my current series of ecoprinted works for my one-woman show at West Gallery, plants have fully replaced my acrylics, and I use dyes extracted from leaves and flowers as pigments," she says.
What began as a discussion of materials and techniques soon revealed an underlying struggle that also serves as the impetus for creative action. Javier spoke candidly about her climate crisis–induced depression and anxiety, and the daily inner battles she faces to overcome it.
"I grapple with climate anxiety and depression. These new works are my way of responding to the climate crisis. My small way of taking a step of action," she shares.
One important marker of Javier and her team’s progression in the highly technical process of ecoprinting was their work for the Helsinki Biennial 2025. Together, they explored how specific plants produce pigments while investigating ways to enhance their fabrics’ absorption of natural dyes. According to Javier, completing the Helsinki works led to a greater command of ecoprinting as her primary process for artmaking.
As a result, this new series of works for her one-woman exhibition Breathe, Sigh… allowed Javier and her team to develop a deeper understanding of the behavior of natural dyes, as well as a more informed and directed approach to art production.
"While I was in Helsinki, Joven began ecoprinting on the fabrics. After he worked on the ecoprinting, I began the embroidery. The division of tasks was important because of how demanding the process of producing a 267-piece work titled ‘All that you touch, you change. All that you change, changes you.’ We spent six months on this project, with 11 of us working on embroidery, one on ecoprinting, and one on carpentry and installation. I'm not claiming that we have fully mastered the process of ecoprinting, but we are getting there… We used the top half of Mt. Maculot's silhouette as a reference for the work. It should have been the entire silhouette, but completing it would have taken us two years," she explains.
Conceptually, referencing only the top half mirrors how an iceberg is seen, with most of its mass hidden from view. In Javier’s work, the lower portion of Mt. Maculot is similarly hidden—not by the ocean, but by the limiting factor of time.
To understand the physical demands of producing such a painstakingly intricate and ambitious work, one must consider its making. Each of the 267 units of ecoprinted, polychromatic landscapes is compositionally sophisticated and elaborately embroidered. Yet viewers are allowed to see only the 'spines' of the stretched landscapes. Like the spines of books in a library, these are the sole indicators of the hidden compositions within. Clamped together by a metal contraption that provides structural integrity, the spines also prevent access to each individual landscape. In this way, the physical limitation imposed by Javier evokes a subtle sense of voyeurism: one can look with anticipation and awe, yet, constrained by uncompromising visual and structural restrictions, cannot truly see.
For Javier, her agency as a maker and environmental activist asserts itself in how she deliberately hides—or obscures from view—what is most valued and desired.
"The main concept is actually about the ideal relationship between humans and nature: appreciating nature from a respectful distance. We don’t have to possess everything that’s beautiful on this earth, as doing so can eventually lead to its destruction. For the survival of every species, we humans must learn to temper our greed," she says.
In Javier's pictorial universe, Mt. Maculot stands not only as an idyllic backdrop—a vision of an Arcadian ideal—but also as a character that plays a pivotal, anchoring role in the development of her visual language and her daily grounding as a human being.
"Whenever I find myself absorbed in my thought-world of climate anxiety and pessimism, I am often pulled back into reality by the natural environment that surrounds me—by Mt. Maculot," she shares.
With a studio ensconced among lush flora at the foot of Mt. Maculot, and mornings spent foraging for leaves, flowers, and trimmings that are then prepared for ecoprinting in the early afternoon, what defines Javier’s practice is a close, almost indivisible relationship between maker and environment. Ecoprinting and embroidery become conduits through which she produces works that negotiate her place in a world facing wave upon wave of climate crises.
But despite living under the protective gaze of Mt. Maculot, Javier shares that climate crisis–induced depression and anxiety continue to affect her studio practice. In her series of tapestry works titled Shades of Grey, she speaks of her ongoing mental health struggles, further aggravated by the damaging effects of doomscrolling. At 55, Javier reflects on how social media and our dependence on smartphones and screens inevitably shape the way we see and relate to the world around us.
"My vacillating emotions are embodied in my use of shades of grey and bluish grey. The use of grey allows me to capture my emotional and mental states in relation to the climate crisis. Yet viewers can see colored windows or portals that reveal moments of optimism I experience between periods of climate crisis–induced depression. For me, shades of grey represent loneliness, desperation, and frustration, while the sections of color and brightness reflect my ways of combating these feelings," shares Javier.
What is perhaps most comforting is how Javier viscerally and intuitively understands how to grieve without losing herself in the process. By embodying the Eastern approach of mindful action, Javier chooses to confront her fears through the act of making with her hands while tapping the collective power of her community.
In a world of ever-increasing uncertainty, her quiet, persistent, hands-on practice stands as one of the most profound and riveting acts of protest.
–Patrick de Veyra
