MY TEACHER AND INSPIRATION IN MY LIFE

An early, watercolor assignment.

I was enjoying college. I was dating, folk dancing with my friends, and life was very carefree.

I had no intention of majoring in art while in college.

I struggled with the perplexing decision of what I should major in. I didn’t enjoy making such a huge decision about my future. Although I had good grades, I wasn’t academically inclined. I was anxious about how I would be able to decide a major since time was running out.

Although I was artistic, I went though a period of time where it was too frustrating for me. If I drew something that was imperfect, I’d have to start over. I started over so often! Although I was good at drawing mazes, I hadn’t done much other art.

I took a few classes, but wouldn’t have remotely considered an art career. I loved music and my guitar, but realized that wouldn’t be something to major in.

Then I took a class in watercolors, and I found my technique! It was a joyous discovery when I accidentally used a different paper to work on. I loved the effect of the smoother surface for my minute details. Later on, I graduated from working with traditional watercolors to dyes. The brilliant and smooth resulting washes in dye were gradually tamed, as I learned the properties of each unique color. The downside of dye is that my work can never be displayed, because dye colors are transient and quickly fade away.

Almost everything that I’ve learned has been self-taught. I developed my very own personal technique of painting. I began to improve with every painting I did from the very beginning. I can see my progress, because so many of my beginning paintings are still hanging in my parents’ vacant apartment.

With only a fair mastery of watercolors, I enrolled in my first illustration class. I was blown away that the instructor was quite an established illustrator. She was an editorial artist, and almost every Sunday I would see her drawings in the Los Angeles Times editorial section. Her name was Nancy Ohanian.

Nancy was an inspiring and demanding teacher. Her passion was a catalyst for me. I decided I could become an artist like her. I was no longer confused any more!

During the time I was in Nancy’s class, I connected with her. She was easy to talk to, and very encouraging to me. I hesitate to say this, but from the very start I considered her my friend.

I remember writing about Nancy in my old diary. I looked at my words from that time in my life, and I was very moved by something I had written. Recently, I shared my diary entry with Nancy. She gave me permission to write this story.

A surreal illustration assignment – A fountain pen is the body of the butterfly

Children’s Book Cover Illustration Assignment.

My Teacher, My Mentor

This is the story of a mentor and a friend. Connections with former teachers in my life have inspired me so much.

Beyond what I wrote in my diary, I knew how important Nancy was to keep me focused on finding my way in my art career. Ironically, I haven’t seen Nancy for perhaps twenty years. Before that, we saw each other on only a few special occasions.

One time we went hiking together. She came to my baby shower for Jason. I know that because I found a picture of her there!

Before I had children, we used to talk on the phone for hours. My very first job for Celestial Seasonings was obtained through the same agent as Nancy. Nancy told her artist representative all about me and arranged for me to bring my portfolio to show her agent.

The agent said she’d find me work. I received my very first high pressure illustration assignment. It was an illustration to be used in the coupon section of the newspaper (FSI ad). It was an illustration for Celestial Seasonings. I had one week to complete it for which I would be paid $2,500.

It was exciting and terrifying! I didn’t sleep that week. I learned so much!

I turned in that job, and it came back to me – something had to be completely changed! There was no time to redo it either.

This was my first experience about how I needed to be resourceful. I repainted the area that needed changing. I cut it out and glued it over the first painting! My job was accepted. I was exhausted! But, there was only one problem. The agent would not pay me.

Nancy felt terrible about my bad experience with her agent. Later on, she had problems with her, too. We both laugh about it now.

Once I had graduated, I returned to Nancy’s illustration classes and did watercolor demonstrations. I enjoyed doing those demonstrations very much. At that time, Nancy was teaching at California State University Los Angeles. I applied there with her encouragement, and began my first part-time teaching job.

I’ve taught illustration in four different venues since that time. With Jason’s challenges, it became too difficult for me to continue teaching.

I still keep in touch with several of my students. One is a very good friend.

My first job for Celestial Seasonings

Actual print ad from my job – I hated the black background; how can the glass be transparent?

A later job for the same company – my illustration is the tiny one on the left.

Messages of Love

Nancy taught at Cal State Los Angeles. The year that Jason died, Nancy moved to New Jersey and to teach at Rowen University. Through the years, we stayed in touch. We communicated fairly infrequently.

When my mother was very ill, I sent out an email to all my friends sharing what was happening.

The key to my survival, during my mother’s illness, was the love and support that I received from my friends. Nancy and I began to have some lovely email exchanges. Actually, lovely is not the word for it.

Nancy’s messages were especially comforting to me.

Comfort flooded me with energy, and sustained me when I was falling down. I would like to share some of my exchanges with my former art teacher. Nancy Ohanian has been a professor of art at Rowen University in New Jersey since 1992.

Nancy came to my baby shower before I had Jason.

A card from Nancy.

Another card from Nancy.

On Dec 10, 2009, at 6:01 AM, Nancy wrote:

Hey Judy!!

What can be said to comfort and strengthen you, your mom and family!!!!

Just know I am right there with you in spirit, sending my love and support your way. It is impossible to describe how difficult is your burden, Judy. You’re not alone!!!! Again and again. You’re not alone.

You are the most tender and sensitive daughter in the world and clearly your mom is aware of what you are doing for her.

Frankly, you cannot do more. Know that. Hang in there, Judy. You are doing your best. Go with your gut and accept every moment. Accept yourself. Accept your mom. Accept life as it is.

I love you Jude!!

Nan XX

Thanks, Nanc.

You totally understand how hard this is. I am doing as best I can. I already miss talking with her so much. I’ll continue to keep you posted and try to accept this situation.

Love, Jude

Ps. I had a call the other day for a huge art job. Tough timing, but an amazing thing to actually get in this economy.

On Dec 12, 2009, at 9:11 PM, Nancy wrote:

Thanks, Judy.

All I can say is you are amazing. Stay strong Judy!! Stay strong for yourself and your mom.

I’m thinking of you and I care very, very much!!!

Love Nan

Hi Nan,

I appreciate your thinking of me.  I am in a bubble of pain, but I’m hoping for the best.  It’s so hard! Glad I can share with you.

Love, Judy

On Dec 30, 2009, at 12:37 PM, Nancy wrote:

Hey Jude!!!

That’s great news all around!

Glad to hear your mom is doing well. Glad about your illustration assignment too!!! You must be the only illustrator in town who is working at the moment. Yes, the timing is perfect.

Hoping things continue to improve and you’re able to focus on your painting.

Thanks for the update. It does sound as though the writing is helpful for you to sort out all the feelings and give shape to what is happening. Seems healthy for you. Good to know your mom is improving. Your loyalty and commitment are amazing.

I am glad to know you’re taking time for tennis and hypnotherapy. If it’s helping you deal with all that has happened, thank goodness! I do hope your brothers can now help with the heavy load.

I am reading your emails regularly, Judy, and supporting you with my thoughts and prayers.

Love, Nan XX

Thanks, Nanc. I do feel lucky about the project. And you’d be proud of me; it’s all digital. I never thought I’d figure that part out!

Hope all is well with you. Stay well!

Love, Jude

On Jan 21, 2010, at 3:37 AM, Nancy wrote:

Hi Judy,

You are shining, Judy. You are doing everything a loving and devoted daughter can possibly do for her mom. There is nothing more that can be asked of anyone. Your mom knows that and you can live with yourself knowing your decisions were compassionate and made to the best of your ability with the information provided. The doctors are also making their decisions based upon info we may not be aware of at the moment. Everyone has limits.

I believe you are doing everything with thoughtful consideration in spite of the stress. You are doing amazingly well. Judy, as hard as it is, just stay the course, stay strong and stay connected to everyone who supports you in any way you need.

Love Nan XX

Thanks, Nan. I love you so much. I can feel your hug. It’s so helpful to hear this.

Love, Judy

I am so in the moment. Ahhhh!

It would be interesting to share this with my mom.  She said to me the other day, “Our roles are reversed, now I’m the child!”  I told her, “Roles don’t matter; some thing’s never change – especially our love for each other!”

Love always, Jude (your former student!)

On Jan 26, 2010, at 4:24 PM, Nancy wrote:

Hi Judy!

I have been reading your emails as though reading a book of life’s wisdom and compassion. (I so wish I was Jewish. Hahaha!) Your thoughts are so very tender, insightful, loving, reflecting exactly the person you are. Through all your difficulties you have kept an open mind and open heart. (That just blows me away.) You have expressed your feelings with sensitivity to everyone involved. You have shown me first hand that we can become stronger and wiser by accepting our feelings (no matter how painful), being honest about them and about who we are.

You are and always have been one of the most incredible women I have ever known. How fortunate to know you and “meet” the caring friends with whom you have chosen to surround yourself.

What an honor you are to your mother and your family. How interesting it would be if your mom could someday read the email exchanges documenting the last few months. What you have shared and how you have shared your experiences have become a tribute to your mom and effectively a tribute to yourself.

Rest in this single moment. Ahhhhhhh. :O)

Lots of love,

Nan XX

On 1/29/10 4:13 PM, Judy wrote:

Hi Nanc,

Okay, since you sent me an image, I’m sharing two illustrations with you. I’ve got such a big smile – thanks so much, Nanc.  I still remember when you gave me a “C” on my first illustration assignment in your class. I’m sure you don’t remember, but it was a black and white editorial illustration. I did much better when I took up watercolors.

These three paintings that I did for Frito Lay were done about three months ago. I don’t think I had picked up a paintbrush for a year at least. Therefore, I was very proud that I still remembered how. It was difficult for me to try to keep them “loose.”

I am also very stuck on the digital. I love it, but I also hate the fact that it killed my business! Let’s hope 2010 is a great year for both of us!

Love, Jude

Hahahahaha! You’re too funny, Judy!!!

Yes, I have nightmares about giving you a “C.” I deserve it!!! You’re so awesome. I tell that story to my students. Oy, yoy, yoy!!!

I only wish I had all Judy Ungers in my classes!

I totally LOVE your paintings, Judy! You still have it!!! You didn’t forget!  I often wonder if I could still draw the way I did. It has been so long. Once in awhile I will pick up my pens just to see if the feel is still there. I think it is, but I believe I may be a bit rusty. Hahaha! I guess I don’t have the patience at the moment to draw as the ink ever-so-s l o w l y seeps out of that tiny pen.

Judy, NO ONE illustrates food like you do. NO ONE. I understand how you feel, that “digitalia” (Haha) killed our business. Yes, it really has changed the business SOOOO much. I don’t get any jobs anymore, except about one or two a year. In fact, these days I make very little from my syndicate! I feel so fortunate to have this teaching job, even tho it is in NJ. Yuk!!

You are so good with color, contrast and composition. And don’t you just love making splashes. Hahahaha! I’m really into splashes! I so wish you were here. I would beg you to teach an illustration class. I am still learning about color. It’s really challenging. You seem to have a very special understanding of it. It has taken years for me to finally create a palette I am comfortable with on the computer. I imagine it will be another difficult challenge if I ever start using paint.

Really fun “talking” with you, Judy, and seeing your beautiful work!

I am still thinking about you and your mom.

You get an “A+” for being you! :O)

Love Nan XX

Hi Nancy,

Thank you so much for your message. I’ve been smiling all day about it, and only now was able to write you back. To tell you the truth, I did deserve that “C.”

What can I say? Before your class, I wasn’t sure I’d become an illustrator. How lucky I am to have such a loving friend that was my teacher when I was 20 years old! I don’t have time to write what I’d like at this moment, but let’s definitely stay in touch more. Your digital work, and the switch you made from B & W to color especially inspire me.

Someday, I am going to come visit you in New Jersey and lecture for your classes.

Love, Judy

(I shared a link to videos from my youngest son’s Bar Mitzvah)

On Jan 29, 2010, at 8:39 PM, Nancy wrote:

Dear Judy,

I watched all 7 videos and have a lump in my throat. It was my first Bar Mitzvah! You’re an incredible mom, Judy.You have a wonderful family.

I am happy your mom is feeling better. It has become a very sweet month. Thanks for letting me be a part of your life.

Love Nan XX

Dearest Nancy,

You have always been a part of my life! What a blessing to have a sweetness come from so much trial and tribulation. I have been given such a gift, and I love sharing it with everyone.  I always know now how lucky I am to have found so much support from my family and friends.

Love, Judy

Ps. I am going to transcribe for you something I wrote in my diary in 1978 (word for word):

Diary Excerpt from May 15th, 1979:

Yesterday was an experience that I shall remember for the rest of my life. Another human being – one who affects me – whom I admire – I touched her, Nancy Ohanian – successful artist, loner – told me that she feels comfortable with me, something she’s never felt before and that I remind her of when she was 19.

And now I suppose I should know that I’m special. I’ve heard “versions” of that before – but this is from a qualified artist, but – it was not applied only in art! In life! Of course I want to believe that – what will happen to me? I feel very inspired.

I want to reach out to this teacher – although she might not want me at all. Maybe I want to intrude upon her loneliness. I don’t know. But yesterday was a historic moment in my life – see – I’m not older looking back at what I’d done in my life – now is what I will do – what I will become. And I’m going to become something!

OMG!!!

Hahaha!!

That is SOOOO humbling, Judy! Scary!

Oy!!!

Please don’t feel you must remove the loner or loneliness part. It’s true.

You inspired ME. You inspire me. YOU taught ME. YOU TEACH ME.

One thing is for sure. You have become a hell-of-a-lot better than I, compared to whatever you may have thought about me as an artist and a human being.

I could never reach you, Judy.

Love Nan XXX

Sorry, teach, but there is no comparing human beings. I am insulted when you say I am better than you. Who can judge whether one person is better than another? If there’s anything I’ve learned in this life, we certainly don’t choose many circumstances that befall us in this world.

You are an amazing artist. You have reached me and beyond, for sure. Let’s both continue reaching higher and higher in life together.

Love you, Jude

My diary entry about Nancy in 1979.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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THERE WAS HOPE FOR ME

I was always smiling!

It was a Saturday morning and I went to see my hypnotherapist, Connie. I shared with her how much I wanted to do and how overwhelmed I felt. I knew I had no deadline, but I’d waited for such a long time to do the things I felt passionate about. I had so much to say about the lessons I’d learned over the past thirty years. She told me she could help me strike a balance in my life. I talked a lot. I was amazed how my spoken words connected to what I heard in my head, and was the same way I felt when I was writing. I used to say something other than what I was really thinking. Now, I said things the way I heard them, but not in a hurtful way. I wasn’t looking to express everything and knock people over.        

We talked about my doubt, as well as my certainty that I would be successful as a writer. I told her how I suddenly saw an image of myself as a “wrapped up present.” I had many gifts and what had happened was that all of them had come together into one, big package.           

I shared with Connie how I reached the pinnacle of my career and watched it dissipate. There was no choice for me about that. However, I had now decided to make my own choice. I preferred to be a writer. I knew Connie understood that, because I had once asked her, ”Connie, what if you could be arranging flowers again for a lot of money liked you used to in the past? Instead of being a hypnotherapist, would you do that instead if you had the opportunity to go back to it?”           

She didn’t blink an eye when she said no. Connie was very professional. Although I felt very close to her, I didn’t really know much about her at all. She had chosen to keep it that way. I knew what her answer would be when I asked her that question. It was obvious for me that she loved what she was doing. She had already changed a lot of people’s lives besides mine.           

When it was time for the hypnosis she mentioned to me she was going to try something more interactive. I was totally open to it. I closed my eyes and began to relax. I floated off, but heard her voice in the distance. As she counted, I felt a colored light surrounding me and filling me with calmness. She said, “Okay, I want you to give me an image now. Something that represents what you are feeling when you have doubt.”           

I told her, “I have an image where I see myself lying flat on the ground. I can’t get up and I can’t walk. I am defeated. The picture I see of myself on the ground reminds me of how my young son used to fall on the ground, put his face in the carpet and scream.”           

She asked, “Can you find a word to describe how that image feels?”           

I searched and then I said, “I felt hopeless. I felt like a failure. There wasn’t even much point in getting up. I just wanted to lie there.”           

Then she said, “Alright, now I want you to find another image. Tell me what image you have of yourself now that could speak to the other image.”           

I said, “My other image is of myself today, I’m running and flying. I feel free and happy again. I would tell the image of myself on the ground that everything would be okay. You will get up and you will be able to walk again.”           

Now I was fully crying; my tears became a running stream down my cheeks. I said softly, “Honestly, Connie, after Jason died I was not only on the floor. I was ready to just quit completely. I didn’t even know how I’d ever get up again. I wanted to die. I don’t remember much except my existence was like torture. Eventually, I just felt I had to get up because I loved my other children so much.”           

I sobbed as the following sentence erupted. “I just wish I had known that there was hope for me!” It became quiet. I had let my emotions out, and gradually I became calm again.

After a few moments of silence, I listened carefully as Connie asked me to further describe the current image of myself that was speaking to my image lying on the ground. I told her I was young again. I remembered how I used to feel when I was at the beach; it was my favorite place to play my guitar. I was overlooking the ocean and my hair was freely blowing in the marine air. I felt like life was wonderful and anything was possible. Connie went into another direction. She said, “Tell me what image comes to mind when you think of striking a balance.”

I love this picture.

I answered quickly, “Getting on the scale every morning!” I wondered why I said that, but realized that the word “balance” had me picture a scale. I tried to explain. “I am comfortable now with what I’m eating and how I look. I’m not torturing myself that I’m fat and out of control anymore. I accept the way I look now, so I think I’ve struck a balance in that area.”

She said, “Do you see any image that is painful and countering this image of balance?”

It was getting more challenging for my brain to process what she said while under hypnosis. Eventually I spoke hesitantly and said, “Yes, I do see a negative and countering image. You know, I’m not glamorous. I don’t usually wear make up. I don’t get manicures because I bite my nails. I have always felt that beauty comes from within. I still feel beautiful.”

Then I gasped as a sob erupted. I said tearfully, “For a long time I have lived without any compliments about my appearance. When I was youthful, I was so happy; I felt adored. I used to be told I was pretty. But my husband is not expressive or demonstrative in that way. I know he loves me, but I’ve learned to live without ever hearing any compliments about my appearance. I feel so unattractive as I’ve gotten older, both as a result of age and not hearing anything positive.”

Connie said, “What would your positive image say to this?”

I said, “My positive image would remind me that I have never been interested in spending a lot of time on my appearance. Even now that I have a lot of clothes that are baggy, I am not interested in making time to buy new things. I have different passions that are more important to me. Yet, I still feel beautiful. I have never worried that my husband was ever looking at other women. I can’t fault him for being a zombie like me. I didn’t ask for much. In fact, no matter what has happened to me in my life, I have always maintained a smile. Smiling can make anyone look beautiful. When I was a young girl, I used to be called Smiley.”

It was time for me to awaken from hypnosis. Connie said, “Say goodbye to those painful images. I want you to embrace those new images . . . the one where you see yourself running and flying and the image of your youthful self at the beach.”     

As I opened my eyes, my cheeks felt tight where the stream of tears had dried. I wondered what insight I’d find from our session. Suddenly, I had a burst of clarity. I told Connie, “You know, I just wish when I was on the ground and felt like I wanted to die, that I could have known someday I’d be full of joy again.”           

She was very quiet for a moment. Her eyes were shining when asked me a thoughtful question. She said, “Do you realize what it is you are sharing when you write?”           

I said without hesitation, “I am giving other people hope. Hope is something that everyone can relate to! For so many years, I was such a “stuck” person, the consummate caregiver. I had been taking care of so many people and I’d never expressed any of my feelings. I was appropriate, considerate, and I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. 

When my parents lived with me, I was running on empty. Before that almost every single day after Jason died, I woke up wishing I never woke up again. If there was hope for me, then there could be hope for anyone! One cannot imagine grief. You must live it, in order to understand it. There is no other way. That is the sadness of bereavement. It is not possible to imagine how horrible it feels. It is a very lonely thing to grieve.           

When I was suffering through so many overwhelming challenges in my life, I had no idea that I would ever feel better. So there was always hope for me. I wish it were possible that every human could maintain hope in order to help them survive their grief.”

I no longer remember the sensitive people that wrote me these cards.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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ILLUSTRATING MY LIFE LESSONS THROUGH ART

PERFUME MEDLEY – my original painting, not a photograph.

My motto as an illustrator was always “whatever works.” For me, that meant through experimentation I developed many shortcuts and ways of doing things that gave me the result I was looking for. Most everything I have learned, from art to music, even to computers, has been self-taught. It might be interesting to know that although I was a professional illustrator, I lived without creative passion for over twenty years. Initially, I used to contemplate beautiful portfolio paintings that I could create for my commercial portfolio. However, that stopped once I became an established illustrator. Over time, my illustrations simply became technical exercises for me. I was grateful for a career that allowed for me to create my own schedule. That flexibility was very helpful while raising my children.

An early watercolor done while learning the technique in college.

An early watercolor done while learning the technique in college.

When I was younger, I did not have enough life experience to really connect with other people through writing. I certainly did not have the confidence to pursue any of my dreams of sharing music. However, I have always pursued my dreams as an artist. It started when I was very young. As a child, I remember my own mother telling me that being an artist was a wonderful career to have as a mother. I was in preschool when a teacher told my mother that I had artistic talent. From that time forward, both my parents nurtured it. I didn’t have any expensive art lessons. My parents simply provided me with materials and art projects that I enjoyed. I was a consummate “paint-by-numbers” artist. I remember patiently completing such an elaborate “doodle art” poster of fish, which still hangs on the wall of my old bedroom.

One of the few drawings I’ve done, which I find interesting.

When I was around ten-years-old, I became such a perfectionist that it became painful for me. I remember I would draw only one line, decide it wasn’t quite right, and then crumple the paper up. I went through many, many reams of paper. At that time, I decided that being an artist was frustrating and not much fun at all.

It was ironic that I was an artist who hated drawing. Though sketching was very frustrating, tracing came easily for me. And then there was an exception about drawing. I could easily draw mazes. My post about my mazes is at: #44 MY AMAZING JOURNEY. 

I published my maze book at the age of fourteen and I dedicated it to the math teacher who had encouraged me. I didn’t make any significant amount of money from my “Maze Book,” but it was a great achievement in my young life. 

After my book was published, I didn’t create mazes much anymore. In high school, I turned all of my attention from art to music. I stopped doing most artwork except for the enjoyable renderings that impressed my biology teachers. It wasn’t until I discovered watercolors in college, that art became part of my life again. I decided to become an illustrator after I took two, illustration classes as an undecided major in college. My first, paid illustration assignment resulted from one of those classes. The instructor had given our class an assignment for a medical magazine publisher. In 1980, my illustration was chosen for the cover of a medical magazine specializing in cardiology and I received $400.

My very first illustration in college for which I was paid $400.

How was it possible for me to be a mom, a wife, a daughter, and still have a successful illustration career? That is a very good question!

It is absolutely true that I was painting while my infant daughter was nursing at my breast.

I was illustrating after Jason died. Sometimes my tears would drop down onto my artwork. I always cover everything to prevent spills when I’m working. Sometimes, it was my own tears that spilled onto my work.

I began illustrating after I graduated with my Bachelors in Art 2-D from California State University, Northridge in 1981.

After I graduated, I developed a commercially oriented portfolio and within a few months I had some small assignments come my way. My first breakthrough assignment was an advertisement for a national product. I had one week to create a painting for which I was paid a significant sum of money. It was a lot of pressure for me and I experienced tremendous anxiety. I hardly slept that week. 

I learned a valuable lesson about deadlines in my field when I realized there was always time left over for revisions if the client was unhappy. I never took an assignment with a deadline I could not meet. There were revisions on my first, big job, but I still managed to pull it off. When my painting was printed in the coupon section of the Sunday newspaper, it was very thrilling for me.

My first, big job.

Gradually, I received more and more assignments. Later on, I had several agents representing me in major cities of the country. I was usually busy working on one assignment, with several others waiting for me when my current job was completed. 

For over two decades, I continued to produce my paintings. I was prolific and accomplished with my technique. Even so, there were always those occasional “nightmare projects.” I remember each one clearly and learned lessons from all of them. I was not so arrogant as to assume that my work was pleasing to everyone.

About six years ago, my career began to gradually fade away. When my parents became my responsibility, I was able to devote myself full-time to their care. All of my advocacy exhausted me, and I was fully into Zombieland. I was ready to let go of that additional pressure.

Because everyone was using computers already, the demand for a “quick turn-around was even greater. Prices were already half of what they used to be. Eventually, there were seldom calls for custom assignments. In the past, I used to have assignments waiting for me for as long as six months. 

I appreciated that I could devote more energy to my family, especially my parents. I figured it was “meant to be.”

“Idealism and Photorealism”

My motto as an illustrator has always been “whatever works.” But my paintings always started out as a way to match a color and/or texture that was on my photo-reference.

I always say that the irony of my career is that:

I started out making paintings look like photos,

and now I’m taking photos to make them look like paintings!

When people look at my paintings, they often think they are photographs. My technique has always involved using photos as reference. However, they are still paintings.

Later on, I will share more about my own “rules of illustrating.” One rule that I have (remember, this is my rule only) is:

There is nothing wrong with tracing.

The reason that my subject matter gravitated from doing medical magazine covers to food and flowers is quite simple. I have easy accessibility to photo reference for food and flowers.

My greatest challenge has been illustrating something I cannot look at or photograph. I have become quite resourceful in creating reference photography for myself. That is another area that I look forward to sharing.

One of the ways I like to view my paintings is not to say they are “photorealistic.” I prefer to call them “idealistic.” I want my fruit to be perfect; the ideal. As I’ve developed my paintings, sometimes I’ve gone more toward including blemishes on fruit – I’ve made them less idealistic!

Perhaps that’s because it feels just like me. I am older and more blemished, too.

DESSERT MEDLEY – copyright by Judy Unger, 2009

“Transparency is my ideal in creating colors”

Working transparently vs. opaquely is basically the difference between having colors that are “clear” vs. those that cover other colors and can be mixed with white paint. In my later years, I have often gone to a more opaque method to create unique textures. It is subtle, and is generally not used throughout much of my painting.

I prefer transparency with color, and utilize transparent painting even when using opaque mediums. That means that I glaze with acrylics when I use them.

Transparent color was always my ideal. Transparent color is a lot like looking through stained glass windows. Each veil of color subtlety alters the color it overlays. The most brilliant white is achieved by leaving the paper white. I always preferred painting transparently and my favorite medium was water-based dyes. Even when I used opaque mediums, I still worked transparently. That meant I glazed when using acrylics; painting with thin washes of color instead of thick gobs of paint.

“Taking stock of my situation”

Well, the fates have allowed my career to be there for me throughout many of my “trials and tribulations.” However, with the advent of computers and stock illustration – the demand for illustration has been “phased out.” I knew things were serious when most of the artist representatives gave up their businesses first. Then, 90% of the agencies I used to work with closed. After that, there were fewer and fewer artists surviving only on illustration assignments.

As stressful as illustrating was for me at times, I have loved the entire process. It has been an artistic journey of self-discovery from the very beginning. I finally reached a pinnacle of mastery over the watercolor and marker technique. And then it was all over!

There was no avoiding becoming digital any more because now I had a lot of time on my hands. I knew I definitely had to figure out how to use the computer for my artwork. The process took years and years, and I didn’t rush it. I started off very slowly.

When I hold a stylus, it has not replaced the feeling of a paintbrush. I can look at my thumb to see a very large callus from all the painting I used to do. I hardly ever hold a paintbrush anymore. I still have a large callus on my other thumb from the years when I played classical guitar.

I create beautiful artwork, but my hands are not that attractive. Unfortunately, I do bite my nails!

Even though I utilize the computer for illustrating now, I do not create paintings that are “totally from scratch” on my computer. I combine elements of prior paintings, as well as photography. I create an image on my computer that I am satisfied with. After that, I create a light print upon rag watercolor paper, upon which I overlay watercolor washes, as well as sometimes acrylic, and colored pencil.

This has been exciting for me in two ways. First of all, I dislike sketching and drawing. My print version helps to set my “road map” in place. Second, I have a great idea of how my final version will look. I have solved all the composition issues.

When I used to create a painting, there was a lot of stress related to uncertainty about the best possible composition. With my computer, I can know exactly what is the best placement for every ingredient. It also helps that I can instantly share this with my clients.

Ironically, the computer has been wonderful, while at the same time decimating the need for an illustrator like me.

However, with age and the resulting changes in my vision, I appreciate how much less stress it has been utilizing the computer. I do miss holding a paintbrush, however, now that I’m fifty I can honestly say that it’s a lot easier to see the close up pixels on a computer – rather than squinting through those damn reading glasses.

I now have what I deem a “library of images” for my medley of ingredients. I certainly have a lot of work over the past twenty-eight years to literally “draw from.” Using my scanner, touch up skills, and intuition, I’ve put in thousands of hours to create my “library of images.”

While I created my library, I wondered whether it was worth it or whether it would pay off. It didn’t matter, because now that I’ve done it – I’ve learned all the skills I needed to for mastery of the computer. I receive a lot of requests for images, and my hundreds of stock images are available for sale internationally on the web. Also, any royalties from stock can continue indefinitely; the work is all done, which is nice.

Unfortunately, illustration stock prices are ridiculously low and have not translated into any significant amount of income for me. All of my photographer friends understand this downward spiral of prices for stock. Paintings that were originally thousands of dollars, now sell for $10 on a stock image site. Sadly, some even sell for less than that.

My new way of looking at my paintings is to view them as a medley of ingredients; I deem my art “reconfigured illustrations.”

I still have the ability to quickly create custom work. Maybe someday, I’ll create new imagery. But I’ve always thrived on assignments. I’ve never felt like creating a painting for myself. When someone is willing to pay $7,000 for a painting, I am ready to create anything that will make my client happy.

An assignment is a project with perimeters. Those perimeters become my puzzle to solve. Without an assignment, there are too many possibilities for me. The challenge for me has always been to follow the structure and instructions I have been given. I want very much to please the art director and the hoard of numerous other people involved giving their opinions!

There was a very special evening where I was honored, which Jason attended shortly before he died. Every year, I entered the annual illustration contest for the Society of Illustrator’s of Los Angeles. That year, my favorite painting of a Snicker’s Bar won a gold medal in the unpublished category. I was often told my painting made art directors hungry and it was an excellent promotional piece for me. That night where I shared my excitement of that honor with my parents, husband, and Jason I would always remember.

It was so beautiful having Jason there to share my excitement of winning an illustration award.

When I began to about write my life, I shared a lot about my illustration career. It was very gratifying to know that even though my career faded, it was possible for me to resurrect it by sharing and writing about the experience. No longer had it simply disappeared into nothingness, and it had value in a different way than before. 

As an illustrator, I had a gift for creating any color I desired. I enjoyed the challenge of replicating areas of interesting textures that were on my reference photos. I also loved contrast and often used extreme dark and light whenever possible on my illustrations. I usually mixed many colors together to get dark shadows, rather than use black.

I love to add purple into shadow areas.

In fact, in order to achieve realism when working with my brightly colored dyes, it was important to dull colors down quite a bit. I remember well teaching a painting exercise for my illustration students utilizing complementary colors.

An orange was given an under-painting using green tones.

A banana was given an under-painting using purple tones.

Once the under-painting was done, the pure vibrant color could be painted over the under-painting as an overlay. It was a fun process to teach, because my students were so excited to see something come to life in front of their eyes.

I have probably illustrated more fruit than anything else.

I am now finding great insight into how applicable my art lessons are to my life as well.

If all colors are brilliant, nothing stands out. The brilliance is only possible through having the depth and richness of colors that have been mixed into subtle, dull variations. The same thing applies to contrast. The brilliance is only possible through having the depth and richness of darks and lights!

In life, we cannot have everything purely colorful or purely bright either. It is the contrast and the dullness that allows for appreciation of sparkling beauty; it allows for it to be emphasized!

I found great insight into how applicable my art lessons were to my life, as well. If all colors were brilliant, nothing in my painting stood out. The brilliance was only possible through having the depth and richness of many other colors mixed into subtle, dull variations. The same thing applied to contrast. The brilliance was only possible through having the depth and richness of darks and lights.

This was a metaphor for me because nothing in my life was ever purely colorful or purely bright. It was the contrast and the dullness that had allowed for my appreciation of the sparkling beauty that surrounded me.

I learned so many things by being an artist. I’ve never defined success as making a lot of money; I felt successful when I had my maze book published and I received very little money for it. I’ve had posters, prints and even towels with my work on it; those projects paid very little but I was very proud to see my work displayed. 

I never dreamed that I would pursue art as a career; I excelled in other areas besides art. But with dedication and commitment, my dream became a reality. I was very resourceful as an illustrator, and I enjoyed the many challenges I faced during my career. Seeing how much I improved was very gratifying. I went from being an artist who disliked drawing, to an artist who loved painting. I had tremendous satisfaction when I completed assignments that pleased my clients.

 

But I am far more passionate about my writing and music than I ever was about my artwork. Perhaps the difference is that I am not seeking to satisfy anyone other than myself. I might never have imagined I’d be a successful artist, but in contrast, I feel very positive that with my music and writing I will touch and heal many people. But most importantly, I have certainly healed myself.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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PERFECT DAUGHTER, I’M NOT

My mom has always been my best friend.

I’m not sure I want to share what I’m writing today.

I need to figure out what is causing my pain. I am slowly reaching within to understand it. I can say one thing, for sure. I cannot share this with my mother.

I will write and decide later on how much I can share. Part of my anguish about sharing is twofold. I want to help other sandwiches that might be grappling with this same issue. At the same time, revealing how human I am will destroy my image as the “perfect daughter.”

It was certainly no accident that I started to write about my mother and her ordeal on a respirator. I can see that by how I’ve been feeling.

I have so many pangs right now! However, it is true what I have discovered. Recently, I have felt so much joy. I walk around beaming sometimes. That is all new in my life. I have learned that there was no joy for me when I didn’t acknowledge my pain. I have to allow for my pain in order to feel better.

So I guess my emotions are simply “bubbling up.”

One friend of mine called my style of writing, “emoting.” For me, I feel as though I am an “emotional teakettle.” I have had the fire under me for a very, long time. My whistle blowing is a result of trying to hold it all in.

It has been unsettling for me to have my filters blown off. I have the insight to realize that this was necessary for me to heal. It will probably be temporary. I need to regain my behavior as an appropriate human, eventually. I have always been polite and considerate.

Today, when the director of my mother’s nursing home called to give me an update, I embarrassed myself. He told me there was no news about whether a room was available for her to move closer to where my father is. I brought up about how it’s been a month since I requested the feeding tube be removed.

I was told that the next appointment with a GI specialist would be two to three weeks. I listened and tried to explain that it’s been a month already. That didn’t help. Then I said, “Every day her quality of life is affected! I was with her in the bathroom. Can you imagine how it must be to have the tube hanging down getting stuck between your legs?”

I shared this with my husband. He is off work this week and available for me to complain to. He told me, “You need to advocate stronger. She shouldn’t have to wait. They can transport her! You should be able to insist on this!”

After he told me that, I didn’t feel any better. It only got worse.

I confided in him about something else. I was upset about something my mother said to me this morning. I told him how she upsets me a lot lately. Doesn’t he realize I know she can’t help it?

He was firm when he said, “You are wrong, wrong, wrong! You cannot be upset with her! What are you thinking? She is not your child to correct. She is older and she is only going to get worse!”

My husband always says things the way he sees them. That is why I married him – to balance out my emoting.

Releasing my pain

I reached inside to find my pain.

It started this morning when I spoke with my mom. I hadn’t written about the other day when I took her out to dinner.

I need to start with that.

I called her on the way to pick her up. I told her it would be around 5:30 p.m. Lately, she doesn’t remember what time I’ve told her I am coming. She was worried. She left me a lot of messages. She thought I had told her 4:00 p.m.

Now she wasn’t answering the phone. Did she go to the dining room to eat? I had told her I was definitely coming.

A moment later while I was still driving, she called me. She said, “You wouldn’t believe it, honey. I was waiting for your call. However, I was holding the TV remote because I thought it was the telephone!”

That was the first pang.

The second one was my sore back.

First, the lighter, transport wheelchair wasn’t available. It was not in her room. She was waiting for me in her regular wheelchair. I figured I was superhuman and could “handle it.”

I tried in vain to put it in my car. I almost hurt myself. I tried not to curse too loudly when I thumped my head on the open hatch. Calmly, I told my mom I would try to find a lighter, more portable wheelchair while she waited in the car.

I walked back into the facility, and looked for another wheelchair. A nurse pointed to one that was one folded against the wall. I pushed it to my car. Not only didn’t it fit in either, it was just as heavy. I was sweating buckets.

It was quite difficult trying to hide this struggle from my mother. I had my third pang when she said; “I am just so much trouble for my poor daughter!”

I realize I should probably purchase a portable wheelchair for her soon. I will ask my father to pay for it.

I ended up leaving the wheelchair in the underground parking lot. I would plan to help my mother into the restaurant another way.

I picked up my children, and my oldest son helped my mother into the restaurant using an aluminum walker. I was amazed that she did it. I felt like the mother of a toddler learning to walk. For my mother, it was an achievement like climbing Mt. Everest. We didn’t eat until almost 8 p.m.

I was starving, and I had a huge headache. But I smiled, and I was patient with my younger son who was feeling the same way.

I allowed myself to feel the pleasure of seeing my mom enjoy her grandchildren and the outing. That helped me so much.

Partial Recovery

Last night, I wrote about my mom. I wrote that she is recovering from her hospitalization. That is only partially true.

My painful realization is that she cannot recover from old age and it’s ravages.

Without feeling totally disrespectful to the mother that I love so much, I am writing about my desolate sadness of losing the woman who was my greatest source of support; my mother was my best friend.

She has incrementally faded from my world, and that has left me bereft and lonely. Through my darkest hours, I always knew how much I could count on her wisdom to comfort me. I’ve said this many times, “No one in this world will ever love me as much as my mom.”

Now I am her source of comfort. I am her sounding board; I am her savior. I am the parent.

It is a huge responsibility that I feel proud to accept.

But I am confused by this “other person” she has become. I’m frustrated that she says so many things that upset me.

MY “BEFORE” AND “NOW” LIST WITH MY MOTHER:

Before: Every morning I would look forward to talking with my mom. I always had so much to share with her and I felt so loved.

Now: I feel guilty that I don’t have time. (Scratch that word, guilty!). I make time, but I am very careful not to share anything upsetting. My easiest form of conversation begins with the sentence: “Mom, what can I do for you?” My mom is always ready with her list. She wants me to bring things and make calls for her. Unfortunately, she often forgets what they are.

Before: When I was sad or unsure, I knew she would brainstorm solutions with me. She was sad along with me. I always felt better after talking with her.

Now: When she is sad and filled with anxiety, I try to encourage her to think positive. I promise I will solve her problem. She has faith and trust in me. But I become sad and anxious along with her. I feel the weight of the world after we get off the phone.

Before: We would go shopping together once a week. It was productive for me, and she enjoyed our time together. There were many items on her list, and the store checkers sometimes recognized us. I would hear, “The two of you are most certainly mother and daughter! It is so beautiful to see you together!”

Now: Only six months ago, we could still go shopping. However, her back would hurt her and she walked very, very slowly. I ran circles around her to grab the items on my list. I left her in one aisle, walked across the store and then returned. She tried not to complain about the severe pain in her back, but it was obvious. Now, she no longer has much of a shopping list.

Trauma Memories:

My mother and I had a wonderful shopping outing. I loaded everything into the trunk. My mother was on the passenger side opening the door. I put my key into the ignition. I looked to the door and she had disappeared. I opened the window and called out, “Mom, where are you?” There was no answer.

I leapt wildly out of my driver’s seat and dashed to the other side of the car. She was on the curb sitting there. She said, “I’m fine, honey. I just lost balance and came down slowly. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

I smiled with relief. My heart felt like a train wreck, though.

The “Other Daughter”

Every day I was trudging into the ICU. I usually couldn’t sleep, so I was exhausted. I brought a blanket and pillow to keep in my car. I was prepared for those emergencies, and the possibility that I would be too tired to manage the whole day. I had a cooler with snacks to keep me going.

Sometimes, I didn’t even sign in. I used the same sticker from a prior day. No guard ever noticed. I felt panicky, like I was trying to delay going in, when I’d stop to get some coffee.

Before reaching the familiar, double doors, I’d pass a tiny waiting room. I could see other families, other faces there. Every face could tell a story.

It was there that I always saw the “other daughter.” She had the saddest eyes. Her hair was long and pulled back under a shawl. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, just like me. Her mother’s room was across to the left of my mother’s. This woman was often there with her father. He would not reply with anything but a gruff response when I’d say hello.

I never went into their room much. But it’s easy for me to picture her mother with her knees up. She had a trachea tube also. She was not very old, and that stood out for me. The other daughter told me her mother was an avid reader. Her world was shattered the day her mother was hospitalized due to a perforated colon.

Her mother was three days “ahead of mine.” When it came time for the trachea tube to be inserted into my mom, I spoke with the “other daughter.” She told me how the procedure went for her mother. When the weaning seemed excruciating, she understood what I was going through.

We both had our own worlds to live in. Our bubbles were touching.

One day, my good friend Janis, came to visit me in ICU. Perhaps because Janis was a nurse, she had no reservations about stepping into this ghastly stress pit with me. I could not hold a conversation while Janis visited me; I was busy wiping my mother’s forehead with a washcloth and adjusting pillows. I had to ask the nurse for ice and other items to help my mom.

Janis was also there earlier to visit the “other daughter” on the room to the left. They were mutual friends. Such are the coincidences in my life.

Although things were discouraging with my mom, the situation had not turned the corner to despair.

One day when I visited my mother, the other daughter’s eyes were more desolate than usual. The other daughter was processing the terrible news that her mother would not recover. It was simply “a matter of time.” I hugged her, and told her how sorry I was. I did not know her, and I have not seen her since this ordeal ended. Janis says she lives only a mile from me.

I continued my daily existence of trudging into the ICU. I wondered every day if the time had arrived for the “other daughter.” It made me even sadder.

However, she was still there day after day. This went on for over a week. I tried to speak to her father, but he would not even answer me gruffly any more. Now family members began to arrive and the ICU was crowded with her family. Young girls were at her mother’s bedside. She told me it was a religious custom that her mother would not die alone.

When the “other mother” died, I gave the “other daughter” the tightest of hugs. We were connected by our shared ordeal but now our paths were diverging. She was going down the path of bereavement as she planned her mother’s funeral.

I went back to the ICU to continue my vigil with my mother. I should have been celebrating my mother’s tenacity, but I was numb.

The other daughter would have given anything to be in my place!

I have so much pain for not appreciating my circumstances more!

I have this card in my drawer. I have a box full of more of them. I cry every time I read it.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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