myjourneysinsight

THROUGH THE DARKNESS

Posted on October 10, 2013 by Judy

Link to performances, stories, lyrics and recordings: WITH ME

My post title is a line of lyrics from my original song, “With Me.” Above is a sheet where I scrawled out those lyrics. (I preferred through the darkness, rather than in the darkness). Recently, I sang a new vocal for my song and my beautiful words have “lifted me up” when I’ve been discouraged. I’ve noticed that darkness has been a powerful metaphor in my life for sadness and confusion. In one of my earliest songs “Beside Me Always” my lyrics go, I’ll search through shrouded darkness . . .

WITH ME-PART 1

My eyes were hurting me. I kept blinking and although my eyes were watering with tears, they were incredibly dry.

I did not want to see. This caused me to remember a sentence I’d written before:

Our body exhibits what our mind does not allow.

–

I walked around feeling as if I were in a fog. My life was playing out something I had eerily witnessed as a dream many years before. Now it was like watching an old home movie. I knew every scene before it played because I had watched this show in my mind many years ago.

—

This picture was taken after I had cataract surgery, but it was not the eye that was operated on.

Within a week, my mother had deteriorated rapidly.

On Monday, Miriam called me crying because my mother never woke up during the six hours she was there.

I was having difficulty concentrating and tried to take care of myself. But my eyes were bothering me every moment of my day.

On Tuesday night, the jarring sound of the house phone ringing at 11 p.m. gave me chills. I was suffocated by guilt as my brain screamed, “Is she dead?”

It was her nursing home calling. I held my breath as they told me my mother had been running a fever and her oxygen would be increased. I was about to leave to go see her, but they told me they had brought her fever down and she was comfortable. The charge nurse said that a doctor would definitely see my mother the next day.

An ominous cloud surrounded me and dread began to seep through every pore in my body.

–

The next morning, I moved very slowly because I did not want to face what was waiting for me.

–

I walked into the nursing home and ached when I saw my mother. Her face was contorted and her brow was deeply furrowed as she gasped and moaned with every breath. I was heartsick and beside myself.

Miriam (my mother’s companion) mirrored my mother’s face. I gripped Miriam’s hand and told her, “I feel like I am dying with her!”

It was true. A piece of my soul was withering away.

By lunchtime, my head was pounding when the nursing home told me that a doctor had not come to check my mother as they had promised the night before. Instead a nurse practitioner (NP) was waiting to speak with me.

The NP told me that my mother had a serious lung disease. It was called “Interstitial Lung Disease.” It was the first time I was told this. This explained her need for oxygen and would lead to her death.

I couldn’t understand why the nursing home called me every other day to report a skin tear or bruise, but hadn’t told me something as crucial as that.

In addition, the NP said my mother had a blood test four months earlier that was a “marker” for tumors. My mom showed elevated levels indicating a possible cancer. The NP said that because my mother had also lost a significant amount of weight recently, it was likely that she was dying.

As I was given so much information that contradicted things I had been told previously, I found myself overwhelmed by anger and frustration

My mother never had congestive heart failure, after all. She did not have pneumonia and her heart was fine. She had interstitial lung disease.

All the while, I was struggling trying to decide whether to insist upon an IV antibiotic. This would be a last-ditch effort to give her a chance. But now her struggle was not simply an infection anymore according to this NP.

If I chose morphine instead, it would alleviate her suffering and hasten death. The NP made it clear to me that my mother was not going to improve.

I decided to demand morphine for my mother because she was suffering.

This picture is of my mother holding my father’s hand as he was dying.

The ticking in my mind was getting louder. I wanted to go home and crawl into bed. I wanted to close my eyes. I decided I had to take care of myself. I would go home and do just that. Miriam would stay with my mother.

I kissed my mother goodbye. She had an oxygen mask on and was in a fetal position on her bed. She was absolutely skeletal.

My head was spinning as I walked down the hall to leave the nursing home. I was imprisoned in a horror show.

I passed by half a dozen wheelchairs lined up. The frail bodies in them were all slumped over. Elderly men and women with their eyes were closed and mouths were open. They were simply waiting for their turn to die.

I wanted to run.

My head was screaming, “Get the hell out of here!”

I had practiced for this show many years earlier. Even though I had put everything into the dress rehearsal, suddenly I wasn’t prepared for “show time.”

The show was beginning as I stumbled out from the nursing home.

It would go on with or without me.

–

Was my mother treated differently because she had a no-hospitalization order?

It seemed to be that way. Certainly she could have been treated more aggressively and I had been left out of the loop. I hadn’t attended any recent care meetings and did not want to feel guilty about it. Those meetings were usually brief and more about the nursing home’s agenda. If there were a concern, I would address it whenever it happened rather than wait for one of those meetings.

When my mother broke her hip three years earlier, I was ready to let her die rather than have surgery. Even then, I never imagined I’d have to make so many decisions surrounding both of my parents’ life and death.

What made this situation so difficult was trying to follow her wishes. My father made it easier for me because he clearly told me what to do.

I knew my mother did not want to die because she always told me that. She was afraid of death.

I came home and wrote an email to my good friend, Dr. Sam telling him what the nurse practitioner had told me. He replied:

Judy, why is your mom struggling to breathe right now? What is the result of the chest x-ray?

I would try to speak with a doctor, if possible. I just don’t think that NPs should be providing care to patients who aren’t doing well. If she has pneumonia then she needs IV antibiotics and oxygen at the nursing home, assuming you don’t think she should be in the hospital.

It sounds as if the nursing home is trying to provide minimal treatment. At times that may be appropriate, but the timing of that decision really should be up to you and your brothers, not them. Sam

Sam, she’s 88 and it’s been such a hard journey to this place. Up until this point my mom has been deteriorating – losing weight and constantly coughing. Most of the time she slept and didn’t eat. She hardly could speak or say anything.

She is in bad shape Sam. If I thought something could turn this around – I would. But I think it would cause her to suffer far more. The NP said that my mom has regularly seen a pulmonologist and that they’ve been aware of this problem with her airway.

She’s receiving 4 liters of oxygen and constant breathing treatments are not helping. It’s so horrible to be this frustrated.

I am lost with this.

–

Perhaps I was lost and making this decision was agonizing.

As I drove home from the nursing home I listened to my songs. Each one had many lines of lyrics that touched my heart.

My song “With Me” was especially helpful. And it was hard to say goodbye. Letting go wasn’t easy, either. This was definitely about hanging on.

I wasn’t the kind of person who regularly prayed. Now I was praying that my mother would not suffer like my father did.

–

The unreality of what was happening was familiar. I heard that loud ticking of a clock in my head. My mother’s last minutes on earth were approaching and everything else began to grind to a halt for me. I couldn’t sing anymore and cancelled most appointments on my calendar.

There were funeral plans to think about.

But as I walked into my coop, I changed gears. My three children knew their grandmother was ill, and I tried to shield them from the horrors of it.

Jason died on October 6^th and today was October 9^th.It was my oldest son’s birthday. I did not want to spoil his day.

For six months, I had hardly seen him when I separated from my husband. I had missed him so much.

But now he was living with me all week and we were close again. His bed was a few feet from my computer.

Before I collapsed to rest I called Rosa, our former housekeeper. She was coming over to visit that evening and I asked her if she could pick up a cake to celebrate his birthday.

When I went to pick up my youngest son from school, we went together to a video game store so he could help me pick out something to give his brother on his 23^rd birthday.

So on a day that held great sadness, I found reasons to smile. I was surrounded by all three of my children for dinner. Rosa cooked and the conversation was light and happy.

Although I had been carefully dieting for a month, my motivation slipped. I looked to find comfort from food again and eagerly ate the birthday cake Rosa had brought.

But then I had a flashback that was so vivid I was transported back in time again. My heart tore open to release a memory from long ago.

–

The last picture of Jason that I have. It was interesting that Jason insisted upon wearing sunglasses – he did not have any eye problems.

It was 1992.

–

Jason was scheduled to have open-heart surgery on October 6th. I wasn’t sure when to celebrate his brother’s birthday, because it would be a few days after Jason’s surgery on October 9^th.

But I had a great idea; we could celebrate the birthday before Jason’s surgery on October 4th.

It was actually a really sad time for me; I had a terrible premonition about Jason’s surgery.

I contained my worry and put on a fake smile.

The pictures I took were the very last ones I would have of Jason.

As both boys clamored around a birthday cake, I was filled with ominous dread.

Now I felt the same way.

I was thrown into another memory. This time I was trying to get through Jason’s funeral. My mother was holding onto my arm and I clutched her tightly. My eyes were closed.

The memory faded into a vision of the future.

I was at a funeral and reaching for her.

But this time she was in the coffin.

–

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2013. 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.

Tagged "sandwich generation", Aging Parents, Caregiving, child's death, death, death of a child, dementia, facing a mother's death, facing losing a parent, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, interstitial lung disease, loss, loss of a mother, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mom dying, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother dying, mother's death, mother's illness, Music, music therapy, original songs, singing, songs to help heal, songwriting, with me | Leave a comment

IT FEELS SO DARK – PART 3

Posted on October 9, 2013 by Judy

I knew my mother had clearly “turned.” But I preferred to pretend otherwise.

I visited her as I usually did on Saturday and brought lunch for Miriam and I. Miriam was upbeat and said my mother had been fairly alert in the morning. But all through our lunch, my mother slept with her body slumped forward in her wheelchair. I wished she knew I was there, because I knew she often missed me when she didn’t see me.

The next day was a beautiful Sunday morning. I woke up early and decided to go visit her again. Perhaps she would be awake and aware of my presence this time.

I wiped away a few tears as I placed a picture at my mom’s bedside.

–

I love you, mom

–

I sat next to her while she slept for an hour. She looked exactly like my father when he was dying in his nursing home bed a year earlier. It was uncanny. Her open mouth and labored breathing brought back memories of my father’s “death rattle,” which I had tried hard to forget.

–

A nurse I recognized walked by and rubbed my shoulder. Then she sweetly said, “Go home, honey.”

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Her hug was warm and firm. We began talking and she asked me how many children I had.

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Normally, I said three. But on this day I said, “Four.”

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When she asked me how old my children were, it led me to mention Jason who had died at the age of five.

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I included mentioning Jason to honor his memory. It turned out that this particular day was the anniversary of his death, because he died on October 6, 1992.

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The nurse encouraged me once again to leave. I stood up. She said, “You sure were close with your mom.”

–

I glanced again at my mother who was slipping toward death. I remembered how much she had suffered with me after Jason died. I wasn’t sure how I survived, but certainly the support of both my parents helped me tremendously.

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I said to the nurse, “Did you know my mom dropped out of college to help me with my sick child? She needed only one more class to graduate. She never went back to finish and for five years she was devoted to helping me with Jason.”

–

I heard my mother moan softly as I said those words.

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Shirley & Jason

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Staying positive was something I put all of my energy toward. I had been working on a large illustration assignment and it was almost done. That Sunday, I came home from the nursing home to finish the last group of illustrations. It was a relief to finish the project.

–

That evening, I called again to check on my mom and nothing had changed. She continued to sleep.

–

And so, another anniversary of Jason’s death had gone by.

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I was relieved. I was sad about my mother, but felt peaceful remembering Jason.

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Twenty-one years ago, I faced the most heartbreaking moment of my life when I saw my beautiful five-year-old son dead.

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I did not feel any pain or sadness about losing him anymore.

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I received a few messages from friends who were thinking of me. One close friend who also lost a son in the fall wrote:

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As you know I always dread this time of year because of his birthday and anniversary of his death. After all these years the pain never really gets easier does it?

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I replied:

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I feel like I am diverging in regards to my grief over Jason’s death. I actually welcomed the fall breezes this year and my heart felt light whenever I thought of him. My pain has melted away. I really do believe that I’ve healed.

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I have memories of pain and trauma – those haven’t gone away. But feeling peaceful and accepting is wonderful. I have many other forms of pain in my life and my challenge is to apply this peacefulness to all those things.

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Writing and music has helped me so much. I will think of you because I have so much compassion for the pain of grief that I carried for so many years. I pray it will get easier for you someday.

Love, Judy

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Jason's grave and shadow 2

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“It feels so dark, the sky is gray”

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In less than a week it would be my birthday. The weather had changed and today it had rained. I wore sandals and felt chilled; inside I was also emotionally numb. My day had been very difficult.

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I tried to push away thoughts of how ironic it would be if my mother died on my birthday. Originally, I had deflected making plans with friends who wanted to take me out. A week earlier, I was too overwhelmed to think about it while I was working on a large illustration assignment.

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But now there was my mother’s illness to consider. I decided to make plans because I knew it would be good for me.

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A birthday party from long ago.

It was hard for me to concentrate. My day was a blur and I sat at my computer thinking about my mother fighting to stay alive. I saw an email from a good friend. She wanted me to mark down a date that was several weeks away to celebrate my birthday.

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Her message was a ray of sunshine.

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I wrote back:

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I love you dearly and now I will have something bright to look forward to in my darkness.

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My friend replied:

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Darkness doesn’t sound good. What is happening with your mom? I am imagining the worst.

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I’m writing about it now, but I think I should be writing her eulogy. I cannot bear to watch as she gurgles to breathe. It’s a horror.

–

It could be any time or it could take her 2 weeks to die. Today, I had to choose between morphine and an antibiotic. It was a hard decision.

Love, Judy

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Tagged Aging Parents, Caregiving, child's death, composing, death, death of a child, dementia, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, Hang On, loss, loss of a mom, loss of a mother, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother dying, mother tribute, mother's illness, original songs, songwriting, tribute to my mother, writing | 3 Comments

I SEARCHED FOR A SMILE

Posted on October 3, 2013 by Judy

This post title has a line of lyrics from my song, “More Than You Know.” I was editing that song last week so it could add it to my audio book. My song is about letting go.

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more-than-you-know

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I was standing in line at the pharmacy when a man walked by me and said, “You sure are look happy!”

I was taken aback and realized I had been smiling unconsciously. I grinned and said, “Well, smiling is my default!”

I’ve often said that a smile lights the way for me. It happened again the next day. I was on my way over to see my mother and wanted to pick up lunch for Miriam and I before going there. The easiest thing was to grab something at a sandwich shop across the street from her nursing home. As the store manager rang up two salads for me she said, “Weren’t you here a few days ago? I remember you.”

I told her how nice it was that she remembered me. And I knew that my smile was the reason.

Then I asked her, “Any chance you might have a job available here for my son?” As I left the store, I beamed because she gave me information for him to apply. She said she would consider him and asked me for his name.

My 23-year-old son was very discouraged. He graduated college last May and was searching desperately to find a job. He told me he’d be willing to try anything and I wished I could help him more. For certain he wasn’t alone. I had met and heard from many people how difficult it was to find a job.

The nursing home was two blocks from the sandwich shop, and I was still singing along to a karaoke of one of songs as I pulled into the parking area. As usual, I thanked God for my music. Staying positive and calm despite my mother’s declining health was important to me.

I knew my mother was well cared for by her companion Miriam, but at the same time Miriam couldn’t replace me. Guilt was a cloud that I constantly dodged; I called to check on things consistently but I didn’t devote my life to spending every day with my mother anymore. When she had been in and out of hospitals several years ago, I had.

On Wednesday, I usually joined my middle brother and nephew at a nearby restaurant. In the morning, I called my brother and told him that our mom was far too weak to go to a restaurant. I could tell he was worried and very disappointed.

The beginning of my awareness that things had turned began today.

I realized those outings were over. My mother no longer had the strength to stand, and lifting her into a car would be very difficult.

When I walked from my car toward the nursing home, I saw my brother and nephew standing near my mother’s wheelchair. They weren’t going to stay for lunch, but had stopped by for a brief visit. I hugged them both and said perhaps she’d be able to go out with us to our usual restaurant the following week.

With those words, I was lying.

Miriam had sent me a picture of my mother sitting outside the day before. It came with the beautiful message that my mother was enjoying the sunshine. I shared the picture with family and friends and even attached it to the last story I wrote about my mother and her struggles.

But the truth was that I didn’t really look closely at the photo of her bathed in sunlight. I hadn’t really noticed how my mother’s mouth was wide open. It looked like a smile, but it was actually her attempt to breathe any air she could.

As soon as my brother and nephew left, realizations of my mother’s situation began to set in. I was horrified to see her this way. Her jaw was receding as she gasped to breathe. She was skeletal.

During my last few visits with her, she had been sleeping and her eyes were closed. Now they were wide open.

–

It was hard to look at my mother as she studied me intently and rattled with every breath she took.

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Losing Mom 2

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Miriam and I found a table in the shade where we could eat our lunch. I was so happy to see Miriam and she felt the same way. But I felt tears continually oozing out; I quickly wiped them away. My eyes were foggy and my smile felt forced.

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Miriam went to get my mother’s lunch and bring her tray outside to our area. As soon as Miriam walked away, I bent close to my mother’s face. I clutched her hands and they were soft and warm. It was just the two of us.

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But we were not really alone. I felt the presence of death and so did my mother.

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I put my head against her cheek and she slowly mouthed a kiss upon me. I began to cry.

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I told my mother how sorry I was that I couldn’t find a way for my brothers to reconcile so she could see us all together. So many times I had promised her it would happen.

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Miriam returned and became very emotional watching us.

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I told Miriam, “Did you know that my mother reunited her brother and sister when they were no longer speaking? She waited at her sister’s doorstep and screamed at her. My mother actually damaged her vocal cords when she did that. But she did manage to get them to make up.”

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Suddenly my mother croaked, “I sure did!” I felt my heart pound and was amazed – she was aware of what I had said! But then she began to cough and choke from the effort of speaking.

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Miriam said quietly, “Judy, she heard everything you said. Do you realize how much this means to her?”

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Then Miriam added, “I always talk to Shirley and sometimes the nurses wonder why. They tell me that she doesn’t get it. But I know she does.”

–

This picture was taken a few months ago.

We had finished our lunch and I told Miriam it was a little too cool in the shade. I thought it would be nice to take my mom over to the garden area where it was sunnier.

Miriam pushed the wheelchair over to a spot near a bubbling fountain. It was serene and peaceful. As we sat in the sunshine, Miriam noticed the large scar on my arm. She said, “Judy, you were really burned badly there.”

I smiled at Miriam and said, “You know, my scar is just a part of me. When Jason died, my soul was amputated. There were scars from that and you just can’t see those scars. I clearly remember how agonizing my burn felt when it happened three years ago. But now my arm has healed and it doesn’t hurt anymore. I know it looks awful. Grief is the same way.”

I didn’t tell her that whenever I looked at my scar, I was reminded of all the years that I had carried breakfast upstairs to my husband on the weekends. I dreamed that someday I would experience having someone do that for me.

–

I burned my arm two years ago when hot tea spilled on me. I was carrying a tray with breakfast on it for my husband.

My mother studied me intently. I remembered how years ago I very much liked a song that was named “In My Daughter’s Eyes.”

–

Suddenly, I was thinking of what I could write related to what I saw in my mother’s eyes.

I finally allowed myself to look into her eyes.

It was quite difficult because I was gripped by emotion that ripped my heart open.

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My mother’s left eye was blind from macular and the other was hooded and drooping. Her eyelashes were moist and clumped.

–

Both her eyes were filled with deep love.

But my heart ached because I saw so much sadness. She knew death was approaching.

–

She was worried about me.

First, I told her how much I loved her. Then I let her know I’d be okay and told her how strong I was.

Relieving her of worry would help her to let go; it was just like when I helped my father to die but in a different way.

–

I said, “Mom, I’m so lucky to have Miriam; she’ll always be a part of my life now. I’ve made a wonderful new friend because of you!” Miriam hugged me.

I wondered if my mother were still fearful about dying. She often told me that it terrified her.

–

I was thankful that I didn’t see fear, only sadness. Her eyes held resignation. I believed that it was because she didn’t want to leave. She loved all of her children so much.

I remembered how vital and active she was. I told Miriam, “Did you know I had to fight my mom to use a walker? She fell so many times before she accepted one.”

–

Then I turned to my mother and said, “I’ll always remember how we rode bikes together. And how I dragged you through Costco with your walker. You loved it and never complained even when your back was hurting.” I found my smile for that moment.

–

Miriam said, “Judy, you know she lives for moments like this with you. It’s so beautiful!” Miriam began to cry.

–

For over an hour I chattered on about my life hoping she was able to understand what I talked about. I spoke to her just like I used to before dementia stole her awareness. When dementia left her mute, I often wondered if she was understood the conversations that went on around her. It was almost like she was invisible.

–

For such a long time, I didn’t know what to say to her so I said very little. It was far easier to talk to Miriam.

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But now it was different. The time was ticking loudly and every moment was elevated. Because I knew how much she appreciated my words, I allowed myself to open up more.

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Now my mother heard all of my reasons for getting divorced. I told her how wonderful her grandchildren were. And how every time I was in the kitchen, I felt her presence. I loved sleeping in the bedroom where she and dad had slept for over forty years.

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I let her know how much I loved living in the home I was raised in.

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Eventually, it was time for me to go.

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I was teary and said, “Mom, are you really okay? Are you happy I’m here?”

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I couldn’t believe I said something so needy!

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Once again, my mother used all of her throat muscles to emphatically croak, “Yes!”

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Memories with my mom 1

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A tank of oxygen was connected to her. When she coughed, I imagined she was drowning.

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And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

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I looked again into my mother’s eyes. They were unblinking and resigned. She was very still for a moment.

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I found myself imagining that she had taken her last breath and all of this was over.

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Her will to live was unbelievable. But death wasn’t something she could overcome, despite her will.

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It was hard for me to leave her and I cried as I said goodbye. I staggered to my car gasping. Waves of tears engulfed me.

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I wondered as I drove home how I would keep smiling.

—

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Tagged acceptance of loss, acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, death, dementia, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, letting go, losing a mother, loss, loss of a mom, love for a mother, love never dies, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Miriam, More Than You Know, mother, mother and sadness, mother daughter relationship, mother dying, mother with dementia, mother's illness, Mother's love, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, singing, songwriting, tribute to my mother, writing | 1 Comment

COLORS AND SOUNDS FILLED ME WITH DELIGHT

Posted on October 2, 2013 by Judy

The link below is to a more detailed illustration story on my blog “Illustrating My Life:”

LAYERS IN MY LIFE

This post title is a line of lyrics from my song, “Music Saved Me.” A link to the song and story is below:

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Link to my story about how Music Saved Me

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Art is my profession; music is my passion.

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Art and music are two creative pursuits that define my life. I realize that I didn’t include writing. I’ll save that for another story, because writing is definitely my remedy!

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There are many similarities between art and music for me. I believe the most obvious parallel between art and music would be “layers.” Every illustration I create starts with layers. The order, selection and placement of those layers affect the outcome. When painting with watercolors, my washes are transparent veils of colors that I gradually build upon.

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I am now primarily a digital illustrator. I separate every item in the composition on my computer. Then I arrange those items to fit comfortably into the label area I’m illustrating. I use whatever reference I can find and often shoot my own photos with an inexpensive digital camera.

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Below is an example of my digital process. I was still teaching myself how to do this when I illustrated a label for the salad company, Ready Pac. My illustration was for a Caesar salad dressing label and the ingredients needed to be arranged in a specific way to fit the space.

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My photo of ingredients

My final illustration (the lemon was taken out).

With music, the ingredients are the lyrics, chords and my vocal – all of which are deeply defined by me. And with every song creation, the order that I create those ingredients is different. Sometimes I’ll scribble lyrics on a scrap of paper in my purse. Late at night, I might discover beautiful chords while playing my guitar. Other times, I’ll hum a melody that I can’t shake.

Music has layers, just as an illustration does. Clearly defined layers comprise my song’s arrangement. Arrangements are simply layers (or separate tracks) of instrumentation and include my vocal and guitar recordings. George has also told me that the order of an instrument we choose affects the entire arrangement. He has told me he plays different melodies, which dance in harmony to the sound that came before it. That is exactly like the creation of a watercolor painting when I must decide which areas to paint first.

Music Layer visible as colored stripes in the computer program Protools.

Music layers are visible as colored stripes on the computer program Pro Tools. I have learned to read and edit waveforms.

With art, I strive relentlessly to please my clients and that can involve numerous revisions to an illustration. With music, I strive to please myself. There is even a similarity between those because it is a relentless task. I am very demanding of myself!

I do appreciate humor and it has been an excellent coping tool for me. I have heard several times from people who have read my blog that my writing has them both laughing and crying. Perhaps that’s why I wrote a song named “Laughter and Tears!”

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It occurs to me that I haven’t written anything really funny for a long time.

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My final illustration of Marion Berries. The client was very particular about the color of this berry.

When I illustrated Marion Berries for a flavor of yogurt recently, there were a lot of versions I created in order to satisfy my client. Here were some of them below:

Marion Berry ideas

When I shared my illustrations with a few friends, I received a message back from Dr. Sam with a picture. It was:

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Close, but this is Marion Barry….

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I far prefer illustrating a pepper like this one.

These peppers are a lot prettier than the story I am going to share below!

“Hot Stuff”

Sometimes on illustration assignments I am required to sign confidentiality agreements. Even though I haven’t had to on my recent projects, in the interest of being discreet I won’t name the clients I’m working for.

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I have learned a lot as an illustrator.

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I received a small assignment to create two illustrations to go on a pizza box. One was for garlic and the other chipotle. For the garlic flavor, I already had existing art that could be used.

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Garlic

But for the chipotle flavor I had to create new art. Rarely is that required of me, since I have such an extensive library of existing food images.

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So now, I am intimately acquainted with Chipotle peppers. They were a lot harder to illustrate than I thought.

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It was because they were incredibly ugly and no actual reference existed!

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Every job of mine begins with finding reference. I contacted the art director after going to a local Hispanic market looking for an example of chipotle peppers. I told her that I couldn’t find any actual peppers to work from. It seemed that they only existed as a picture on a can. And inside the can, those peppers were soaked in Adobo sauce. I needed something better than that to work from.

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So she emailed me a picture that I will name “Pepper Corpses.”

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Pepper Corpses

I couldn’t believe it – how in the world would I illustrate peppers looking like that?

It was time for me to be truly creative. I remembered seeing dried peppers at the Latino market. I would just go back and find something “similar.” I must mention that I was also searching for reference on another assignment. I needed items of caramel, chocolate and ice cream. For a few weeks I became a supermarket sleuth! My dining room table was covered with illustration reference.

Unfortunately, the peppers I found did not really match the shape or color. Some were very tiny, long and a bright red color. Others were longer, wider and brown in color. I altered my photos and tried to match the photo of pepper corpses above. I then shot them off to the Art Director, whom I will call AD.

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AD sent me back more photo reference.

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Aha! Now I was on the right track! Once again, I went back to the Hispanic Market and went through all the bins of dried peppers while holding a color copy of those images above. The penny was helpful for size, but there was still nothing that matched. But I knew with Photoshop I could do wonders.

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As I was walking toward the checkout line, there was another bin. Wallah! There were peppers that really seemed close to what AD wanted. Hint: They were not Chipotle.

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Chipotle reference close-up

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I began my digital work and delicately erased the background and arranged the peppers into different compositions. I sent my layout choices off to the AD.

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The AD picked B. But now, the color had changed. Brown or eggplant color was out and I was instructed to create something with a deep red. I created another layout on my computer.

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Final Layout

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My layout was approved! I felt like I saw peppers in my sleep by now. My eyes burned because I rubbed them by mistake while I was photographing the dried peppers. I forgot how potent those peppers were!

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The process of creating my illustration was usually simple at this point. I printed out my image onto watercolor paper and worked over it. I used a lot of colored pencil, especially on the highlight areas that were numerous and too busy.

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Sometimes my illustrations feel very abstract as a close-up.

Sometimes my illustrations feel very abstract when viewed as a close-up.

I sent off the final art and it was a relief. I always looked forward to the message telling me my artwork was approved and that I could send an invoice. I held my breath.

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The AD sent me a message with a tiny revision. It wasn’t difficult with my computer to alter the artwork. But of course, I thought, “Why didn’t she see that sooner?”

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