Today we’d like to introduce you to Judy Jensen.
Hi Judy, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
As a young artist, I’d only had my work, reverse paintings on glass, in two Austin solo shows when I entered a juried show called “The International Juried Art Competition.” At the time, the prize seemed significant: the top three winners of the competition would have an exhibit in the foyer of a large, beautiful gallery in NYC. I was awarded 9th place–but that’s where it gets interesting. The top three artists didn’t have enough work to fill the foyer, so the gallerists decided to mount an exhibit of the top ten artists. My work sold right away, and as I sent them more pieces, they also sold.
Things started happening quickly. After one of the NYC gallerists saw me speak about my work at a conference in L.A., he invited me to have a solo exhibit. It sold out. I was stunned by my sudden rise, realizing my work had to keep getting better to stay in New York. But I always loved a challenge and threw myself into it, participating in many more solo exhibits and group shows there. I also showed at numerous other galleries and museums in the U.S., Europe, and Asia. Invitations to give lectures or teach came rapidly, and I rarely said no to anything.
Although it was terribly exciting and even euphoric at times, the stress of constant work and deadlines was crushing. For this and other reasons, after many years of showing in NYC, it was no longer working for me. So when Austin collectors started asking me for commissioned work, my focus gladly shifted here.
Although going against the Gold Standard of artistic careers–having as many exhibits in as many prominent venues as possible–this lifestyle change was more meaningful to me than I can possibly describe. Deadlines were over, I had time for a life, and I didn’t have to pay 50% of the sales price of the work to the gallery. I was even able to raise my prices, and for the first time in my life, I was really making a living. And the best thing was I had time and money to travel more.
I’ve always felt art was my second love, and travel was my first. When I first visited Asia, I fell in love with Thailand like you fall in love with a person. Each day something hysterically funny, profoundly moving, or perceptually challenging happened, making me feel more and more engaged. One of the big draws was a Buddhist temple, Wat Chong Klang, in beautiful, mountainous Mae Hong Son, a tiny provincial capital on the Thai border with Myanmar. The temple houses a collection of 150 19th-century Burmese reverse paintings on glass.
Smitten by the lively boldness of the paintings, I returned to see them a few years later. But something had happened. An earthquake had destroyed many of the paintings. Some were shattered and held together with scotch tape. Others had been replaced by crudely executed works. This is when I had the first glimmer of an idea: that I could help. They were reverse paintings, and I’m a reverse painter. Eventually, I returned with a sample of my work, executed in the style of the Burmese paintings. I showed the sample to the temple’s abbot, offering my services to replace the damaged works, and he immediately accepted. It was one of the happiest days of my life.
Since then, much of my work life has revolved around replacing damaged works for the temple–so far, over 30. The project is winding down, but I expect to be involved with the local community and temple for the rest of my life. It’s ironic in the best way. By setting aside my own sense of personal self-expression to work on this project, I had my most fulfilling artistic experience ever. This was an entirely different path than I’d ever expected to take, but nothing I’ve done has made me happier.
We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
I think the task-solving skills I learned as exhibiting artist were a good preparation for the obstacles I faced concerning my project in Wat Chong Klang, the Buddhist temple. When I initially went there to offer my services to the temple, a Thai businessman, Tawatchai Natipakorn (who has since become a great friend), made an appointment for me to meet with the Cultural Minister of the province for permission to do the paintings. But she stood me up. I returned to Austin, where a Thai friend introduced me to a minister of Thailand who just happened to be in town. He swore he would help me but did nothing. That’s when Tawatchai suggested I approach the temple’s abbot directly.
Once I had the abbot’s permission, a huge factor was money. I planned to donate the work, and I knew the project would take years. I ran a successful crowdfunding campaign, and by an amazing coincidence, at the same time, a Thai artist was showing at The Austin Contemporary museum. When I went to the opening, the first person I met was the Thai director of the U.S. operation of an international corporation dealing in Thai silks. He, as well as the exhibiting artist, were on the board of a Thai cultural foundation, and he encouraged me to apply for a grant. I received the grant in an amount larger than I requested.
Another problem was that each of the temple paintings had an inscription on it in flowery 19-century Burmese text. I tried to compare it to a modern Burmese alphabet, so I could accurately reproduce it, but the modern letters were very different. And the damaged paint on the original works rendered the captions illegible. So I approached a scholar who specializes in Burmese art, and she translated the captions and provided written versions for me. A lovely by-product of this is that, although she’d previously been unfamiliar with Wat Chong Klang, she visited it and became enamored of it, and is now lecturing about the temple and its collection at international conferences.
I worked on the paintings in Austin and transported them to Thailand over a period of several years. Matching the colors of the original works was hard, as I couldn’t bring the originals home with me. A foreigner removing cultural artifacts from Thailand would be frowned upon, to say the least! So I took color swatches to Thailand with me and tried to match them to the paintings.
Sometimes I’d make mistakes. That’s a big, big problem with reverse paintings. The glass is painted on the back side and viewed through the front. So mistakes can’t be painted over, as the correction won’t be visible. Paint has to be scraped off, down to the glass surface, and begun again.
Oddly, the most challenging part of the project was trying to work in the simple style of the Burmese paintings. My own work is very detailed and complex, and simplifying my process felt like I wasn’t really trying. But since the objective was to make works which meshed perfectly with the works in the temple, I had to overcome my own sense of self-expression.
Stumbling blocks were near constant, but there was always a solution. Learning much more about the Theravada Buddhist practice while I was researching the paintings was perhaps still the biggest help in keeping a clear perspective on what’s important and what’s not and keeping what the Thai call “jai yen”–a cool, calm heart.
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
My artistic process is reverse painting on glass. It’s glass that’s painted in the reverse order of a painting on canvas: details first, foreground next, and background last. When the painting is finished, the glass is flipped over and viewed through the front of the glass. It requires a certain mental and technical flexibility, and very few artists work this way. I’m entirely self-taught.
Although I’ve achieved a good amount in the context of a traditional art career, the one thing that makes me happiest is my project at Wat Chong Klang.
The crisis has affected us all in different ways. How has it affected you and any important lessons or epiphanies you can share with us?
As much as someone can during a global plague, I felt fortunate–during isolation, especially. I enjoy my husband’s company, I have good friends who stayed in close touch through phone calls or zoom, and I didn’t lose anyone I love. My studio is in my backyard, so when I want to work, it’s just 10 seconds away. I feel nothing but gratitude for these good aspects of my life. I can’t say the pandemic has been easy, but it could have been much worse.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.judyjensenstudio.com
Image Credits
Judy Jensen Emil Vogely
