Jason Young is a queer emerging artist focused on the intersections between painting and drawing, art and psychology. His work explores energy, connection, emotion, relationships, and narrative. Jason received a Bachelor’s in Communications Design from Emily Carr University in 2008. After graduation, he worked as a graphic designer but left the industry six years ago to focus on art. Recent exhibitions include the Queer Art Festival: Community Show at SUM Gallery in 2021, The Vancouver Outsider Arts Festival at the Roundhouse Community Center in 2021, and the Inverted Pyramid Series: Intend To Upend at James Black Gallery in 2022.
In describing his work, Jason says: Abstraction, spontaneity, and play are the core of my art practice. For the last three years, I have created automatic, abstract portraits of the queer people I have met. Using the energy of the moment and the intimacy between myself and the sitter, I sought to find new ways of conveying identities, emotions, and narratives in my paintings. This body of work strived to investigate the space between queerness and abstraction through portraiture, honoring members of Vancouver’s Queer community. The portraits attempt to interpret the subject’s identity by transcribing the physical and psychic space between myself and the sitter through bold mark-making and color.
I have held a provincial ‘persons with disability’ designation for the last 15 years for various mental health conditions. Though diagnosed in 2008, I have experienced significant challenges my whole life. With this residency, I will speak to my experiences with trauma, disability, mental health, and biography while exploring new approaches and experimental techniques in drawing, painting, and writing. In doing so, I want to create a new space for me to heal and share in the healing of others. Building awareness and dialogue around mental health and trauma is crucial to our collective growth and recovery.
Hello, I’m Jason Young (he/him/his), the Hammock resident for May 2024.
I am a settler and uninvited guest, living and working on the unceded traditional territories of the WmaĐk”ýam (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh
(Squamish), and salilwatat (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.
I have lived here my whole life.
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May 2nd 2024.
I am a queer visual artist and educator. I am AuDHD and have experienced co-occurring mental health challenges since childhood. My background is German and Russian.
I create out of a deep desire for connection and healing — to better understand myself, my place in the world, and others. My work explores the intersections between painting and drawing, art and psychology, self and other.
Domestic violence, generational trauma, an autism diagnosis denial by my parents, and the limited understanding of neurodiversity in the early 1980s are just some of the factors that came to bear on my early childhood development.
I am also a survivor of a violent sexual assault in the early 2000s’ while a student at Emily Carr University. This experience compounded my early childhood trauma and ultimately compromised my education.
In 2008, shortly after graduation, I had a full-blown nervous breakdown and was hospitalized. There, I was diagnosed with C-PTSD and went on provincial persons with disability assistance — I have been on disability ever since.
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‘Young Jason: Emotional Archeology’ has been in development since November 2023.
With this work, I wanted to speak directly to my challenging life experiences and address darker, more personal themes with my art. Creating new works exploring my lived experience with mental health, trauma, and disability is allowing me to heal and move forward (personally and artistically) in new and unexpected ways.
All the new works will be abstract portraits based on old family photos; Some are works in progress. The source imagery was limited to studio photography portraits. Until now, I have started all my paintings (portraits and figures) from life at my studio.
May 3rd 2024.
My Hammock Residency project, ‘Young Jason: Emotional Archeology,’ has offered me space to start unpacking my life experiences as a disabled person. As a result of this work, I have gained confidence and self-acceptance around my neurodiversity and co-occurring mental health challenges.
It has been a long and complex journey to this point. Only by being in such a good place with myself today that I can speak to these experiences, let alone make art about them.
Through sharing my experiences and embracing vulnerability and self-acceptance, I aim to challenge ableism and question normativity. I want to inspire others to share their stories.
Like me, some of the works presented in my residency are works in progress; It is difficult to unpack everything in one go.
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With this residency, I sought to explore and give voice to my fragmented inner child. I wanted to chronicle and document my life experiences, integrate them into my practice, and honor them with artwork.
These circumstances have informed my life trajectory, yet they do not define me completely. I wanted to take stock of my story, have people know me holistically, and integrate this narrative into my practice.
In some ways, this residency serves as an epitaph or eulogy to my past self. By excavating parts of me that have been hidden or lost, I hope to make space for what is to come, personally and artistically.
May 4th 2024.
Frida Study I-III, Ink On Paper, Each 9X12 in.
Frida I-III (2008), Black & White 35 mm film
These three ink-on-paper portraits are a selection of the first studies I created for my residency. They are presented alongside their reference photos — which I took in 2008 at my parents’ home on Vancouver Island.
It seemed fitting to start with Frida Pryke, My maternal grandmother.
Frida lived with us most of her life as she suffered from severe mental health issues. On several occasions, she was hospitalized and administered Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). I clearly remember the many visits to the psychiatric ward.
I was always quite close to her; I felt a deep connection with her even though she was so far away and in her own world. In some ways, I empathized with her need or tendency to withdraw from this life — especially the immediate world of our family.
Some would describe her as catatonic or nonverbal. In either case, she was legally blind and had suffered a great deal in this life. Over the years, her inner turmoil grew and took over — The turbulent relationship with my mother didn’t help.
We had an unspoken understanding of one another. In my late teens, I was tasked with being her care aid after leaving high school. This job entailed feeding, dressing, bathing, and driving her to and from her daycare.
Years later, in 2008, when I was hospitalized for mental health, I felt such a profound sense of shame — first, for having the breakdown and needing help, and second, for repeating the pattern and seeing the gestalt. I was part of a family system.
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This was my first time working from photos, and it was not easy. In the past, I had always worked with a subject in the studio. They had always distracted me from myself so I could easily create my intuitive, spontaneous portraits.
Now, I was alone in the studio. It was easy to recall that difficult time in 2008 —After graduation and before my hospitalization — But it was challenging to harness those emotions and memories for paintings.
I was pleased with these three studies; I captured aspects or fragments of the distance and disassociation that surrounded Frida.
May 5th 2024.
Study For A Portrait Of Young Jason I, Ink On Paper, 11X14 in.
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Experience has taught us that we have only one enduring weapon in our struggle against mental illness: the emotional discovery and acceptance of the truth in the individual and the unique history of our childhood.
— Alice Miller, The Drama of the Gifted Child: The Search for the True Self, 1979
I read ‘The Drama of the Gifted Child’ fifteen years ago, early on my healing journey and it affirmed my views on childhood trauma, family dynamics, addiction, and pedagogy.
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Along with the groundbreaking work of Alice Miller, I’d also like to acknowledge:
Dr. Gabor Maté @gabormatemd
Dr. Nicole LePera @the.holistic.psychologist
Dr. Devon Price @dr.devonprice
Their work has had a profound impact on me and continues to inspire and validate my art practice and personal development.
I have admired the work of Gabor Maté ever since I lived in the DTES in the early 2000s. His work with childhood development, attachment theory, addiction, and the potential lifelong impacts on physical and mental health due to trauma have been a significant inspiration to me and my art.
Early in the pandemic, I discovered the work of Nicole LePera, better known on Instagram as The Holistic Psychologist. Their radical reframing of mental illness, along with a bold and brutally honest take on family dynamics, has had a considerable impact on my personal development, relationships, and artistic practice.
Devon Price’s book, Unmasking Autism: Discovering the New Faces of Neurodiversity, was a critical personal and artistic breakthrough for me. Among other things, It broadened my understanding and awareness of the link between autism and ADHD. Reading this book helped me reclaim my identity as a person with disabilities, empowering me to embrace my uniqueness. It also taught me that having disabilities is not something to be ashamed of but rather a source of pride and giftedness.
May 6th 2024.
Study For A Portrait Of Young Jason II, Ink On Paper, 11X14 in.
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Emotions are conscious mental reactions (such as anger, fear, or sadness) subjectively experienced as strong feelings usually directed toward a specific object and typically accompanied by physiological and behavioral changes in the body.
— Definition from American Psychological Association
Archaeology is the study of the human past using material remains. These remains can be any objects people created, modified, or used. Portable remains are usually called artifacts. Artifacts include tools, clothing, and decorations.
— Definition from National Geographic Society
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‘Young Jason: Emotional Archaeology’ is my first attempt to excavate my inner child — my young Jason. Through this ongoing body of work, I aim to describe him and his experiences: who was this little boy, what can I learn from him, and how does he come to bear on my life and art today?
This residency is the first draft of this complex and challenging personal work. No doubt there will be revisions and redactions as the work develops over time, long after my @hammockresidency.
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The young Jason in this painting (and the reference photo) is about five years old, so it’s 1980-81. I was in grade 1 and and living in Sidney, BC.
By this time, I was already showing signs of extreme hyperactivity, emotional dysregulation, as well as social and communication difficulties. Looking back, I often remember my childhood as a prolonged, dissociative state.
I recall having many of (what I now understand to be) autistic meltdowns. During these episodes, I broke things, caused harm to myself, and worked myself up to hysterics. Back then, they were seen as tantrums, but I came to refer to them as emotional seizures.
As a boy, I loved drawing, coloring books, and watching cartoons. These activities always brought me immense joy. I would not say I was unhappy at this point; I was in a world all my own — other or apart, even from my family.
May 7th 2024.
Study For A Portrait Of Young Jason III, Ink On Paper, 11X14 in.
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Trauma is not what happens to you but what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.
― Gabor Maté, The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness and Healing in a Toxic Culture, 2022
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The young Jason in this painting (and the reference photo) is about eight years old, so it’s 1983-84. I was in grade 4 and living in Sidney, BC.
Since the last photograph (painting), my behavioral, emotional, and communication challenges escalated. I remember learning assessments, speech therapists, counseling sessions, and school interventions.
Given my chaotic home life at the time, It was difficult to maintain regular attendance at school. It was also becoming obvious that I had difficulty learning and needed additional support. As a result, I was assessed for Autism / ADHD and was briefly taking Ritalin.
While my parents rejected the idea of Autism, they conceded to ADHD. I believe this rejection stems from a lack of understanding of neurodiversity at the time. Also, It’s no wonder they could not address my challenges; their marriage (and our home life) was collapsing. The only solution available to them was denial and using shame and discipline to modify my behavior — essentially fostering masking.
At the same time, my father’s alcoholism reached its peak, and my Mother fled due to the escalating domestic violence. During these violent episodes, The police often attended. Later, social services got involved, and several interviews were conducted with my two siblings and me.
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May 8th 2024.
Study For A Portrait Of Young Jason IV, Ink On Paper, 11X14 in.
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The young Jason in this painting (and the reference photo) is about 10 years old, so it’s 1985-86 I was in grade 5, living in Duncan, BC, and attending Tansor Elementary.
Since the last photograph (painting), A few years had passed; my family and home life had undergone significant changes, and my siblings and I were now living up island with my Mother.
I will speak more directly about the dramatic events surrounding leaving Sidney and the abandonment by our Father later in my residency.
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While attending Tansor Elementary, I failed grade five.
As time went by, it was becoming clear that I was not developing like other children. My behavior became increasingly erratic and hyperactive, which made it hard for me to interact with others. As a result, I struggled to form relationships and understand social dynamics, which led to disruptive and rule-breaking behavior. I was frequently removed from the classroom or sent to the principal’s office. Obviously, my grades reflected my bad behavior.
In 1986-87, schools provided very little accommodation or support for neurodiversity; they focused on a very narrow approach to education.
As I look back on my life, I recognize that my struggles with neurodiversity were not the only challenges I faced. I also had to process my Father’s alcoholism and domestic violence, which had a profound impact on me. This experience left me feeling stuck, blocked, and traumatized. Unfortunately, it was never dealt with properly. Instead, my feelings were often dismissed or denied altogether.
I was just ‘too sensitive.’
I can see the exhaustion and pain in my 11-year-old eyes when I look back at this old photo.
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Being held back in grade five was a real blow to my already fragile self-esteem and the beginning of my relationship with depression and anxiety, which made me a target for teasing and bullying.
May 9th 2024.
Maggie I & II, Black & White 35 mm film, 2008
Maggie entered my life when I desperately needed love and support. As a closeted, queer, neurodivergent teenager, I had little or no friends. This little dachshund became my safe space, a respite from the cruelty of adolescence in the late 1980s on Vancouver Island.
For various reasons, my family moved around a lot, but we eventually settled in the Cowichan Valley, specifically Duncan and Mill Bay. Throughout my junior high school years, either for my queerness, my disabilities, or both, I experienced severe bullying (physical and mental abuse).
Unfortunately, the school administration often punished me alongside the abusers, even when I was defending myself. I was beaten up so many times, either by one student or a gang of them. Over time, my reactions escalated as I had already taken so much abuse. There were countless detentions, suspensions, and meetings with the principal. Attempts for support were ignored or ineffective.
This hostile environment, along with my disabilities, made learning impossible. After I failed grade five, I was placed in learning assistance (or ‘special education’), which made me an even greater target for bullying (abuse).
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In 2008, near the end of Maggie’s life, I took these black-and-white photographs. On the same day, I also photographed my mother Dorothy, stepfather Karl, and grandmother Frida. Later in my residency, I use these images as refeerence material for paintings.
I tried creating paintings from these photographs, but none worked. Dogs are challenging to paint or draw in my style. However, I still yearn to create a visual tribute to this little angel — I will try again later.
May 10th 2024.
Study For A Portrait Of Young Jason V, Ink On Paper, 11X14 in.
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The young Jason in this painting (photo) is about 12 years old, so it’s 1987-88. I was in grade 7, living in Duncan, BC, and attending Mount Prevost Secondary.
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Puberty was a challenging stage in my life; I was struggling with anxiety, depression, and anger issues. I was still trying to come to terms with my Father’s violence and dramatic abandonment when he resurfaced. So began a cycle of attempted reconciliation followed by ghosting, only for him to call me later drunk. As a result, I acted out both at home and in school.
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At the request of the school administration, I underwent another assessment for learning assistance. Each new school meant new assessments. After reading Devon Price’s book, I realized that these evaluations were also for autism / ADHD. The assessments were the same as in Sidney: comprehensive, lasting for several days, and including both play and art therapy sessions.
During these assessments, they used ‘the feelings chart,’ which is a visual aid used to assist children in identifying and expressing their emotions. This chart has a cartoon-like appearance and was created to be easily understood by everyone. It left a lasting impression on me. It would not be the last time I would see it in a diagnostic or counseling context.
I realize now that my abstract portraits are, in part, a response to the feelings chart.
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As a single parent working two jobs, my mother was overwhelmed and exhausted. Due to her unresolved trauma, she often found herself in interpersonal conflicts, and it was difficult for her to accept anyone in a position of authority, including doctors and my teachers.
She rejected their conclusions that I was on the autism spectrum as she understood this in very black-and-white terms, partly because of her limited education (only grade 5). Perhaps she believed a neurodivergent identity would do more harm than good, a common belief at the time.
As you can imagine, The bullying and the struggle to learn took a toll on my mental health, and by grade 10, I dropped out, never to return.
May 11th 2024.
Hans II, Oil On Canvas, 11X14 in, Hans I, Oil On Canvas, 11X14 in,
This work-in-progress painting is part of a series that explores the Father wound, aging, mortality, and closure. I completed Hans I in May 2022 but struggled to finish the rest of the series.
Hans I appears as the second image in the post.
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In early January 2022, I traveled to Vancouver Island to meet my Father, Hans Junge, for the first time in about 25 years. As he was 85 years old at the time, I wanted to take the opportunity to face him and reconcile with our shared past. I planned to document the encounter by having him sit for paintings.
With my previous portraits of people I had relationships (or situationships) with, I saw how I could process and integrate my challenging experiences with them through working on the paintings. I hoped to facilitate a similar experience for myself with my long-estranged Father.
I was taken aback when I saw him for the first time at the ferry terminal in Nanaimo. My memories of him from childhood were chaotic, intense, and terrifying, yet now he appeared before me as a frail old man.
With ‘Hans II, ‘ I recognize an optimistic, benevolent, or idealized likeness of my young Father; this is how I remember him looking in childhood. This painting came about intuitively by projecting an aspirational vision or memory of him over top of the then-present-day Hans.
In the session, I saw that he made me this person — with all my challenges and gifts. It was a special moment when I saw myself as an artist through his eyes. This indirect validation had a profound impact on my personal and artistic growth. It felt great to be in my flow, empowered, and doing my thing before him.
I was getting what I needed out of the experience.
May 12th 2024.
Hans III, Oil On Canvas, 11X14 in.
This second portrait of Hans is a more accurate representation of how I saw him during our encounter. At this late stage in life, he is a frail and balding old man projecting a sense of melancholy introspection.
During the portrait session, Hans seemed lost or bewildered by the moment, and an expression of disassociation or shock passed over his face. Perhaps this was due to the extraordinary or startling experience of being asked to model for paintings by his long-estranged son.
During the painting session, which took place at my sister’s house on Vancouver Island, I felt proud to show him how creative and unique I had become, regardless of his neglect or abandonment of me. Here, I was able to channel my inner child so clearly.
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Through this painting, I explored my concept of ‘chromatic bruising’ by blending and glazing the paint to intentionally muddy the colors. Looking back, I see that subconsciously, I attempted to describe the kind of psychic wounds I experienced and to transpose them onto the face of my father.
With a swipe, scrape, strike, and slap of the oil stick and brush on the canvas, I used my intuitive mark-making to translate the abuse I had seen or experienced during childhood into a sobering portrait of my present-day Father.
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As I started these paintings, I instinctively knew I might be working on them long after his passing. This series was a gift to my future self and would become artifacts for processing our brief reunion. Now that he is gone, I want to savor the painting process — If I finish them, there will be a finality to our relationship that goes beyond death.
May 13th 2024.
Hans IV, Oil On Canvas, 11X14 in.
This is the final work-in-progress oil painting of my Father for my residency.
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At our one in-person meeting, I asked Hans two critical questions:
What was your relationship with your Father like?
What was your childhood like?
The answer I got was vague, elusive, and riddled with denial, but given who and what his Father was, I understand. I will speak more directly to those factors in a later post.
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This final portrait of my Father sums up the short-lived reunion. His expression appears to convey a sense of loss, regret, or shame, foreshadowing the inevitable end of our reunion.
I have been working on these paintings since November 2022, taking my time to savor the process. The unfinished paintings have a comfortable beauty to them. They mirror the stuck relational dynamics between me and my now-deceased Father. When I’m working on these pieces, it feels like I’m spending time with him — reliving that special moment. Finishing the portraits could bring a sense of closure, but I may not be ready to let go.
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During our phone conversations and one in-person meeting, I was candid with my Father about my life experiences. I spoke openly about my disabilities, mental health struggles, queerness, achievements, and ambitions. I wanted to be transparent in order to invite mutual understanding and respect. I believe that honesty and openness are foundational to any healthy relationship.
Despite my candor, numerous red flags began to accumulate rather quickly in the form of ableist, homophobic, or dismissive comments. I remember thinking this had already gone as far as it could go. My Father and the reunion had inherent limitations. It became clear he would never be able to understand me or have a real relationship with me.
I confronted him directly about his homophobic comments, but unfortunately, that was the last conversation we ever had.
He passed away in September 2023.
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It’s challenging to write about work that is still in progress, both paintings and personal closure. I look forward to developing clarity around this series upon its completion for the Hammock Residency show in November 2024.
May 14th 2024.
Alexander Schlothauer (1905), Acrylic on canvas, 16X20 in; Study for Alexander Schlothauer (1905), Ink On Paper, 11X14 in; Original reference photograph (front & back)
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This work-in-progress painting marks the beginning of a departure in my technique and aesthetic. It also holds a curious personal significance as it portrays my Russian great-grandfather from my Mother’s side. I have had the original reference photo in my possession for many years and have always been fascinated by it. For me, the picture is like an empty time capsule; very little meaning is offered.
In contrast to the other photo of Alexander Schlothauer (from 1908),
we see a man about three years younger. Here, on the cusp of adulthood, he looks back at us across time with a raised eyebrow and a somewhat stiff and curious expression.
I have very little information on Alexander besides what my Mother told me — that he was a cruel and difficult man, perhaps a product of his time. In 1905, a revolution took place in the Russian Empire. Mass political and social unrest began to spread across the vast areas of the Russian Empire. The unrest was directed primarily against the Tsar, the nobility, and the ruling class. It included worker strikes, peasant unrest, and military mutinies.
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For this type of work on canvas, I approached the portrait differently. I made 3-5 studies from the photograph, took the best one, and used a projector to get the image onto the canvas. Once there, I began to paint the lines. I experimented with a more dynamic approach by incorporating colored lines in a seemingly random fashion.
I have also started using toned ground. In this case, I chose a lime green gesso for Alexander. I wanted to create an energized interpretation of the muted, weathered reference photograph.
May 15th 2024.
Heinrick Junge (1942), Acrylic On Canvas, 16X20 in.
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[ CW ] This post (text & image) contains references to the Nazi party, war, generational trauma, alcoholism, and domestic vioence.
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There’s no easy way to say this, My Grandfather was a Nazi.
The uniform markings in this reference photo indicate that he was a lieutenant in the infantry. In this work-in-progress painting, Heinrick sits for his official Nazi portrait. His expression seems neutral in isolation, but when seen in the context of the military uniform, it transforms into a disturbing portrait of a smug, self-satisfied man fully aware of his position and power.
My knowledge of him is limited to what my mother told me and what I could piece together online. Heinrick was captured in 1943 during the second siege on (then) Stalingrad. As a prisoner of war, he was interned at a forced labor camp in Siberia until the mid-1950s. Upon his release, he reunited with his family in Alberta, Canada, where he promptly drank himself to death.
I know all too well how this legacy of violence and shame impacted a young Hans. I experienced the ripple effects of this in the form of his alcoholism, detachment, and domestic violence. It’s a sad case study of how patterns of intergenerational trauma can develop.
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The irony is that I embody everything the Nazis wanted to eradicate: queer, disabled, and a contemporary, abstract artist with a history of mental health issues.
This is one of the most challenging and disturbing paintings I’ve ever created. Admittedly, I have repeatedly pushed it to the back burner. I am aware that I’m getting to the source of so much (generational) trauma.
I have come to accept that I will not be able to articulate all the insights gained as a result of this residency work. Some things will be left unsaid (For now).
This work-in-progress painting will evolve alongside my written statement for the Hammock show in November 2024. I plan to build up the image with layers of acrylic paint and finish it with oil paint glazes.
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This portrait was inspired by post-war German artists who explored themes of memory and national identity in a society with a controversial past. The artists I refer to are Joseph Beuys, Anselm Kiefer, Gerhard Richter, and most notably, Georg Baselitz, specifically his ‘hero’ paintings.
May 16th 2024.
Alexander Schlothauer (1908), Acrylic on canvas, 16X20 in; Study for Alexander Schlothauer (1908), Ink On Paper, 11X14 in; Original reference photograph (front & back)
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This work-in-progress painting portrays my Russian great-grandfather from my Mother’s side. I have had the original reference photo in my possession for many years and have always been fascinated by it.
Alexander Schlothauer looks back at us across time with a raised eyebrow and a somewhat rigid and inquisitive expression. His gaze seems to have hardened and intensified, possibly due to the circumstances since the last photo or painting. He appears stiff and stern, exuding rigidity.
I have very little information on Alexander besides what my Mother told me — that he was a cruel and challenging man, likely a product of his time.
His impact on my grandmother was evident.
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The back of the photo reads: In kind memory of my son-in-law, Alexander Schlothauer, October 20, 1908
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At first, I began making gradients within the lines as if to chart out or make notes for myself ahead of the oil painting stage. However, I soon realized I could do it in the subsequent phase. Like my previous Alexander portrait, I applied colors to the lines in a somewhat random fashion.
These two paintings of Alexander were the first time I attempted to include clothing more overtly. In the past, I always focused on the body as a nude, stripped-down form. Now, I see how clothing can be conceptualized as architecture (or scaffolding) for the body. By working with iconic fashion pieces such as suits and ties, I discovered new mark-making responses.
May 17th 2024.
Hans & Young Jason (Father & Son), Acrylic & Ink on 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 18X24 in.
This work is presented alongside the reference photo from 1980.
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All the times that I cried
Keeping all the things
I knew inside
It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it
— Father & Son, Yusuf / Cat Stevens, 1970
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On September 9th, 2023, my Father, Hans Junge, passed away suddenly from COVID. That evening, I went for a long walk with this Yusuf / Cat Stevens song on repeat; The lyrics spoke to me. I was trying to process the finality of death and the profound impact my Father had on my life.
At the same time, I had already started my Hammock residency and committed to talking about my early childhood trauma due to my Father’s alcoholism, domestic violence, neglect, and my (unsupported) autism diagnosis.
I was 8 or 9 years old when my Father abandoned me and my family in the most hurtful and dramatic way (I will speak about this in a later post). I had almost no contact with him throughout my life, and his absence and the abandonment I felt left a deep scar on my psyche. My early experiences with him came to bear on all aspects of my life — from friendships and romantic relationships to self and employment. From adolescence until my mid-30s, I experienced chronic depression and debilitating anxiety.
Until his passing, I felt that he or his energy was always with me — like a ghost in a haunted house. Using part of a larger family photo from 1980 as a reference, I created this painting to express that uncanny feeling.
Here, his mustache (a symbol of masculinity) brackets my head like a halo. The deep blue of my vest has become an expansive and turbulent ocean. My Father seems to occupy a space just above, behind, or inside my head.
This painting attempts to ask: what is the Father wound? What does it look like? How does it show up in the self or relationships? And what happens when we ignore it?
May 18th 2024.
Young Dorothy I (1960s), Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs Watercolour Paper, 18X24 in.
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This reference photograph of my Mother as a teenager in the mid-1960s has always fascinated me. Her long neck, vintage hairstyle, and future-looking gaze make me think about how she was at the cusp of adulthood. Here, she is 16 or 17 years old — right around the time she met and married my Father, Hans Junge.
This marriage set her life off on an increasingly narrow trajectory.
At 16 or 17 years old in the early 1960s, my Mother had little choice. The marriage was an escape from a complicated family situation of her own. When she was very young, her Mother (my Grandmother, Frida) started to have serious struggles with mental health — disabled by today’s standards. As the oldest of five sisters, young Dorothy left school at an early age to help manage the struggling household.
She married, in part, to escape that responsibility and start a life of her own.
The photograph and my painting are filled with earnest optimism. In a way, they depict a transitional moment — the calm before the storm. What does the future hold for young Dorothy? Will her life be filled with hope or tragedy, joy or sadness? What are HER aspirations and dreams?
Sadly, I am all too familiar with the outcome. I find it heartbreaking to look back at this moment in my Mother’s life, and it’s challenging to articulate my feelings in words.
This painting is part of a series of five works on paper based on this photograph. Working on multiple portraits of my Mother from this time has got me thinking about how everything in life comes down to our choices and the profound consequences of those choices. One of the most critical choices we can make in this life is who we choose as our partners. They have THE most profound impact on our lives. For better or worse, this has certainly rung true for me in my adult relational experiences.
May 19th 2024.
The Family (1980), Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs Watercolor Paper, 18X24 in.
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This painting examines the breakdown of an average dysfunctional Canadian family.
Similar to my paintings, my childhood memories are abstract and fragmented yet interconnected. Only when seen as a series does a complete, clear picture start to emerge. However, there are still gaps; It is impossible to express everything.
The purpose of this work is to provide some context for what came later, to share a bit about the early experiences that have influenced my art, and to create room for something new, both personally and artistically.
At seven years old, my Mother had to flee our home due to ongoing and escalating domestic violence. As an extremely sensitive child, I was both intensely attached to and fearful for my Mother. Given my neurodiversity and emotional state, the domestic violence and ensuing chaos deeply affected me.
At eight years old, my Father ejected my siblings and me from our family home; this is a core memory from my childhood. It is always with me.
In a drunken rage, he demanded we choose who we wanted to live with — him or our Mother. Given the ongoing neglect in the wake of my Mother’s absence, it was clear he was not fit to look after us, and it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It was as though we were hostages in a bitter, ugly divorce.
My Father decided for us; he instructed us to pack our bags, and he dropped us off at the train station. We were off to Nanaimo, where my Mother was living.
Then, there was the ‘garage sale’ episode.
A short while later, we received word that Hans was having a garage sale and literally selling off all of our belongings: toys, furniture, everything. I remember racing from Nanaimo to Sidney with my Mother to intervene with the police. I really wished I had not seen this; the feeling of being discarded and erased like that was so cruel and unnecessary.
Over the years, there was never any real acknowledgment, remorse, or accountability expressed by my Father, despite my numerous attempts to unpack it with him.
May 20th 2024.
Frida (2008), Acrylic On Canvas, 18X24 in.
To produce this work-in-progress painting, I created about twenty ink studies. Ten were on 140-pound watercolor paper, while the remaining six to eight were on regular drawing paper. I shared a selection of the initial drawing paper studies as my third post for the residency.
Later, I used a projector to get my favorite study of Frida onto the lavender-toned canvas. While I initially planned to develop my canvas paintings further, what I’ve presented here is the exciting first steps in a departure from my established mixed-media-on-paper approach.
This painting of Frida is a heartfelt response to a photograph I took in 2008 at my parent’s home on Vancouver Island. Her gaze, seemingly cast inward, evokes a sense of introspection or being lost in thought. The teal mark on her cheek evokes a tear-like quality and graphicly ties back to her hair — what’s going on in that beautiful mind of hers?
I believe I aptly captured the feeling of the moment with her, achieving a reasonable likeness — if only an inner likeness; what I feel inside as recognizable as her. This emotional connection is what makes this painting truly special for me.
I am excited to see where this painting goes. I will be developing it further for the hammock residency show in November 2024.
May 21st 2024.
Karl (2008), Acrylic On Canvas, 24X36 in.
This work-in-progress painting of my late stepfather is based on a photograph I took in 2008 at my parents’ home on Vancouver Island.
Sadly, Karl passed away from cancer in February 2020, just before the pandemic began. He lived in a world where COVID never existed.
Karl and I were very close, as close as anyone could be in my family. Due to the pandemic and ongoing family conflicts, there was no funeral. This painting is my way of paying tribute to him. I wish I had more time and energy to express how I felt about him; it’s a complicated, bittersweet story.
I suppose much of what I want to say is in the painting.
===
As a child, Karl was separated from his family due to the Nazi invasion and occupation of Poland. He grew up in an orphanage during and after WWII; something terrible and tragic happened to him there. Prior to meeting my mother, Karl struggled with alcohol for many years, likely as a trauma response.
Despite everything, Karl was a gentle, reliable, selfless man. He was the complete opposite of the erratic and unstable Father I had in childhood.
Karl was a father-like figure, but he never tried to be my Father. He was a friend, and that’s just what I needed. I am a better person for having known him for all those years. I think of him often.
===
I worked for Karl as a painter and drywaller’s assistant for many years. He taught me so much about paint, tools, and materials. During the lockdown, as I was developing my practice, I reflected on our time together and how I learned handcraft from him during the countless jobs we did together. There is something in that work that still influences my artistic practice today: the care, attention to detail, and finish.
Unfortunately, he did not live long enough to see me blossom into the artist I am today. I feel his presence when I am working on my art, and I know he would be so proud of me.
===
This painting will evolve alongside my written statement for the Hammock show in November 2024. I plan to build up the image with layers of acrylic paint and finish it with oil paint glazes while leaving the blue background as is.
May 22nd 2024.
Dorothy (2008), Acrylic On Canvas, 18X24 in.
To produce this work-in-progress painting of my Mother, I created fifteen ink studies on 9X12-inch watercolor paper.
Later, I used a projector to transfer my favorite study of Dorothy onto the lavender-toned canvas. While I initially planned to develop my canvas paintings further, what I’ve presented here is the exciting first steps in a departure from my established mixed-media-on-paper approach.
===
This painting of my Mother is a deeply personal response to a photograph I took in 2008 at her home on Vancouver Island. My approach was to capture moments when the subject (my Mother) was not expecting via a shutter release cable. This strategy was my attempt to look behind the mask — I wanted to reveal something new or rarely seen. Dorothy only sat for three photos as she was uncomfortable with this kind of image-making; It was too direct and probing.
===
The painting, Like the reference photograph, presents a middle-aged woman in a solemn exchange with the viewer. She appears vulnerable and uncomfortable. I see so much in this image; it was one of the more challenging to work on.
This work originates from a challenging and transitional phase in my life. After graduating from Emily Carr University, I spent six months living at my parent’s house on Vancouver Island. Unfortunately, I was unable to secure a design job, and my live-in relationship had come to an end. At 32 years old, I had nowhere else to go.
===
The relationship between my Mother and stepfather had deteriorated dramatically. They seemed locked in a dysfunctional cycle of conflict and negativity, primarily brought on by my Mother’s unresolved trauma. She was always histrionic and combative, but now, it had escalated to new heights.
In the painting, A bold blue line evokes a sense of bruising on the right side of her face; she appears to have a black eye. I did not do this intentionally, but the image of my battered Mother from childhood is (and always will be) with me; I feel it is always with her as well.
It was as if I saw the mark that she had carried inside her for all those years.
May 23rd 2024.
Dorothy I (2008), Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 16X20 in.
This mixed-media painting, part of a diptych, is based on a professional studio portrait of my Mother from around 2008. It is in stark contrast to my previous post.
The reference photo I worked from presents a highly idealized, glamorous version of my Mother. The aspirational presentation is even more pronounced in the second painting in this series.
One of the more intriguing aspects of my portrait work for this residency has been the juxtaposition of professional, idealized photographs with more intimate and revealing photographs (which I took myself).
Working with both types of reference photographs allowed me to create (if only for myself) more revealing, multi-faceted artifacts. This dynamic approach allowed me to access more nuanced, objective memories and feelings about the subjects, adding depth and complexity to the final artwork.
===
Working on these portraits of my estranged Mother has been a challenging and contradictory experience. On the one hand, it has allowed me to view her more objectively, but on the other hand, it has brought up a lot of difficult memories that still make me quite uncomfortable.
May 24th 2024.
Karl (1992), Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 12X18 in.
This mixed-media painting of Karl, my late stepfather, was created from a reference photo taken in 1992 at the start of his relationship with my Mother.
Initially, I tried to make a double portrait, but each attempt failed to capture Dorothy. I had a mental or emotional block when it came to painting her, or at least painting them together. I cropped her out and salvaged a portrait of Karl. Here, he is beaming and joyous, radiant — exactly how I want to remember him. Sadly, he passed away from cancer in February of 2020 — the month before the pandemic started.
My inability to create a painting of them together may speak to my disappointment in how she handled his end of life or how she treated him in general.
Karl was the closest person to me out of everyone in my family; I miss him dearly. As there was no funeral due to the pandemic and ongoing family conflicts, this painting is my memorial or tribute to him. I wish I had more time or energy to articulate more how I felt about him; It’s a complicated, bittersweet story. I suppose much of what I want to say is in the painting.
May 25th 2024.
Dorothy II (2008), Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 16X20 in.
For me, this painting (and the source image) speaks to my Mother’s yearning to belong to the upper class and her tendency to overcompensate for her early childhood experience of poverty. Although she worked tirelessly to provide for our family, I see how much she prioritized material possessions and social status over personal growth and healing.
===
Creating these portraits has given me an opportunity to confront my Mother internally and to reimagine a new relationship — one that is empowering and has healthy boundaries.
There is no malicious intent behind these works but rather an attempt to create something honest, tangible, and meaningful — if only for myself. These paintings of my Mother will serve as avatar parent — an incarnation, embodiment, or manifestation of her. One that I can live.
===
My Mother was a profoundly dysregulating force in my life and a source of many of my self-esteem issues. For the sake of my self-preservation, I went no-contact with Dorothy six years ago. It is not a coincidence that during that time, I connected with my passion and started to develop a career in a way that was never possible before.
During the pandemic, my art practice really took off. Isolated and alone, I evolved to face and accept my disabilities and mental health history — to integrate it into my life and art. The artworks produced during this residency are the culmination of that inner work.
May 26th 2024.
Young Dorothy (Flower Child), Acrylic On Canvas, 16X20 in
This work-in-progress canvas painting is a heartfelt tribute to my Mother’s childhood. Despite our complicated and turbulent relationship, I wanted to create a happy image of my Mother — something buoyant and uplifting. Starting this painting of my Mother as a child has been an exercise in compassion, empathy, and integration.
I started this painting as an ink-on-paper study. I then used a projector to get the image onto the lime-green-toned canvas. This painting is still in its early stages, but I am pleased with the emotion and expression. I intend to build up the underpainting with a few more layers of acrylic, then switch to oils for more nuanced bends and glazes.
The reference photo shows her in a flower garden, exuding innocence and joy. Throughout her life, my Mother has always loved gardening; this was her happy place.
May 27th 2024.
Frida (2008), Acrylic & Ink on 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 16X20 in.
For this second painting of Frida, my maternal grandmother, I aimed to create an image that starkly contrasts the canvas painting and the initial studies. I wanted to invite the viewer to delve deeper into the layers of her character.
Unlike the first painting of Frida, which portrayed a somber, heavier, more melancholy side, this image celebrates her joyous and radiant aspects. With this portrait, I wanted to convey a sense of benevolence and compassion. In this way, I’m trying to show the different sides of mental health.
Frida was dressed up for the studio photograph. A professional photographer created a glamourous moment; however, underneath the surface, she is still the same person, struggling with mental health, dementia, and cognitive decline.
The reference photo is very old Hollywood and glamorous. Frida looks out at the viewer, self-assured and confident. She must have felt good being in the photo studio, and it is nice that we have an image of her presented in such a charming way, even though it is a kind of fantasy.
May 28th 2024.
Young Dorothy 1960s), Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs Watercolour Paper, 18X24 in.
===
This portrait of my Mother as a teenager in the mid-1960s has always fascinated me. Her long neck, vintage hairstyle, and future-looking gaze make me think about how she was at the cusp of adulthood. Here, she is 16 or 17 years old — right around the time she married my Father, Hans Junge. This marriage set her life off on an increasingly narrow trajectory.
At 16 or 17 years old in the early 1960s, my Mother had little choice. The marriage was an escape from a complicated family situation of her own. Her Father passed when she was very young, and her Mother (my Grandmother Frida) struggled with mental health — disabled by today’s standards. As the oldest of five sisters, young Dorothy had left school and become the head of the household. Now, she married to escape that responsibility and start a life of her own.
The photograph and my painting are filled with earnest optimism. In a way, they depict a transitional moment — the calm before the storm. What does the future hold for young Dorothy? Will her life be filled with hope or tragedy, joy or sadness? What are HER aspirations and dreams?
Sadly, I am all too familiar with the outcome. I find it heartbreaking to look back at this moment in my Mother’s life and challenging to articulate my feelings in words fully.
Working on multiple portraits of my Mother from this time has got me thinking about how everything in life comes down to our choices and the profound consequences of those choices. One of the most critical choices we can make in this life is who we choose as our partners. They have THE most profound impact on our lives. For better or worse, this has certainly rung true for me in my adult relational experiences.
May 29th 2024.
Skull II, Acrylic & Ink On 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 18X24 in.
[ C W ]
This post contains graphic details about my sexual assault (rape).
===
In February 2023, I began a series of still-life paintings featuring skulls. I intended to use these paintings to talk about my experiences with mental health and trauma. In this context, the skull would be a symbol for me. I only completed one of the paintings and then postponed the rest because it was too difficult to address alone. However, during my Hammock residency, I was able to access the mentorship and support I needed to finish the paintings and share these experiences.
===
It was the summer of 2003, and his name was Dennis; he was a bartender at Numbers.
We met at Celebrities in the smoking room on a Tuesday. Outside the club, we started talking with this straight guy who also went to Emily Carr. We all ended up going back to the straight guy’s apartment. Dennis made us a round of vodka and OJs. It had a funny taste; something was off about it. I was never a big drinker; I only ever had two or three drinks, just enough to get me hyper for dancing. I had definitely never blacked out before.
The straight guy passed out on the couch. Dennis had clearly drugged us, either Rohypnol or GHB. The next thing I remember was waking up in the bedroom with my pants off, and Denis was fucking me. He had a Prince Albert piercing, and it was incredibly painful — I started crying.
I could barely move; I had no strength or control over my body. I was begging Dennis to stop and even tried crying out for help; he just covered my mouth with his hand. Then came the vomiting; I couldn’t even stand, walk, or use the bathroom alone. I was so confused; I didn’t understand what was happening. Dennis kept trying to soothe me, to get me to be quiet, and to lie down on the bed. Then came a pillow on my face and more blackouts.
At Emily Carr, I would frequently see the straight guy whose bed this all happened in. He was unaware of what really happened. He just woke up to a bed with bloody, messy sheets. Each time I saw this guy, I was extremely triggered; he brought me back to that moment — to the horror of the rape. To continually relive this while on campus had a devastating impact on my ability to function and perform as a student.
This profoundly traumatic experience began years of crippling anxiety and debilitating depression. I was so angry, humiliated, disassociated, and at times, suicidal. I spent a lot of time crying alone in my Main and Hastings apartment, surrounded by so much pain. Combined with everything that came before, the family stuff, emotional problems, and the neurodiversity, The rape had a severe and permanent impact on me.
It took me six years to finish my Bachelor’s Degree in Communications Design.
I had the privilege of connecting with a private psychologist, Randy Atkinson, who provided me with free sessions over many years. He helped me get through my degree and played a significant role in my healing and personal development. Together, we utilized DBT and EMDR.
I doubt I would be here today if I had not found him.
May 30th 2024.
Skull III, Acrylic & Ink on 140 lbs. Watercolor Paper, 16X20 in.
[ C W ]
This post contains details about self-harm, suicidal thoughts, nervous breakdown, and hospitalization.
===
By the time I graduated from Emily Carr in 2008, the world was in the middle of a global financial crisis. Due to my mental health challenges and the state of the economy, I was unable to secure a design job. To make matters worse, my relationship with Mike had come to an end. At 32 years old, with no savings, I had no choice but to move back to Vancouver Island and live with my parents.
Over that summer and fall, I worked full-time with Karl, painting and drywalling, as I had done before. I planned to save up enough money to move back to Vancouver and start my design career. Unfortunately, the home environment was extremely toxic and dysfunctional. There was constant fighting between my parents as my mother had become abusive over the years due to her unresolved trauma. I found myself triangulated between my parents; the situation was regressive yet inverted. I felt like a little boy again, caught in some timeless domestic quarrel, a pattern repeating. I had to leave.
===
Back in Vancouver, I was able to get a job at a print shop and find a roommate through a friend-of-a-friend. I was upfront about needing a safe living environment and made it clear that I didn’t want any hard drugs in the house. He agreed to this. However, it didn’t take long before very young guys, often minors, started hanging around or even living in the dining room. It became clear that crystal meth was involved. It was extremely triggering.
At the same time, the job at the print shop fell apart, and I started experiencing a full-blown nervous breakdown — the emotional seizures, epic crying for hours at a time, and the self-harm. I was literally beating myself up, and I couldn’t stop thinking about killing myself. It was as if there was someone else inside my head making these plans. I was advised by my Psychologist, Randy Atkinson, to admit myself to the hospital for a full mental health assessment.
I don’t have much to say about my time in the hospital; perhaps that’s a story for another time. I can say that looking back, going to the hospital was absolutely the best thing that could have happened to me. It was a major turning point in my recovery.
A full mental health assessment provided access to services that were otherwise unattainable, and a diagnosis set me up for accessing provincial disability assistance, which offered me the financial security and stability I needed to start rebuilding my life. This was when my healing journey actually began, and life started to get a lot better.
May 31st 2024.
Epilogue:
For a long time, I have wanted to share my story and rediscover myself through the people and experiences that have shaped me. Only by being in such a good place today, I am able to tell this story, let alone make art and write about it. I shared this work, these memories and insights, not as a plea for sympathy or pity but as a new model for vulnerability and connection.
Throughout this residency, I have been contemplating my unique position in society as a queer person with disabilities and what that means for me. Creating and sharing this work has allowed me to come to terms with and accept my disability in a new way — to face my reality with compassion and humanity.
This body of work has been a significant step forward in my ongoing healing journey. It has been hard work, but I am grateful for the opportunity to contextualize my positionality through art-making and writing.
I now understand how my early experiences and neurodiversity have influenced my unique approach to creating art. These, along with my education and later life experiences, have clearly contributed to the development of my unique approach to abstraction.
===
With this residency, I deliberately pushed the limits of vulnerability. I wanted to facilitate a release or unburdening to transform my relationship with myself and my past. My goal was to create a positive void where new creative possibilities could emerge. Here, I am making room for the next exciting phase in my practice: a new subject matter and approach.
I want to thank everyone who has encouraged and supported me with this project over the last six months — both online and in-person.
Immense gratitude to my mentors:
@heidinagtegaal
@bartholomew.sophia
And everyone at:
@hammockresidency
— Jason Young
Artist Quick Links
Jason Young
Jason Young is a queer emerging artist focused on the intersections between painting and drawing, art and psychology. His work explores energy, connection, emotion, relationships, and narrative. Jason received a Bachelor’s in Communications Design from Emily Carr University in 2008. After graduation, he worked as a graphic designer but left the industry six years ago to focus on art. Recent exhibitions include the Queer Art Festival: Community Show at SUM Gallery in 2021, The Vancouver Outsider Arts Festival at the Roundhouse Community Center in 2021, and the Inverted Pyramid Series: Intend To Upend at James Black Gallery in 2022.
In describing his work, Jason says: Abstraction, spontaneity, and play are the core of my art practice. For the last four years, I have created automatic, abstract portraits of the queer people I have met. Using the energy of the moment and the intimacy between myself and the sitter, I sought to find new ways of conveying identities, emotions, and narratives in my paintings. This body of work strived to investigate the space between queerness and abstraction through portraiture, honoring members of Vancouver’s Queer community. The portraits attempt to interpret the subject’s identity by transcribing the physical and psychic space between myself and the sitter through bold mark-making and color.
I have held a provincial ‘persons with disability’ designation for the last 15 years for various mental health conditions. Though diagnosed in 2008, I have experienced significant challenges my whole life. With this residency, I will speak to my experiences with trauma, disability, mental health, and biography while exploring new approaches and experimental techniques in drawing, painting, and writing. In doing so, I want to create a new space for me to heal and share in the healing of others. Building awareness and dialogue around mental health and trauma is crucial to our collective growth and recovery.
