We recently connected with Angelina Salgado and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Angelina, thanks for joining us today. One of the toughest things about progressing in your creative career is that there are almost always unexpected problems that come up – problems that you often can’t read about in advance, can’t prepare for, etc. Have you had such and experience and if so, can you tell us the story of one of those unexpected problems you’ve encountered?

The most unexpected thing to happen in my life was the unexpected death of my infant daughter Aurora on September 24, 2020. The second most unexpected thing in my life was learning that our one healthy, viable embryo (from doing In-Vitro Fertilization, or IVF) had split and that I was pregnant with twins. The third most unexpected thing happened a few weeks after my second wedding anniversary: I found out from a reproductive endocrinologist that the reason I was unable to get pregnant was due to cysts on my ovaries, which needed to be surgically removed, before I was even able to start a cycle of IVF.

All of these unexpected events became layers of trauma, grief, despair… compounding the heavy burden of depression and anxiety that I already battle on a daily basis. All the while, my entire existence was already hanging by a single thread: the hope I had that everything I was enduring and going through would all be worth it. I remember right before I would inject myself with progesterone, reminding myself that I was doing it for my babies.

Here’s the crazy thing: doing IVF produced only ONE healthy, viable embryo. Then, a miracle happened, and our one, unicorn embryo split and I was pregnant with identical twins. Wtf is even the point of me having to go through ALL of that (i.e., the surgeries, the 2-3x/weekly blood draws, the injections, the pregnancy complications, the emergency c-section, the postpartum blood transfusion, and this is all just the tip of the iceberg)? Why was it so difficult for me to even get pregnant, let alone have one embryo that suddenly splits… if one of my twin daughters was going to die a month after coming home from the NICU? My life is a paradox and it’s a complete mindf**k to birth two babies, but only raise one.

Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

My name is Angelina Salgado, and I am an artist and art educator. My parents emigrated to the US from the Philippines, and I was born in NYC and grew up in West Nyack, NY. I’ve been an artist my entire life. When I was 5 years old, as I was learning to spell my name, I drew faces on each of the letters and gave them personalities. As soon as I got to high school, I took as many art classes as I could pack into my already full class schedule. As a senior, I took Advanced Placement classes in Studio Art and Art History concurrently. I had my transformative art school experience at the Fashion Institute of Technology, where I graduated Magna Cum Laude with my AAS in Fine Arts. I transferred to Hunter to pursue a double major in Art History and Studio Art at Hunter College. After I graduated, I worked an unpaid internship at an art gallery in Chelsea for the experience, while also working at the now defunct Juicy Couture Flagship store on 5th Avenue for the paycheck (which would have been more had they paid us in velour tracksuits than what we got in USD).

After realizing that maybe retail isn’t for me (and after having worked for over a decade at stores like Forever 21 and Bebe Sport), and that if I wanted to pursue a career in the arts, I have to go to graduate school. I wanted to continue my education in the arts, but I was undecided about which to pursue for my Master’s: an MFA in Painting or an MA in Art History. I wanted to continue learning both, and so I enrolled in the Art Education graduate program at the City College of New York, and this way I can still incorporate both studio art and art history into what I study. I also planned to be a museum educator, so I took additional non-requisite courses in Museum Studies along with my art education courses.

CCNY had this work study program for grad students in which you will be employed on campus in exchange for the school paying for a certain number of credits each semester. On days I wasn’t on campus working or in class, I was working my first internship in a museum at the Museum of Arts and Design in Columbus Circle. I worked in the Education department, assisting with School, Youth, & Family programs. My next internship was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (and decades later, I am still psyched to say that I interned at the Met, haha!) and I was in the pilot cohort of the Teaching Corps program, for which I led tours to K-12 school groups in the Museum! Additionally, I was working closely with my grad school professor, director, and the art ed program director, Dr. Marit Dewhurst. It is Professor Dewhurst who has had the most beneficial effect on my professional life as an educator. She guided and helped me to carve out this unique and unconventional career trajectory in art and museum education, incorporating my two primary interests: Studio Art and Art History! She also piloted the Museum Teen Summit, a program for NYC high school students who had previously or are presently taking part in the teen programs at different museums. The group worked together as “consultants” to the museum education department in various institutions to offer feedback and recommendations on how to engage more with teen and youth audiences. We even presented at the National Art Educators Association annual conference in 2012. My experience with Dr. Dewhurst was so impactful that it inspired the topic of my graduate thesis paper about museums and teen programs.

I graduated with my Master’s degree in 2012, and thankfully I was allowed to keep my on-campus job for a few more months after graduating. So, while I was still working at CCNY, I was fortunate to get a summer job at the Joan Mitchell Foundation and I oversaw the High School Internship program. My first museum educator job was at the Museum of the City of New York, teaching school groups about New York City history. I really learned how to hustle in NYC, working as a freelance museum educator at several museums and art organizations at the same time: Museum of Arts and Design (I was hired as a museum educator after my internship!), New-York Historical Society, Brooklyn Museum (where I coordinated a really cool grant-funded pilot program to teach middle school students about 3D printing), Museum of Modern Art, Free Arts NYC (an art non-profit that creates programming for underserved youth across the city), and the Cooper-Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum. I was traveling all around the city and honestly, I could not be happier. As an art history nerd, I enjoyed the rush and thrill of getting to be in so many incredible art institutions in New York City! I didn’t have medical insurance for like 3 years, but this era of my life was truly my roaring 20s!

I transitioned to teaching art in a classroom, when I was hired for my first art teacher job at the Promise Academy Elementary School, a charter school operated by Harlem Children’s Zone. If my grad school program in art education taught me how to teach, then Harlem taught me how to be a teacher. I taught 300 students in grades 3-5, single-handedly organized and installed the winter and spring art shows, and created a robust arts curriculum that focused on art history as much as making art. I even took my classes on field trips to the Met and the Whitney. After moving to western NJ, I got a job teaching art in a public school district in Morris County, NJ. I worked at two of the four elementary schools in the district, which meant that I had two separate art classrooms to manage and I saw 500 students for art class every week. I also organized a yearly art show for each school. Although I was only at each school for 2.5 days, it felt like I was working two full-time jobs. It was definitely a lot to handle.

Also, it was at the start of my second year in the district (and right after I had been assigned to a new school and had 300+ new names and students to learn) that I discovered I was unable to get pregnant naturally. My spouse and I had tried unsuccessfully for a year, and went to see a reproductive endocrinologist. Dr. O. informed us that I had 2 large cysts on my ovaries that were obstructions. She wouldn’t be able to start any fertility treatment until they were removed by laparoscopic surgery. The cysts were so large that Dr. O referred me to a gynecologic oncologist at Morristown Medical Center, in case the cysts were malignant. The surgery took over 4 hours, and the doctor made 5 incisions in my abdomen to remove the cysts, which thankfully were benign. However, the cysts were indications of endometriosis and she diagnosed me at Stage 3. This explained why my period came with the most excruciating cramps that often had me writhing in agony on the couch every month. It also explained why I couldn’t get pregnant. I had the two main symptoms of endometriosis: pain and infertility. The recovery was rough because of the multiple incisions in my midsection. Even just taking my dog out was painful. I needed 4 weeks to recover physically, and emotionally as well.

I already had anxiety from starting at a new school with new students and new colleagues who all adored the previous art teacher, but then the leadup to the surgery is really what exacerbated my anxiety. I had only been at the school for 2 months before taking a 4 week medical leave to recover, so the school year was already not going as I had planned. (Not to mention, how my life was already spiraling out of control and definitely not going how I planned.) Then, the same week that I returned from leave in December 2018, my husband was unexpectedly let go from his job for which we had relocated to Western NJ (and lived over an hour from our families). We lost our medical coverage and could not afford the out-of-pocket cost of the medication I needed to manage my endometriosis. Thankfully, he found a much better position a couple of months after, but without the endo medication, the cysts developed on my ovaries again. This meant that I needed another laparoscopic surgery to remove these new cysts, so not even a year later in July 2019, I was on the operating table for the second time in 10 months.

Only after this was I able to start a cycle of In-Vitro Fertilization. It felt like I was taking on a third job, in which I had to go to the clinic to have my blood drawn 2-3x/week for monitoring, and I had to follow a strict schedule of injections, pills, patches, and hormones that needed to be taken at the same time every day, having to inject myself for months, not to mention the emotional roller coaster of “is this going to work? Am I finally going to be pregnant? Why is everyone getting pregnant except me?”

Not to mention, they were only able to retrieve about 5 eggs, successfully fertilize 3 of the eggs, and after having the embryos genetically tested, we only had ONE viable embryo (that’s it. We have nothing in storage). My unicorn embryo. The genetic testing also revealed that it was female so we were going to have a girl! My spouse and I both have 3 siblings and were hoping for a big family, but only having one embryo meant we needed to adjust our hopes and expectations and accept that our daughter may not have siblings. We waited 10 very long days to find out if the embryo attached, and on my grandmother’s birthday I got the call that I was pregnant!!

At my first ultrasound, we saw that our one single unicorn embryo had split into two, so we were having twins!! (This is why I call my babies my “Unicorn Twins”! And since I’m their mom, that makes me a unicorn too!) We were shocked and overjoyed! Pregnancy was not as bad as I was expecting, but it was crazy to know there were two babies growing inside me. I was seeing the OBGYN and Maternal Fetal Medicine doctors weekly and everything was normal so far. Then, the last two weeks of my pregnancy (weeks 31 & 32), complications started to arise: one twin was bigger than the other, I developed cholestasis of pregnancy (which, if left untreated would lead to stillbirth), preeclampsia and high blood pressure, plus the added risk of carrying multiples. Twin A’s heartbeat was irregular and my blood pressure kept going up, so after an overnight stay in the hospital for monitoring, they delivered me by emergency c-section on July 21, 2020.

I had never known true happiness until the moment I first laid eyes on my babies. Truly my baby unicorns. We named them Aurora Annette and Serena Josefina (their middle names are after our maternal grandmothers, with whom we were both close) Aurora was 2lbs, 15oz at birth and Serena was 4lbs, 7oz. They were beautiful and healthy, just very small and underweight. We went to the NICU everyday to visit them. And they finally came home a month after they were born on August 21, 2020. We were so happy to have them home and our family was finally together. We took so many pictures of our babies, still amazed that we have twins. My spouse and I would spend the entire day with a baby in our arms, and then we’d switch the next day so that they would have equal time with each of us. We were getting into a good routine with keeping them on the same schedule for feedings, diaper changes, and sleeping. They were growing steadily and gaining weight. We were so happy to have our girls, and they made everything we had been through worth it. We already had a nickname for Aurora (but still working on one for Serena), but we called her Rory Bear because she was so tiny and cute. She was our Twin A, she is my firstborn, and she made me a mother.

Fast forward to Thursday, September 24, 2020, it was the morning that we woke up and Aurora did not. We knew immediately that something was wrong, even as we tried to wake her up. She was pale and unresponsive. My spouse did CPR on her while I called 911. The paramedics came and tried to revive her, but they struggled trying to intubating her because she was so small. They rushed her to the ER and the doctor gave her epinephrine, but her little heart would not start. She was gone forever. It must have been a slow morning for doctors in the ER, because they let us stay and hold her for a couple of hours after, and it would be the last time we’d ever get to have our sweet Aurora in our arms. She looked like she was sleeping and I wanted so badly for her to open her little eyes and look up at me. She never did, and her death was ruled as Sudden Unexplained Infant Death (related to SIDS).

After she died, all of my hopes and dreams of being a twin mom, all my struggles, challenges, obstacles, and emotional turmoil from my infertility trauma, everything that I had endured for over 3 years… everything I knew, my entire existence was turned upside down and fell crashing and shattering on top of me. My life felt completely decimated. It took so much for me to be pregnant, and my babies had finally come home, and Aurora dies? And how was I supposed to live the rest of my life without one of my twins? What do I even do now? The heartbreak felt physically painful. Sometimes I feared I might drown my eyeballs in my own tears or scream until my voice was gone. The pain was unbearable. Going through IVF was really hard, but this felt a million times worse. She was here for such a short time, and now she’s gone forever.

The heartbreaking despair of unexpectedly losing my baby was physically and emotionally excruciating. The only reason I woke up each morning after was to care for my surviving infant twin. Painting became my primary outlet for grief. The black canvas on which all my paintings start symbolizes the overwhelming, all-encompassing feelings of sadness, heartbreak, & depression that overcame me following Aurora’s death. The bright, vibrant colors signify my lifelong journey in finding hope and joy again, while living with my grief. The interplay of darkness with light and color in my art represents my new “twin mom” life in which my grief for Aurora coexists with my happiness for her sister.

My art practice is the primary way that I am processing my grief and trauma (in addition to talking with my therapist). I returned to painting the Aurora Borealis, which I was also doing while going through IVF (and this may also have inspired Aurora’s name!) I also joined baby loss support groups on facebook. There were no in-person grief groups, because this was still during the time of COVID. The group that I most connected with was the Parents of Twinless Twins facebook group. I no longer felt so alone in my grief and heartbreak. It has helped so much that these other loss parents partly inspired Auroras for Aurora, my on-going art project that I do in memory of my daughter. When I first started my Aurora paintings, I would send them to moms I would meet in these pregnancy and infant loss support groups. I didn’t charge them anything except for shipping, and I dedicated each painting to both Aurora and their angel babies (I’m working on creating a mini memorial with all the Aurora paintings and dedications on my @aurorasforaurora instagram). I did it because I had no idea that so many other people (not just women, there were grieving dads in some of the support groups too) have lost their children completely unexpectedly to SIDS, various infant illnesses, let alone complications during pregnancy or delivery. (My parents were expecting twin boys before they had me, but my brothers unfortunately were stillborn.) If my artwork provides comfort to even one person, then it’s more than worth it for me. That’s what I want my paintings to do: to carry Aurora Annette’s memory, but to also remind people who are struggling that they are not alone.

Since losing Aurora, I continue to struggle daily with my depression and anxiety, which was exacerbated with the intense grief and the devastating heartbreak that follows the death of your child. However, I prioritize my mental health and went on psychiatric medication, in addition to continuing therapy. I exercise 3-4x/week now, which has been amazing for my mental health, and I’m the strongest I’ve felt in years. I could never have imagined a life without both of my twins, yet here I am, finding peace and healing through my art. I alchemize my grief and heartbreak and love into vibrant, colorful paintings of the Aurora Borealis in iridescent, glittery, colorshifting, rainbow paint, in memory of Aurora Annette. It is through my art that I can ensure she will never be forgotten, and that my difficult years-long journey to motherhood is validated.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

I wrote these in my journal (and in an Instagram post) after my very first show with Start Shows, the All Star show in July 2022:

“I’m finally living my most authentic and truest life as an artist. The one I’d dreamed of since I was 5, but was too afraid to even consider a real possibility. I’m finally living as a colorful sparkly rainbow unicorn. I realize now that I’ve spent my entire life trying to tone down my glittery rainbow colors, make them less shiny, less vibrant, & less loud, in order to fit in & not stand out, so my family and parents would be proud of me. However, dulling my true colors drove me to depression, anxiety, & self harm at a very early age (which I can only admit now after years of therapy). But it was never the most authentic, truest me.

This past weekend with @startshows was incredible and transformative, and full of perspective-shifting moments of enlightenment. But also, the feelings hit hard on Sunday, July 24. However, the morning of the 24th was different because of these words I shared in my stories: “Still vibing on all the positive things energy & love that I didn’t even realize that today is the 24th. I struggle on the 24th of every month (the day Aurora died September 24th), but this is the first time in 2 years that I’ve woken up on the 24th feeling optimistic and hopeful.” After a sweet DM from an even sweeter friend, the weight of those words finally hit me. My daughter Aurora’s memory lives on in my paintings. And then living my lifelong dream of having my artwork displayed in a downtown Manhattan gallery, combined with sharing my story with so many people about Aurora and how she is the inspiration behind all of my artwork was so healing for me. I hadn’t felt this joy and light and color in my life for so long, and it all came flooding back once I wholeheartedly accepted that being an artist is who I am and creating and making art brings me the purest, most genuine joy.

I needed a couple of days to process everything that I experienced and felt. I told my parents the day after that I’m an artist and that I am going to fully embrace and embody being an artist. It was scary because, although I know my parents love my younger siblings and I unconditionally, and they have emphasized to me repeatedly that art is a hobby and that being a “starving artist” is not a career. As the daughter of Filipino immigrants, I recognize (esp now as an adult) that my parents have only ever wanted the best for me (& still do 🥲) and how much they sacrificed to make a better life in the US for their children. They had so much on their plate with both of them commuting to the city for work, making sure we ate dinner and prayed the rosary together as a family, all while raising their children in a different country, and trying to ensure we don’t lose touch with our Filipino culture. In therapy, I finally realized that they were unable to provide me with the emotional support that I, as a sensitive child with very intense emotions, needed. It’s not their fault or mine. My parents were equipped to raise horses and not unicorns.”

I am incredibly blessed to have parents who have love me and have long recognized and support my artistic talents, even though they had preferred that art stayed a hobby and wasn’t my career. And even though we don’t always see eye to eye, I realize that my resilience, my hustle, and my grind are all thanks to them. My dad was my role model for hard work, diligence, and dedication. He emigrated to the US and was living in NYC in the 1970s. He got his US citizenship and worked for a few years before returning to the Philippines to finish college, and then met my mom. Even when I was really young, I remember driving into the city with my mom and siblings to pick up my dad because he was often in the office until late. He worked so hard and put in so many hours, even learning a new language and being able to express complex, accounting concepts in business meetings. I get my ambition, work ethic, discipline, and drive from him. I also get my artistic talent from my dad, but he never had the opportunity to pursue it, because of his responsibility to provide and care for us. I’m grateful for the sacrifice that he and my mom had made to give us the best life that they were able.

And now, especially after the death of Aurora, I fully intend to follow my dreams and tell the world my story through my art.

Can you tell us about a time you’ve had to pivot?

Not exactly a story (because quite honestly, I think my entire story is full of times when I had to pivot, haha), however, I wrote this in my Notes app on February 18, 2022 as encouragement to myself when I started seeking my first few opportunities as a professional artist (and actually, these words are still completely relevant to myself, almost a year later).

“Find grace in the transition. Embrace every shake and wobble and moments of uncertainty and fear. Waiting does not have to be passive. Take agency in the waiting.

PIVOT! You can’t focus on everything all the time. The rejections are giving you the opportunity to take a break, reset and refresh before returning to it. Flexibility = versatility = adaptability to change = PIVOT!

You are resourceful, capable, and can pivot with ease, like a prima ballerina. Look at your career path: you’ve been able to pivot and transition from different positions and jobs at different institutions. Yes, it was hard and frustrating and unpredictable and definitely scary, but you didn’t let that stop you. You kept going. If something didn’t work out, you pivot. Stop, reset, change your strategy.

You’ve been capable of handling change and transitions, but also the waiting, with so much grace under so much pressure. You’ve done it over and over, without even realizing. You went with the flow, unfortunately it was often after you were pushed past your limits, but you eventually followed your feelings. Once you felt miserable and hopeless, you pivoted.

But people are afraid of change. Change is scary. But you’re a seasoned pro when it comes to change. Even if you don’t enjoy it the whole time, you still commit yourself 100%, to the good and the bad of it all. You’ve been here before, like a longtime surfer back in her native waters, she knows these waves as she has been here before, but each wave feels brand new to her. It’s both familiar and new and scary and exciting all at the same time. (“Happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time— 22!” This is a Taylor Swift reference, haha) This is how you should approach change and transitions and waiting. You know these waters and you’ve been here many times before, but the waves feel new and different and scary and exciting. So, embrace each wave, each feeling, and lean into it. Let it go and let it flow. Surf your waves.”

Contact Info:

• Website: aurorasforaurora.com
• Instagram: instagram.com/angelinapaintsauroras
• Facebook: facebook.com/aurorasforaurora
• Other: saatchiart.com/AngelinaPaintAuroras

Image Credits
Larry Leventhal, @larryosan (for the one photo of me from the Start Shows exhibition)