“…I will carry the Hurt. But it will NOT defeat me…)
A guy can be going along so well, everything chugging along, when suddenly; the bottom falls out of the world. Just when it seemed like smooth sailing.
Is that shocking to me? Shouldn’t be. I’ve felt like Wile. E Coyote many times. This time was different. This time is different.
Until the day comes that I can speak, I will paint. I will draw. And I will carry the Hurt. But it WILL NOT defeat me.
Inside I am safe, free, loved, cherished.
New art, the tiny line moving across the canvas. my pin-dot imaginary School Bus driving thru a blazing white desert.(That’s funny, a School Bus! Why not a Mach I , or a horse or something? I’m such a child inside). I spend a lot of my day trying to figure out if I’m processing information properly. An internal , endless dialogue. Does everyone have this? it is very tiring. Life in general can be very tiring, but when my little Bus drives around: we find wonderfully exotic places, and we cavort with incredible animals and people. I’m so grateful to have this outlet.
I am so elated to be creating for the sheer joy of it. No calls, no commissions: just joy.
“I was high on life, and probably paint fumes and Columbian Gold…it felt cool…”
Mural painting is fine art today. Just as great frescoes in the days of Michelangelo, and centuries before, large scale art is an artist’s dream. Is that why children inevitable write in crayon on the playroom walls?
I am sure of this: As long as I have been able to appreciate fine art and my burning desire to depict what I see thru it: I have wanted to paint murals. At times, in my youth, I exercised this need, painting in spray enamel on any available wall in the dead of night. “HELLO WORLD!” in six foot tall red letters over a grinning, fanged 30 foot tall caricature, scrawled on an underpass along I-95 southbound. Painted in 1985, before the Interstate had even made it to West Palm beach. Ah, what satisfaction to drive by it in the backseat of Dad’s Mazda, grinning silently.
These were days before I heard of graffiti culture, I was a transplant to the largely undeveloped east coast of Florida an hour north of Fort Lauderdale. These were the days when the County Sherriff had bricks of coke and bales of weed being dropped on his private airstrip a few miles north of my house. I hung out with a bunch of dudes who owned a race car shop, building mid-engine Mustangs and drag racing on Glades Cut-off Road.
Before Race-day one weekend, the boys let me use all the leftover spraypaint in the shop to paint huge murals of fire breathing dragons and heavy metal chicks everywhere. I was high on life, and probably paint fumes and Columbian gold. What a rush, the guys all in amazement at my grand design. Now I was a real artist, a legend at the shop, “The Girl Who Painted Barrel Road “. Now I knew how Michelangelo must have felt when he unveiled the Sistine Chapel for the Pope! (Unveiled it? How, exactly?) Well, anyway, it felt cool.
FASTFORWARD NOW, 25 years clean and sober, a professionally recognized fine artist in my own right. Now living in St. Petersburg, Florida which hosts the annual “SHINE” mural festival, an event which brings mural artists and fans from all over the globe, and I’m still dreaming.
I know it will happen, I will have a wall to call my own. I will keep pushing, keep striving, keep believing. After all, I was born on the sixth day of March- the same day as Michelangelo!
“I’m back in Black and White, and better than EVER!”
I must say, Covid was no picnic. But I have much to be grateful for, so I won’t whine. My work is selling and I am in 3 gallery shows at once…reason to DANCE and SHOUT! This Saturday, October 8th,2022 is ArtWalk. I am excited to AGAIN have work at
Five Deuces Galleria! The show is entitled “BLACK and WHITE with a Touch of Color”, and I love the theme. It really had me pushing myself to new artistic heights and I created the BEST Suncatcher to date! Unfortunately, my Surface Pro is in the throes of Death, so I can’t post an image just yet. But I will, never fear, Dear Reader! I’m back in Black and White, better than EVER!
“That’s ENOUGH! Now, suck it up and get to work!”
I used to feel such spontaneity when I used this site. I was able to let out all my angst, the ups and downs of life: just let it float.
Then I decided it was high time I got serious about my art, in a financial sense. After all, that’s what artists are supposed to do right? Look for angles, ways to promote myself, improve my lot in life. My life is already half over, so make hay while the sun shines, right?
. Wrong. My rebellious side decided I don’t need anyone to finance my art. I can scrape by. I will be discovered by accident. So I lost all my wind in my sails. I will try very hard to gather myself together.
Ok, ok, I did, I am!
“…maybe all artists…go thru periods of feast followed by famine…”
There was a song I knew, back in my past life(when I was that other ‘cooler’ girl) entitled “When Will It Rain”. It plays in my head now: I walk on parched ground in my mind, thru a sweltering heat in a huge, empty landscape. Begging for the rain of Creativity to wash this dry spell away, saturate the soil of my aching mind, send cooling rivulets of inspiration into the cracks and fissures…
In one of the “Pirates” movies, the ship was stuck in the Doldrums. A very real occurrence for sailing vessels, this is a dire situation for the crew as the film depicts. I can imagine their suffering, stuck virtually motionless in the very water that also gave them so much bounty at other times of year.
Such is my plight as a Bipolar artist. Who knows, maybe all artists, all people, go through periods of feast followed by famine. Maybe I just feel it more acutely, or respond to it differently. This ‘stuckness’ is deadly for me, it frightens me into believing that my artistic talent is gone forever, like a well run dry. In reality, it is natural to experience some down time, it is even recommended to take vacations to ‘recharge’ and ‘renew’.
I know in my heart that I will be in fire with creative endeavors soon, and I will successfully sail to the next sighted port of call…but my disease tells me I’m dying in this vessel, surrounded by all the paint in the world, and not being able to lift my brush…
There are months when I sail along. Then there was April. Ouch.
Bipolar Disorder has a whole bag of tricks it can put to use on me, it used all of them. I let myself believe I didn’t need more than 3 hours sleep per night. In fact, thot I, I don’t need to sleep for 72 hours…48 is just too easy!
I’m so glad I don’t have schizophrenia. I deal with enough psychosis from insomnia.
I hope to be creating more very soon. Right now I’m working on a little 16×20 landscape , and at the end of April I had entered 5 works into INSIGHTS V. So I’m kind of easing in to new ideas. Let it flow, baby!
. (And THE LAVENDER CAT!)
Being still is very difficult for me mentally. Having a racing mind is the natural state of being for me, anything else is alien and uncomfortable. If I’m flitting about inside I can leap away from my disturbing thoughts as soon as they appear- it’s a constant dance to keep the wolves at bay. My faith has helped tame the beasts lurking my memory’s deeply scarred terrain, knowing that there is a force for good stronger than the pull of caustic quicksand that daily tries to suck me in.
I will dance this mental quick-step until death swallows me, the wounds of prolonged sexual abuse and violence are the deepest kind, years of therapy have given me some tools to offset the devastating effects of PTSD a bit. My Bipolar Disorder causes my synapses to fire differently than “normal” folk, this is proven by science, I believe this is a reason I am plagued so frequently by the flashbacks and memories.
My art is my outlet to “talk” about my inner world, it facilitates compassion and understanding in some viewers. Others will still judge my moral failings, and when these judgements slap me in the face I am better able to stand rather than crumble.
I recently was assaulted by an attempted character attack, called a liar and thief to my happy face-dashed by a loved one’s belief that I was still the person of 22 years ago when my addiction raged. It stunned me, unhinged me for a time- but I am bouncing back; hurt but not letting these untruths detail my sanity completely.
. This is all I can write, the healing is still in progress. Thank God for my loving friends in high places who know my inner heart and the fact that 22 years of sobriety, therapy and spirituality allowed me to leave that dishonest personality long ago.
I will paint and create art that reflects my journey, this soothes my troubled mind and gives me the most relief. Thank you so much for your continued support on my artistic journey
“Hold on for dear life my friend.”
Squinting. Blink, blink…blink, blink…
The coast seems clear, dare I step out-into the light? I think I must, after my last cryptic and elusive post. Nothing bad happened, artistically. I was uplifted, encouraged, validated. People needed to hear from me, needed to hear how a girl with so many odds stacked against her from the “git go”, plus the things I had piled on myself-how I had teetered at the edge of the abyss…and made it back to tell the tale.
Many are grieving themselves, their pain written in their beautiful eyes, on expertly made up, flawless faces. They searched mine, looking for an answer- “Why.” Why? Why? Had they missed the signs? Were there signs? Hadn’t they done everything, sought the right help, paid the right physician, listened closely in the therapy sessions?
Why hadn’t their love been enough?
I could only tell them that there was no rhyme or reason as to why I am here and their daughter is not. They did nothing to cause Bipolar Disorder. It doesn’t come from privilege, nor does it spring from want. It isn’t kept at bay with hugs or attention, nor is it fueled by neglect. At least none of this was true in my case.
My family was dysfunctional, true. So were many of my peers families. So are nearly all families. But my friends had not led lives fueled by a burning need to shoot across the sky in a blaze of purple confetti. Or to try to beat the Guiness world record for consecutive shots of 100 proof vodka. Nor had they experienced the kind of despair that left them lost and disheveled in their bathrobe when they were supposed to be graduating college or accepting an award.
I wanted to tell them they did more than my family ever did. That my Mom was the only one who believed that I did not want to be a train wreck. She asked the questions, walked thru broken glass for me and held my hand when the meds weren’t working. But ultimately she couldn’t divert the catastrophe either.
I’m trying to tell you it’s not your fault. Grieve the loss, but don’t blame yourself. I know when the darkness comes over me, it’s no one’s fault. And if I hold on really tight, it will pass. I white-knuckle it many nights, but a new day always dawns.
One day in the future there will not be any mental illness, or suicide. Until then just love your Bipolar person, hold on tight when you can and bask in their amazing glow. Be there when their sparklers fizzle and love them back to their feet. When they jump in their little rocket ships to the moon, put on a brave smile and wish them all the love in the world…till you meet again.
And if you are Bipolar and you are feeling alone, please reach out if you can. Know that you are worthy of love and that this darkness will eventually pass. You will be back on top again. The rain will stop. The sun will shine, the pain will ease. Hold on for dear life my friend.
“…walking into the sunlight of my artistic future!”
Fittingly titled “Crossing the Deleware, Well Aware” it shows my journey from despair and being held back by my past to shedding the overcoat of depression and walking into the sunlight of my artistic future! I based this title on the little “George Washington” Dude lurking down in the bottom center of the painting…See his funny hat?
Ok, friends, here’s the deal: I quit working as Frank Strunk III’s intern last week. Why, when I was enjoying learning from him so much? Why, when my mind was blooming open to all kinds of brilliant metal working techniques, and my mind was being blown by his artistic vision?
“Why in the world would you do that Susan Todd?”, Susan Todd asked Susan Todd.
I figured out the answer to that yesterday, although the reasons I gave Frank were that
A. I need to focus on my work I already do, cause it’s what I do. (Huh?)
B. I am doing a piece about my Dad and I’m an emotional landmine.(Hmmmm….What?)
C. I have been invited to a big event and need to focus.(Nope.)
D. Too many scattered efforts make Suzie nuts. (Now THAT makes sense)
Did I do the right thing? I wasn’t sure, because I really want to make metal art. I’m frequently making impulsive decisions and regretting them. He was generous with his time, his tools, opening his shop, his art and heart to help an emerging artist. And I bailed, just when I was really digging in.
I hate how my Bipolar Disorder makes me run Soooo Hot and then drops me on my doubtful butt. But it did, and here I am. Have I done what I said I was going to do? Well, yes. Yes I have. So that is good, I really have benefited from focusing on less! I have finished one of the pieces for the new INSIGHTS V call and started 2 more. I entered the Art of Possibilities Show in Missouri with 3 works, and finished 2 Grant applications plus am working on a third. And this third one is a doozy.
THE IMAGES ABOVE are of ‘THE DREAMING FOREST’ ©STMartin2022 (A New Work!)
So, have I been working, and trying and FIGHTING for myself?
Yes! YES!! YES!!!! Making connections and forging ahead, breaking new ground in new and exciting directions. Learning new marketing skills and remembering old ones I had forgotten. Benefiting from taking little risks and meeting new artists.
Now that I have written this I am astounded at all I have accomplished in the past 2 months. I really am a creative Powerhouse! Cutting thru the choppy waters like a PRO! Go Suzie, Go Suzie!
There is NO limit on my creative potential! I can SOAR! Look at me go!!
“I will flay myself alive…peeling off each layer to offer up to the powers that be…”
Here I am again, laying on ‘the sick bed’. It’s my forlorn couch, a relic from the 70’s (in the most excellent and outrageous fabric one could ever hope to find) but alas, my dying body is taxing her. I say dying, and in a literal sense it’s true, in that all things living begin dying at birth, but that’s not my meaning here.
I say my body is dying, but it’s immobility, as in the ‘death’ of energy, ambition, drive to do, see, create. Creative death. Self inflicted wound. Very deliberate. I knew when I dragged myself out of bed that I would do nothing but suffer today. Even when an opportunity for joy arose, I quashed it.
. I know exactly the game afoot, I know full well the grant application that awaits my attention. I know that I have a good project in mind- I even laid some initial groundwork out. Did these things help me keep my momentum going? Well…no.
No! I’m still going to sit in this bucket of my own $#@% until I nearly miss the deadline, then I will run at the goal full tilt with sweat and tears flying off of me. In this process I will flay myself alive, peeling off each layer to offer up to the powers that be, showing them the very essence of me, turning this way , then that, to reveal my facets.
Why do I do this? Lay in ambush for my own success? I have asked too many times and found only euphemisms. So today I quit asking. Today I start
I made myself get up, clean up, walk the dog, eat and finish a painting. I still have some fight left in me!!!
“…I’ll look outside for a hippo to wrestle…”
It is the white hot lead that throbbed in my spine last night. Coloring every second of every hour a bloody shade of red. The red from my bitten lip, the red of my sleepless eyes.
Why last night, when I’d been doing so well- doing so much so well ? Hmmm…let’s see….let us analyze:
Saturday: Ride horse.
Yup. There ya go, Dopey.
So now I am lying on a frozen bag of broccoli, contemplating a pain pill, contemplating calling an ambulance and wishing I had a gallon of chocolate ice cream and a liter of scotch. I haven’t had a drink in 21 years…but I gotta say, oblivion has a certain appeal right now.
And doesn’t it just figure that when I’m hittin’ on all cylinders in my art business; applying for grants, apprenticing to a famous sculptor, putting in bids on murals, putting paintings in shows and working on another-BRAINSTORMING MY BIPOLAR ” HEAD OFF-this, this is the week I decide to ride a horse.
Well, it’s just another day in the life. I wish I could avoid these conundrums, but that’s just not me. (on a side note, I just noticed that when you hit ‘bold’ and ‘italicize’ even the period dot gets bold. Ooooo….)
Any hoo… I guess that’s all for now. I have another grant opportunity I have to finish applying for by this Saturday, and tomorrow I go to the metal shop, so I better try to rest and see if I can walk in the a.m. Oh, wait, maybe I’ll look outside for a hippo to wrestle first! Sheesh!
(all that being said, I am creating a bunch of awesome art right now!)
Seeking Deeper Meaning in my life, thru my Art:
I’m faced with this question. Making a statement about my art, who I am as an artist. What do I want people to feel? Do I want them to feel?
Ok, here’s something I can bite into…
“I am NOT giving up, I am not going anywhere, and I’m certainly NOT GOING QUIETLY!”
This Artist is changeable, like the wind. I dance from one canvas to the next, one substrate to the next in an endless flow of ideas. To stop the flow of creativity is to stop my heart from beating. My Art from beating.
Being bipolar causes duality of purpose in me, and in my work. SIMULTANEOUS urgings: High, Low, Sideways, Backwards; Round. And yet , somehow, a cohesive whole is made.
I AM STRONG TODAY. I AM FREE OF THE BAGGAGE OF MY PAST TODAY.
I RUN UNDER A SAILING SKY, WILD-EYED and BREATHLESS… there IS a way forward for me… I WILL FIND IT. MY ARTISTIC VISION WILL NOT BE DENIED. I AM GOING TO MAKE PUBLIC RECYCLED METAL SCULPTURE. IT WILL BE IN PARKS AND GARDENS, IT WILL CELEBRATE THIS GLORIOUS ACT OF LIVING.
Back when I was a semi-pro pool player I had a mantra, because I was a clinch player. I came back when I was down, and that can demoralize an opponent, when you can beat them. But it wasn’t about that, not for me. It was staying in the game, never quitting, never saying ‘die’.
This quote has been attributed to many, so I will attribute it to an anonymous kindred spirit:
“It’s not the dog in the fight; It’s the fight in the dog.”
I have tried to associate myself with the local metal sculptors here in St. Pete, I have offered my labor free, begged for apprenticeships, offered to be the coffee runner, the shop cleaner, the grinder… I’ve been here 4 years now, and I feel choked and thwarted.
I know I’m older, I know I’m a woman, I know I’ve got marks against me as someone with “disabilities”. BUT I’M STILL HERE, AND MY VOICE WILL BE HEARD. What I have to contribute HAS VALUE! I can work most men under the table, even in the shape I’m in. (Ok, I could work my ex-husband under the table, which isn’t sayin’ much cause he was usually loaded!! But I AM a very hard worker…)
I’m strong as an OX and twice as GOOD LOOKING!!
So, while I have been quietly seething here in Pine Bay, creating my works on canvas, on board, on paper…. Painting my recycled furniture and selling cute little cat pictures…. THERE is a SHE -TIGER here in this cage…and I have found a way out.
I am NOT giving up, I am not going anywhere, and I’m certainly NOT GOING QUIETLY!
So, whether you see me shooting across the sky on the back of a winged Andalusian Stallion, dashing past you in my ‘souped up’ Kia Soul, or building a mind-boggling , solar powered work in a local park, be forewarned…
THIS OLD DOG HAS A LOT OF FIGHT LEFT…
“Things I like to take out and hold from time to time…this special grateful day.”
There aren’t many days like this, so I will hold this one really tight. With both hands. And after the day is done I will fold it up neatly and find a safe place for it in my jewelry box, where I keep my special things. Things I like to take out and hold from time to time. A favorite rock, a marble. A feather from an osprey. Or this special grateful day.
SUSAN TODD MARTIN 
You must be logged in to post a comment.