The Waterplant, mixed media on canvas by Susan T. Martin(sold)
The torment of Immobility
Riding a wave, tall as a mountain, I rush headlong thru my day
One project done, the next begun:
All clarity-no haze.
The transition came, I know not when(wound up on my butt again)
I wandered thru today amazed:
No clarity-just dazed.
When does it happen/Why?
I did not cause it/Did I?
Now huddled under an ocean of covers, immobilized for days
Not project done, not even begun
Just futility-today.
Where do I go to/Why?
I do not cause it/Do I?
I rode a wave, tall as a mountain, rushed headlong into here
The vast Empty, the foreboding, feeling death is very near,
The quiet is not tranquil, the peace turns into fear
Will I find the will to struggle, will my vision ever clear?
I would not wish this on an enemy, nor even onto me
This terrible stuckness, it's inevitability
Knowing it will leave doesn't help it go
The pros say that will, but they don't really know
I will find my meds, somehow take a few
Sleep a dreamless sleep, tomorrow start anew
Hope against all hope, stagnation soon will end
I will be on top to ride that wave again.
I love etching. I haven’t done a “real” etching in about 40 years; since high school. We had a brand new state-of-the-art printing press. It had been installed in 1978 and here I was, a couple years later in advanced art classes with the finest teacher I ever had, Mr. O’Hara. At the time I did not think I liked the man, he was always on my case, pushing me and prodding me to expand my horizons. All I wanted to do was get high and draw my trippy burnout monsters. These were the days of Frank Frazetta and Heavy Metal The Movie; my dreams were filled with animation and album covers. But Mr. O’Hara had this printing press. And he intended to make me use it.
First it was wood cuts. Hmmmm…This was pretty cool. One block, lots of options, different colors, placements and copies! Prints everywhere! I had written a poem about a nuclear holocaust, Mr. O’Hara had us make a book…I was impressed, and so were my Peers and parents. Which was unbelievable, they never turned the TV off long enough to know what color my hair was any given month. (It was many different colors, but not like today. We just had blue/black and red and blonde… I tried them all.) Getting back to the printing press, my curiosity was really piqued. Then we did a lino cut…again, very cool. I was into it now. Then he gave us some history and some homework.
Etching. Renaissance. Rembrandt. Etching. Albrecht Durer. Zinc Plate etchings. I was enthralled: Oh the detail. The crazy details. It was better than smoking dope! I am so grateful today to have had the chance to be taught by Mr. O’Hara. I have often wished I could contact him and thank him for pushing me. He really cared, and I will always be indebted to him for seeing who I could be.
yesterday’s piece: Too Soon to Yo Mama (Tucson to Yuma
These pieces aren’t etchings, they are oil pastel sgrafitto. To me, though, they have the feel of etchings. The tiny lines, intricate detail. Not like a finished etching, but those wonderful moments when you are scratching the eensy-weensy picture onto the plate. I have even gone so far as to ‘etch’ a lamp globe and a mannequin in the past few years! Oh, the long lost love of mine!!
Do something! Say something! Move a muscle, change a thought!
All seems to be running smoothly-till it’s not, and it’s not; right now.
How? Every thing seemed peachy-‘seemed’ being the operative word here. I seem like I’m young and beautiful-but is it truly the case? It ‘seems’ nice and comfortable outside-until you open the door and the 100°, 90% humidity slaps you around. Then it ‘seems’ like you are dying of heat stroke(which you may actually be if you don’t wise up and dash back inside).
I have been on this couch for hours. Hours! I wake up, try to get up. Ponder it for a few dazed minutes. Then, with a sigh, I melt back into the blanket, squishing my head into the pillow, praying for alertness to magically reach in and yank me into an energized reality. It has yet to. Although, I must admit I did rise long enough to walk Kleo, feed the cats, her, and me. Then, drawn into the couch’s magnetic field I succumbed again.
Someone may say, oh, you must need the sleep. Your body knows what it needs. No, I humbly disagree. My body knows how to seek a place to hibernate, sinking into the very fibers if this sofa till only my hands and feet will be left on the surface. Mute witnesses to the me that once was.
I must fight this lesser nature, fill my mind with the memories of zestful living, long for that movement, yearn for that freedom, strain to break free!!
When will living feel like less of an epic battle? Probably never. Does that mean I should give in, give up, throw in the proverbial towel? No! The opposite: FIGHT, SISTER!! THROW OFF THAT STRANGLING BLANKET! RISE UP AND FIGHT FOR ANOTHER DAY!
Whew!! Ok! Ok, I will, I AM! I am motivated, I am engaged, I am leaping back into life!
In…just…a…minute. Right now…yawn!…I think I’ll just stretch out for one second…just…one…sec…
Out of the Gutter Art 
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