Category: dreams
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“Party Girl”
Hot Off The Easel! “Party Girl” 12″x 12″ Paint Pen on Canvas©STM Just another view of “Party Girl” by Susan T. Martin, Created just an hour ago! Memories of Franky and Johnny’s / Gemini Room in Fort Pierce, Florida! -
Transported.
The Inheritance of Daughters’ by Susan T. Martin I am here again. WHY am I here again.
WHY am I small again, lost again?
Alone again.
Afraid…
. Again.
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All Writey Now
I’m feeling disgusted with myself. Yet again I have lapsed into the void. The Void that exists inside me, when I feel incapable of creating anything of value. My fellow artists, do you ever come to this vast zone of inability?
Many would tell me that it’s the Bipolar monkey, bouncing up and down on the seesaw of creativity that exists between my ears. Right now I want to “shock the monkey”…(thank you Peter Gabriel)…It seems to be less like a monkey and more like a huge Brahma that has lain down, groaning and farting, on all my art supplies. (warning:EXTREMELY GRAPHIC WORD PICTURE!!!)
The warning should have come before the farting bull. Sorry. NOT.
Oh, the wonderful bucolic images that now dance ’round my imagination. Huge farting cows in pink tu-tu’s daintily dancing hoof to hoof. Hey, maybe I’m onto something! I hear Brahms playing in the background while the Brahma’s cavort! Wait for it… Wait for it….There!!
THE HORN SECTION!!!!! (Cue maniacal laughter!!!)
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The Door is Wide Open
There are ideas percolating just beneath the surface of my consciousness. They are not fully fleshed out but the juices are flowing and I feel “on the verge” of a breakout work. What is a ‘breakout work’ you ask? Well, I’m asking too, and I believe there is a new direction coming.
ideas under construction… I have been cleaning and gardening and remodeling while the first flickers have steadily growing in size, ready to flame up when the fully formed idea strikes. So I’m just stoking the fire now, setting my mind free to dream in big color…
my garden calls me , more and more…and I’ve been gathering beloved and beautiful finds and setting them behind the house while this “thing” fleshes out. And it will.
Oh, yes. It will…
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Forgetting the I
Running full tilt thru each day
leaves no time for reckoning
no time to breathe or seek relief
till exhaustion stops the flight
feeling can be too intense
too mundane-much to real
icky sticky hugs and kisses
that Hurt too much to feel .
” Renata’s Path” commission -
Another Voice in the Night
I was finally motivated to produce my second painting in the “Inside Voice”series. Although I am beset physically with devastating exhaustion, I was able this past week to get some work done. This is very encouraging, I have been fighting the fully immersing fatigue that envelops me each morning.
. I dosed myself up with a handful of vitamins earlier, I take them religiously, today I doubled the quantity and added an iron supplement. I must start eating some fresh fruit and veggies… Not Rocky Road. Anyway, I hope you are doing well, gentle reader.
. Here is my latest work, “Inside Voice #2 “
This work is a 12″x 12″ acrylic on canvas, and will be available for purchase soon.
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Water Flowing thru My Art Life
one fish two fish red fish blue fish 
Fish of a Different Feather 
Reaching Out, acrylic on canvas, Work in Progress, Susan T. Martin 2017 
The Passage 
Reaching Out, Acrylic on Canvas, Beginning Stages, Susan T. Martin 2017 
River in Red 
“Exquisite Aloneness” work in progress
Portals to Peace ( The Legacy of Lunacy ) by Susan T. Martin2016 Water…Healing. Soothing. Cleansing. Renewing. Refreshing. Constant. Relaxing
Tempestuous. Raging. Running. Crashing. Tumultuous. Freeing.
It Gives Life, It Takes Life. It’s Waves Hold the Secrets of a Million Years.
Voyages Undertaken, Trips Made, Sailing into the Unknown, New Lives Across
Rolling Seas.
Ever Present, Ever Changing the Landscapes of Our Lives.
Flowing Over the Ragged Edges So We Can Make Land Safely.
Crashing Over Our Bow to Sink Us on Reefs of Folly.
Water.
Water.
Everywhere.
S. T. M. 2020
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I Miss What I Imagined I would Miss
this isolation is kind of nice, (she thought), it gives me time to explore my thoughts. But too much pondering of self is no good, (she thought to herself), it can get messy. Really, it is messy, all this thinking in isolation, (she remembered), because it makes me so sleepy, (she yawned), not doing the dishes, nor combing my hair, (she sighs), flummoxed, just flummoxed. I should try to eat something, (she groans), but there’s nothing here I want, (she moans) it all takes too much energy… e-n-e-r-g-y…(she sleeps…)
footsteps recede, door closes. Ahhhh, fresh air… Curtains of pale yellow blow in the morning breeze. We know it’s morning, hear the cardinals breakfasting at the feeder. A nuzzle of cold snout under the hand leads to the opening of an eye: Here is Izzy, the proud mom, ready to show us her new brood.
” Good Girl Za-Za!”, we exclaim, thrilled now to sit up, taking a long draw on the crystal glass of water at our bedside.
. “Hey, Kiki old-man! You gonna show us the grand babies?”
. Swing the legs over the side and stretch, then again before standing…
“Show me!”.
. With that, off they dash as we stumble along behind, into the hall then into the den. We can already hear the tiny grunts and squeals as the teeny pups angrily demand breakfast.
“Get in there, Izzy!” She’s already in the basket, dutifully cleaning little backsides as they squirm and nuzzle in for a teat. “Good Za!”
. She gives us a look of pure bliss, eyes narrow and smiling with a mother’s pride. Not to be outdone, Uncle Kiko, gives a little nose-nudge to the basket as if to say, “I helped too!!”
. ” Good Boy Kiko, you’re a trooper, indeed!”
In the quiet of the morning the scent of brewing coffee tantalizes our senses, and as we look up into the kitchen, there is Dad, in his Dad chair, reading the newspaper as he’s done ten thousand mornings before. He glances up from his cup, mid-sip, to wink and smile, mouthing a silent ‘good-morning’.
. We move down the hall towards Mom’s bedroom, still closed as she slumbers on. We can’t resist a peek, gently opening the door and gliding over to stand and caress her sleeping face with our eyes. She is so beautiful in her repose, a wisp of brown hair touseled over her brow. We must have made a sound, she stirs and the room seems to awaken with her, the birds chirp louder, the golden rays fall around her like the petals of an opening rose. She stretches, smiling, her hand reaches out to touch ours…
Passed On©STMartin2010
Burning Sky, c.STMartin2016
Susan Past ©STM2018
Sailor’s Delight, c. STMartin2016
Fire in Heaven, c.STMartin2016
Prayer for Magdallia, by Susan T. Martin 9 x 11 Marker on Board $50.00
For Our Lost OnesIt’s just a dream, just a dream. But it will be a reality soon. I miss you, Mom and Dad.
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Out of the Gutter Art 
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