Can you dig it? I am sure most all of you can, gentle readers. You can probably deduce from my latest posts that my creative powers seem rather discombobulated. I would have to agree with you. The “SITUATION” certainly has a dampening effect on my spirit; whereas I used to force myself to get around people and interact for my mental health, now I have more than enough reason to stay home. The guilt I feel for staying up all night still pokes me in the side in the morning (oh, wait a minute, that was my teddy bear), however, I just take a swig out of my water glass, roll over and bury my face in Kleo’s furry belly and drift happily back to dreamland.
Kleo and her Magic Belly
. I did try to do better, by getting ready for bed before 3am , which is good for me. I hit a groove in my art practice, which does usually happen around 2-3, and was looking up images of pelicans for a study I’m going to do. I was VERY mature and turned off all my devices and went to bed. Then I laid there, in agony, on that horrible verge of wakefulness and sleep. This happens when my pain patch wears out and my muscle relaxer can’t keep me far enough under to rest. So I feel like a throbbing thumb you just smashed with a hammer that is now buried in hot quicksand… Everything in s-l-o-w-m-o-t-i-o-n…except the p-a-i-n…
p-a-i-n
. I have been letting myself go, and allowing my house to get (very) messy…Even though they talk on the news about food running out, I can’t get myself to go to the store…I will when the dogs need food, I guess. All I want to eat is chocolate and ice cream, maybe a few Doritos in between to cleanse my palate… I allowed myself to vent by creating this:
Play. House.
I also made these :
my living room …oooo, spooky(or is it?)pelican dreamnot too dreamy…
And you will never believe what I originally photographed to create these works! That will give YOU something to do for a few minutes!
Dear Friends, I woke up this morning believing the world was fine, normal. I had no thought of a world on lockdown for a few fleeting seconds.
Dawn Moon in September by STMARTIN2015
. Then, as was wont to happen after my Mom’s death, the awful reality came down on my brain like a sledgehammer. It did actually stop me in my tracks in the hallway. A punch in my tummy that brought me fully awake: My world was indeed shuttered and sheltered in place. I couldn’t dash down to the donut shop to drink coffee and chat with friends, I could not go over to my elderly Auntie’s and give her a gentle hug.
Regaining my bearings , and with a profound feeling of sadness , I finished my way down the hall to the kitchen. However, there was no longer any wind in my sails. I was just tired…”bone” tired, as they say in Carolina . My aim for the day now seemed to just be sleep, sleep and forget, sleep and dream of a new world, free from death.
Before Reaching Out, Landscape of St. Lucie River at River Park Marina,Acrylic on Canvas, Susan T. Martin, 2016
Suddenly I remembered I had to be somewhere! I hurried to hook up to my Sunday Meeting on Zoom, which took enormous effort as I had only 13 minutes to prepare. I washed and put on a dressin rapid-fire succession , drank a glass of milk and flew over to my chair, just as the meeting started! Now I was with friends and loved ones. With gratiude in my heart I lifted my voice in song, then bowed my head in prayer-thanking God for the sacrifice He made by sending His Son Jesus to die as a criminal. To give His perfect Son so that we humans could have a chance to live forever and see our dead loved one’s raised from the dead to join us a perfect world.
. My mind now soothed, my thinking set right, the day was now on track. Yes, I did go back to sleep afterwards, but it was a nap free from dread, and full of hope. My creativity freed, my imagination is no longer on lockdown. I will paint my way through this, and the light of hope will shine thru in my art!
Crossing the Delaware, Well Aware, acrylic on canvas, Susan T. Martin, 8/11/17
Portals to Peace (detail of Legacy of Lunacy)Acrylic on Canvas
The awful Pandemic we are living thru today reminds me of when I contracted Chicken Pox as an adult. While not nearly as deadly as Covid-19, I was very ill. I had a fever of 102.5 for a few days and extreme discomfort from the lesions(pox) that burst forth all over my body, in my mouth and everywhere else.
This was a particularly distressing time, as my Mom was in the latter stages of her battle with Colo/Rectal Cancer. She was frail, sick from Chemo , but with the heart of an angel. Her loving hands bathed my fever wracked body with rubbing alcohol, which was an enormous relief. The experience of her loving ministrations makes me weep to this day, 10 years later.
. Our Earth’s entire population of human’s is being ravaged by a deadlier virus, much deadlier. Bombarded with mis-information and outright lies, we are being toyed with by callous and profit obsessed leaders. And many of us “regular” folk are feeling betrayed, for we were raised to believe the power’s that be would save us from any danger, whether foreign of domestic . Why, there have always been new drugs advertised for any and every ailment that we had never even heard of, being touted and mass marketed in the middle of our prime time TV series! So what a dumbfounding shock to learn that our country has no plan, no surefire way to rally the population in a morale inflating mission to help every single citizen by a national united leadership.
I am SO GLAD that I don’t depend on anyone but my Creator in these devastating times. No, God is not the cause if this disease, and He will ultimately be vindicated and the whole world will be a peaceful paradise with no sickness, no death and no mourning or pain. I have found so much comfort and hope in the Bible, I hope that you can also.
One great way is to visit the website JW.org, where you can learn about God, his perfect Son, Jesus Christ, and about God’s promises that will come true. Today, April 7th , 2020 at 7:30pm Eastern Standard Time, is the Anniversary of the “Last Supper”. Jesus commanded that this meal be commemorated ever year, which you can participate in tonight. Just visit the website , JW.org and learn about God’s perfect son, Jesus, and how he gave his life to save all of us. To forgive all of our sins, and to help us learn how to live forever. Thanks for listening with an open mind, I hope you find the love and comfort the only our Creator can give.
(this short video is made up of photos in the public realm that I compiled in video format. Same with the music…)
A Visitor to one of my Giant Zinnias
Fifth generation (at Least!) red Amyrillis from Grandma’s House in St. Pete…
Pop goes the Color! My Bouganvilla in full bloom(it is over 10 feet tall and 20 feet around !
Sleep has been a constant goal for me since I put down drugs and copious amounts of alcohol. Yet it has been the most evasive and endangered of species, teasing me with scattered glimpses of it’s eternal beauty. Oh, how I have longed for it’s soothing embrace, and so have everyone I have contact with; they also wish sleep would embrace me!
. The constant effect of losing this cherished companion is my surliness, my impatience, my wind-like changeability and undependability. Punctuality is no longer a quality I can claim, and it frustrates me greatly. Falling asleep in my oatmeal is also quite frustrating, as is stabbing myself in the eye with my mascara brush. Nodding off at redlights and nearly colliding with oncoming traffic are less than desirable effects of losing my Lovely Sleep’s company, also.
Bipolar Disorder, my particular breed of it, thrives on insomnia. The Manic high’s leave me strung out like guitar strings tightened to the breaking point, you can virtually hear my mind humming at high frequency when I walk into a room. The flying mouse-wheel of thoughts is now turbocharged , ready to escape it’s moorings and fly an oblivion my mind may never recover from. The longer she evades me with her unfaithfulness, the more my living quarters look like a battlefield, reflecting her absence in my life.
. It truly is a war. The other end of the spectrum in this battle is THE DARK. Each day of the mania leads me closer to the brink of devastation. At times THE DARK and the mouse-wheel cohabit my being, bouncing my sanity as if a Rubber ball has been thrown full tilt into a narrow alley.
. Then the fateful day arrives when my loss of Lover Sleep leads me to the pit, the abyss of THE DARK. It throws me in and pulls up the rope ladder in one fell swoop. Leaving me to stand waist deep in the most desolate places of memory. Abuse, Pain, Rejection, Rape, Loneliness, Fear, thoughts of Harm, Deep All encompassing Grief… They are all here, all come out from the darkness edges of this well of depression to shove and kick me about as I stand in the tiny spot of light that trickles down from the far above opening of this shaft of hell.
The level of Muck rises as each long day passes, and unless I can find the toolbox my years of mental health therapy has given me, or if I can find that lifeline of contact with my support network, or best yet, if I can find a way to kneel and call out over and over to my Creator, begging for the strength to claw my way out, all may be lost. Anyone who has fallen down this DARK, knows how close it gets to oblivion at times…
. Days can pass, this last round a month passed, as you can see by my lack of sharing here. The pen weighs a thousand pounds, the telephone a ton. At times my paintbrush is lost in the sediment, more often than not it is divine release. I let the Dark flow out of me and away, down from my battered heart and mind , then finally draining from my fingertips on to canvas, paper, cement block or found object. The level of sadness ebbs, I have the strength to climb and paint my way up the walls wet with my tears.
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. As the light gets brighter, the colors on my canvas turn from Greys and browns to lilac and magenta, then colors of light and freedom. A few minutes of rest in Dear Sleep’s embrace , a gift from above then the final push into the light. The glorious light of freedom of peace, bathing my psyche in cooling water, releasing the bondage of all those fears, flashbacks mental anguish.
. My Creator saw fit to give me another glorious day, and finally the strength to reach for help from my doctors, my therapist, and my lifeline of freeflowing art, color, shape and movement.
Prayer for Magdallia, by Susan T. Martin 9 x 11 Marker on Board $50.00
Last Years Insights II WINNING Entry!
. Finally, my quest is completed, my medicine adjusted, which I take gratefully. Now with this elixer (and a new bipap machine) , some calming music and grateful meditation on all my blessings I fall gently into Sleep’s waiting arms. I lay my head on her motherly bosom, which happens to be my favorite squish pillow, and off I drift down the gentle stream of happy dreams…looking forward to a joyful, rested Awakening.
So Happy to Be in CHICAGO!
UNCHAINED, UNCUFFED, Mixed Media on Board, $400.00 (Available)
Another Garden Visitor, “Oleander-head Lady”…
Pop goes the Color! My Bouganvilla in full bloom(it is over 10 feet tall and 20 feet around !
My first watercolor for Art Mundo’s Calendar Art Juried Show and Sale, accepted(sold)Susan T. Martin2016
Depicting my own image has been a starting point my work from the beginning. As a child my drawings were always of female faces, although I never consciously realized these were reflections of me. Even then, in my earliest work, the duality of my nature is blatantly apparent.
. The faces I drew were always divided, half usually in darkness, or different in other ways. I did not know I was Bipolar then, I just had a burning need to express myself artistically. I was not properly diagnosed until I got clean and sober at the age of 35 after a drugging career that lasted over twenty three years.
. I had always known I was different, I described the feeling of being “painted green”in a room full of “normal” folk. It was like having something tattooed on my forehead, a conspicuousness. When I dug into my diagnosis, learning all I could in the hopes of finally coming to grips with my self destructive life’s course, I could see all the familiar signs in the literature. It made SO much sense! Now, armed with my new sobriety and determined to stay the course on my psychiatric medication regimen, I set out to turn my life around-to leave the wasteland of my past far behind.
. There was a slight glitch in my plan, however. The new meds that I was taking had a very unwelcome effect. They dulled my creative impulses, they slowed my manic phases down to a crawl. Rather than my giddy highs and freewheeling episodes of excess that I had lived for, and that had been killing me, I was now just a level hum. No taught guitar string playing harmonics, I was now m e l l o w…Too mellow. Where were the bright colors, the whirling merry go rounds and my peals of crazy laughter? All of the sudden I was boring and frumpy, and immune to excitement. I actually slept…alot.
. This is the part of a healthy mental health regimen that causes so many Bipolar individuals to “go off” their meds…but I had lost that option when I decided to stay alive. I had to make this work, I had to stick this out, because the alternative was suicide. Whether thru a drug overdose or tragedy from high risk behavior, I knew that sticking this out meant my very survival. Would I have to be a zombie? Was my wildly creative side lost to me forever? What to do?
. Fortunately, I had a therapist (counselor ) who listened, and I had the determination to tell her my discomfort. It took the better part of two years, and many different drug combinations , much discomfort and many tears to find a plan that worked, but we did not give up. Finally, I felt comfortable in my own skin, most of the time.
I still have highs and lows, and I am still a rapid cycling Bipolar person with PTSD. I still suffer from chronic insomnia and flashbacks, severe depressive episodes and ideation at times. But I never, ever want to destroy this beautiful gift of life, or to disrespect my Creator. It’s a long road, but the view is great!
Now that all that is said and done, the point I was getting at was that at a point a few years ago, talking to my therapist about my art, and showing him my work I had an epiphany ! BI-polar, TWO-sided! All the faces I drew and painted had told the tale from childhood! As we continued to go through my portfolio, it came rushing home to me. I paint myself as I am, and thru my art I am able to understand and put together all my different facets! I am constantly learning, healing and growing as an artist, and I am
. If anyone out there is fearful of a mental illness diagnosis, please give yourself a chance to get well. Don’t be afraid to seek help, because I’m here today as an example of the kind of life that is possible if one keeps pushing on! You can feel better!
Above are just a few recent examples of the many sides of my bipolar self I paint…
Yes! We all want to be a great “success” in our chosen field, and many artists have a clear idea of what they need to be successful. Speaking for myself, I thought success would mean the end of financial struggle, to a point. As a person with mental illness (Bipolar Disorder and PTSD for starters) and physical handicaps (use your imagination), I felt that my “happy day” would come when I could pay my bills and buy my art supplies, and eat what and where I wanted, with a few more bucks to put by.
I’ve been working toward that end for over 50 years now, and while my life has been unusual (to put it mildly), I fancied that with all my obvious creative talent my art would be sought after. Notice that I did not say “highly” sought after. No, I tried to be realistic-it would take some time to get well known, etc… Well, that day I envisioned, that “happy” future success day has not come. Big sigh, and big pity party…
. Wait. Just. One. Minute…
What am I talking about? All of my life I dreamed of a time when I could create my art whenever I wanted! I dreamed of pursuing My artistic vision! Did you, also? I have made that time for myself, I have chosen to pursue my artistic life no matter what my life circumstances. No time to paint? I get my paints out at 10 pm. some days. No where to paint? I live in a single wide mobile home, crammed to the gills with projects I’m working on! No money for canvas? I find things in the trash, at thrift stores, on ebay-cheap things that no one wants anymore- and I find ways to make them unique, colorful, extraordinary …
Success! From a Broken Cement Block!Intergalactic Dragonfly made of TrashGutters, Plastic Containers,Spaghetti Forks!An Old Patio Table!Recycled Everything!My Dream in ProgressMy Dreams Taking Flight!
. At this very moment, right now, I have no bread in the house. No bread, about a half cup of milk and some ramen. (Not the “Cup o Lunch ” kind with the veggies either.) Not to get too personal, but 2-ply T-P. (Feel your little butt tighten up?) Am I crying the blues here? Making myself seem a martyr? An arter-martr? (sorry, I just had a silly moment…)
. No, I am telling you that I AM a success. I AM AN ARTIST SUCCESS STORY.
. Let that stew a moment: A 50-something improperly-art-educated-disabled-crazywoman-in-a-run-down-trailer-park-in-a-flood-zone-with-no-homeowners’ insurance-no-coffee-using-2-ply-TP is a SUCCESSFUL ARTIST?!?
Woop woop! Yup, that’s me!
my idea of an artistic selfie!
. I have no looming prospects of fame, of a sudden, amazing “breakout” work, or even of a teeny weeny inheritance, but I am as happy as a clam in mud, happy as an accountant with a pen that works, happy as a rotund, pink, rather hairless, animal who squeals in a pile of feces!
I have chosen to live my Artist’s dream, to get up each day and paint a stroke, glue a something together, write a poem. I am not too broke to go get a gallon of milk or decent toilet paper, neither am I well off enough to buy the best brushes, or even decent canvas.
But I am an ARTIST. That is who I am, and that is what I make a conscious choice to do. Every day of my successful life. Hey, it’s wonderful to be on top, isn’t it?
. This is not just a litany of my own happiness with my art career, which I would define not really as a “career”, but as a life choice…No, I want to help YOU , dear reader, to see where your own happiness lies. What are you holding out as your carrot? What does your “success” look like? Are you, like so many, comparing where you are to what other artists are experiencing? Are you kicking yourself for not painting a still life, when that’s what Mr. Prize Winner painted in the last show? Were you let down when they announced the “winners” to the last member’s show you entered? (yeah, me too…) See what I mean? Are we longing for some recognition, some prize or award, another feather in our cap, while we miss the sensual sensation of paint flowing onto canvas ? Or the startling moment when that perfect shade of turquoise comes to life on our palette? Or, here’s one: The moment when you jump up saying ” Yes! I got it!” because the line you laid down is exactly where you want it to be?
. Yes, my artist friend, these are the true successes. I never want to be Michaelangelo wishing I was Davinci. Can you imagine? The creator of the “David” wishing he had painted the “Mona Lisa”? Thinking he was not a successful artist?
. Let us remember this wonderful gift we have now, and revel in it, delight in it! Then all of our art will be successful.
It has been an enormously trying year and one half, year and 8 months , actually. I have grown SO much since I have lived here in St. Petersburg, I have learned to believe in myself, and in my ability to survive.
As An ARTIST. In my own right, I have put in the footwork, stretched my boundaries, made the connections, painted the dreams, and PUT MYSELF OUT THERE!
Wow!!! I mean , WOW!
After All the Fear, Loneliness, Grief, Doubt, All chaining me down and holding me back… I did the impossible. I used my art and with God’s unfailing love, have set myself free! Yes, He saved me from the pit, and put my feet upon a crag, and then I, Susie, Sue, Susan Todd!
picked up the tools I gathered over the past 40 + years, and put them to Use! Hacking off the dead pieces, digging down to fresh clean soil to build this life on. This BEAUTIFUL LIFE, This Sensitive Life, This life of Love.
A life of true purpose and meaning… I am SO grateful, and full…I may just burst into a ball of colorful confetti!
I know it was not all me, but you know what?
I COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ME!
So here is my tooting of my own horn, soaking up the satisfaction of a job well done and a future of hope and joy!
I am very proud to share that The Morean Arts Center in Downtown Saint Petersburg, Florida, has granted me the honor of a little pop up show in their beautiful facility! A show that features my art, my way, my innermost feelings, fears and flashbacks all on canvas, and OUT of me. So that I can help someone else see that you CAN have a life after violent sexual assault. After molestation, after rape, after domestic violence, after ALL the trauma … you can still find your own voice under all the rubble, and you can stand up, on your own again!
Yay.
I want you to know that you can recover, but you must work at it and be steadfast in your desire to rise from the ashes of whatever you have experienced. I was surrounded by a family who never wanted to discuss what happened to me, and who treated me like I was touched by some uncleanliness. As if the person I was inside was somehow changed. Soiled. Ruined.
I stand up today, that same child, that same teenager, that same woman and I shout from the treetops that I am clean, and loved, and strong, and Beautiful! I am NOT what happened to me. I am a whole, healed woman. And I am an ARTIST.
Why am I who I think I am not? That is the question of the day.
Out of the Gutter Art 
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