“Sleep to Dream a Dreamer’s Sleep…Let the Midnight Watchman Creep…”A step into a past full of Victorian Charm, all furniture and walls handpainted and restored…by me.
your home is your place to dream, to find peace and rest. A cocoon, a safe haven, an island in the storm… a place to create, to define, to highlight who you really are-in your own space. Welcome to mine…
I always lived with others, my family, my husband, friends… I expressed my own style in little flourishes, here and there. Once I got my own home, that I truly own, and no one else shares it with me….now I’ve been free to create my own space. Painting anything, be it wall, floor, furniture or canvas; at any time of day, in any colors, in any style!! There are days I sit here, depressed and immobilized. Then I remember to look around and be so, so grateful…
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.
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“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…
Hello again, and welcome to the big show! I have begun what will become a Major Series of New Works entitled , “INSIDE VOICE” a series of works that speak to my inner battle with Bipolar Disorder’s lows and maniac highs, my way to shout out how the battle rages on inside even when silence prevails outside.
Many people who meet me may be uncomfortable being near a person diagnosed with mental illness, such as Bipolar Disorder. However, they are often surprised at how “normal” I seem. It has been my experience both with my current diagnosis, and with my original diagnosis of Chronic Depression, that friends and family are amazed that I don’t run around slathering at the mouth, or beating my head against the wall. They often try denial on, “No…not you…” or, ” You seem so happy, normal, well adjusted, calm, smart …”
Some have even gone so far as to comment on my family tree, as in, ” Well your Grandpa was a little odd.” Or the opposite, “Nothing like this has ever been on my side of the family…” In my family, on my Mom’s side, my Grandpa and his Brothers had come to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania from Woodbury, Tennessee because there were good jobs to be had at the State Hospital, which was what insane asylums were called in the early 20th Century in the U.S. The treatment of mental illness was a whole different ballgame back then, my relatives saw many terrible and terrifying things, indeed.
Their positions within these huge hospitals required them to live on the Hospital Grounds in Dormitories, where they could hear the “lunatics” screaming and carrying on all day and night. It’s no wonder they were aghast at the idea that their kin were somehow linked to those poor souls in the “Looney Bin”. I am so glad to live in this century, and I am very grateful to all the poor souls who were the subject of many ghastly experiments and treatments, who helped behavioral science and the Mental Health Community to become what it is today. As a “50 Something” woman who was not properly diagnosed till the age of 32, my life now is a dream compared to the suicide attempts, the self medicating, the self debasing promiscuity, the manic spending, the jail time, the fate-tempting, death-defying thrill-seeking, mayhem-causing pain I lived thru before. The sheer energyit would take to put up a happy, smiling front…man, I needed a eight ball just to keep it up for a weekend.
But it would all unravel in the end. I was not OK. I was really, really not OK. Inside my head I was screaming, and my thoughts were rolling at warp speed. I was that cat on the electric floor in that Steven King movie, running up the walls. I would try to hold down a job, and this is after a year of sobriety, after a few hours I would go to the loo and hide, shaking like a leaf. After about a year and a half clean and sober, I got my hands on my first credit card and inheritance at the same time and bought 5 acres in the wilderness, had it cleared and levelled, had a well dug, fenced it and then went to the mall and purchased a bunch of tanzanite and diamond jewelry, winding up spending over 20 grand in 2 weeks(and ultimately filing a chapter 13 bankruptcy).
Mania Illuminata, sold
Interspersed between those bouts of mania, where I seemed so “normal”, I would cry. And cry. And Finally I just couldn’t take the pain anymore, so a dear friend said I should go to a local Mental Health Facility, called New Horizons. I was given this ancient psychiatrist who looked wizened, emaciated and nearly blind. But, bless her heart, she had me pegged. With her help, with my determination to stick with my med trials, with a great therapist and social worker, I have been able to stay alive there past 23 years, now clean and sober for 21 of them, come September.
. So, anyway…(whew, that was quite a tirade!)…I am painting this series to let you look inside a person with this illness, look into this inner world and I promise I will use my “INSIDE VOICE”.
. This project was a couple years in the making for me, and was born from the bottomless grief I was dealing with then. As caregiver to both of my parents after a 23 year-long active addiction, and after a devestating breakup of my marriage when my ex went to Federal Prison, I was an emotional train wreck. I had not been creating visual art except for private sketches and some mural work, but I made a smart move during those early years back home with my parents by purchasing a Surface Pro in 2006 with all the bells and whistles. As a result, I did have a creative outlet in the new digital editing and photographic capabilities of this amazing device.
. During the long illness of my Mom, who was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer in 2007 (after years of passing blood but afraid to get a colonoscopy!!!!), I had much pent up emotion to release. Any moment of freedom I had was spent exploring the new medium I now possessed. I think I was at an advantage due to the fact that I knew no rules about photography, so I was very free to experiment and play. As a computer illiterate during my long years away from civilization, this was both hell and Utopia as I navigated thru the most basic techie stuff. But I was enthralled. I could take a photo and make it a work of art!
. Alas, my next 9 years were so pain-filled, as Mom’s cancer progressed she and I had to navigate colostomy’s and ileostomy’s and her suffering was so acutely mine that I wanted to die with her. And a huge part of me did, on the first day of spring in 2010, her birthday and day of death. I wrote endless prose and poetry, keeping her alive in words and rivers of tears.
. That seemed like a joy ride compared to nursing my father until his death. Dad developed dementia even before Mom died, and it became full blown Alzheimer’s afterwards. He also had prostate cancer which had been diagnosed 20years before but had never been treated. Years of violent outbursts and vile language and hate filled conversation poured out of my Father for the better part of Six years, and out of my warped sense of love for my mean Dad I determined in my heart to never let him go to a nursing home.
During those years I had a catastrophic fall which injured my brain, neck, back, shoulder, hip and knee, causing me to undergo a 12 hour double neck and back operation so that I would only have one recovery and could be up and about within weeks to caregive again. Wow. Five levels in my neck were fused and a previous 3 level lumbar fusion was repaired and taken up another level. I had torn major cartilage in my hip, needed arthroscopic surgery there and in my shoulder, and also was left with a type if vertigo that still effects me on a regular basis 7years later! Oh, my. Need I mention my mental illness battles with rapid cycling Bipolar Disorder and PTSD from a history full of childhood sexual abuse, violent sexual assault and rape as an adolescent and severe emotional and physical abuse due to 7plus years of Domestic Violence? No, I really had given myself a heavy, heavy load to carry with Daddy. But somehow I did it.
. I cannot describe the last weeks of his life, as there was a lawsuit and a non disclosure agreement with the establishment that hastened his death. But his last night was spent in a hospital bed at home, alone with me, while he screamed and pleaded with God and me to help him. For hours. And hours. The morphine did absolutely nothing so I covered my ears with my fists and screamed with him.
. During this unimaginably daunting, heart-wrenching and overwhelming time in my life there was a story on the news that just planted itself in my brain, because it was so horrific. A group of 27 immigrants were being smuggled into this country from South America. My video is my interpretation of what they went thru, and also a cry for compassion towards all who suffer such indignities and trauma.
Shall I call it “UNBAGGING”? I told you that you would never guess my source photo, in the last post’s images. Well here it is:
Can you SEE now?
. Here’s the deal: I was ready to take Kleo for her daily walk, mask on, prepared to face the outside world. I had just finished watching (another) horrible newscast about the indescribable suffering going on all around the world. They had pinpointed the lack of PPE(initials we now know by heart that stand for Personal Protective Equipment), and the total disregard for life being shown by leaders who shall remain nameless,. The glaring situation that faces those on the frontlines who work to save the sick and dying was very much on my mind, so when Kleo and I stepped onto the street I was shocked by what I saw.
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. Up and down my street, in front of every house, were little pink plastic bags, big enough to slip a hand into. And they held a single folded newsprint page with a small sheaf of advertisements tucked inside. I had been upset by these exo-system destroying little plastic bags before, being tossed all over the ground by secret eco terrorists each night under the cover of darkness. I mean- No ONE HAD ASKED FOR THESE! NO ONE HAD ORDERED THESE, OR REQUESTED THEY BE SCATTERED ALL OVER CREATION!!!!
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Well , excuse me, there was SOMEONE…
Like I said, this had already bothered me, but now? NOW?!?
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. I had just viewed nurses in New York City going to work using “gloves” fashioned using sterilized newspaper bags, shopping bags ( using clean garbage bags for goodness sakes) to shield themselves, and their CHILDREN, AND PARENTS, AND STAFF, AND NEIGHBORS, AND YOU AND ME from the virus!!! So here I was, rushing up and down the street, very angry, very sad, and self-righteous over this waste. I wanted to SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS AT THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL!!
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I may actually have screamed something, or at least shouted into my frayed cloth mask, which successfully muffled my words…I marched home with Kleo falling behind, tilting her head curiously, as if to say, “Mommy, I didn’t poop yet!?!”.
But why, Mom?
coooooookkkie!!
I paid her no mind, but kept up my March all the way to my couch where I threw the offending bags on my couch, and made an angry video about the whole mess of emotions I was feeling!
. Then I watched said video, and the old, grouchy Lady with the pink bandana (who was wielding pink plastic bags like a weapon) -well, she just looked pathetic. Very Ineffective.
Trying to look very old…
Great Grandma Alzira Angeline Alexander
Therefore I did what artists do best:I made meaningful art, and in doing so I made a statement, a loud statement… A SHOUT FROM THE ROOFTOPS, A SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY PHOTO EDITING VOICE!!!
“HERE YOU MONSTERS! Here you UNTHINKING BOOBS!!!!” “SEE WHAT I THINK OF YOU!!”
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“THERE WILL BE A RECKONING” Because my friends, it’s not up to me with my little pictures… No, the GREATEST ARTIST, the One True God, says in the BIBLE
” …AND HE WILL BRING TO RUIN THOSE RUINING THE EARTH!”, Revelation 11:18B
. Now with the situation reframed, and with me letting go of a job that my Higher Power is doing, way, WAY better than I ever could, I can be happy again. I can use the little pink bags for doo-doo bags for my Ragamuffin Dogs, and be eco-illiterate myself…or, I can make a collage with them and use the adverts also! Ooooo, this will keep me going till nightfall, anyway!!! Then I will have to search for a new, fresh bee to toss into my bonnet! Another vital quest for justice for little furry creatures!!!
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. ONWARD, AND UPWARD MY FRIENDS! Let us keep pushing on to better tomorrows!!!
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 !
footsteps recede, door closes. 
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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