Out of the Gutter Art

Category: insomnia

  • Gone. Baby Gone.

    Gone. Baby Gone.

    The Weight is mine, mine alone. I tried to offer some lame kind of comfort, but I could feel the other pet parents staring right through me...

    .

    A sad situation…

      Pippy herself did not show anger, or hatred; I wish she had. Her gentle, knowing glance as the vets assistant lugged her away unceremoniously drove a spike through my heart.

    “Please take care, ” I whispered, so obviously a vile animal destroyer to the ten plus persons waiting for their babies.

      “WHAT,” the huge matron stopped in her tracks and did a slow spin, somehow holding onto dear queasy Pips in the jostling cage.

      All attention swung in slow motion, onto my horrified visage, the paint splattered clothes just screaming “loser”, “sinner” and “jail her”.

      Now struck dumb in my dismay, I gathered the last tiny drop of spittle I could muster, and in a voice only heard by Pippy and God, I said loud and clearly,

    ” I love you Pippy, and I’m sorry..”

      She heard, she knows and I will carry her in my heart always..

    How fo I say Goodbye?

    CHAPTER 5

       You see, Pippy had some terrible kind of mental breakdown that coincided with the introduction of my neighbor’s cat, Lilly, being brought into the home.

       Almost instantly Lilly pounced on and actively hunted Pippy, terrorizing her. The change in Pippy was swift. No longer social, friendly and well adjusted; Pippy became nervous and unsettled. Hiding, flinching and neglecting to groom. Or, the flip side: overgrooming. To an unbelievable degree.

      Now Pippy would spend hours, every waking moment, actively pulling out her fur. Rapidly, her underbelly was devoid of fur except for a few lonely tufts clinging onto her for dear life.

       Then, when I thought this was the extent of her problems: a disturbing new issue. Out of the blue, on a given Saturday, Pippy had some sort of twitching fit that escalated to her biting at herself and racing full tilt around the trailer. I was also beside myself, deeply regretting my lack of funds to take her to a vet. I called the SPCA to see if they would treat her free, they said, “No, there is no program.” I was at, what I thought at the time, feeling ultimately that I had caused her distress. I alone bore the guilt.

    Pippy knows: it’s me who betrayed her…

      In the aftermath of this episode, Pippy began hiding in the top.of my closet, in my studio. This posed no issue- I was glad she found a cubby hole. Until she refused to come out at all. Not to eat, not to be petted and, most devastating, not using her litterbox.

            To be continued…

    Poor Dear Pippy-puppet…

        I am so guilty…

  • I Better Put Shades On

    The Master Worker
    ,©Susantmartin’24

    The Future Looks BRIGHT!

       Oh boy, I’m very excited. You know I go thru the highest of highs, then crash to the ground? Well, this time I’m doing something good for my future as a fine artist…I’ve been accepted to study classical art under a great Artist: Eduardo Salazar!! I am over the moon! I know it will take years of dedicated study, but I will soar to new heights.,.All the beautiful images in my head will have new ways to be rendered in my hands, with my new skills, new ways of seeing.

    I dreamed, ALL MY LIFE, to study under a great Artist…now , finally, this dream is reality. I hope you will come along on this incredible journey,!

    The Sentinel’s Prayer ©Susantmartin’24

    Tony”s Shuffle, Fin Average

    © susantmartin’24

  • Where is Captain Jack?

    Where is Captain Jack?

    STUCK IN THE DOLDRUMS…

    waiting for the TIDE…

    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…

    • KODAK Digital Still Camera
    • Passed On©STMartin2010
    • The Hiding Hunter
    • Me, doodle?
    • Susan Past ©STM2018
    • my Isolation Helmet
    • The New Way Home by S. T. Martin
    • MEGAMOONMANIA c.STMARTIN2010
    • peace ever after…
  • The Hurrier I Go…

    The Hurrier I Go…

    THE BEHINDER I GET

    How true, how true that Pennsylvania Dutch saying is. I squander my art endeavors, rushing from this deadline to that, frazzled, befuddled and unsatisfied. That may be what drove Van Gogh insane, the constant turmoil to do better. I am making the presumption that perhaps the rapid cycling Bipolar Disorder that I enjoy(!) was somehow effecting him, too. Many artists share this mental illness, I know that The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation has held Insights Art Exhibitions, to establish a permanent collection of works by artists who are effected by this disorder. I am proud to be one of the Founding Artists of that collection, and proud to know these beautiful people who have done so much to further research in the field.

    Three years, three works of my art in this collection. It blows my mind, just as my art has been blowing peoples minds since I was a child. How easy I forget, and wallow in my mire. That is part of this disease also. The dark days, when no amount of internal dialogue can push me out of bed, out of the bleak landscape in my head. Do you think Van Gogh, or Matisse, or Dali had such dark times? What about Francis Bacon, Pollock, Warhol ?

    Then why do I feel so alone in my efforts? Yes, I’m sure the worldwide pandemic has a dampening effect, on artists as well as everyone else. Perversely, I also treasure the isolation it affords me. No one can chastise my late hours, or visit to be aghast at the paint on my floor, on my walls, on me. I think I need to get out of the house more, go walk on the beach, visit a park. All things strange and alien nowadays. I know this will pass, I have been in counselling and under proffesionals care for my Bipolar Disorder and PTSD for nearly 30 years, I take my medication every single day, because I have been all the way down into the abyss and made friends with the monsters lurking there. Only to find out that they all wanted me dead. I don’t want to be dead. I can fully understand why I did, because this pain is all encompassing. I feel each cell screaming at me to give it relief.

    Not too happy, guys…

    The only thing I can do is paint myself into a painless reality, a utopia of color, a sweet dream of lavender and silk, a field of gold. When sleep won’t come I will disappear into the garden that flows out of my pen, winding its way into sweet fantasy-lands where no one is mean and there is no such thing as loneliness…

  • GRINDING AWAY

    GRINDING AWAY

    ‘Progress, not perfection.’

    Who said that? I hate you, whoever you are. Because I…WANT…PERFECTION!

    The Earth keeps spinning on it’s Axis, and my mind keeps spinning like a mouse wheel. A recent medical issue charges my thoughts with negative ions, even with semi-positive news reports… Nothing to see here, folks. Let’s keep moving…

    Relevance…that’s the Key!

    You do understand, don’t you? I stay up all night, retouching retouched areas-only to get out my tiny sander in the dawn and set that banshee loose…Reducing to dust all my night’s toil.

    Struggle…Fight…Grapple

    It doesn’t look like this now!!! AhhhhhhHaaaaHaaaaa Haaaaaa!!!!


  • RESOLVING THE COMMISSION DILEMMA

    RESOLVING THE COMMISSION DILEMMA

    Stuck in the Barnyard

    “OLD McDONALD HAD A COMMISSION…Oh no, Oh no, Oh no……”

    The First Draft of “The Dreaded Barnyard”
    One of my Trippy Palm Frond Creations

    So, I had a “Patron”, and I am envisioning a relationship similar to Michaelangelo had with The Pope.. Endless coffers, freedom of expression in my own magnificent style, expensive dining and and more and more projects to work on. What a dream come true! I even mentioned to this kind person and lover of my art that I would give her privledged pricing on all future projects! Why not, right? I was on the gravy train from here on out, the best brushes, high quality paints…maybe marble or a bronze sculpture…or a glorious garden full of exquisite welded work! Ah, I basked in the glow of this fantasy, every artist’s dream!

    THE BIRDHOUSE RACKET

    Don’t get me wrong, I like money…I don’t yearn for riches like some do, which is a good thing because I would spend my life disappointed, but I do like to earn money. It validates the work I do, and it also buys good hot cocoa. So, every now and then, when I want to market my work directly, and it’s not stuff I want “too much” for; I resort to online marketplaces. To make a quick buck I’ve been known to paint palm fronds with funny animal faces for people to stick out in their gardens, and I’ve turned a quick buck…or twenty. In the recent past I painted and sold four or five birdhouses that I knocked out pretty quick, and sold them on Facebook marketplace…I was pleasantly surprised at how they were snapped up. “woohoo” ten bucks here, fifteen there…

    I know what you think…you think I am ungrateful. That anyone with a talent like this that can make a dollar should not scoff at that ability. Believe me I am SO grateful. That’s not the issue. I made the choice to undersell, just to get that dough in my hand fast, I know that. Let me finish…

    So, off I go (one day last month) to meet a customer for a sale. For good measure I loaded up a bunch of do-dads I had accumulated, thinking I might do some “suggestion selling” (Thank You Business Certificate). To my delighted surprise the person did buy more than one item! Not only that, they asked for more! I was tickled, really. So tickled, in fact, that I wrote a post about my new found angle on artistic marketing success! I rushed home to make more, but decided on a nap instead…

    (more…)
  • AM I FAMOUS YET?

    AM I FAMOUS YET?

    Always seeking New Horizons, Learning, Growing, Never Stagnant !!!

    ARE YOU READY TO LOOK THRU MY EYES?

    Did I really want fame? Maybe when I was 13 and dying to “Be Someone”. Telling everyone I was born on the same day as Michaelangeo (I was), like it meant I was as good as him (it doesn’t). I just wanted to be SEEN!!!!! NOTICE ME!!

    Full of TEENAGE ANGST AND ANGER, HATING MY CIRCUMSTANCES, THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL…WANTING TO PROVE SOMETHING, TO SCARE PEOPLE, ALL TO PROTECT THE HURT AND FRIGHTENED CHILD I was inside.

    I PAINTED ANGRY, SHOCKING THINGS: DEMONS, GORE, DEATH, RAGE, VIOLENCE…I WAS A REBEL , FORGING NEW GROUND…NOT KNOWING THOUSANDS OF FEET HAD GONE DOWN THE SAME ROAD DAYS, AND MONTHS, YEARS AND CENTURIES BEFORE….

    NEW WAS OLD, I WAS CRAZED AND VICTIMIZED, DRUGGING MYSELF TO EASE THE PAIN IN MY HEAD, THE TEAR IN MY HEART, THE LOSS OF MY INNOCENCE…MY ART WAS MORE RADICAL THAN whose? My classmates? So what, I was in some obscure high school in Pennsylvania, I was not working as an apprentice to DaVinci… WHO DID I THINK I WAS?

    The baddest of the bad, I would get higher, drunker, do more crazy deeds, fight with the boys, flirt with abandon, try to inflict the most pain on my family, but mainly… INFLICT SUFFERING ON MYSELF.

    MENTAL ILLNESS…DOES IT MAKE ARTISTS GREAT? It makes Mentally Ill artists lonely, lost and suicidal, just like everyone else. But in my mind NO ONE HAD EVER HURT LIKE I DID. I WANTED YOU ALL TO KNOW. I WANTED YOU TO REALLY FEEL THE PAIN TOO…isn’t that what GREAT ARTISTS DO?

    So I ask again… Am I famous yet?

    ARE YOU READY TO COMMISSION A MASTERPIECE?

    Contact Me: (727)541-6808 US

    outofthegutterart@Gmail.com

    Detail of “FLEETING”, my third work to be included in The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation Permanent Collection

    Ready? Set? GO GO GO!!!!!!

    Get in touch
    “FLASHBACK 937″ Mixed Media on 28″ x 24” canvas, Price Upon Request
    Detail, “A Wee Bit Peckish” Mixed Media on28″ x 24″canvas by Susan T. Martin (Price Upon Request)

    The Painting you see on the left is inspired by the Battle for Hill 937 in The Vietnam War, which I relate to in my experience as a survivor of my own Battle for survival , my Hill being my own body and mind, my enemy being my abusers.

    The next Image is a Detail from a Self Portrait, depicting my inner Bipolar Struggles…(Price Upon Reqest)

    A Palm Frond Fish!

    My “Spring Hearts” Jello Mold in The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation Collection!

    No Canvas? How about my Rickety Fence?

    Climbing Out (Detail of Larger Work) ©Susan T. Martin

    “AD INFINITUM” Mixed Media on Gallery Wrapped Canvas by Susan T. Martin (Price upon Request)

    Would you like to become my Patron? Any and all help is most appreciated…I have so much to give and, very often, no funds to create! Lack of financial stability has made me experiment and have success with many new substrates and methods! For example my “palm frond” critters and “outrageous jello molds”… But, OH, want could I do with a LARGE CANVAS or Sculpting Clay, a Plasma Cutter or even Good Brushes? Wow! The SKY is the limit!!

    My First Work to be placed in The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation’s permanent collection in 2017: “CROSSING THE DELAWARE, WELL AWARE”, Mixed Media on Canvas by Susan T. Martin

    Thanks and a Huge SHOUT OUT to ALL my FRIENDS, FAMILY AND FOLLOWERS!! You know who you are!!!!

  • Are You Confused?

    Are You Confused?

    • “Dysfunction Junction”, BEST of the BEST at The Backus Museum, 2016
    • Detail:Growth, Susan T. Martin
      Detail:Growth, Susan T. Martin
    • ” Renata’s Path” commission
    • Before Reaching Out, Landscape of St. Lucie River at River Park Marina,Acrylic on Canvas, Susan T. Martin, 2016
    • Keep My Distance!
    • A Flashback!
    A Glance Back at Some Random Works since 2015

    Who Was I Then? Am I Now? Who Will I Become?

    I know that we change, it is a natural thing. I’m not hung up on the aging process… the CREATIVE PROCESS is where my interest lies. My creative life ebbs and flows like the ocean, like my moods, like my illness…

    Must I always speak of my art as it relates to being mentally ill with Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, OCD and /or whatever else plagues this brain of mine? YES, I think I must, because they are so intimately entwined and entangled. The Creativity comes out of the Mood, like a hand from the mist, holding a paintbrush. Flick of the wrist, this way or that- a line drawn here, a dot placed there…Mind expands, engages with the mood, holding the brush…as these wheels turn emotions are enhanced, a certain recognition occurs-as the act of painting plugs into the unconscious. Now I am unburdened, unbridled…set free to run as far and fast as I please. My physical self is left far behind on distant shore, I am just line and color, shape and opacity, flow and ebb, ebb and flow.

    I want to stay suspended in my artistic dream forever, and I try. Forgoing sleep, even food, I immerse myself in the sensuality of creating beauty, even if my beauty is ugly on this day. It is a feeling felt, a thought expressed without words, a slash of yellow, a bobble of green. Fresh, lively-dank, dark. Run the gamut, go the distance…

    I never stop at “dainty”, or find relief at “pretty”….no, I have to press on, and pile on the color, make it scream with indecent pinks and green. Make it cry out in crimson, dance wildly in plum. Bring on the tears in every shadow of the colors of the night.

    I remember these works. I want to make more.

    I like selling little birdhouses, but painting them is hurting my fragile psyche. I wasn’t made to paint smiley faces, was I? Am I selling, or am I selling out…?