The problem is that if a “random person on the internet” can substantially improve upon what is supposed to be a painting 100% executed by Leonardo da Vinci, than that is NOT a real da Vinci.
Left, the Salvator Mundi is supposed to be 100% by Leonardo’s own hand. Right, my version.
I should not be able to improve upon da Vinci, and I can’t. But what I can do is improve upon an overzealous retouching job performed on a severely damaged painting. And this is the crux of the matter. This retouched version does not look like a da Vinci, and is nowhere near his level of competence. It contains conspicuous amateur errors which are due to the restorer having to recreate missing and damaged passages. However, the painting was sold as if Leonardo painted that face, when in reality, the only parts that were well preserved, and convincingly…
not again, She sighed, heaving herself out from under the bed…
My description of mania, which I have heard used in similar ways, is that I have squirrels in my head. There is a difference with my particular squirrels though… I hear them. Not always, mind you, and yes, I have told this to my mental health pro’s. Whether they diagnosed this as schizophrenia I am not party to, but I am not concerned. I only hear mine when I don’t take a specific medicine, the rest of the time they quietly shred the insulation of my mind…
I have been extremely vigilant, in the past 22 years since my Bipolar Disorder diagnosis, in sticking to my medication regimen. This is a big contributor to my continued success at thriving in spite of my illness, but my disease will still, and always try to convince me this is a lie.
Very similar to a certain someone at the Tree of Life…”you will certailnly not die.”
I have been on the back of a motorcycle going 120 mph, feeling my fingertips loosening their tentative grip on the madman at the helm. Laughing wildly at the heavens and imagining letting go and floating gleefully to my mangled end. Loving this feeling… Seeking this feeling… Living for this feeling…
The lack of sleep, lack of food and lack of coherence was all contributing to this awesome feeling of mastery over my world. Until it wasn’t. When I was unable to scramble eggs because I couldn’t see who was behind me, ready to strike, I was not enjoying the rush. When I spent so many consecutive days in the house that I let my bananas rot in the hot car, I was not enjoying the rush. And when spent all day Tuesday believing it was Monday, and having no clue what I did on Monday- I was really not enjoying any rush.
I was feeling very close to the edge in the past weeks. Glorying in the dizzying of being out of control, rationalizing that-because of my med compliance- I could enjoy this feeling and allow it to overtake me. After all, I’d been putting out my best work-just look at all my followers and the little hearts they post beside my images!
Now the wonderful rush was never-ending white noise, lack of ability to concentrate, a blazing headache and dread. Surrounded by an environment closely resembling a battlefield, and right smack in the middle of the war zone this:
Is she wonderful? Yes, to me she is, and she will do great in the recycled art show she will soon be in. So will this painting:
I hope that you embrace all the Bipolar Creatives in your world today, let them know they are loved, and that it’s OK to breath once in a while. If they are anxious or behaving like the world is on fire and they want to watch it burn, help them put the flames out and seek professional help. They are sick, not criminal… Give them a place and a way to rest their weary heads.
I am so glad that I have a support network who love me, and solid pro’s to adjust my meds. I’m grateful God saw fit to let me live today, to feel the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. And I’m so grateful that I did not let go…
Ok, not the most flattering of titles, but I’m a wee bit pessimistic today… I was really on a roll earlier in the week. 2 local shows coming up, my work on those was progressing nicely. Also a call for re ycled art for a beach clean up event next month…again, very motivated and well into this endeavor. All’s well on the good ship Lollypop, right?
…. So, I have the great idea, on the spur of the moment (of course) to get my first covid shot. I had been battling with myself, going back and forth on the pros and cons, many of which have to do with my current, painful health issues, when I made this bold decision. And the fact that they had an opening a few hours away made it easier, too. No time to waffle.
My energy level was still high when I got the injection, and I came home feeling pretty darn good. I had been selling some ac units that day, and moving a lot of heavy items around the patio. No side effects, I bragged to everyone! I did have a twinge of a headache, but that was just low blood sugar…
That was Tuesday, today is Friday. I spent ALL Day in bed or on couch Wednesday, and ALL DAY in bed Thursday. I laid awake in agony all night last night, my back and kidney area SCREAMING in pain. Could it be all the lifting I was doing? Absolutely. But other little tics have me thinking about why they asked so many questions on the forms about preexisting painful conditions, and about siezurez and headaches and prior skeletal issues… Hmmm.
All in all though, I am up out of bed today, creeping around a bit. But I am feeling the pressure of these Calls closing in, and I lost 2 days work. I hope this broken down old body of mine can keep up with this artist’s brain! Onward and upward, mateys!!!
Let fall Your rain while You shout with mighty Thunder!
Your heaven’s flash in wrath: white hot and blue!
May my steed rise to face the dreaded battle-
my shining sword run Your enemy thru!
Your Oceans roar and toss the ships like kindling,
the mighty whale and walrus fight below
The raging wind destroyeth all before it,
there is no end to the power Your arm knows!
Ahh, a stellar day for a rousing poem about fighting for God and righteousness like a knight in glistening armour! I can hear the metallic crash of shield to lance, and the boom of shipboard cannons!
Maybe I need to watch a rerun of Poldark!! I have been working on a nautical themed commission, that could have my brain on the high seas today. As far as righteous battles go, maybe a news story about an awesome film soon to be released triggered me…it is an attempt to tell unvarnished history, and I can’t wait to see it…”Kill all the Brutes!” I think is the name…
It will pull the wool away from many an eye!! So exciting!
Let those waves of change crash on yon shore!! Ride the storm out!
Have you ever felt totally overwhelmed? That has landed on me today, a crushing weight, and I feel powerless. I like to forget my illness sometimes, and it is SO deceitful to me; top of the world for weeks, but It is always waiting. Just around the corner.
My cat Zagnut loves to play hide and seek, and he’ll leap out from around a corner, swat me on the leg and dash away, one hundred miles an hour. If I am cogent, I’ll dash after him, then retreat-to leap out at him in turn. The only problem is that “It” doesn’t let me play back. It just leaps out, when I seem to be doing well, latching onto me like a 150 pound panther, dragging me into It’s lair.
It’s dark in here, and smells of sweat and fear. I just know It is coming back, but I’m wounded. All kinds of nasty doubts swirl in my head…was I a fool to think I could be a sculptor? Why do I want to, anyway. Nobody buys my art, I’m a failure and the house seems to be echoing my mood by failing too. Leaks, creaks, holes, breakers tripping, no AC…I can feel that panther’s breath now…
This is not new, this trip down into It’s den. No, I recognize it oh, so well. I believe the worst is the immobility, standing frozen in It’s gaze and being unable to dash away. I know what I need to do, but the strength escapes me. The therapist I liked so well has left the building (literally), I know I can call for an appointment with the new one…but. I know that I get paid in a few days and the house won’t collapse any time soon…but. I know that I can call any one of many friends and talk, if I just pick up the phone…but. But but but butt head.
So I have done the one thing I can do without moving. I went inside my head, got on my mind’s knees, and cried out to God. You see, I know he is the ONLY ONE who can close It’s gaping jaws. He did it for Daniel and he will do it for me. I just have to exercise patience and make a tiny effort to climb out of this death trap of discouragement. It is It’s favorite tactic, because It knows that despair and feelings of worthlessness lead me to the edge of the abyss. And when I stand at the edge of a great hight it feels like I’m being pulled right over the edge. But my God hears me, he helps the broken hearted, and those crushed in spirit he saves.
I am able to write this, and that is my answer for today. I will not lose this fight, for my God is stronger that anything my illness can do, or anyone else, for that matter. Sure, my brain is wired different, science has proved that bipolar brains behave differently. What science forgets is the One who created that same brain.
I must have forgotten that for a minute, also. I will ride this one out today. And if the phone isn’t too heavy, I’ll call for that appointment. Thanks for listening.
Dreaming of daisies and butterfly gardens, I find myself running thru mazes and tunnels, sure there are blue skies somewhere above ground…
How do I get there -Is it safe to come out now?
Deep in the cellar of abysmal memories, I remember a guy who pretended to love me.
Remember the father who left without leaving-a mother whose mothering I would attend to.
The weather has taken a turn for the grey. Icky, foggy, similar to brain matter…if I just lie down for a minute, I will just rest here…
…the dream begins…
Whats for Dinner, Mom? Aw, carrion again?
The girl stands in her yellow kitchen. Her husband will return soon. Boring old Jed. Why did she marry an accountant? She wonders at times if she ever mattered to the one she truly loved:
The windows need cleaning, the tea has grown cold-cold like the heart, cold like the hearth.
Cold, blue steel-a dead weight in the hand; Cold, dead stone in the heart of a man.
( Sing mockingbird, sing your bright song , sing of such joy can you bring me along?
Top of tall tree, float over hill, please let me join you, oh sing, if you will!
Remind me of meadows the smell of fresh hay : we’ll gallop, we’ll frolic , we will dance, we will play!
Gentle moonbeams gather far over our heads, a blanket of bluebells will cover our bed.
hands needing holding…
Hold me till morning with kisses on lips and hands needing holding in the tenderest grip.
My head lays upon your ever-strong chest, “You’ll never leave me-no not like the rest.”
“I will not let you”, I scream in my pain, ” you will regret ever straying again!”
“Let darkness fall- you will not run :You’ll know my rage from the end of this gun…”)
Yes, maybe I did matter, the girl muses…sighing, she wraps the revolver gently back up and tucks it deep under the kitchen towels, bumping the drawer shut with her hip.
Good ol’ Susie made some art-Where art I? Art I? Oh.
I have never hired anyone to sit for me. My people who people my canvases are The People who people my mind. Here a people, there a people, every where a peep hole, people.
People . What a funny word, especially when you write it , many times, in the same sentence.
The same sentence.
Oh, what a sentence it will be.
“The Crowd in My Head”.digitally painted paper collage, Susan T. Martin, 2015
How I do struggle, with all the Angst pushing against the walls of me, like a giant Volcano Person.
Do you feel me? How can you? I’m over here and you are Way, Way ……..over there.
I loved my father, my hated father. Oh, how I love him still. He could do no wrong in my eyes. Oh, but how wrong he did. A hater of some, lover of others…my mother? I’m not sure. Sure, they loved. But did they LOVE?
I’m sure I did. DID WHAT? loved. Your Father? No! But, yes. But NO , not like that
I loved him like you love the most beautiful rose-way down in the middle of the thorn bush. So beautiful, so pristine. SO UNTOUCHABLE, UNREACHABLE, unlovable in his lack of love output. He was so put out, when asked for love. Not as put out as mother, though.
OH NOOO! Mother was the furthest put out by an outpouring. Oh, no don’t pour it out on HER. Eww, you’re sticky, get your dirty hands OFF… Ew, you are making me HOT! ….Eww, Susan Todd, you are so HUGGY! What makes you so HUGGY?!
You are JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER. (no, mother!) You are so DIFFERENT from YOUR BROTHER . (but, how mother?)WHERE did you COME FROM? (you, mother?)
Reaching Out, acrylic on canvas, Work in Progress, Susan T. Martin 2017
What does forever mean? How long is Always?Will I have time? I BETTER GET BUSY!!!
A Short but Powerful Bio!
I go thru cycles. They drive me crazy.
One day, full of confidence, I march around around the Art’s district like a strutting peacock. Well, a lady peacock. That would be a peahen. (But peahens are drab little wenches…) You get the idea, puffed up, prancing around with my nose in the air. Never mind that I’m rapidly approaching the middle of my lifespan, to put it gently! At the time this is happening, man, I am a real smart cookie, top of the heap. An elevated sense of self, one might describe it…
This feeling may stay a few days, a few weeks, a few hours. Or ****pfffft****an instant. In the midst of it I have no sense of “OMG -don’t say that you sound like a fool!” or the milder , “What?!!Have you lost your mind, Susan?”and if I did, I don’t think I could stop me. And if I can’t stop me, nobody can. At least I’m clean today, if that’s any kind of consolation… Come to think of it, that probably makes it worse, not better.
If I had been wasted, that might make my odd behavior more acceptable! What an enigma! Wrapped in a dream. It really is going to be OK, though. I’ve felt the embarrassment of rapid cycling moods before, and will again. It’s part of the strange landscape of my bipolar inner world. Like walking on the Moon on acid. (Not that I would know…)
SO UNTOUCHABLE, UNREACHABLE, unlovable in his lack of love output. He was so put out, when asked for love. Not as put out as mother, though.
Out of the Gutter Art 
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