Do you think of yourself as fearless? I used to think I was-when I was very, very drunk. Then I would cling to my “old man”, laughing like a lunatic, as we would race down I-26 at about 120mph on his old shovelhead. Whew…
That is not fearless. That’s just insane.
I was asking God the other day, to let me know what kind of art I should create. He did not suddenly give me skills like Michaelangelo, unfortunately. However, I share the same birthday with that marvelous personage. (Michaelangelo, that is…)
God has remained quiet, and has allowed me to decide what to make. That is why he gave me an imagination. And a drive to put what I see playing on my internal projector out into the real world, for others to see. Sometimes what I choose to show is not pretty, but has some meaning for me. At times my work is mildly odd, at others it can be painful for me to see, because the images or emotions have come from a deep and scary place. This particular type of art can be very therapeutic for me as a survivor; I take the monster out of the box, turn it this way, then that, think on it a bit, maybe beat it up a little, and then put it safely away again.
I feel strong after I do that, because I chose how to interpret the emotion, not the perp.
I saw it thru my lens, from a distance I am comfortable with, and I share what I choose to share. When I am at my bravest, I am not considering what the viewer might think at all. That may sound counter-intuitive , after all, don’t I want to please the viewer? Coax them into buying my art?
Aren’t I actually shooting myself in the foot?
( It really is going to be Allright, Mother…I will not starve…)
I feel like such a big chicken when I create art to please the masses. Well, I don’t have “masses”, how about a ‘mass’. How about a ‘mess’? If messes were my main concern I’d be Uber famous, because I have messes everywhere.
Anyway, I create art because I am an artist. It’s part of me. It’s not a job, it’s my identity, my natural state of being.
Should I paint “safe” so as not to “fail”….
I will create art, that is what I do. As long as I do this , I will always be ‘safe’ in the knowledge that I gave that which I have so graciously been given.
Don’t let fear of failure cause you to fence yourself in. Find a break in that fence, gather your courage and break thru!! When you free yourself from the constraints of creating for someone else, your imagination will soar to great new heights!!
This was one of those paintings that Hurt, as I was painting it… But it had to be done, for my own healing…
Facilitating Understanding the LINK /between\Trauma and CREATIVITY thru PUBLIC ART!
Hello Fellow Artists and Freak Show Fans! I am Susan Todd Martin of Out Of The Gutter Art. I would like to ease your mind: Feel free to just enjoy my art.
A JOYFUL SOLD CRAB !
Fun Little Projects from my Past!
If you want to learn about Creativity and the Bipolar Brain, I am the Artist to talk to. First, I would like to give you a brief overview of my history as it relates to my Art. Born in the mid 60’s to “Hip and Groovy” parents, I seemed a healthy , happy kid. A natural creative powerhouse from the womb, I was given the nickname “Paper Factory”; inevitably I would have a small pile of construction paper, crayons and Legos around me, and those tiny snub-nose scissors nearby. (I also earned the nickname “Runs With Scissors” a bit later in life.) All seemed fine, but there were some glitches. I was extremely sensitive. To a raised voice, any sign of parental disproval, any hint of anger or discord had me on high alert. I actually feltfor everybody.
I became a little clown, a distraction for my dysfunctional family-my antics could stop a row, halt an argument, make them all love each other again. Looking back I feel the deep pain even now. Because there was a lot of hatred in my family. Seeping it’s green, vile, snakey way thru the fabric of our lives. It’s not necessary to recite the bad things, you know. Little kids are Hurt, little girls are Hurt, teenage girls, biker chicks, addicts, alcoholics, wives. I’ve been all of them and I’ve been hurt. My Art and I participate in Art Shows featuring Survivors of Sexual Assault for Suncoast Center’s Rape/Crisis Center each year, and my Art and I are featured in Film and print in their Advertising. The prestigious Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation has held annual INSIGHTS Art Exhibitions showcasing the Work of Bipolar Artist like me, and I am honored to have received Grants and had my Art placed in their Permanent Art Collection for three consecutive years. Amanda Copper, curator of The Morean Arts Center Facilitated my Solo Pop Up Show entitled ‘Susan T. Martin , A Survivor’s Story during National Sexual Assault Awareness Month in 2019.
As a Survivor, these Artistic achievements just make me so grateful to the Mental Health Professionals whose years of study gives Bipolar persons hope of a full, healthy life today. My God, of course being my Greatest Healer, Advocate and “Fine”Art Instructor. Very fine, indeed.
The ART, tho’. The ART! This is the way to heal! Here is the path to freedom for my pent up pain. Out it comes, flowing rivers of shapes, colors, symbols, emotions. Painting me, painting my surroundings, even painting my housewares with brilliant currents of light! My PTSD flashbacks are soothed, my mania lessened by the act of creatingArt.
The Journey is the exciting part, and what I want to encourage you, dear reader and fellow creative, to embark on. All the years my creativity had been held down, all the years I was not letting the light flood into my heart, these are the years and days and hours I want you to SEIZE !!
We don’t have to be famous, or rich, or retired to unleash the joy our creativity evokes! Invest a few bucks in one really good Micron pen. Buy an inexpensive sketch pad to keep in the car. What about an adult coloring book, or a KIDS coloring book. That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout friend!! The excitement we had when the teacher would set those brand new boxes of crayons out… And the sheaf of bright construction paper! Remember the smell of the art room? Or the feel of the little blue smocks? Did you look over your classmates shoulder… Or were you hiding your drawing like I was?
For me, I need to BE that KID again sometimes. Actually, quite often. And it keeps me riding “between the ditches” like they say up in East Cackalackey!
Let’s Get Busy and Have some Creative Fun!! Whoopee!!
You will find, whether here on this Website, or on Instagram, or Etsy; in the Artists Organizations I am a member of, in the local Studios and Venues of Saint Pete’s Art Districts, even in my little garden and humble studio- I am just full of it, and I want to share it with you!
I’m going to go out on a limb here, and do something brave. I have been sharing my Bipolar Diagnosis for years here on Out of the Gutter Art. But I wonder if you, dear reader, are becoming jaded by the sheer number of people, creatives and otherwise, who throw the term “Bipolar” around like it is a type of claim to fame?
Do you ever wonder if the peron has a “real” condition, one that is crippling emotionally, often goes hand in hand with very real physical illness and ALL TO OFTEN ends in death. I must admit, I hesitated to add the name of my mental illness to my name as a public artist. But I wanted to help people who also battle this illness. I have battled this disease so long(I was not correctly diagnosed and treated till age 35!) that I want to pave the way for those who come after. I dont share the fact that I am a survivor of violence to toot my own horn, or give me some imaginary ( and frankly twisted thinking here) EDGE, as if PTSD is a medal, or inclusion into some club- I share these things so that someone else can find hope and a way forward.
I remember being that 12 year old girl who was so awkward and uncomfortable in her own skin that self medicating just made me feel “normal”. The girl who wanted friends so badly that she didn’t tell on the grown men who raped her. That poor lost girl who felt so confused that she jumped out of a moving car and abused herself just to make the pain stop. I just wanted to feel normal and loved like everyone else, but this illness led to a 23 year spiral into addiction, alcoholism, being trafficked, assault, domestic violence, crime, jail and more suicide attempts.
I want to be a voice of hope. Science and medicine have advanced by leaps and bounds. Young people don’t have to go thru the painful experiences I did to finally get help.
I am moved to do this because I walked thru 20 miles and 56 years of burning coals to get where I am today. AND IT WAS A VERY LONG LONELY, LONELY, LONELY, LONELY ROAD. I would be so very happy if I could pour water on those coals for the Young people diagnosed with this sickness. So while it may annoy you that I tag myself as a “Relevant, Rapid Cycling and Recycling Bipolar Artist”, please just consider why I do this, Cause, hey, it sure doesn’t sell any art.
Did you ever look into Sir Frances Bacon’s Artist Biography? Or see images of his studio? The disorder I describe in my life pales, trust me. Mr. Bacon had some trauma issues too. You don’t need to be told, just see.
Sigh… I’ve been feeling crappy… Really Awful… SICK. It has caused a pause in my production of work. There is this niggling worry, of course, about the big C, CO I mean…VID. I don’t believe this is it, am hoping very strongly that this is not it. The headache is from a sinus infection that seems to always correspond to this changing season. So, I have been fighting, on this front, for about a week.
I rely so much on my little Kleo as a huggable, furry sounding board , having recently experienced the grief of losing her uncle Kiko last month. She became violently ill yesterday, and had to be rushed to the astronomically expensive emergency vet. Five hundred plus dollars and a day later she is stabilized, but I’m not sure I am. The running total on all my credit cards is the highest I’ve ever had, and the gallery I use has been virtual for months. Sales are nil for now, so I feel pressured to create a masterpiece . But I keep falling asleep with my paintbrush for my hand, and abstract ain’t my bag at the moment. Perhaps it should be. I could, in my stupor, lay a blank canvas on the floor by my couch and hold an open paint jar over it while I doze. Perhaps some nice swirly “pour”will result…( This is a JOKE. )
The day before my illness I painted a new canvas, and I feel very pleased with it, even though my freehand jug is rather “interesting”. I do have more works in progress , soon to come to fruition as Kleo Pup and I mend. Yay. I mean, “YAY!!”
Oh, the fun of a downward spiral…After a week or two of just mind blowing energy and creativity, comes the inevitable crash. This time it was about a week of doldrums, pain, negativity and actual physical illness, all of which I attribute to this illness called Bipolar Disorder.
The worst part of a depressive episode, besides dishes and dirty laundry accumulating , and unmade beds and unmopped floors, is this: Lack of Creativity . It cripples me. Makes me agonize about my ability, question my work, my path, my life course. I think of a million different ways I am a failure, and I become totally immobilized, sucked into my squishy pillow, and held captive by doubt. Even though I know what is happening , and know my thoughts are tangled for a time, I am still unable to make a move.
Portals to Peace
I can best liken it to being held hostage, until the cycle passes.
So-here I am today, a new day, a new cycle! We are on the upswing, baby!! Hold on tight, cause I am an artist extraordinaire, a churning swirling dervish holding 10 brushes in one hand while I work on 5 canvases at one time !!!WOO HOO!!!
Another Incredible Tiny Table ready for someones patio!!A little bit of Gallery Wrapped Joy ready for sale!
All in All, I’m just too hot to handle right now, and I’m painting like a human tornado!!! Ok, maybe just a little dust devil, but you get the idea!!! Let it Fly, say I!!!!wheeeee!
Change has come round the bend again…My illness has spit me out of the Doubt Chamber, at least for a time. Yay. Woop Woop. The Bipolar illness, that is…the Excruciating Pain from my other illnesses is ongoing and unending. It is particularly intense today. So my enthusiasm for my self esteem and confidence in my artistic ability returning is a wee bit dampened. Wee bit. Dampened. Squished. (but NOT by the Brahmas, thankfully!)
(Deep intake of breath…deep sigh…) I have been attempting to post some new work and projects for a couple days, and also deeply considering the direction my site will take from now on. Many difficulties with my brain function and memory have plagued me, induced by the severe lack of sleep I experience. In the last 72 hours I have gotten less than 8 hours sleep, and those 8 not in succession. At about 3AM I went round putting knives and hammers away, in the event of my experiencing some kind or break with reality. (not kidding…) As a middle aged, fairly out of shape(!) woman who lives alone in a severely downtrodden area with windows that dont shut, I have tried to become more cautious. Hence the scattering of knives and hammers about the house.
A overly prideful attitude towards my ability as a fighter over my life, and having been into lifting and high-impact aerobics, has left me careless, I must admit. Too much intake of crime documentaries and murderer profiles has caused a big uptick in my worry factor- but I dont want to slip into exessive paranoia, which is easy to do with PTSD, and BPD. So I have been working on improving basic safety around and i my home, setting sensor lights properly and fixing entry points. Good girl Susie….Balance, seeking balance…
As far as my Blog Presence here and on other site, I will take the plunge back into sales of my artwork, being active in keeping up in my creating back stock, advertising it, proper shipping understanding and researching business ownership. one foot in front of the other.
Hopefully I will be back soon to post more positive content!
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”.
. You know I like to keep working on my paintings, don’t you? I believe it comes from not having enough money for canvases , as well as not sketching out my paintings first, as well as total and complete impatience to put my idea down fast, for gratification. So I thought I would make a brief compilation to see what this work has gone thru on it’s journey to fruition… I will make a better video tomorrow… No sleep for me (again) last night…Can you say, “MANIA!!!!” It may Hurt later, but right now it’s SO EXCITING!! PAINT PAINT PAINT!!!
. 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.
Out of the Gutter Art 
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