A Founding Artist of the Permanent Collection
Due to the pandemic INSIGHTS IV was pushed forward to October 2021, again held at the Zolla Liebermann Gallery in Chicago. I wish I could have been there !!
Tag: Bipolar Disorder
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The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation and ME!
Artist Susan Todd Martin with her winning entry, “Crossing the Delaware, Well Aware”/ Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation’s INSIGHTS II/ Zolla Liebermann Gallery/ 2017 Founding Artist Susan Todd Martin with her winning piece “Spring Hearts” at Insights III(Zolla/Liebermann Gallery) 2019 “Deep Running” ©Susan Todd Martin, winning entry/INSIGHTS IV/ Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation -
When Darkness Falls
Do you feel creative when you are going through dark moods? It varies with me. There are times when the emotional pain gives birth to profound work, work that could not have escaped the confines of my mind without the catalyst of discomfort.
“A Wee Bit Peckish” ©STMartin2021detail These pieces for me reveal their power in stages; usually I am so drained after a session that I don’t look at the results right away. When I do, it is often in the context of brushing against them during the course of mundane activity. Perhaps I ‘m folding laundry when I glance at a canvas propped up nearbly. Often I am startled by what I see, there are often subliminal messages and issues imbedded in the piece. At times the juxtaposition of pattern can trigger an emotional response, a gut response, if you will.
I often watch videos about human behavior, and about mental illness, psychiatry, psychology. Always searching for the why, for the trigger, some way to see my defects in a scientific way. Is the answer staring me in the face in my art? Ultimately, I do feel alone in my internal struggles as someone with PTSD and mental illness. I think that is true with all who have been misdiagnosed, misunderstood and mistreated by the medical profession, by friends and even by those we expect to understand the most, our own families.
“A Wee Bit Peckish”©STMartin2021detail Is it any wonder that I obsess? Who else cares about what I feel, really? Who else is in any position to do anything for me, to ease my pain? If I am alone in these four walls an I not then also alone in my own skull?
In answer, I know there is One who cares. I hope he understands my need to put the pain on the page. After all, is he not the greatest Artist of all? And who would know the inner workings of the machine better than the Mechanic?
A Wee Bit Peckish©STMartin2021detail I can not convey to you in words the full weight, the immensity or the intensity of the battles that rage in me. In my art maybe I can. At any rate, it comes out onto the canvas. If I would not let it pour out of my finger tips, it would pour out of my pores in the night to stain the bedclothes in all the colors of God’s rainbow…
“A Wee Bit Peckish”©STMartin2021detail -
It’s 4 AM and I’m still not TIRED! A Projection of Future Events
But I will go lie awake, staring at the inside of my eyelids for an hour or so. Then I will get up at 7, feed the cats and dog, walk said dog, then come inside for a nice hot cup of coffee. Which I will simultaneously fall asleep in and spill all over my devices (and lap ) which will cause me to leap to my feet spewing expletives and banging my head on the light fixture. The light bulb will then shatter, causing splinters of glass and a wisp of mercury to float down into my oatmeal, which will make me swear louder, and, in a futile effort to save my breakfast I will then swipe the vintage bowl off the table ( using an admirable left hook maneuver) which will cause it to fly at a high rate of speed in a semi-downward trajectory into my favorite antique lamp. This lamp will fall to the left in a seemingly slow motion arc, tumbling into three collectible and highly prized ceramic vases which then cascade in a cacophony of tinkling noises onto my sleeping cat who reacts by leaping an incredible 4 feet in the air from a prone position, all four feet splayed wide with claws in full extension as he screams like a dying jackrabbit. In turn this bloodcurdling sound will awaken my neurotic and highly excitable one-eyed Shih-Tzu who suffers from an unusual condition called projectile elimination which then will violently erupt from both her mouth and anus in a vile torrent of hot $@#% that shoots onto my signed copy of “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” in one direction and all over a 17th century French tapestry in the other.
At this instant I will suddenly recall that I keep a loaded 357 in my bathroom medicine cabinet, right next to a full bottle of prescription pain killers, so I shall make a blisteringly fast lunge towards said bathroom. This will then cause my previously broken left ankle to twist, and the spilled coffee will assist in my falling with a huge OOMPH! sound onto my tile floor, cracking my head on the table edge on the way down. My efforts to retrieve aforementioned items undaunted, I will proceed down the hall still on my ass, using a beached alligator movement I saw on reels at 3:59 AM. Upon reaching the bathroom with my butt now covered in dust bunnys that clung to the spilled coffee, I will reach my right arm up and attempt to hoist myself to a standing position where I can teeter on one leg and root thru the medicine cabinet. However, unbeknownst to me, the commode has become loosened from its moorings in the 50 years since it’s instalation, and as a result will tip over on top of me and pour out all over the floor. Now in a blinding and sputtering rage that will see no reason, I miraculously leap to my feet fishing wildly for the bottle of morphine, and finding the pill bottle I swallow all 9 capsules. I then will feel the cold steel handle and stagger into the hallway, dead set on ending my misery, when I suddenly slip on the contents of the spilled toilet and feel myself falling again, clawing with one hand at the wallpaper on the way down. When I briefly regain consciousness I shall see in hazy detail and close proximity the label of the empty pill bottle which lay 2 inches from my nose. Incredibly I will read the word laxative on the line where pain relief should be, and at this very moment I will feel my bowels roil in protest. Crying out in my frustration and disbelief I then lift the object in my left hand, and with a quick prayer for mercy I shall pull the trigger and shut my eyes. When nothing happens I will look and see that I’m trying to end my life with a curling iron…
(I think I better go back to bed now….)
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“Honey, it’s that Rabbit Hole calling…”
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.”
Yes, oh yes, I will.
Ad Infinitum, 28″ x 36″ mixed media on gallery wrapped canvas , ©SusanTMartin2020 (available) 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…
Synapse Miss Fire , 16″ x 20″ mixed media on Canvas ©SusanTMartin (permanent collection of the Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation) (Somehow I lived thru 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:
Startled Starling ©STM
And this:
Working Title : Forgiveness Day ©SusanTMartin2021 WIP At what cost, though?
In Plain Sight/ Insane, Right? ©Susan T. Martin”The Party’s Over” 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…
Living Breezes -
Fear of Falling (failing?)
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Ah, yes…The Lion’s Den 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.
The Rummage Sale, w/p ©STMartin2021 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…
In the Lair, w/p ©STMartin2021 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.
Inside Voice #2 ‘Not Quiet Down’ ©STMartin2021 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.
Peach Trumpets ©God 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.
“Growth” ©SusanTMartin2021 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.
Inside Voice #1, “Can You Hear Me Now?” w/p©SusanTMartin2021 -
A Neighbor’s Dying
I have a special place inside my heart for fellow addicts. Those without the ability to get clean, without a relationship with God, without a friend in the world. Carrying the weight of the huge monkey on his back.
I talked to him from time to time, tried to impart some nugget of wisdom, a ray of hope. He would say, “I wish a train would hit me”.
I remember that level of despair. That loathing for anything good in my life, because I did not deserve it. Hating my very being, a degraded piece of trash, discarded by society. Abandoning all hope, embracing the darkness.
The pain is excruciating. It is no wonder he wished for death.
I live across the street from his Grandma’s, where he would stay, in her laundry shed-shooting heroin. I saw him go from a funny, kind of hillbilly guy to a wretch with bloody scabs oozing down his arms. The last time I saw him he said he was really sick this time, he thought he had Covid. Well, it wasn’t Covid. First time the ambulance came, he had OD’d. They brought him back.
This time, though, it isn’t the dope… They took him to hospital with pneumonia and a Blood infection, his very sad Grandma told me. He won’t be coming home, barring a miracle.
I just hope they have made him comfortable…and that he doesn’t suffer for long. Poor, poor, Chris… I guess maybe your train finally came. I have said prayers for him and his family, and for everyone sick and dying…
I will dream tonight of my Monarchs. I saw a caterpillar tonight who had just connected himself to the bottom of my wheelbarrow. He has probably changed into a chrysalis now. Soon he will totally disappear into a liquid, before miraculously turning into a beautiful Monarch, breaking out of the chrysalis and flying free!
I hope you fly free too , my friend. I will see you again, one day soon.
UNCHAINED, UNCUFFED, Mixed Media on Board, $400.00 (Available) -
Ride the CREATIVE WAVE!!
Baby, When Paint is Flyin’ there is no Cryin’
There Is Just No Holding Me Down!!! I’m a Surging River of Light and Shape, Color and Line! These are the good days, I will cling to this intensity of feeling…I must emblazon it on the wall of my mind, remember it always. And ,God willing…recall it!
I am always seeking THIS high!
who can deny genius when it srtikes? (a little full of myself, aren’t I?) The top image is one of my favorite works in my whole creative life. Entitled “We’re All Innocent”, Acrylic and3-D Paint on Canvas,©STMartin2018. The lower image is my latest ‘Outrageous Jello Mold’, ‘Aztec Bird Man’. I hope to revive my Etsy Store, till then I sell these at The Morean Arts Center Gallery Store. They are in many private and public collections. -
The FUTURE SUE!
How Do I Do?
This painting, “Ad Infinitum”, is a commentary of my journey from Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Sexual Assault, Domestic Violence and Childhood Sexual Assault, Self-Loathing and Suicidal Ideation to a Life of Freedom and Acceptance of the person I was. As a person with Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder, and PTSD , this journey was arduous and excruciatingly painful.
This work has been juried into the ” 2021 Women In Art”, an online show honoring women artists for the month of March, at Las Laguna Art Gallery, Laguna Beach, California. You can view this show online at laslagunartgallery.com March 4-27,2021 Description of Work: As a Bipolar Artist I have always portrayed my duality in my work unconsciously at first, way before any diagnosis. I painted this as an entry to The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundations Insights IV Art Show in 2019, the theme being Self Portraits. As such all the women in the image are different facets of the Artist. On the Left side of the image in gilt and green vines we find a woman hanging on a stake, paying for her crimes.
Center Bottom is the past self (as I described initially here). We see that she is dark overall, and notably, wearing a mask and full of confusing puzzle-like pieces and disjointed lines. In fact even her hair is like the pages of a book that holds her many secrets. There are signs she has been in bondage, chains, shackles, even some kind of demon-like being can be seen lurking inside, still biting her(shoulder region).This collection of symbols indicate not only abuse, but also the bondage of addiction and codependency. She smiles up at the healed self who is lifting her out of the mire. Her condition had become so dire, that we see a tiny version of self scrambling up the stairs in her forearm to escape, with a look of terror on her face. That is not a shirt the lower self wears, it is her skin, which has to peeled off to reveal the clean inner person she is becoming.
Around the lower self’s neck, central to the painting we see a venomous snake, usually a symbol of evil in art, for centuries. But rather than striking, it is benevolent ( after all it is pink!) An “inside joke” on the Artist’s part, as she was bitten by a Pygmy Rattlesnake on July 5, 1985 and then by a Copperhead on August 10, 1995, which very nearly cost her her life.
BUT SHE LIVED, and now that all the other venom of her past is purged, SHE IS LIVING A JOYFUL LIFE NOW! As far as the child in the right-hand corner, that needs no explanation, nor does the love on the face of the Healed Self.
Shows, Shows, Shows!!!
Woodwalk Gallery, Egg Harbor, Wisconsin March-April 2021
BEAUTIFUL POSSIBILITIES
This Mixed Media Painting by Susan T. Martin is Entitled, “A Wee Bit Peckish” Using Simultaneity and Surrealism I morph my feelings and emotions into birds, fish, and an outpouring of faces, each expressing the myriad emotions I go thru each day as a person living with PTSD and Bipolar Disorder.I wonder how many animals you can find? It’s like a little joyride into my manic mind!
Out of the Gutter Art 
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