Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: gratitude

  • The Unveiling!

    The Unveiling!

    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:

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    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!?!”.

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    But why, Mom?
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    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.

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    Trying to look very old…
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    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!!!

  • MAKING ART to QUIET MY NERVES!!!

    MAKING ART to QUIET MY NERVES!!!

    I don’t know about you , but I’ll starting to feel it…It’s like a weak electric current close to the floor , strengthening as each day passes… More awful news, more isolation and “distancing”-the current gets a little stronger moving to the top of my legs now. I’m getting antsy, and even though I have learned how to cope much better with my Bipolar Disorder-the tension is here. Little headache-y, a little grouchy, a little jumpy…a-search-for-sue-022crop

    .      Stress makes me hungry, and tired:  I slept all day. All day. I didn’t go to bed before 6a.m., but still. One reason I’m getting stir crazy is because I’ve been told to stay home, just like everyone, and oooooh, its aggravating to be told to do anything…But I want to help save lives, and I am happily doing it. However, Bipolar mood swings really seem to occur more when I’m isolated.  The undercurrent of sadness and negativity makes me want to eat poptarts, watch murder mysteries and worry…

    The Water Plant(detail)
    Plugged In, Digital Painting ©STMartin2020
    Lying in Wait

    I know what I must do: Work. On something-on anything, just like when I was in jail. If I have a project , something to engross myself in, then the anxiety can’t grow. If I don’t feed the elephant hourly negative news updates then maybe it will leave the room. Just like my Kiko-Dog does when he realizes the lunchmeat is all gone…

    Me, doodle?

    .  This is the perfect time, as day blends into day, to start on all the furniture projects I have scattered in every room of my house. I am foregoing jello molds for a while, and instead working on tables, chairs, lamps, headboards, murals on my sheds, my laundry room, in my bathroom and all over my back fence!

    KODAK Digital Still Camera

    .  I placed a huge order to Jerry’s Artarama, counting on my free Government Virus Check to pay for it. So instead of chewing the inside of my lip, I can do this:WIN_20200327_03_18_50_Pro

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    And these:

     

    Hopefully I won’t wig out , because my mind and hands will be making beauty, soothing my mania, and preparing me for a future of unimaginable wealth when I sell all thus stuff !!!!

    Yep, Definitely Michaelangelo’s Reincarnation
    My Invite!
    My SOLO SHOW AT THE MOREAN!
    The Mighty Hunter
    So Happy to Be in CHICAGO!
    Susan Past ©STM2018

    Just a thought: I never want to seem insensitive to the pain and suffering of my fellow man. Not during these trying days, nor ever… But for me, for my sanity in coping with my own mental health issues, and depressive and manic upswells during stress, I MUST STAY POSITIVE. As an individual with PTSD, Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder and Complex Grief , it means my very life. This is my health regimen. My art frees me, my voice strengthens me, my faith saves me… I hope someone out there can glean a small token of comfort from the routines that help me, or from the art I create. Let’s keep pushing on! And, oh, by the way, my art is for sale! Yup, it really is!

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    Sleeping Sadie…

    *and don’t forget, if you need cheering up…there are always puppies!

  • An Awakening

    An Awakening

    Sleep has been a constant goal for me since I put down drugs and copious amounts of alcohol. Yet it has been the most evasive and endangered of species, teasing me with scattered glimpses of it’s eternal beauty. Oh, how I have longed for it’s soothing embrace, and so have everyone I have contact with; they also wish sleep would embrace me!

    .   The constant effect of losing this cherished companion is my surliness, my impatience, my wind-like changeability and undependability. Punctuality is no longer a quality I can claim, and it frustrates me greatly. Falling asleep in my oatmeal is also quite frustrating, as is stabbing myself in the eye with my mascara brush. Nodding off at redlights and nearly colliding with oncoming traffic are less than desirable effects of losing my Lovely Sleep’s company, also.cropped-fede7588-4d83-493f-9367-3fbffead6a841.jpg

    Bipolar Disorder, my particular breed of it, thrives on insomnia. The Manic high’s leave me strung out like guitar strings tightened to the breaking point, you can virtually hear my mind humming at high frequency when I walk into a room. The flying mouse-wheel of thoughts is now turbocharged , ready to escape it’s moorings and fly an oblivion my mind may never recover from. The longer she evades me with her unfaithfulness, the more my living quarters look like a battlefield, reflecting her absence in my life. WIN_20191220_02_55_24_Pro (6)_LI

    .  It truly is a war. The other end of the spectrum in this battle is THE DARK. Each day of the mania leads me closer to the brink of devastation. At times THE DARK and the mouse-wheel cohabit my being, bouncing my sanity as if a Rubber ball has been thrown full tilt into a narrow alley.

    . Then the fateful day arrives when my loss of Lover Sleep leads me to the pit, the abyss of THE DARK. It throws me in and pulls up the rope ladder in one fell swoop. Leaving me to stand waist deep in the most desolate places of memory. Abuse, Pain, Rejection, Rape, Loneliness, Fear, thoughts of Harm, Deep All encompassing Grief… They are all here, all come out from the darkness edges of this well of depression to shove and kick me about as I stand in the tiny spot of light that trickles down from the far above opening of this shaft of hell. WIN_20200105_13_55_45_Pro (3)

    The level of Muck rises as each long day passes, and unless I can find the toolbox my years of mental health therapy has given me, or if I can find that lifeline of contact with my support network, or best yet, if I can find a way to kneel and call out over and over to my Creator, begging for the strength to claw my way out, all may be lost. Anyone who has fallen down this DARK, knows how close it gets to oblivion at times…  

    .   Days can pass, this last round a month passed, as you can see by my lack of sharing here. The pen weighs a thousand pounds, the telephone a ton. At times my paintbrush is lost in the sediment, more often than not it is divine release. I let the Dark flow out of me and away, down from my battered heart and mind , then finally draining from my fingertips on to canvas, paper, cement block or found object. The level of sadness ebbs, I have the strength to climb and paint my way up the walls wet with my tears.

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    .  As the light gets brighter, the colors on my canvas turn from Greys and browns to lilac and magenta, then colors of light and freedom. A few minutes of rest in Dear Sleep’s embrace , a gift from above then the final push into the light. The glorious light of freedom of peace, bathing my psyche in cooling water, releasing the bondage of all those fears, flashbacks mental anguish.

    .  My Creator saw fit to give me another glorious day, and finally the strength to reach for help from my doctors, my therapist, and my lifeline of freeflowing art, color, shape and movement.

    Prayer for Magdallia, by Susan T. Martin 9 x 11 Marker on Board $50.00
    Last Years Insights II WINNING Entry!

    .  Finally, my quest is completed, my medicine adjusted, which I take gratefully. Now with this elixer (and a new bipap machine) , some calming music and grateful meditation on all my blessings I fall gently into Sleep’s waiting arms. I lay my head on her motherly bosom, which happens to be my favorite squish pillow, and off I drift down the gentle stream of happy dreams…looking forward to a joyful, rested Awakening.

    So Happy to Be in CHICAGO!
    My first watercolor for Art Mundo’s Calendar Art Juried Show and Sale, accepted(sold)Susan T. Martin2016
    A Visitor to one of my Giant Zinnias
    Pop goes the Color! My Bouganvilla in full bloom(it is over 10 feet tall and 20 feet around !
    UNCHAINED, UNCUFFED, Mixed Media on Board, $400.00 (Available)
    Another Garden Visitor, “Oleander-head Lady”…
  • Feeling at War with Myself

    Feeling at War with Myself

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    I have been languishing here, letting myself fall off the edge of sanity for a while. Is it physical?emotional?spiritual? No, not spiritual, for I feel close to my Creator. I just feel diminished, somehow, like my life’s blood has been watered down. Perhaps when the rainy season ends I will blossom again. Till then, my friend, bear with me…

     

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  • All the Comforts of Home

    All the Comforts of Home

    I love to paint old furniture. Old, unloved, forlorn furniture. Abandoned.

    While my efforts are earnest, I don’t adhere to and “discipline”, such as Tole painting. I love the results of timeless beauty where this discipline is used. But there is something of a rebel in me, an impatient, free-wheeling force to be reckoned with.

    .  Does this make my recycled art furniture better than traditionally applied techniques? I personally think it is akin to comparing apples to oranges. My artwork is an act of love, no matter what my training or lack thereof…

    Cube #1, handpainted chest ©STMartin2018

    (I had posted images of a recent table I finished. In retrospect I feel that because I tried using some stencils for the first time, that it does not fit the category on my original art. Yes, I did paint over and add many of my own details, nonetheless it does not sit well with my conscience to say it is all my work.)

     

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  • The Duality of My Artistic Self

    The Duality of My Artistic Self

    Depicting my own image has been a starting point my work from the beginning. As a child my drawings were always of female faces, although I never consciously realized these were reflections of me. Even then, in my earliest work, the duality of my nature is blatantly apparent.

    .  The faces I drew were always divided, half usually in darkness, or different in other ways. I did not know I was Bipolar then, I just had a burning need to express myself artistically. I was not properly diagnosed until I got clean and sober at the age of 35 after a drugging career that lasted over twenty three years.

    . I had always known I was different, I described the feeling of being “painted green”in a room full of “normal” folk. It was like having something tattooed on my forehead, a conspicuousness. When I dug into my diagnosis, learning all I could in the hopes of finally coming to grips with my self destructive life’s course, I could see all the familiar signs in the literature. It made SO much sense! Now, armed with my new sobriety and determined to stay the course on my psychiatric medication regimen, I set out to turn my life around-to leave the wasteland of my past far behind.

    .  There was a slight glitch in my plan, however. The new meds that I was taking had a very unwelcome effect. They dulled my creative impulses, they slowed my manic phases down to a crawl. Rather than my giddy highs and freewheeling episodes of excess that I had lived for, and that had been killing me, I was now just a level hum. No taught guitar string playing harmonics, I was now m e l l o w…Too mellow. Where were the bright colors, the whirling merry go rounds and my peals of crazy laughter? All of the sudden I was boring and frumpy, and immune to excitement. I actually slept…alot.

    .  This is the part of a healthy mental health regimen that causes so many Bipolar individuals to “go off” their meds…but I had lost that option when I decided to stay alive. I had to make this work, I had to stick this out, because the alternative was suicide. Whether thru a drug overdose or tragedy from high risk behavior, I knew that sticking this out meant my very survival. Would I have to be a zombie? Was my wildly creative side lost to me forever? What to do?

    .  Fortunately, I had a therapist (counselor ) who listened, and I had the determination to tell her my discomfort. It took the better part of two years, and many different drug combinations , much discomfort and many tears to find a plan that worked, but we did not give up. Finally, I felt comfortable in my own skin, most of the time.

    I still have highs and lows, and I am still a rapid cycling Bipolar person with PTSD. I still suffer from chronic insomnia and flashbacks, severe depressive episodes and ideation at times. But I never, ever want to destroy this beautiful gift of life, or to disrespect my Creator. It’s a long road, but the view is great!

    Now that all that is said and done, the point I was getting at was that at a point a few years ago, talking to my therapist about my art, and showing him my work I had an epiphany ! BI-polar, TWO-sided! All the faces I drew and painted had told the tale from childhood! As we continued to go through my portfolio, it came rushing home to me. I paint myself as I am, and thru my art I am able to understand and put together all my different facets! I am constantly learning, healing and growing as an artist, and I am

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    Self Portrait 4AM(detail)
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    Flashback 937(detail)
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    “Peckish”(detail)
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    “Mania Illuminata” sold
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    “Mania illuminata” sold
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    “Growth”(detail)
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    “100 Must-Have Looks”(detail)
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    “A Big Beak”(detail)
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    “yearning”(detail)
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    “Visionaria”sold

    so grateful that I did not give up on myself!

    .  If anyone out there is fearful of a mental illness diagnosis, please give yourself a chance to get well. Don’t be afraid to seek help, because I’m here today as an example of the kind of life that is possible if one keeps pushing on! You can feel better!

    Above are just a few recent examples of the many sides of my bipolar self I paint…

  • Isolationism

    Isolationism

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    What Kind of I am I, Digital Art Print by Susan T. Martin 2016

    At times the Artist feels so exposed…so unlike the rest…so isolated from the rest of humankind… She express this as ,”Feeling like I am painted Green”.

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    Isolationism, by Susan T. Martin Watercolor and Ink on Paper, 11″ x 14″ $150.00
  • A Saint Petersburg Artist Resident

    A Saint Petersburg Artist Resident

    It has been an enormously trying year and one half, year and 8 months , actually. I have grown SO much since I have lived here in St. Petersburg, I have learned to believe in myself, and in my ability to survive.

    As An ARTIST.  In my own right, I have put in the footwork, stretched my boundaries, made the connections, painted the dreams, and PUT MYSELF OUT THERE! 

    Wow!!!  I mean , WOW!

     

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    After  All the Fear, Loneliness, Grief, Doubt, All chaining me down and holding me back… I did the impossible. I used my art and with God’s unfailing love, have set myself free! Yes, He saved me from the pit, and put my feet upon a crag, and then I, Susie, Sue, Susan Todd!cropped-c4c4baeb-e0d8-4b76-89a0-c5fbe582a12c.jpg

     

    picked up the tools I gathered over the past 40 + years, and put them to Use! Hacking off the dead pieces, digging down to fresh clean soil to build this life on. This BEAUTIFUL LIFE, This Sensitive Life, This life of Love.

    A life of true purpose and meaning… I am SO grateful, and full…I may just burst into a ball of colorful confetti!

    I know it was not all me, but you know what?

    I COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT ME!74AE89DF-B621-4273-B7EB-7D51034CBCF2

    So here is my tooting of my own horn, soaking up the satisfaction of a job well done and a future of hope and joy!

    I am very proud to share that The Morean Arts Center in Downtown Saint Petersburg, Florida, has granted me the honor of a little pop up show in their beautiful facility! A show that features my art, my way, my innermost feelings, fears and flashbacks all on canvas, and OUT of me. So that I can help someone else see that you CAN have a life after violent sexual assault. After  molestation, after rape, after domestic violence, after ALL the trauma … you can still find your own voice under all the rubble, and you can stand up, on your own again!

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    I want you to know that you can recover, but you must work at it and be steadfast in your desire to rise from the ashes of whatever you have experienced. I was surrounded by a family who never wanted to discuss what happened to me, and who treated me like I was touched by some uncleanliness. As if the person I was inside was somehow changed. Soiled. Ruined.

    I stand up today, that same child, that same teenager, that same woman and I shout from the treetops that I am clean, and loved, and strong, and Beautiful! I am NOT what happened to me. I am a whole, healed  woman. And I am an ARTIST.cropped-artwork-and-pictures-056.jpgcropped-win_20161110_20_51_35_pro-5.jpg80B2AA6A-B993-41D9-AC94-BE325A4F596C

    “A Big Beak”(detail)©STMartin2019
    UNCHAINED, UNCUFFED, Mixed Media on Board, $400.00 (Available)
    Flashback 937, mixed media on 28″ x 24″canvas, by Susan T. Martin
    Legacy of Lunacy, Mixed Media on Canvas, 24″x 28″, $500.00 framed, (available)
    The Waterplant, mixed media on canvas by Susan T. Martin
    We’re All Innocent, mixed media on 36″ x 24″canvas, by Susan T. Martin $400.00
    my Isolation Helmet