Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: Healing

  • We Lost Her

    We Lost Her

    “Where I was Found is Where I Remain, a Scar on the Ground in The Land of Lost Names”©STMartin2022

    ***Trigger Warning* This post contains adult subject matter such as mental illness and loss of life by one’s own hand***

    ANOTHER FRIEND GONE:

    She is young, strong and beautiful. A gymnast, so good that she teaches the sport to younger girls. Not long out of high school, not quite an adult; just shy of 21. Working an interim job while she figures out which direction her professional life should go- perfectly normal for a young woman…right?

    To all outward appearances Katy seems perky, energetic and happy. Her easy laugh and warm greetings endear her to all she meets; she makes friends so easy. She couldn’t have a bad day; she’s at the top of her game as a young adult…right? I mean, isn’t she?

    I think to myself, what a lovely young woman, she’s got everything going for her. I envy her youth and vitality for a minute, then I’m swept up by her joyful personality. I am now counted as a friend, too. She loves my cats, all animals in fact. She loves all animals. She also enjoys talking about food; preparing it, learning new recipes. She always asks us what we had for lunch or dinner the day before, to the point that I commented once that it was an obsession of hers. I was half joking, and a little annoyed. I realized right away that I hurt her feelings, so the subject was changed and we are fine again, all is well…or is it?

    Then I learn the truth. Katy is not fine, all is not well. She is battling a huge monster, one that I am all too familiar with. I can’t believe it, but now I recognize the signs.

    You see, I was in a locked psych ward once. I was young, skinny, pretty. Going to Community College in Pittsburgh. Happy, lots of friends, getting through my last year of high school. A steady boyfriend. Sure, I liked to party, and it all seemed fine to my folks. But it was not fine inside me.

    I was severely depressed, and an alcoholic: a full blown addict. I hated my appearance, and would make myself vomit to keep from gaining weight. I would think dark and deadly thoughts and had attempted suicide more than once. No one understood , I never let them in. I put up a fantastic facade while I was dying inside. I had been molested as a child, raped at 13, was pregnant at 15 and my Mom had insisted I get an abortion, which she set up the day after I told her. I was so sick and sad, my boyfriend was abusive and I jumped out of his moving car one night when he wouldn’t drop me off at my house.

    At the emergency room the Doctor noticed how dilated my pupils were; the dam broke as he gently questioned me- I told him everything. He helped me talk to my Mom about my drug use, my depression, being suicidal, the whole sad situation. I remember her and I at a Friendly’s, eating ice cream afterwards, how shocked she was. She had no clue. She was busy all the time, so was Dad ..how could they know???

    I really worked at getting well in that stint at the Psych ward. Thirty days of intense therapy and I stayed clean for a few months after. But the mental illness and addiction raised their heads and followed me for another 17 years.

    I’m alive now at 59. Clean, sober and correctly diagnosed as Bipolar. I take my meds and treasure my life.

    But dear Katy is not alive. She took her own bright and beautiful life yesterday. The pain was too much. I’m so sorry, Little Sister.

    I wish I could have helped. I wish you were still alive, just one more day. One more chance to choose living. Because it DOES get better, my dear friend. It would have, and you would have looked back one day, maybe with your new baby in your arms. Looked back over the dark days and thought, ” I’m so glad I didn’t take my life that day. I would have missed all these beautiful days since…”

    You would be so grateful that you waited a moment, said a prayer, told someone you were hurting, made that phone call, put that syringe down, listened to that tiny voice inside saying, ” Save me, please!…”

    Please, if anyone out there reads this , if you are contemplating suicide, please take that moment to stop and think past the immediate pain. Give the future you a chance at finding joy in living. Just stick around one more day, for Katy. For your Mom, or best friend. For your cat, or for your kid brother. For some other lost soul to hear your story some day…

    “When Darkness Falls”© SusanToddMartin WIP

  • Tentacle Memories

    Tentacle Memories

    “The Land of Lost Names”©SusanToddMartin2022($1800.00)

       Slinking out, an arm entwines/ while in my head a dream unwinds /My vision blurs as visions come/ I feel speech slide off my tongue/ It floats away unheard, unread/ I swim out further, the sea my bed.

    “Drowning With Her Baggage”©SusanToddMartin2023($290.00)

    Octo-eel emeralds, such glistening fish/ you filet the flesh, I’ll eat, we’ll wish/ Wish to rise on yonder shore/when sirens’ call can drown no more.

    Someone I loved floats slowly by/ now I feel that last goodbye/ People are beautiful when they drown/ soft hair floats just like a crown/ glorious flaxen, warmest brown. Their clothes billow/ they sink down.

    “Midsummer Midnight” ©SusanToddMartin2022

    Turquoise water-clear as conscience/ I see way back in my past/ teaching me your strange science/ my heartstrings lash me to your mast/ we must batten down the hatches for the tide’s receding fast!

    “Uncommon Tribe”©SusanToddMartin2023($395.00)

    My grief runs to blackened sea/ Do you ever think of me?/ I miss you too, more than the last/ Has any other bait been cast? Will my arms endure this battle ? Will this vessel be rent in two?/ I will never know the answer/ till love runs me through and thru

    “Say No More” ©SusanToddMartin(NFS)

    Rashly taking your deepest dive/ lifeboat saves us, just not alive.

    “Tentacle Memories”©SusanToddMartin2023

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  • The Healing

    The Healing

    and The “Salvator” Mommy

    . (And THE LAVENDER CAT!)

    Being still is very difficult for me mentally. Having a racing mind is the natural state of being for me, anything else is alien and uncomfortable. If I’m flitting about inside I can leap away from my disturbing thoughts as soon as they appear- it’s a constant dance to keep the wolves at bay. My faith has helped tame the beasts lurking my memory’s deeply scarred terrain, knowing that there is a force for good stronger than the pull of caustic quicksand that daily tries to suck me in.

    Here is the divine painting now!

    I will dance this mental quick-step until death swallows me, the wounds of prolonged sexual abuse and violence are the deepest kind, years of therapy have given me some tools to offset the devastating effects of PTSD a bit. My Bipolar Disorder causes my synapses to fire differently than “normal” folk, this is proven by science, I believe this is a reason I am plagued so frequently by the flashbacks and memories.

    me standing tall at the recent ART HEALS show at The Arts Exchange, St Pete, FL.
    USA

    My art is my outlet to “talk” about my inner world, it facilitates compassion and understanding in some viewers. Others will still judge my moral failings, and when these judgements slap me in the face I am better able to stand rather than crumble.

    I recently was assaulted by an attempted character attack, called a liar and thief to my happy face-dashed by a loved one’s belief that I was still the person of 22 years ago when my addiction raged. It stunned me, unhinged me for a time- but I am bouncing back; hurt but not letting these untruths detail my sanity completely.

    . This is all I can write, the healing is still in progress. Thank God for my loving friends in high places who know my inner heart and the fact that 22 years of sobriety, therapy and spirituality allowed me to leave that dishonest personality long ago.

    A Quote in the INSIGHTS IV catalogue
    Me and Joyce Sang, co-founder of The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation, and my featured piece, Deep Running(framed in an acrylic box to highlight BOTH painted sides of the canvas!)

    I will paint and create art that reflects my journey, this soothes my troubled mind and gives me the most relief. Thank you so much for your continued support on my artistic journey

    “Salvator Mommy” Savior of Cat’s and Bipolar Daughters, Acrylic on gallery wrapped canvas
  • Chicken? or Pig? Just Flesh, please…

    Chicken? or Pig? Just Flesh, please…

    “What’s the Deal? Am I a Coward?”

    Where does it Hurt? Unmasking,©SusanTMartin2021W/P

    Commitment to put out my best work…not just work. To push my limits, expand my thought processes…remove boundaries.

    Flashback 937 ©SusanTMartin2017

    I was reading Eric Wayne’s blog , @artofericwayne.com, and he focused a piece on the fine art of Suzzan Blac. (I will refer you to his article and won’t share her work here.) Holy Toledo. The things I allude to in some of my biographical work, the fact that I thought I was being so brave…no. This artist lays it bare…flays it bare.

    She nails the darkest emotions that creep into my nightmares, 50 years after the events. Nothing held back. I admire this work, even if I look at it in secret, as if it’s evil perps can see me, too. As if others can tell that the abuse made me want to hurt someone just like I was hurt. That is the most disgusting part to me, the stain on my soul. That’s the painful truth that I thought my God could never forgive me for…the filthy truth that kept me out in the cold sticking needles in my flesh just to forget for a few minutes…kept me out there for 23 years. I wanted to die, just like I want to kill the perps she pictures so perfectly…

    The Inheritance of Daughter’s ©SusanTMartin2018

    I can’t say I love her work, or even like it, it feels too real to me. It makes me respond like the people I have told my experiences to; that half smile and and nod of understanding while their eyes glaze over with fear and a sort of loathing…like my very words are getting dirt on them. Suzzan is courageous in that she can look her demons in the eye and paint them. Nailing their guilt to the canvas forever. But her pain, her brokenness is palpable and forever on display for both victims and sick minds to see.

    • That Day, Acrylic and embellishment on canvas, Susan T. Martin, 2016
    • Angry Daughter by Susan T Martin
    • Isolationism ©SusanTMartin
    • Reaching Out, Acrylic on Canvas, Beginning Stages, Susan T. Martin 2017
    • “Visionaria”©SusanTMartin2018
    • The Sentinel’s Prayer , stage II,©SusanTMartin
    • The Duck Hunt ©SusanTMartin

    I can’t look too long, and perhaps I should not look at all, for my own sanity. I recognize her need to paint her experiences. I have to also, to get the emotions out and onto the page, onto the canvas where they can’t rip me up inside, at least for a little while. I do this to heal, to repair my damaged psyche until my God repairs me permanently.

    • Inside Voice
    • Cant Quiet Down
    • The Rummage Sale w/p ©Susan T Martin

    I hope that she can find some respite for her pain, too.

    2018 Insights II WINNING Entry! ” Crossing the Delaware, Well Aware”©SusanTMartin2018 in the Permanent Collection of The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation

  • An Artist with ‘ISSUES’

    An Artist with ‘ISSUES’

    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 felt for 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?

    “Isolationism”©SusanTMartin2009

    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?

    • “INSIDE VOICE #1″©Susan T. Martin/12″x12″Acrylic on Canvas
    • The Show is TODAY!
    • My Invite!
    • The RYAN LICHT SANG Bipolar Foundation!
    • THE SHOW INFO!
    • Detail, “Spring Hearts” my Entry !
    • SPRING Hearts! By Susan T. Martin
    • “A Wee Bit Peckish”,detail
    • “Peckish”(detail)
    • Mania Illuminata, sold
    • 2019 Entry Insights III
    • SOLO SHOW: Thru the Eyes…
    • My SOLO SHOW AT THE MOREAN!

    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.

    Just see. But please…See past it.

    The Marriage Feast of King Turt and Brahma Mama©STMartin2021

  • “INSIDE VOICE” a New Series of Works

    “INSIDE VOICE” a New Series of Works

    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 …”

    Dysfunction Junction
    Dysfunction Junction ©Susan T. Martin, 2015 Best of the Best Juried Show entry, Sold.

    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 energy it 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).

    cropped-1003-2.jpg
    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”.

    .                                              Susan T. Martin, August 1, 2020

    INSIDE VOICE #1
    “INSIDE VOICE #1″©Susan T. Martin/12″x12″Acrylic on Canvas

  • LANDFALL(In the Garden of my Father)

    LANDFALL(In the Garden of my Father)

    .  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!!!

  • The Journey, a Debut Art Video

    The Journey, a Debut Art Video

     

    .  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.

    62CE659F-0442-4C6E-94DD-F677F1D335D3
    For Our Lost Ones, “Cry Me a River” detail of larger work©susant

    .   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.

     

    WIN_20170724_08_18_38_Pro (2)

    .  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.

    .                                                                                 Susan T. Martin