There aren’t many days like this, so I will hold this one really tight. With both hands. And after the day is done I will fold it up neatly and find a safe place for it in my jewelry box, where I keep my special things. Things I like to take out and hold from time to time. A favorite rock, a marble. A feather from an osprey. Or this special grateful day.
Finding a new project is an enlightening occurrence. Feeling exhilaration and anticipation. Where will my imagination take me?
I feel new ideas stirring, a freestyle mood calling. Out of darkness comes new life, an unfurling seed, a vine of thriving, reaching thought. Fertile ‘mind soil’ feeds experimentation with color, shadow, shape… The sky expands before me: I fly!
Riding a wave, tall as a mountain, I rush headlong thru my day One project done, the next begun: All clarity-no haze. The transition came, I know not when(wound up on my butt again) I wandered thru today amazed: No clarity-just dazed. When does it happen/Why? I did not cause it/Did I? Now huddled under an ocean of covers, immobilized for days Not project done, not even begun Just futility-today. Where do I go to/Why? I do not cause it/Do I? I rode a wave, tall as a mountain, rushed headlong into here The vast Empty, the foreboding, feeling death is very near, The quiet is not tranquil, the peace turns into fear Will I find the will to struggle, will my vision ever clear? I would not wish this on an enemy, nor even onto me This terrible stuckness, it's inevitability Knowing it will leave doesn't help it go The pros say that will, but they don't really know I will find my meds, somehow take a few Sleep a dreamless sleep, tomorrow start anew Hope against all hope, stagnation soon will end I will be on top to ride that wave again.
Riding my wave, tall as a mountain, I run happily and play One project done, the next begun: All clarity-No haze... ©SusanTMartin2021allclarity
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 !!
Oh, my. I didn’t think knowing her cause of death would hurt so much. I’ve tried not to get swept up in the frenzy of pre-judgment, the swirling sea of speculation and conclusion-jumping. I have kept my distance from the personal pain of her family, her loved ones…even the pain of onlookers and hang-arounds.
It still hurts. Even though I see some truth in certain societal prejudice creating a higher level of media interest, still it hurts. For me, I think it lies in her openness, naiveté. So schoolgirl-ish, eager to please. Happy. Blonde. Hopeful.
That is not her fault. And it doesn’t do to focus on the social imbalance, not right now. Some may disagree, and stand on soap boxes and toot their messages throughout the land. That’s for them.
For me? It hurts. Like a baby bird fallen from it’s nest, limp in my hands, I want to fix her. I want to swaddle her in my favorite fuzzy blanket, hold her like Mary holding Jesus. I did not know you, Gabby, but I know you. e
You were me, at 17, drinking beer with my friends and my new boyfriend. When, in an instant a fist struck my laughing, open mouth. Spitting beer and a piece of tooth out behind a tree where he had marched me, saying I would ‘never disrespect him in public’.
I closed my laughing mouth that day, at least when it came to telling anyone about abuse. I could talk about “anything” to family, anything but THAT. And, for me a huge part of the silence was shame and embarrassment. How could I admit I got it so wrong? The family wanted the future marriage with all the trappings, wedding albums, grandkids. They bought him Christmas gifts, let him sleep in their home, share the holiday table. Giggling with Mom and friends over future plans, seeing the romantic movies, going to the weddings of siblings and friends. So much family pride at a daughter married off…
I remember my brother glimpsing him treating me bad, some rude remark made on the side, my face burning with embarrassment: He sat me down the next day, “Don’t go with him, he’s no good…” But Dad would have a Scotch on the porch with my abuser, making jokes about ‘the womenfolk” and “keeping a firm hand”, the knowing glances and cigars puffed…WAIT!! I wanted to scream. I don’t want this anymore!!
But the abuser promised behind closed doors : ” If I can’t have you nobody can…”
My heart cries out for the loss of a beautiful life, for the suffering of her family, and empathy for millions of others who have had to suffer and/or die at the hands of their mate…the person closest to them. I hope that others who are in violent relationships can tell a trusted confidante, find a safe exit and save their lives. Better yet, learn to treasure the life they have, value themselves without settling for a boyfriend of girlfriend who hurts them(mentally or physically). Take Gabby’s tale to heart, and live!!
Sigh…
Knowing you did your level best to create something worthy of hanging in an Art gallery, in a beautiful home. Knowing that gives me joy,
I love etching. I haven’t done a “real” etching in about 40 years; since high school. We had a brand new state-of-the-art printing press. It had been installed in 1978 and here I was, a couple years later in advanced art classes with the finest teacher I ever had, Mr. O’Hara. At the time I did not think I liked the man, he was always on my case, pushing me and prodding me to expand my horizons. All I wanted to do was get high and draw my trippy burnout monsters. These were the days of Frank Frazetta and Heavy Metal The Movie; my dreams were filled with animation and album covers. But Mr. O’Hara had this printing press. And he intended to make me use it.
First it was wood cuts. Hmmmm…This was pretty cool. One block, lots of options, different colors, placements and copies! Prints everywhere! I had written a poem about a nuclear holocaust, Mr. O’Hara had us make a book…I was impressed, and so were my Peers and parents. Which was unbelievable, they never turned the TV off long enough to know what color my hair was any given month. (It was many different colors, but not like today. We just had blue/black and red and blonde… I tried them all.) Getting back to the printing press, my curiosity was really piqued. Then we did a lino cut…again, very cool. I was into it now. Then he gave us some history and some homework.
Etching. Renaissance. Rembrandt. Etching. Albrecht Durer. Zinc Plate etchings. I was enthralled: Oh the detail. The crazy details. It was better than smoking dope! I am so grateful today to have had the chance to be taught by Mr. O’Hara. I have often wished I could contact him and thank him for pushing me. He really cared, and I will always be indebted to him for seeing who I could be.
These pieces aren’t etchings, they are oil pastel sgrafitto. To me, though, they have the feel of etchings. The tiny lines, intricate detail. Not like a finished etching, but those wonderful moments when you are scratching the eensy-weensy picture onto the plate. I have even gone so far as to ‘etch’ a lamp globe and a mannequin in the past few years! Oh, the long lost love of mine!!
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Out of the Gutter Art 
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