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.
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.
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?
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…
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.”
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…
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:
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…
How true, how true that Pennsylvania Dutch saying is. I squander my art endeavors, rushing from this deadline to that, frazzled, befuddled and unsatisfied. That may be what drove Van Gogh insane, the constant turmoil to do better. I am making the presumption that perhaps the rapid cycling Bipolar Disorder that I enjoy(!) was somehow effecting him, too. Many artists share this mental illness, I know that The Ryan Licht Sang Bipolar Foundation has held Insights Art Exhibitions, to establish a permanent collection of works by artists who are effected by this disorder. I am proud to be one of the Founding Artists of that collection, and proud to know these beautiful people who have done so much to further research in the field.
Three years, three works of my art in this collection. It blows my mind, just as my art has been blowing peoples minds since I was a child. How easy I forget, and wallow in my mire. That is part of this disease also. The dark days, when no amount of internal dialogue can push me out of bed, out of the bleak landscape in my head. Do you think Van Gogh, or Matisse, or Dali had such dark times? What about Francis Bacon, Pollock, Warhol ?
Then why do I feel so alone in my efforts? Yes, I’m sure the worldwide pandemic has a dampening effect, on artists as well as everyone else. Perversely, I also treasure the isolation it affords me. No one can chastise my late hours, or visit to be aghast at the paint on my floor, on my walls, on me. I think I need to get out of the house more, go walk on the beach, visit a park. All things strange and alien nowadays. I know this will pass, I have been in counselling and under proffesionals care for my Bipolar Disorder and PTSD for nearly 30 years, I take my medication every single day, because I have been all the way down into the abyss and made friends with the monsters lurking there. Only to find out that they all wanted me dead. I don’t want to be dead. I can fully understand why I did, because this pain is all encompassing. I feel each cell screaming at me to give it relief.
Not too happy, guys…
The only thing I can do is paint myself into a painless reality, a utopia of color, a sweet dream of lavender and silk, a field of gold. When sleep won’t come I will disappear into the garden that flows out of my pen, winding its way into sweet fantasy-lands where no one is mean and there is no such thing as loneliness…
Who said that? I hate you, whoever you are. Because I…WANT…PERFECTION!
The Earth keeps spinning on it’s Axis, and my mind keeps spinning like a mouse wheel. A recent medical issue charges my thoughts with negative ions, even with semi-positive news reports… Nothing to see here, folks. Let’s keep moving…
Relevance…that’s the Key!
You do understand, don’t you? I stay up all night, retouching retouched areas-only to get out my tiny sander in the dawn and set that banshee loose…Reducing to dust all my night’s toil.
Struggle…Fight…Grapple
It doesn’t look like this now!!! AhhhhhhHaaaaHaaaaa Haaaaaa!!!!
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!!”
I’m feeling disgusted with myself. Yet again I have lapsed into the void. The Void that exists inside me, when I feel incapable of creating anything of value. My fellow artists, do you ever come to this vast zone of inability?
Many would tell me that it’s the Bipolar monkey, bouncing up and down on the seesaw of creativity that exists between my ears. Right now I want to “shock the monkey”…(thank you Peter Gabriel)…It seems to be less like a monkey and more like a huge Brahma that has lain down, groaning and farting, on all my art supplies. (warning:EXTREMELY GRAPHIC WORD PICTURE!!!)
The warning should have come before the farting bull. Sorry. NOT.
Oh, the wonderful bucolic images that now dance ’round my imagination. Huge farting cows in pink tu-tu’s daintily dancing hoof to hoof. Hey, maybe I’m onto something! I hear Brahms playing in the background while the Brahma’s cavort! Wait for it… Wait for it….There!!
Out of the Gutter Art 
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