Out of the Gutter Art

Tag: mental illness

  • When Darkness Falls

    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
  • “Honey, it’s that Rabbit Hole calling…”

    “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
  • The Hurrier I Go…

    The Hurrier I Go…

    THE BEHINDER I GET

    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…