I must say, Covid was no picnic. But I have much to be grateful for, so I won’t whine. My work is selling and I am in 3 gallery shows at once…reason to DANCE and SHOUT! This Saturday, October 8th,2022 is ArtWalk. I am excited to AGAIN have work at
Five Deuces Galleria! The show is entitled “BLACK and WHITE with a Touch of Color”, and I love the theme. It really had me pushing myself to new artistic heights and I created the BEST Suncatcher to date! Unfortunately, my Surface Pro is in the throes of Death, so I can’t post an image just yet. But I will, never fear, Dear Reader! I’m back in Black and White, better than EVER!
Mania Illuminata shines in Five Deuces Galleria recently!Me and my shadow!! It has been a long trip but she found a good home!!
WHAT a great show this was at Five Deuces Galleria down in St Petersburg this month! I had really been trying to get in a show at this gallery, I felt early on that it would be a good fit for my work. I was right! I have made some excellent connections and am working on my entries for their next show, “Black and White with a touch of color!
I am really excited to have my piece in an important local collection, and I see great things ahead! Let’s keep pushing on!
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 catalogueMe 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
The coast seems clear, dare I step out-into the light? I think I must, after my last cryptic and elusive post. Nothing bad happened, artistically. I was uplifted, encouraged, validated. People needed to hear from me, needed to hear how a girl with so many odds stacked against her from the “git go”, plus the things I had piled on myself-how I had teetered at the edge of the abyss…and made it back to tell the tale.
Many are grieving themselves, their pain written in their beautiful eyes, on expertly made up, flawless faces. They searched mine, looking for an answer- “Why.” Why? Why? Had they missed the signs? Were there signs? Hadn’t they done everything, sought the right help, paid the right physician, listened closely in the therapy sessions?
I could only tell them that there was no rhyme or reason as to why I am here and their daughter is not. They did nothing to cause Bipolar Disorder. It doesn’t come from privilege, nor does it spring from want. It isn’t kept at bay with hugs or attention, nor is it fueled by neglect. At least none of this was true in my case.
My family was dysfunctional, true. So were many of my peers families. So are nearly all families. But my friends had not led lives fueled by a burning need to shoot across the sky in a blaze of purple confetti. Or to try to beat the Guiness world record for consecutive shots of 100 proof vodka. Nor had they experienced the kind of despair that left them lost and disheveled in their bathrobe when they were supposed to be graduating college or accepting an award.
I wanted to tell them they did more than my family ever did. That my Mom was the only one who believed that I did not want to be a train wreck. She asked the questions, walked thru broken glass for me and held my hand when the meds weren’t working. But ultimately she couldn’t divert the catastrophe either.
I’m trying to tell you it’s not your fault. Grieve the loss, but don’t blame yourself. I know when the darkness comes over me, it’s no one’s fault. And if I hold on really tight, it will pass. I white-knuckle it many nights, but a new day always dawns.
One day in the future there will not be any mental illness, or suicide. Until then just love your Bipolar person, hold on tight when you can and bask in their amazing glow. Be there when their sparklers fizzle and love them back to their feet. When they jump in their little rocket ships to the moon, put on a brave smile and wish them all the love in the world…till you meet again.
And if you are Bipolar and you are feeling alone, please reach out if you can. Know that you are worthy of love and that this darkness will eventually pass. You will be back on top again. The rain will stop. The sun will shine, the pain will ease. Hold on for dear life my friend.
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’.
Believing we needed to be in a relationship to be ‘whole’ , no matter the alarm bells, no matter the danger. Putting on masks to hide the pain, trying to become whatever the abuser wanted. Putting up with a slap, a punch, being berated and belittled and not telling a soul…buying into a ‘romantic’ dream turned nightmare…my art reflects all these processes as I lived thru it; so many others don’t.
I closed my laughing mouth that day, at least when it came to telling anyone about abuse. I could talk about “anything” to family, anythingbut 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!!
Hi, fellow Art fanatics! I’m very glad you are able to visit me here. This isolation is wearing heavily on my battered little brain. Please tell your friends who love a good laugh, interesting art and insight into head injury coupled with a Bipolar Disorder diagnosis. It can get loud in here! I welcome the visitors, and also love to read your comments.
The fall I took 2 weeks ago has left a dent (it’s OK to laugh, I am-even when it hurts!) in my work production. I am dealing with BPPV* symptoms and they are fierce. I finally realized my exhaustion is more than depression again, so after forcing myself to clean house at 1:30AM, I performed the Eppley maneuver. I bent to the left this time, as I could actually discern more pain and pressure when I leaned that way, and sure enough I incurred violent vertigo and headache. The therapy helped: I am able to post this and am enjoying a cup of hot cocoa, with mini marshmallows.
This inner drive I have, the endless pressure to do more, do better…it can be so toxic when I am battling a disability. It makes me furious that I am limited in any way, and coupled with my overwhelming need for approval causes me major doubts about my ability as an artist. It’s so crazy, because I can see the art I put out-endlessly, constantly, incredibly- day after day. I see that I do things no one else can do, I read the praises people post, I hear the kind words of the curators and collectors…but I still feel like a child…that little girl with a broken pencil hiding her picture from everyone.
I have come to expect these days of self doubt. Days when the critics come out of the cheap paneling, surrounding me, poking me with long, blue fingers: “Is that all you can do?” ” What’s that supposed to be?” “My brother draws better than you…”
What the &%#$? is going on? Why must my mind be tormented as well as my body? Why?
Why?
*BPPV stands for Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo which can result from a Traumatic Brain Injury.
I know why… it’s a battle that has raged down thru the ages… And it may be that secret ingredient that pushes us to create something, some day, of true and lasting greatness. Will I? Perhaps, perhaps not-but I will never quit trying. Maybe that is my best work yet.
Out of the Gutter Art 
You must be logged in to post a comment.