Month: May 2022

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, Fiber, Mental Illness, Peripheral neuropathy, Photography, Sewing

Sewing. Depression. Eclipse. Wildfire.

Posted on by debthumanblog

1. Find pattern. 

2. Order fabric in one of my designs. 

3. Print out pattern. 

4. Discover the printer was set wrong and all 37 pages have to be reprinted. 

5. Print out pattern. 

6. Tape 37 pages together matching notches. 

7. Mark correct cutting lines on the multi-size pattern.

8. Trace pattern onto pattern paper. 

9. Make a muslin. 

10. Discover the size that matches my measurements is waaaay to big.

11. Adjust pattern pieces. 

12. Discover that the special order fabric has disappeared. 

13. Find suitable fabric in stash.

14. Iron fabric. 

15. Discover that 42″ fabric isn’t wide enough for the pattern. 

16. Find the sewing directions.

17. Find the instructions for the seam allowance. 

18. Remove center seams on the front and back. 

19.Discover I hate the dress. 

20. Discover one pattern piece is cut 4 and I cut 2. 

21. Discover there’s not enough fabric to cut 2 additional pieces.

22. Design begins when there’s not enough fabric. 

I’ve got the dress and interfacing cut out. I’m working on this dress in small increments because I’m afraid I’ll make irreparable mistakes if I try to make the dress in one day.

The wildfire in the Gila – due west of us – is causing haze, stinky air, triggering allergies, and hiding the mountains.

The wildfire in northern New Mexico has consumed more than 300,000 acres. It was started by a controlled burn that got out of control. The Forest Service didn’t follow their own protocol, set a fire on a windy day, and now we have a disaster. The governor wants the feds to pay for firefighting, cleanup, reforestation, repair and rebuild structures that were burnt. 

I’ve been battling severe depression for several weeks. My doctor tweaked my psych meds, and I’m much better. The depression is gone. I have energy and a desire to do things. 

I wanted to set up the tripod, use my 150-600mm lens and shoot the eclipse. I had a neuropathy flare up and had to use my TENS unit. I had leads going from my feet to the waistband of my pants. Using a tripod under those circumstances is both stupid and dangerous. I used my 18-400mm lens, leaned against a post, and shot the moon.

I’ve been designing more fabric. 

We’ve got blooming yucca – both white and red.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My on-line store, Deb Thuman Art, is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Abstract Art, Fiber, Quilts

Squiggles And Other Fun Stuff

Posted on by debthumanblog

I’ve been working on fabric designs. An app on my iPad allows me to sort of draw. I’ve made some designs based on traditional quilt blocks. 

That one was where I learned to remove the lines that guide where I put the colors.

This one I did without the annoying lines.

Other designs can best be described as finger painting. 

Some of the paint options I’ve got are metallic. I’ve no idea how those colors will work on cloth; I have to get a number of designs together so I can have them proofed. After that, they will go into my Spoonflower shop. 

I tried to make something that looks like the abstract painting I’ve been doing. So far, I haven’t gotten an abstract painting design that I like. One of the best things about these designs is they upload to Spoonflower a whole lot faster than my photographs. 

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My on line store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, Mental Illness, Pain, Psych meds, Suicide

Help Me. I Am In Pain

Posted on by debthumanblog

One day, my neurobiology teacher asked the class what they thought about people who were mentally ill. 

“Scary.”

“Batshit crazy.” That was said by a graduate student who knew, prior to saying I’m batshit crazy, that I’m bipolar. I know he knew because I had told him. 

I’m not scary. I’m not batshit crazy. I’m in pain. The kind of pain that an OTC painkiller won’t kill. The kind of pain that is bone deep. The kind of pain that doesn’t go away. The kind if pain caused by 16 years of child abuse, by a violent, drunken, narcissistic mother who hated me, by her violent drunken husband, by a family that taught seeking help was the worst thing that a person could do. That kind of pain. 

The first time I tried to kill myself, I was 11. I stood at the kitchen sink holding the knife in my hand. “This is going to hurt.” That’s what stopped me.

Six times in my life, I’ve been suicidal. People who are bipolar have a suicide rate 20 times that of the rest of the population. I live in terror that my life will end by suicide. Suicide has been called a permanent solution. Bipolar disorder is a permanent problem. 

I’m on psych meds. They help. They don’t cure. They dull symptoms of depression and mania. They do nothing to protect me from the ignorance and fear of others. Some of the others are well meaning, but aren’t ready to look at mental illness. Some are repulsed as if I had some horrible, contagious disease. Some are terrified of me. Some try to push me back into a closet. Some, don’t want to hear me when I say that those who stay in the closet are a huge part of the stigma of mental illness. 

“If I read the words, why do I have to keep looking at this painting?”

You have to keep looking, because I have to keep living in this mental hell. I make you look because I refuse to live in a closet. If my painting were about a broken leg, would you have the same criticism? You have to keep looking because that painting isn’t abstract; it’s realism. It’s my reality.

May is Mental Illness Awareness Month. Look at me. Listen to me. I am not batshit crazy. I am not scary. I am scared. I am in pain. I’m locked in a mental hell from which I cannot escape.

Posted in Uncategorized

A World Full Of Unwanted Children

Posted on by debthumanblog

I hate mother’s day. My mother was a violent, narcissistic drunk who had four children she didn’t want and made real sure we knew she didn’t want us. By the time I was 10, I had myself and three siblings to raise.  She also hated me.  Why would anyone want to honor such a woman?

I don’t have children. That’s by choice. My choice. Not the choice of vile people who demanded I have kids. Not the choice of the jerk who tried to shame me into having children and asked what would have happened if my mother felt the way I feel.  Thinking I could shut him up, I told him she did feel that way. He told me I had a bad example. That was the closest I’ve ever come to hitting someone. I figured I could break his nose before he hit back. 

Another jerk asked me if I “had been blessed” while he patted my abdomen. I felt like breaking his arm. Unfortunately, I was in a courtroom where bone breaking wasn’t an option. What made that jerk think it was okay to touch my abdomen? My body. I decide who touches it. 

Other jerks told me I’d feel different after I had a child. Really? Then why didn’t my mother feel different after she had each unwanted child? And what if I didn’t feel differently? 

My grandmother tried to bribe me with a pink baby sweater telling me I could have the sweater if only I had a baby. That was the same pink baby sweater she had made for my cousin’s baby but my grandmother didn’t think the sweater was nice enough, so she kept the sweater. 

I had often wanted to tell jerks who wanted me to have kids that I couldn’t possibly have children. If I did, I’d be depriving ignorant jerks like you from being able to make ignorant comments like the one the you just made. But I was too polite. 

I’m hiding at home this weekend. I don’t want to be told to have a happy mother’s day. Apparently people think possession of a uterus means one is required to have children. I don’t want to explain not having children. I don’t want to and should not have to justify my choices. 

Posted in Abstract Art, bipolar disorder, Mental Illness

Mental Illness, Paint Sticks, It All Works Out Sometimes

Posted on by debthumanblog

May is Mental Illness Awareness Month. You can celebrate by reading Mark Vonnegut’s “Just Like Someone Without Mental Illness Only More So.” Mark is Kurt Vonnegut’s son. He’s also bipolar and schizophrenic. And a pediatrician. 

Although I didn’t have Mental Illness Awareness Month in mind when I pitched this idea to my painting teacher, the final critique and my explanation of my painting to the class is on May 5. For years, I’ve wanted to create art that showed people what bipolar disorder felt like. Meanwhile, the rest of the class painted a post modern piece. Post modern is supposed to be about rebellion. I had considered calling my painting “What d’ya got?” That was Marlon Brando’s famous line from the movie, The Wild One. I realized most of my classmates were born after I went through menopause and I doubt any of them would understand the reference. Instead, I call the painting, Inside Deb’s Brain. 

I had something else in mind when I started the painting, but I think where I ended up is better than where I was aiming. I aimed at smooth transitions between each part of the painting. I can’t think of a single smooth part of bipolar disorder. My brain has a mind of its own and never consults me before deciding to be manic or depressed. 

I have synesthesia. Synesthesia is when two senses respond to one stimulus and there are many forms of synesthesia. There are people who smell words. Kandinsky heard music when he looked at a color. I see energy flows as colors. I only understand two of the colors – purple and golden white. Purple is healing energy. Golden white is Divine energy. The purple in the painting represents both healing and center – the nearly impossible to attain place where I’m neither manic nor depressive. Depression is below center. Manic is above center. The painting also shows a mixed episode. The last mixed episode I had nearly killed me. I was bouncing off the ceiling while deciding how, when and where to kill myself. The terrifying part is I had no clue I was depressed.

I wanted to show golden white Divine energy, but there’s no oil paint named golden white. Nor is there iridescent oil paint. I remembered I bought Sennelier oil pastels several years ago. The paint stick origin story I read was that Picasso wanted an oil paint that didn’t dry out, didn’t spill, didn’t need solvent, was portable, and could be used on all surfaces. He almost got what he wanted. I, and a whole lot of other fiber artists, discovered oil sticks and fabric are incompatible. We were told if we set the paint with a hot iron, the paint would be permanent. Nope. That resulted in a mess on the bottom of the iron, and paint that washed out of the fabric. Plus, the sunflower oil used to suspend the pigments bled into the surrounding fabric. And so the paint sticks sat in a drawer for many years. Until I remembered I had them and they could be used over oil paint. I decided to add iridescent gold to my bipolar painting. That almost worked. I learned it’s best to plan where to use the paint sticks before starting the painting. I learned other things while not getting the expected result. I found myself putting Divine energy throughout the painting rather than in the healing part. I realized there’s Divine energy no matter what I’m feeling, so there are inexpertly applied paint stick color throughout the painting. Moral: It’s Good To Be A Packrat. 

I am linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Deb Thuman Art, my online store, is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com