Two years ago, my entire life changed, and it happened in the amount of time it takes to lift someone out of a wheelchair.

I was a critical care RN, with a distant background in the arts, had become a Nurse in order to have a reliable source of income to support my six children by myself. A severe back injury changed it all .

Overnight it seemed, everything I knew and relied upon in my life was drastically altered…irrevocably. Very quickly, I lost all the material things I had worked so many long years for. Furniture was the first to go, followed by my car and other personal possessions. It was as though my life was stuck in re-wind, all I had labored to obtain was being lost, systematically. I recall thinking it could not possibly get any worse; I became hopeless, felt as though I had no way to save myself. My health was gone, and in its' place was constant and unrelenting pain. I walked with a walker for quite a while, unable to ambulate by myself without assistance. My precious independence, which I had always been fiercely proud of, was gone from me. Doing every day tasks such as putting on shoes by myself became a nearly unendurable trial. My then live-in boyfriend announced he did not want a disabled woman and began neglecting me to the point of it being a criminal act. I was left without food or medication for entire days, and those days occurred quite often. I was too ashamed to tell anyone what was happening, too afraid for how I would be perceived for having such a loser as an intimate part of my life in the first place. Almost daily, he'd say " How can you STAND doing NOTHING all day long ???!!??" or "Who would want you like that, LOOK at you !!" Once when I was very ill and the general state of my health was at its' worst, he even asked if my life insurance was paid up, because he wanted to "be reimbursed for all I'd cost him". ( he assumed he was my beneficiary)

As the weeks went by without my being able to clean, my apartment, which was small to begin with, became a filthy, stinking soiled laundry bin. I was fearful of trying to get around, attempting to climb with my walker over the piles of old newspapers, dirty clothes and moldy pizza boxes he allowed to accumulate. I had no clean clothing left to wear, and could not use the washer and dryer. A trusted friend who is also a Nurse would bring food to me, kindly do the dishes and pick up a little for me as I laid on the couch, quietly weeping that my existence had come to such a state. I was humiliated and mortified, too ashamed to allow my other friends to come to the apartment. My (grown) children live in other towns. I told them only pieces of what was happening, fearful of what they might do if they knew the truth of how I was being abused. I felt trapped like a rat, with no exit, no help in sight, completely and utterly demoralized. It was a black time for me, when living held no joy, no pleasure, only bitter misery and burning resentment.

The end of my suffering with the ex occurred when he assaulted me one night, sent me to the hospital. He was then legally out of the apartment, and very slowly, I started trying to put my life back together. I felt nearly giddy with liberation once he was gone, and it had a healing effect on my health. I was able to get into some programs to help me mend the life that was now mine alone once more. Excruciatingly slowly, I began to recover from my emotional trauma, began to laugh and smile again, started to feel hope once more. Physical therapy helped me reclaim some function, and I was able after a few months to discard the walker. Throwing it away was an act of personal triumph, no less significant than getting the Olympic gold hung around my neck.

During the times pain immobilized me, I began to paint again, an old love of mine that had been on the back-burner when I became an RN. My sister Shar sent me tons of art supplies and many books, and I began to study the art books arduously. The study took me outside my misery, allowed me to focus on something other than pain. Over the weeks and months, I saw my painting progress and take shape. I even got brave enough to show my "work" to some friends, and was astounded that they seemed to think it was good, that it was marketable. I continued studying, continued the struggle to improve my skills, finding a true and nourishing sense of accomplishment in each piece of paper I put a brush to. It has become something of an obsession, quite often, of a morning I walk into my living room where my study is, and I sit down in my pajamas, just to "work on something a little". Next thing I know, its' noon. I always laugh when I realize I've done it again. It is joyous to immerse myself in the act of creation….I have realized exactly how medicinal it is for me. I am happiest when in the act of making something, whether it is painting or writing, dyeing a silk fringed shawl for one of my daughters or sisters, enameling a glass vase , sewing a pillow cover or singing some old jazz standards. I have found these things to have infinitely more healing power than any narcotic, which make me deathly ill. When I look at my paintings, I see my pain…transmogrified, though, into lovely images rich with color, all the dark suffering morphed into another form, like ice melting into water.

I have peace once more in my life, feel a tranquility and serenity I have not known for many long years, even prior to becoming disabled. I can call myself an artist, now, a title I could only dream of deserving before. I just did my first art show, which was a wonderful success, and this gallery is for me the crowning achievement of my efforts. When you look at my paintings, you are seeing my will to survive, my efforts to save myself, my desire not only to learn, but to thrive. Art has saved my life, quite literally, and it is my considered belief it can do that for many people with disabilities or chronic illness. It is my hope to someday teach a class aimed toward that objective. I want others to feel the sense of accomplishment, purpose and hopefully the euphoria of achievement that art has brought back to me. I call my site PhoenixRyzin Arts because like the mythical bird, I have risen from my own ashes to re-create my self, my life. I have a beautiful new boyfriend who genuinely loves and cares for me, despite my issues of health, and although I still have bad days and always will, the difference in my outlook is dramatic. I consider myself truly blessed. I feel like I can handle whatever comes, now. I have survived all this, and it did not kill me. I have love, I have purpose, I have genuine happiness. I have realized our worth in life is not measured by our utility or the size of our paycheck, but by the love we are able to give ourselves and subsequently others.
Whether you make a purchase or not, it is my hope you will return now and then, perhaps share my site with others.

You are looking at my pain and suffering...and how I have chosen to live with them and soften their impact on my world. It is my hope my work can help soften, if only for a few moments, the impact of disappointment and negativity in your life, too, perhaps even remind you to count your blessings.

Picasso said it best: "Art washes from the soul the dust of everyday life". I can tell you with authority that Pablo Picasso was right.

Warmest Regards,

Susi


PS…Please be sure to visit my writing website "WomansWord"

Check out the heading "With Love"…( excerpts from my book, being published later this year )