Wednesday, 11 July 2012


I am a surrealist who expresses my emotions and feelings through the medium of oil's.Everything that I create is purely from my thoughts and imagination, for me that is the epitome of art, art is a personal visualization in which one can conjure up imagery that ordinarily noone can see, but through art, one can observe the innermost thoughts of another human being without feeling intruisive, and have the capacity to connect, identify and react to this universal insight. I have much to sayand I say it in paintfor painting is an instantaneous and powerful mediumthat challenges mindsand reverberates through history.

Some of my poetry.

Written in 2007
Dark is my world, where I sit and stare
Layers of mourning clothes I wear
covers my grief, that no one can see
The sadness that drapes all over me.
A minute, trickles a long, empty day
This day, that will never end
Patterns that crawl, all over the wall
form shadows, that slowly bend.
I breathe, I sigh, I cannot cry
My body will not obey
I'm closed, I'm shut, I have to cut
My flesh ... Ashen's to grey.
I creep around, not making a sound
A half-dead, papery ghost
No one to see, no one sees me ...
The person I hate the most.

Written in 2007
Many a time I wanted to die
but no one was there to ask me why?
To go alone, drifting in space
without expression upon my face, is worse
than any nightmare dreamt
I dreamt of Hell, but not as fire
mournfully black, foreboding and dire
To end my life would end my pain
and tears that merge with endless rain
My soul has gone, my body lies cold
flesh turns to blue, my veins unfold to show
the raw beneath my skin
The raw I hid from those who tore
my mind to shreds, I want no more
Many a time I wanted to die
but no one was there to ask me why?

Written in 2007
He came and got me from where I played
with dreaded eyes, I always obeyed
I followed his smile, slowly upstairs
ready to greet my own nightmares
I passed the fox—the fox that stared
I heard the locks—the locks that dared
to force me—inside—my mind that died
the moment He seared me OPEN WIDE
I hope you suffer and feel the pain
that I endured to keep me sane
it kept me alive whilst I was dead
the sound of YOU haunts my bed.

Written in 2007
This pain inside, has nowhere to hide
It waits for you to come
You chew the raw of my open sore
you satiate till done
I loathe the stench of rancid breath
I suffocate as you exhale
My skin turns black-over bones that crack
You're dripping sweat tastes stale
of the HATE in your eyes
dilated with lies
You rape my mind, I will never find
a way out of frozen fear
I draw-in the blood-I smear
pictures of YOU-as YOU want me to


My Memoirs.

You can purchase my book through my publisher here-

And you can read the first two chapters and purchase it here on Amazon - are some excerpts......

excerpt from chapter 1)
I was born on the twenty-third of June 1960, during a midsummer’s
eve thunderstorm. Mother resented me even while I was still in the womb, because—as she constantly reminded me and told everybody else—I lay on her spine for the entire pregnancy.
I crippled her, she said, by causing her severe sciatica. Although the doctors tried several times to reposition me in utero, I always returned to lying on her spine. It was one of her favorite stories.

During my recovery sessions with a therapist, I asked her why, out of all my horrific memories, I always became the most emotional over a silly, insignificant image: Mother holding my tiny hand as we crossed a busy street. The therapist said the image was immensely significant because it was the only time in my life that Mother actually protected me. I had clung to that single memory of her being a true mother to me, if only for a few seconds, because that was all that I had.
Even now, as I write this, tears well up in my eyes and heart for what could have been . . . what should have been.

(excerpt from chapter 11)
I opened the door to the balcony and stepped into the bitter winter air. I looked over the wall at the sparkling concrete nine floors below. I dragged a small table to the front of the balcony and climbed upon it, shivering with cold and fear. Crouching there, I waited for the area below to clear of people.
My tears felt oddly hot as they ran into my mouth. I imagined
my twisted, broken limbs and cold white face in a pool of frozen blood. Voices inside my head goaded me: Just do it! Go on, end your shitty life! Just do it! Just do it!
And I wanted to do it . . . I looked up at the clear, black-velvet sky, my tears freezing on my cheeks. The crescent moon and twinkling stars were so beautiful, so astoundingly beautiful. The table wobbled so violently from my shivering that I got scared and climbed down. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t jump. I was too pathetic and weak even to throw myself off a balcony.
So I decided to do something else instead. I removed all my clothes. I would die as I had been born: naked, and in the fetal position. I would fall asleep up here and freeze to death. Lying down on the rough, icy floor of the balcony, I curled myself up and waited for eternal sleep.

(excerpt from chapter 19)

The very first painting was of my mother. After I finished the canvas, I stared at it until a sense of revulsion and disdain replaced the indifference I had held for this woman for so many years. During that time I had kept my feelings in check because I had such conflicted emotions. Yes, Mother did do terrible things to me—but she was my mother.
Now I had placed my deepest and truest feelings about my mother on canvas, rendering her as a serpentine form with a gaping maw, insanely glaring eyes, and a clenched fist. For the first time I saw Mother in her true colors: blue to depict anger and power; red to represent pain. That was all Mother meant to me. Her portrait displayed no beauty whatsoever, no love. What stared out at me was pure hatred.
After that I decided to paint everyone who had ever abused me, and to depict how the abuse made me feel. I would become the photographer of my own life story.

I was no longer painting only for myself—I was painting for those who could not express their own pain in words or images. I was a voice for them, a release from their anguished silence. And the experience was as cathartic for them as it had been for me. My art is meant to appeal to those who can identify and connect with it, and thereby feel less isolated. In the realm of sexual abuse, just knowing that you are not alone helps tremendously. And realizing that what happened to you is not your fault aids in your recovery process. Survivors say that I inspire them . . . but the truth is, they inspire me...

Here are some comments about my book from some very kind readers!!

  This book will change the world April 20, 2012
A very powerful and moving work that addresses the two most extreme poles of the human condition. You will learn of a woman who overcame extreme acts of evil. And used her pain to create something beautiful. It is a testament to the power of the human mind. And a warning about the ability of the most evil among us. I hope that everybody will read this book as I have, because people need to know that the world isn't perfect, and that bad things happen. Bus also how strong we can be, and how much we can overcome. 
  I could not put this book down...even to sleep June 3, 2012
By Anna W.
Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase
A good friend highly recommended this book and lent me her copy. I, unwittingly, started reading at bedtime. I thought I would just read a few chapters and go to bed. Well, that didn't happen. Try as I might, I couldn't put it down, because I so invested I had to see what happened next. Three hours later, when I finished the book, I was too stunned to sleep. (It was worth the sleep deprivation!) Suzzan's story is thought provoking and an emotional experience that one cannot soon forget. Yet, in the end, it is a powerful one that inspires inner strength, courage and healing. I have since purchased my own copy and will be doing some recommending and lending of my own. Also, if you have the chance to check out the author's artwork, do it. She is amazingly talented! 
  A Heroine's Journey looking for her own Virgil. May 21, 2012
Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase
Reading Suzzan's story reminded me that if Dante (were alive), he would have to amend the Inferno to include such cruelty and abuse that Suzzan Blac had to endure as its own level of Hell.
Her inner child's strength and resilience is what I celebrated by the end of the book.
Art therapy is the greatest tool any child (or adult) could utilize to "draw" one out of the internal n external prisons.
I would say it's a difficult read, but not in the traditional sense.
It's difficult because I couldn't step back in time and help this brave child.
I recommend this book to be read to show how one can EMPOWER themselves no matter what life hands them.
Art supports sanity.
Suzzan Blac is proof of how a soul can triumph! 
5.0 out of 5 stars Suzzan is a lighthouse.., April 24, 2012
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: The Rebirth of Suzzan Blac (Paperback)
I had become acquainted with Suzzan's incredible works of art through what she has shared on Facebook, but I knew little of who she was or her tortured past. When I got news that this book was to finally be released, I eagerly bought a copy and awaited its arrival. I had no idea what I was in for

From the very beginning, it reads like almost like a horror novel. Each new atrocity revealed page by page weighed so much on me that I didn't want to believe so much evil could possibly happen to a person, much less a child. But the stark honesty and undeniable soul in the voice of the narrative assures that the victim, our hero and humble narrator of the book, is intensely real and completely human. At times, I hadn't the constitution to keep reading... the accounting of abuse became too much and I shed more than a few tears knowing that not only did this happen to Suzzan, but it IS happening to far too many children the world over.

But just when things become the darkest for her, Suzzan pulls herself up by her bootstraps. There has never been a better example of 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger' as she proves herself to be unbelievably strong, and especially so when she is blessed with children of her own; children she showers with love and affection, and protects unfailingly from the evils which she endured.

Suzzan is an impeccable artist. But more than that, she is a survivor, a hero, a lifeboat and beacon of hope for all who have suffered the kinds of abuse that she has. Her art is simply a tool to helping fellow victims and exposing to the world great evils which have for far too long been kept behind closed doors.

'The Rebirth of Suzzan Blac' could not be a more apt and appropriate title for this triumph of a book.
I heard that wincing phrase yet again today. This time not from a man, but a ten-year-old boy referring to "women who do porn" as "dirty sluts" who must enjoy it ... because they smile.
The smile may well rationalise and justify their gratification or entertainment at watching women (and men) being gang raped, throat raped, anally raped, sexually mutilated/tortured/penetrated by instruments/objects/animals, ejaculated on, urinated on, defecated on ...
The trouble is that the consumer of porn does not or does not want to see beyond that smile because they enjoy it, for if they saw tears and screams instead, most could not derive pleasure from it. They don't see the women who are forced into this abhorrent industry through trafficking by pimps who own these valuable commodities, these submissive, yielding, worthless sexual objects. They don't see the absolute power and terror held over them by means of rape, torture, beatings, drugs, and death threats. They don't see the gun pointing at their heads that produces that pleasurable smile, because the pornographers know that if there was no smile—no detection of enjoyment—their profitable empires would more or less collapse.
So, as long as they can manipulate consumers into believing that these women "enjoy" being degraded, debased, and humiliated, they need not worry that their audience would object and reject such a heinous violation of a human being.
The other women (an estimated 70%) that smile are those who have been pimped since childhood, sexually abused since childhood. Be it personal, pornography, or prostitution, these atrocities all develop serious detrimental and external consequences such as drug dependency, alcoholism, self-harm/hatred, and abuse.
The myth that women in general enjoy pleasurable acts such as fisting, deep throat, and anal penetration comes from the pornographers themselves; they feed these artful lies to the porn consumers. What they fail to say is just how many of these women end up in emergency rooms. Not many women outside the realms of pornography would find these degrading and seriously damaging acts "sexually enjoyable."Especially those who have been sexually abused as children and are re-enacting the abuse by self harm/hate/abuse, Which is a manifestation of PTSD. Or women that have been coerced by their partners who are incited by pornography. And let's not forget the children who are forced to perform these psychologically and physically damaging acts in the name of self gratification and monetary reasons.
The human right act states ...
that no human being should have to endure abuse/slavery/torture and degradation ... in the political sense of the word, but that obviously does not apply to pornography, prostitution, and slave trafficking.
In the US, the courts uphold rights for consumers to possess pornography because it violates the "freedom of speech" protections of the first amendment.
What about the freedom of speech of these violated women? Do they not have "freedom of speech" because they are deemed subhuman? Or is it because ...
they are silenced by a large, raping penis, ramming their throats against a wall for the billion dollar profits and entertainment enjoyed by millions of colluders (conscious or subconscious) who are totally responsible for these odious acts of sexual crimes against women ...
for without the consumers of porn ...
there would be no pornography.
A smile costs nothing ...
except maybe your life ...

Shocking footage of women abused on a porn set(California)

Pimps procuring teens for pornography(AKA-Prostitution)

Young woman groomed into pornography from a child

Formerly abused teen kills herself after appearing in pornography

Ex-porn producer tells the truth about pornography

Pornography and human trafficking

Pornography statistics

Anti-pornography-The porn stars speak out

Help for porn performers to exit pornography (stories and videos)

Why you should be against pornography

My personal experience of being trafficked into pornography and prostitution

Suzzan Blac- February 2009.

 Here is a link to my official website where you can see my paintings, many of which express physical and sexual abuse. (please be aware that my art can cause distress)

Here is a link where you can purchase a copy of my memoirs