Charissa Krasnow’s art speaks more than she does.
Unlike the other exhibitors who unabashedly revealed their inner demons to total strangers, Krasnow sat beside her paintings and smiled politely, nodding at every visitor who admired her artwork.
Her lively, colorful oil and acrylic pieces were arranged with more somber depictions on partitions made of white sheets.
Her centerpiece, “Tree,” was the most striking: On a stormy background, a naked woman posed on a barren tree, surrounded by birds of prey that feasted on hearts — a symbolized breakup. Mirroring her own face, an untitled self portrait of a blank stare, preoccupied with her own thoughts, hung on the right.
But unlike the absent woman in her raw self portrait, Krasnow could be the prototype for a curvy Barbie doll. Her signature mane of blonde hair complements her blue eyes. Her California look is betrayed by her timid voice, speckled with remnants of a Chicago accent. Only on request would she elaborate on her muses in whispers.
“Tree” took eight years to complete. Her self portrait took 30 minutes.
“It’s like a journey,” Krasnow, 35, said softly. “A piece of my life went into that.”
Krasnow said she felt no shame participating in “Reframing Recovery,” an exhibit for artists who use their artwork to cope with mental illness. It was sponsored by the Gainesville Opportunity Center earlier this month.
Instead, she saw it as a milestone accomplishment. Some paintings were regarded as victories, others as marks of recovery.
“I choose to see it as a mental gift rather than a mental illness,” she said.
Her real triumph isn’t that this was her first public exhibit. It’s not about accepting her mental illness, either — she came to terms with that years ago. It’s that she arrived at the exhibit to set up her carefully selected paintings. She made small talk.
She remained in the corner of the room, like a kindergartener who found refuge in the back of a classroom, until closing. With family encouragement, she finished what she started.
That day — even for just those three hours — she conquered her depression, her anxiety, her bipolar disorder that consumed eight years of her life.
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Raising her toddler in Chicago, Karen Krasnow noticed her daughter could blend colors and stay in between the lines. Charissa had no qualms about expressing herself on paper. In the world of art, she was an extrovert.
Yet she had separation anxiety. Any change at all was a challenge. Her mother couldn’t wean her off a bottle to a sippy cup.
Krasnow’s abnormal interactions with groups didn’t diminish through adolescence.
To help her cope, Karen bought art supplies for Krasnow’s 16th birthday.
“I wanted her to have an outlet, and that sort of became her outlet instead of her bottling it inside,” Karen, 60, said. “I wanted her to express what she was going through.”
Krasnow’s bipolar disorder came alive with every painting. When Krasnow was manic, her brushstrokes were erratic. The subject of her paintings were deeper, darker.
“Back then, you didn’t really do therapy that much,” Karen said. “Certain things took a lot of time and patience.”
Krasnow attended Barat College, a small Catholic college in Lake Forest, Illinois. The school closed in 2005, evicting Krasnow fromher creative haven.
Krasnow’s father moved the family to Florida and settled in Haile Plantation. She eventually enrolled at Santa Fe College, where she took an art fundamentals class — her only formal art training.
But a long-term relationship crumbled. She stopped taking her medication. She didn’t pick up a paintbrush. She dyed her hair black. She never graduated.
Krasnow has difficulty recalling that time as a 20-something. Colorful canvases are her only mementos to a life that her mind involuntarily blacked out.
She felt helpless until her younger sister, Lauren, 33, took her back to her Catholic faith — and bought her new paint.
Her mother watched Krasnow’s strokes transform from erratic to skilled. Krasnow also agreed to go back on medication.
“With her, everything is hard but possible with patience and understanding,” Karen said.
She was saved. For the first time in months, Krasnow picked up a paintbrush again.
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The Gainesville Opportunity Center, at 2772 NW 31st St., helps its 104 members recover from mental illness.
A few weeks ago, Krasnow followed her therapist’s recommendation and walked into the center. Initially shy, she mustered up the courage to sit down and strike up conversations, said executive director Pam Demers.
“She was very sweet, bubbly, outgoing,” she said.
Krasnow submitted pictures of her art for the Reframing Recovery exhibit.
“It made me really happy to get out of the house and give me purpose,” Krasnow said.
Krasnow said she knows it will take a while for her to hold down a job. For now, she lives with her family and receives disability checks.
“One thing I want to do one day is work with children or anyone who is suffering and just needs to process something and just …connect with them,” she said.
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A week has passed since Krasnow’s debut at the Reframing Recovery exhibit. Her nerves have finally calmed from the exhibit, a week packed with doctor’s appointments and cathartic interviews with a reporter.
Insomnia has rendered her restless. For the first time in days, Krasnow picks up her supplies and heads outside. Despite it being in the middle of the night, she turns up the Rolling Stones and creates a sea green mixture for her latest piece, titled “Be Not of This World.”
As she paints, she reflects on a walk she took around her neighborhood earlier. Today was a peaceful day, free of brooding thoughts.
“To be not of this world means I have no fear anymore,” she said. “Nothing scares me anymore. Even though I have anxiety, I know I can walk myself through it. It’s just a process. It’s hard.
“I know I will get through it.”
[A version of this story ran on page 10 on 10/17/2014]
Charissa Krasnow, 35, holds up her two self portraits outside of Starbucks at Tioga Town Center. The left portrait is untitled, and “Warrior” is a mixed-media piece.
