Her giant mural – showing the most peaceful place on earth, a stark contrast to her past – is visible at night on Downing Street.
Three lights remain lit after the South End Village Laundromat closes, giving drivers and walkers a view of green trees and blue water and snow-capped mountains, covering an entire wall, over by the gumball machines.
Sarah Bissonnette paints what calms her down. She’s walking through those trees. Canoeing on that river. And climbing those mountains, both in the serene vision she painted on canvas – a three-year endeavor, delayed one year by COVID – and in her own life, once filled with taunts and abuse while growing up in Merrimack and Hopkinton.
Bissonnette was different from other children and young adults. She’s autistic. She has fibromyalgia. Certain words soar over her head. Her body aches with chronic pain. Her attention span is limited, making it difficult to read.
And she paints. See for yourself by driving by the laundromat at night. Bissonnette is really good, and that made her different as well.
“I like water, trees, and it reminds me of New Hampshire, of course,” Bissonnette said recently. “I see the lakes and the rivers all over the place. I love nature. It brings me peace and quiet and relaxation because I had such bad anxiety.”
We spoke at the laundromat in McKee Square, our voices mixing with the hum from a row of dryers. Bissonnette looked stylish in knee-high boots and dangling earrings. Her blond hair was pulled back and added another color to her work, on the wall directly behind her.
The business is owned by Sam Wasp. He hired Bissonnette – an accomplished artist who sells her work quite regularly – to add color to what is traditionally a drab destination.
Bissonnette was flanked by Mary Evans, a legal assistant with the Attorney General’s Office. She’s been flanked by Evans for five years, as her home-care provider, her snowboard coach in the Special Olympics, her roommate, her friend.
They are linked.
“Mary does a lot for me,” Bissonnette said. “Words can not even say how much I’m thankful. We’re not related by blood, but it feels like I’ve known her for a long time. She’s family.”
The pre-Evans story was different. Bissonnette says some classmates called her stupid, dumb, retarded during junior high.
She bounced between schools and later returned to Hopkinton High. She gravitated toward painting and felt a strong connection to the staffers at the school, who supported and encouraged Bissonette to aim high.
In her mid 30s, after it had become clear that Bissonnette would continue to need help – not much, mind you – to conduct day-to-day living as an adult in a smooth fashion, she moved in with Evans and another woman, both volunteers for Community Bridges.
In time, one roommate lost interest and the patience needed to take responsibility for another person. With Evans, it was different.
Evans’s nephew is autistic and far more limited in what he can do than Bissonnette. She had cared for him and had also taken classes. She assisted in the care for a man with a brain injury and another suffering from an anxiety disorder. This would be easier.
And it was.
They moved to Concord in 2016. Evans immediately filed for the federal grant and stipend Bissonnette had lost after her six-year marriage. They had become friends, preferring to live with each other and no one else, agreeing it was the best way to learn and grow.
For both of them.
“We were like two peas in a pod,” Evans explained. “And we both love God, we have our faith.”
The ramifications of autism, unfortunately, manifest themselves with no mercy. For example, Bissonnette must worship at home.
“She does not comprehend and we went to a lecture and you can see her eyes glaze over,” Evans said. “She can’t go to church because of her attention span.”
She sure can paint, though. Bissonnette sold a dozen paintings at the Concord Arts Market last month. That’s par for the course.
She earned $700 and says she’s giving a big chunk back to the Special Olympics, Best Buddies, Make a Wish and other charities.
She’s also the head baker at NHTI. Her recent work at the laundromat is the main course here, the largest painting she’s ever done, a whopping 16-by-7½ feet.
“It’s beautiful, I love it,” said Wasp, the owner. “It feels like I’m in the mountains every day. It’s lit up at night; you can see it from the street.”
The mural extends to the ceiling. Bissonnette used a ladder to paint the top, the snow on the mountains. COVID delayed work for a year. She painted for two years. Her body ached.
No, this didn’t compare to Michelangelo and the hardships he endured painting the Sistine Chapel. But Michelangelo didn’t have fibromyalgia, either.
“I enjoyed it, but no more murals,” Bissonnette said. “It’s tiring.”
What’s still fresh is the relationship between mentor and student. Evans is a security blanket, an insurance policy. Now and then Bissonnette would shoot a glance to Evans during our interview, seeking the definition of a word.
Ironically, one was ‘Inspire.’ Imagine that.
“That word is hard for me,” Bissonnette told Evans. “It won’t click in my head.”