Reflections in the Pacific Ocean at the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve in Moss Beach, CA, January 2022. Photo by Blair Davis.
As you may know if you know me IRL or follow my social media posts, I love photographs. I love taking them. I love looking at them. I love editing them. I love posting them. Today, in thinking about some photos I recently took and in looking at a book on Polaroid photography I just bought, I was wondering about the neuropsychology of photos: What happens in our brain when we look at pictures, and how does this impact how we feel and think about them?
According to a blog post by Scientific American, people all over the world, regardless of cultural differences on how they see the world, experience a similar neuropsychological process when viewing scenes, and when looking at photos. The brain has different areas for visual processing: At the middle of the back of the head is the most primitive visual processing center, which identifies simple forms like lines and the vertical, horizontal, and diagonal edges of contrasting shapes. Other brain regions put together the basic visual forms and also process motion and color. The brain’s orienting network selects important, behaviorally relevant information from all that we see, hear, and touch. This helps us to pay attention to some sights (and other stimuli) while ignoring or paying less attention to others (to adaptively see what may be important to our survival and well-being and to avoid sensory overload).
So, our brains are wired to pay more attention to some visual stimuli. Science tells us that we are visually drawn to scenes with dense lines; busy, criss-crossing lines; and bold, bright, or contrasting colors. From an aesthetic perspective, we often enjoy images containing symmetry, as well as those with a triangular composition of lines and elements. This is one reason why some photographs appear “good,” and others don’t. There are other reasons, of course. But there are certain patterns and colors that are more pleasing to the eye, and this is largely based on neuroscience.
Few would argue that Ansel Adams’ photos are considered beautiful! “The Tetons and the Snake River,” 1942. Notice the flowing triangular composition in this shot.
On the most basic level, photography is a way to document a sight. But many amateur and most professional photographers hope to capture more than simple documentation: Many wish to create something beautiful, memorable, or thought provoking. From an artistic standpoint, how “good” a picture is depends on factors such as technical perfection (e.g., color, sharpness, exposure), composition (e.g., pleasing layout, adheres to conventional rules of composition), and impact (e.g., novelty, beauty, shock value). The emotional and psychological impact of a photo may come from the subject but can also come from our brain’s reaction to beauty (or to horror, pathos, etc.).
A stylized and orderly portrait of a factory worker meant to convey the power and dignity of the working person. Photo, “Power House Mechanic,” by Lewis Hine, 1920.
This famous photo, “Migrant Mother,” by Dorothea Lange in 1936, is a good example of how a skilled photographer can capture beauty in a scene that is meant to call attention to a social problem (in this case, the poverty of migrants during the Great Depression).
An image with ghostly beauty: Imogen Cunningham’s “Forrest in France,” 1960, Fenimore Art Museum Archive.
Probably the most famous National Geographic photo of all time, and with good reason. Steve McCurry’s “Afghan Girl,” 1984.
I have started working in the office two days a week after a year and a half of working at home because of COVID-19. It’s weird being back in the office, even if it is only 2 out of 5 work days! But that’s not the point of this post. The point is, I was wondering about which famous artists and musicians were born in and/or have lived in San Francisco. I am aware of a few, but I realized I have never researched this question, and I am sure there are many more than I knew about.
One thing that sparked this question for me (and explains why I mentioned working in the office again) was when I was commuting home after work last week (I take the bus, and my stop is on Haight Street), I was standing in front of a shop window that has a jewelry display. Some of the necklaces in the window are on stands, and the shop owner had put large photos of Janis Joplin’s face on some of them. A 20-something woman and her friend walked by, and the woman sneered, “Hah–they put some random woman’s face on that necklace!!” Her friend laughed, and I wanted to slap my palm against my forehead, seeing two young people who didn’t recognize/know about Janis Joplin! As I said, this got me to thinking about famous people who have lived in SF. Janis was not from here (she was from Port Arthur, Texas), but she did live in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood in the ’60s.
This post contains some I already knew of, and others I didn’t. I am learning about some of these famous San Franciscans right now, as I write this post! Learn along with me!
Bruce Lee
Most people don’t know that Bruce Lee, one of the most famous martial artists in history, was born in San Francisco’s famous Chinatown. He was born there in 1940. His parents were from Hong Kong and moved back there with Bruce when he was 3 months old.
Ansel Adams
Iconic landscape photographer and conservationist Ansel Adams was born in the Western Addition neighborhood of San Francisco in 1902. His family also owned a house in the Sea Cliff neighborhood. Four-year-old Ansel Adams was injured in an aftershock of the great 1906 earthquake, breaking his nose when he was jolted into a wall.
Linda Ronstadt
Famous singer Linda Ronstadt was born in Arizona and lived in Los Angeles during her early career. She moved to San Francisco in the ’80s, then back to Tucson in the late ’90s, then back to San Francisco again in the early 2000s. When I was looking for an apartment in SF 2 years ago, I saw one that is across the street from where the singer now lives.
Danny Glover
Actor Danny Glover was born in San Francisco, attending school in the Richmond District. He also went to college at San Francisco State University.
Courtney Love
Grunge rock musician Courtney Love was born in San Francisco in 1964. She spent her early years in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, until moving to Oregon with her mother after her parents divorced in 1970. Love briefly moved back to San Francisco in the mid-’80s to pursue her music career and also attended the San Francisco Art Institute to study film and theater.
Rube Goldberg
Reuben Garrett Lucius Goldberg, known best as Rube Goldberg, a cartoonist, sculptor, author, engineer, and inventor, was born in San Francisco in 1883. He is most famous for his popular cartoons depicting complicated gadgets (“Goldberg machines”) performing simple tasks in indirect, convoluted ways.
Wayne Thiebaud
“Three Machines” by Wayne Thiebaud, on display in the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco. Thiebaud was born in SF in 1920.
Dorthea Lange
Iconic photographer Dorothea Lange was born in Hoboken, New Jersey, but moved to San Francisco in 1918. In 1945, she was invited by Ansel Adams to teach at the first fine art photography department at the California School of Fine Arts, now known as San Francisco Art Institute.
Margaret Cho
Comedian Margaret Cho was born in San Francisco in 1968 (same age as me!). She attended San Francisco State University.
There are so many others! Actors either born in or who lived in San Francisco include Lisa Bonet, Benjamin Bratt, Ellen DeGeneres, Clint Eastwood, Tom Hanks, Cheech Marin, Rob Schneider, Alicia Silverstone, Sharon Stone, Robin Williams, Ali Wong, and Natalie Wood. Isadora Duncan, the classic dancer, was born in San Francisco. Filmmakers who were either from or lived in SF include Francis Coppola, Sofia Coppola, George Lucas, and Wayne Wang. A lot of the musicians/bands attributed to San Francisco were not ones I had heard of, but I have heard of 4 Non Blondes, Tracy Chapman, The Charlatans, Counting Crows, Dead Kennedys, Faith No More, Flamin’ Groovies, Michael Franti, the Grateful Dead, Vince Guaraldi, Sammy Hagar, Chris Isaak, Jefferson Airplane, Jefferson Starship, Journey, Kronos Quartet, Huey Lewis, Johnny Mathis, Bobby McFerrin, the Melvins, Metallica, Moby, the Mummies, Graham Nash, Dan the Automator (Dan Nakamura), Liz Phair, Carlos Santana, Sly Stone, and Sid Vicious.
It’s such a creative city. Of course, the super-expensive cost of living is driving a lot of artists away from the Bay Area. It’s a shame that it’s tough for so many to make it here.
After a weekend walk around San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, I wanted to learn more about its history. All I really knew about it was that it became a bohemian haven in the late 1960s and has morphed into a more commercial version of its hippie past since then. It’s a place that has lots of murals and other interesting street art: stencils on the sidewalks, colorfully painted homes and businesses, eye-catching window displays, and more. Even now during the COVID pandemic, the area has some life and vibrancy as people window shop and hang out on Haight Street. And sadly, like many areas of San Francisco, it has a lot of homeless people and other folks who are down on their luck.
Colorful building on Haight Street, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
Sign for the Wasteland consignment shop on Haight Street, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
Early History
The earliest people who lived in the region that is now San Francisco were Native Americans, the Ramaytush Ohlone, who were part of a larger group of the Ohlone/Costanoan peoples. The land where Haight-Ashbury now lies was mostly sand dunes and was not a hospitable area for Native Americans to settle. The Spanish who came later to what is now California did not gravitate to this part of the region either, with its sandy expanses and often cool, foggy weather.
Nineteenth Century Development
The 1849 Gold Rush brought American prospectors and settlers to the region, where the original small town of Yerba Buena, later named San Francisco, rapidly grew. Like the Ohlones and Spanish before them, the Forty-Niners didn’t settle in most of the central and western parts of what is now San Francisco, including the future site of Haight-Ashbury. In addition to the sandy soil and fog, the area was not convenient to the waterfront, where most of San Francisco’s early growth occurred. Over time, some farms and “ranches” and a few scattered houses dotted the land that is now the Haight.
An 1864 map of San Francisco, looking west from the waterfront. I’ve circled what I think is the current site of Haight-Ashbury in red.
The development of Golden Gate Park in the 1870s brought more visitors and residents to central and western parts of San Francisco. By the 1880s, cable cars made travel through what is now Haight-Ashbury easy. Many cable car lines to Golden Gate Park terminated at or near the main pedestrian entrance to the park at Haight and Stanyan streets. With the influx of visitors, pool halls, taverns, restaurants, livery stables, hotels, boarding houses, bicycle shops, and other businesses sprang up near the intersection. Cable car lines and better land grading and building techniques of the 1890s and early 20th century allowed Haight-Ashbury to grow into a suburban residential upper middle class homeowners’ district, with a few pockets of large homes of the rich and elite.
Golden Gate Park entrance, looking north at cable car line, some time between 1889 and 1894, Stanyan and Haight Streets. Photo: OpenSFHistory.org wnp37.03316.
Early attractions in the neighborhood were The Chutes, an amusement park located on Haight Street between Cole and Clayton streets between 1895 and 1902, and the Haight Street Grounds stadium, built for California League baseball, which opened in 1887. In addition to League baseball games, the Grounds also hosted football games for University of California, Berkeley, and Stanford University in the early 1890s, before either had their own stadiums. The Grounds hit hard times with the Depression of 1893 and closed in 1895. The land was sold and redeveloped for residences.
Postcard of The Chutes, date unknown.
An 1893 real estate map of the Haight-Ashbury area looking south from The Panhandle park. The Grounds can be seen just left of center. Golden Gate Park is to the right. Photo from the Barry Lawrence Ruderman Map Collection, Stanford University.
1900 to Mid-Twentieth Century
Haight-Ashbury was one of the few neighborhoods of San Francisco spared from the devastating earthquake and subsequent fires of 1906. Many people who lived elsewhere in the city who were displaced from their homes found shelter in the Haight in hotels on Stanyon Street. Less fortunate families stayed in tent villages in Golden Gate Park and The Panhandle. Many of these refugees decided to make the Haight-Ashbury their permanent home. A post-earthquake building boom saw the creation of many new residences, often tract houses and flats built for the lower-middle and middle classes.
1906 refugees at Page and Stanyan streets. Photo from FoundSF.org.
An 1891 photo of a block of five tract houses at the corner of Page and Ashbury streets (shown from behind, as viewed from Oak Street). Photo copied from Hoodline.com.
By the 1910s, the Haight had many businesses, street car lines, schools, and hospitals and was a vibrant community. In 1924, a San Francisco columnist wrote “There is a comfortable maturity about the compact little city that San Francisco knows as Haight Ashbury. … just weathered enough to be nice, and new enough to be looking ahead to the future.” However, the good times didn’t last, as the Great Depression of 1929 to 1939 brought hardship. Many Haight-Ashbury residents with means moved to the suburbs. The bad economy, along with redlining in San Francisco, contributed to further decline of the Haight. Many of the old homes were divided into flats or converted into boarding houses, and by the ’40s and ’50s, much of the neighborhood was in disrepair, with some buildings vacant.
Haight Street between Ashbury and Clayton, looking west, 1944. Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library.
The Birth of the Haight’s Boho Culture
In the 1950s, a freeway was proposed that would have run through The Panhandle, but public protests in the ’50s and early to mid ’60s prevented the project from happening. Because the nearby Haight area was already economically depressed and became more so due to fears of how a freeway would impact the neighborhood, cheap rents and vacant properties attracted ’50s beatniks and, later, artists and hippies. This burgeoning alternative culture flourished. By the mid-1960s, the Haight’s counterculture brought nationwide media attention.
The first ever head shop, Ron and Jay Thelin’s Psychedelic Shop, opened on Haight Street in 1966. The Thelins felt that psychedelic drugs were they key to peace and equality and that people needed a supportive, positive environment in which to experience them. The Psychedelic Shop would be that place. Because of the Haight’s widespread drug use, “Gonzo” journalist Hunter S. Thompson labeled the area “Hashbury” in a New York Times Magazine article. The Haight was alive with musicians and other creatives, such as Jefferson Airplane, Big Brother and the Holding Company, The Grateful Dead, and actor Peter Coyote, who in the ’60s was a member of “The Diggers,” a local anarchist activist group that did street theater.
The Grateful Dead on Haight Street in the late ’60s.
Haight Street in the ’60s. Photo from Buzzfeed.
Inspired by the Diggers’ activism, a group of University of California, San Francisco medical students opened the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic. The clinic, which was the first nonsectarian free medical clinic in the United States, declared health care a right for all and also helped transform how drug addiction is treated. The clinic still serves the uninsured today. Similarly, the nearby Huckleberry House (founded in 1967 and still operating) transformed how support services are provided to homeless young people.
The Summer of Love, in 1967, attracted a wide range of people to Haight-Ashbury, including teenagers and college students drawn by the dream of a countercultural utopia, spiritual groups, runaways, middle-class tourists, and even partying military personnel from nearby bases. College students with no intention of “dropping out” played hippie for the summer. Hundreds of young runaways wandered the streets. The Haight could not accommodate the rapid influx of people, and the neighborhood scene quickly deteriorated.
The “Death of the Hippie” street theater event and procession put on by The Diggers and Psychedelic Shop owner Ron Thelin, 1967. Haight residents were upset by the widespread media coverage of the hippie movement and the infiltration of Haight-Ashbury by so many new people. According to Thelin, “It must all go—a casualty of narcissism and plebeian vanity. … [Haight-Ashbury] was portioned to us by the media-police, and the tourists came to the zoo to see the captive animals, and we growled fiercely behind the bars we accepted, and now we are no longer hippies and never were.”
By the early 1970s, Haight-Ashbury had said goodbye to many of the early creatives and hippies. Through the ’70s, the Haight saw urban blight, prostitution, hard drugs, and street violence while still retaining an air of bohemian nostalgia. The late ’70s saw many gay San Franciscans and others buying and fixing up cheap properties in the Haight, bringing new life to the area. Sami Sunchild obtained ownership of The Red Victorian, a historic building on Haight Street that Sunchild transformed into The Red Victorian Bed and Breakfast Peace Center, a B&B and spiritual center. Today, the Red Vic is a hostel, cafe, and residence.
The “Red Vic” in 2008. Photo by Bernard Gagnon.
The 1980s brought more commercial prosperity to the Haight, with new boutiques, used clothing stores, coffee shops, bookstores, and galleries that peddled sixties nostalgia to college students and tourists. The area also became an epicenter for the San Francisco comedy scene when The Other Café became a full-time comedy club and helped launch the careers of Robin Williams, Whoopie Goldberg, and Dana Carvey, among others.
Sadly, the AIDS epidemic of the ’80s and early ’90s resulted in many of the Haight’s gay residents dying or leaving, leaving Haight businesses to cater to a younger and straighter clientele. The ’80s also saw skinheads as a presence in the Haight. Through the 1980s and ’90s, the rave and alternative music scenes took off and influenced the culture of Haight-Ashbury. A long-time neighborhood attraction has been Amoeba Records on Haight Street near Stanyon. The business, which became one of the most famed independent music retailers in the world, was founded with a store on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley in 1990; the Haight store, a former bowling alley, opened in 1997.
Amoeba Records on Haight Street, fall 2019. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
The Haight Today
In the recent past, Haight-Ashbury has been a busy area with both vibrant businesses and a gritty, grungy feel, popular with both tourists and residents, especially teens and young adults. The area pays homage to its alternative history with thrift stores, world goods boutiques, and vintage shopping, but it also has chain stores, restaurants, and bars. It still attracts runaways and the homeless. Like most parts of San Francisco during the COVID pandemic, the Haight has been quieter than usual, with nonessential businesses closed for months, some forever. What the Haight of the post-COVID era will be remains to be seen.
Shop with colorful paint at Haight and Ashbury streets, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
A head shop on Haight Street, November 2020. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
Last weekend, I made an art piece using a reclaimed barn wood board and some heart milagros. For anyone not familiar with milagros, they are small charms, usually made of mixed metals, tin, silver, gold, or other materials. They are traditionally used as votive objects on shrines and altars for prayer and healing in Mexico, other Latinx countries, and parts of the United States. Milagro usage in North, Central, and South America comes from ancient Iberians who inhabited the coastal regions of Spain. In addition to their use in prayer, milagros may also be carried for good luck and are sometimes used as decorative embellishments on mirrors, picture frames, and other items.
The heart milagro represents the healing of heart-related illnesses or gratitude for such healing, but it can also represent love, general healing, and gratitude. I chose heart milagros because I felt I could use a reminder to have gratitude, and although I am not a religious person, it can’t hurt to focus on love and healing, right?
I had already purchased the barn wood a few months ago to have something on which to paint things for my garden. I got the wood from a seller on Etsy, and I got the milagros from another Etsy shop.
Milagros are often attached to wood using small nails, as they typically have a hanging loop; however, I decided to use Gorilla Glue, since I didn’t have nails that were small enough to fit through the holes. It took a few tries to get the arrangement of the milagros the way I wanted. I finished it up by attaching hanging hardware on the back. I was happy with the final result!
Now, when I see my milagro art, I think about the things for which I am grateful. I also reflect on my health and that of my loved ones and wish for good health for all of us. It also reminds me to appreciate love in all its many forms. Wishing love, healing, and gratitude to all of my readers!
The finished milagro art piece, hung with two mixed media pieces by Santa Cruz artist Bridget Henry.
I truly love my collection of original artwork. Some of the pieces just caught my eye, some were purchased on trips, and some were created by talented friends and acquaintances. As a hobby artist myself, I also have a bunch of my own work (mostly in boxes and folders). It’s more fun to display the work of others!
Me with a mixed media piece by Jesse Reno and a vase and table made by Jamie Vaida in 2006, Oakland, CA
Prompted by recently buying a couple of small prints to support a Santa Cruz artist during the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reminded of how much I enjoy all the art I am so lucky to have, so I decided to write about it. I realized that I had never made a record of my art and when and where I got it. Also, I wanted to give some recognition to the artists who created the works I own–I know some of them are struggling right now because creating or teaching art was an important (or in some cases, a primary) source of income. I also wanted to give props to some of my art teachers over the years (apologies to a couple I may have neglected to include here).
Early Art Teachers: Tunkhannock, PA
My first private art teacher was Charlotte Ciccone. I took classes with Charlotte in the early 1980s, where I mainly did work in acrylic and watercolor. These classes were held in my hometown, Tunkhannock, a small, historic town in the mountains along the Susquehanna River in northeastern Pennsylvania.
Another early art teacher was Sue Hand. I studied with her during my high school days, in the mid-1980s. Sue is a prolific and very talented artist who lives in Dallas, PA, not far from my hometown. Sue and her husband, Joe, own Sue Hand’s Imagery, a shop and studio that offers art supplies, custom framing, and classes by Sue. We students often called her “Auntie Sue” because of her warm and supportive style.
First Artworks
Below is probably the first piece of original artwork I acquired. I got it from a coworker, Sam Erickson, in a holiday gift exchange (I think in 1990) when we were both working at a medical journal publishing company in Philadelphia called Current Science. It was my first job after college, and I worked there from the summer of 1990 to September 1993. The very talented Sam went on to become a successful rock photographer and filmmaker in New York. Sam is the Vice President and Head of Production at Arcade Productions, a subsidiary of Sony Entertainment. See Sam’s work at the Morrison Hotel Gallery.
Mannikin photograph by Sam Erickson
Below is a home blessing done in Japanese calligraphy by Laurie DeMarco Alagha, one of my best childhood friends, in 1993. The characters from left to right are “zuiki” (good omen), “shu” (come together), and “mon” (gate or house), so it means “May good fortune gather in your home.” Laurie made it for me as a wedding gift during the time she was living in Japan. Although my marriage didn’t last, my friendship with Laurie goes on across the miles and through many years, and this calligraphy piece brings back good memories. It’s also so special to have artwork made by a friend.
Japanese calligraphy by Laurie DeMarco Alagha
The print below is another wedding gift given to me in 1993. It was created with a photocopier. I don’t know who the artist is, but I love its graphic qualities and the repeating thorn motif. My close friend Cathy Connor gave it to me. Cathy and I remain friends, despite living across the country from each other, and it’s wonderful to have a piece that reminds me of her. (Pardon the reflection on the glass!)
Photocopy art
I bought this simple tapa painting in Tahiti in 1996. Unfortunately, I don’t know the artist’s name, as it is not signed. Tapa is a type of fabric made from tree bark; typically, a design or pattern is painted on it. I really like this piece, and buying it (as well as doing research for this blog post) allowed me to learn more about Tahitian art and history. What’s more, having this tapa painting brings back wonderful memories of the trip to the main island of Tahiti and to the islands of Bora Bora and Moorea that I took with my friends Laurie and Cathy in 1996. Cathy and I were both going through tough times in our life then, so the trip was really special for us. Read more about tapa at Welcome Tahiti.
Tahitian tapa painting
Here is a piece for which I have only a vague memory of how and when I got it: It’s a greeting card with a print of a (well-endowed) monkey. Unfortunately, it is not signed by an artist. I am pretty sure my friend Vicky Maxon gave me this card either for my 30th birthday in 1998 or when I bought my house in Philadelphia in 1999. I wish I knew more about who created the image! I wish I had a better memory in general!!!!
Moving to California: My Collection Grows
“Las Vegas Series II” is a painting by a friend of a friend and was done in 2005. I think it is acrylic or gouache on panel. My friend Rachel Delp gave this to me (I think as a gift to commemorate my moving from Philadelphia to the San Francisco Bay Area to start graduate school? Again, I wish I’d kept better track of exactly when I got some of my artwork and/or that I had a better memory!). Rachel was living in Cómpeta, a quaint village in the mountains of southeastern Spain, at that time. The artist, Scott Lidgett, was a British expatriate also living in Cómpeta. Sadly, he died of cancer a couple of years after this work was completed. I love all the textures and tones of this painting. I am a big fan of desert landscapes.
“Las Vegas Series II” by Scott Lidgett
This iron sculpture of an embracing couple and the rebar and marble pedestal on which it rests were gifts from my friend and then-partner Jamie Vaida in 2005 or 2006. At the time, we were living in Oakland, CA. I had moved to California in 2005 to start a doctoral program in psychology at the California Institute of Integral Studies in San Francisco. Jamie and I had met at Burning Man in 2004, and after a long-distance relationship, he decided to move to California with me. Originally, the sculpture was powder-coated with a dark blue finish, but as I’ve displayed it outdoors for many years, the weather has replaced the paint with a beautiful rust. Jamie is a talented metal artist who is originally from Massachusetts and lived for many years in Colorado before moving to the San Francisco Bay Area. Jamie designs and fabricates beautiful metal railings, gates, furniture, and other pieces, as well as doing fine art out of his Oakland studio. Find him at Vaida Metals Sculpting.
SSculpture and pedestal by Jamie Vaida
I love the following print by Oakland artist Fernando Reyes. I’m not sure if it is a linocut, woodcut, or monoprint, but I think it’s a woodcut. As with some of my other artwork, I can’t remember the exact date when I purchased it, but I believe it was around 2006 (although I may have bought it on a later visit to Reyes’ studio in 2016). My then-partner, Jamie, and I had gone to an open studio event in the Jingletown section of Oakland. Reyes works out of Ford Street Studios and does drawing, painting, printmaking, and cutout artworks. Again, I wish that both my records and my memory were better!
I bought this mixed-media work on a wood panel, “Sleepwalker,” by Portland, OR, artist Jesse Reno after Jamie and I took a road trip through northern California and Oregon in 2006. We saw an exhibit of Reno’s work at a cafe in Portland’s Hawthorne District, and I was taken by Reno’s evocative “neo-primitive” works and social commentary. Reno is a self-taught mixed media artist who has seen great success over the years since he began exhibiting his work in 2001. “Sleepwalker” is a statement about information overload in the contemporary world and the fact that people are often sleepwalking through life.
“Sleepwalker,” mixed media on wood panel by Jesse Reno
Below is another work by Jesse Reno. I think I got this one in 2007 or 2008. This piece is called “Feel, Not Think” and I like the sentiment, as I tend to be a thinker. I’m glad I bought these two Reno paintings when I did, as I’m not sure I could afford them today!
“Feel, Not Think,” mixed media on wood panel by Jesse Reno
This fun linoleum block print, or linocut, was done by Christine Weibel, who is a graphic designer and illustrator. Christine and I took linocut and monoprint classes together from 2008 to 2010 in San Francisco from Katie Gilmartin, a wonderful artist and teacher. I was always impressed by Christine’s talent, meticulousness, and patience. And, she is just an awesome person! This print was inspired by a cat named Baumans that would move its mouth like it was talking. I think it was created in 2008 or 2009. A wonderful thing about taking print classes is that it’s common for students to exchange prints with each other. I have some other amazing prints by past classmates and a few teachers, too, that are not currently on display. One of these days, I will get some more of them framed.
“Baumans, the Amazing Talking Cat,” linocut print by Christine Weibel
Below is a linocut that I made in Katie Gilmartin’s class in 2008 or 2009. I was really into circles for a while and did a lot of prints that had repeating circles as a theme. I liked that they represent ongoing cycles of life. I also really like working with patterns.
“Organic,” linocut by me (Blair Davis)
My classes with Katie Gilmartin weren’t my first experience with printmaking: I had taken classes at the Fleisher Art Memorial in Philadelphia from 2000 to 2005, first with the amazing Charlotte Yudis and then with the talented Christine Blair. In those classes, I mostly focused on intaglia etching. Those classes were special to me–I learned so much, and I had a great time working with Charlotte, Christine, and the other students. Read more about the Fleisher Art Memorial. Find Christine Blair on Facebook or on Instagram at @christineblairart.
Humboldt County and Santa Cruz
In 2010, I moved from Oakland to McKinleyville, CA, to take a postdoctoral fellowship at Humboldt State University in Arcata doing therapy with students. I wasn’t too happy to move to Humboldt County. Don’t get me wrong–it is an absolutely gorgeous place, with rocky beaches, redwood forests, farms, some quaint little towns, and nice people. But for me, it was just not where I wanted to be. The postdoc paid the worst of all the positions to which I’d applied, and it was FAR away from the San Francisco Bay Area and all my California friends. Also, McKinleyville is a very small, rural town, a far cry from the urban life I’d been used to after 19 years in Philadelphia and 5 years in Oakland! One of the saving graces of my 2 years in McKinleyville was that the area had a lot of artists and an amazing art crawl once a month in the neighboring town of Eureka. At one of these art events with friends, I picked up this adorable ceramic skunk by Diane Sonderegger. I’d seen (and smelled) a lot of skunks around the dirt road where I lived in McKinleyville, so the skunk seemed like a fitting memento of my life there.
I moved to Santa Cruz, CA, in August 2012 to work at University of California, Santa Cruz, as a psychologist; I was there from 2012 to 2019. Santa Cruz is not a big city like Philadelphia or Oakland, but it is busier and less isolated than Humboldt County, just a 75-mile drive to San Francisco and Oakland. I enjoyed the laid-back lifestyle and natural beauty of Santa Cruz, as well as the friends I made there. I also enjoyed all the art!
Although the following piece was done in 1999, I didn’t receive it until 2012 or 2013. It is a monoprint by artist and professor Sharon Bowar Cosgrove, who is based in Wilkes-Barre, PA. My mother, Penny Davis, bought this for me as a gift. Sharon has had an interesting career: Her work has been selected for the Art in Embassies Program sponsored by the U.S. Department of State and was displayed at the U.S. Embassy in Astana, Kazakhstan. She is the recipient of the Medici Award in Painting from the International Biennale Exhibition of Contemporary Art, in Florence, Italy, and has been Visiting Artist in Philadelphia; Umbria, Italy; Rome; and Ireland. Sharon has taught in Florence, Italy and facilitated group painting and mural projects with international artists, students, and victims of domestic violence. I find this piece soothing and peaceful. Don’t mind the reflection on the glass–photographing framed artwork can be challenging!
“Light Through the Trees,” monoprint by Sharon Bowar Cosgrove
Here’s a fun piece I bought at a print sale at UC Santa Cruz in 2012 or 2013. At the end of every academic year, the university’s print shop would have a sale of student work. I wish I had the full name of the artist who made this. It’s signed “Jorden,” so that’s all I’ve got. I think it’s a linocut, but it could be a screenprint. Again, there are some unfortunate reflections on the glass.
The whimsical linocut below was done by Jose Pulido, an artist from southern California who is influenced by popular culture and his Mexican heritage. I have a thing for monkeys, so I was searching around on Etsy for monkey-related art and found this print of a fancy chimp some time around 2013. These days, Pulido mainly creates prints of calaveras, decorative skulls that are associated with Mexico’s Día de Muertos, or Day of the Dead. Find his work in his Etsy store, Mis Nopales.
Linocut print by Jose Pulido
I just love this cat-bat mixed media piece on wood by AJ Sharkstar, a close friend and talented artist based in Oakland. She has worked as an indoor and outdoor muralist, shown in galleries, and done guerrilla street art, among other things. Her trademark is fanciful creatures, often painted on sidewalks, rocks, and driftwood. This piece was a Halloween gift in 2014. Below is a photo of a coffee table that was a collaboration between AJ and her husband, Todd Andrews (another close friend, whom I met in grad school in the mid-2000s). The table was another gift, created in 2014. See more of AJ’s work on her blog and website.
Cat-bat by AJ Sharkstar, mixed media on woodCoffee table by Todd Andrews and AJ Sharkstar
This painted engraving on wood brings back happy memories of a trip I took to Hawaii in July of 2017. I stayed mainly on Oahu, with a quick side-trip to the Big Island. I purchased this print on Oahu’s North Shore, in Haleiwa, at The Beet Box Cafe, a cute place where I had a delicious organic vegetarian lunch. There was an exhibit of local artwork, and this piece caught my eye. The artist, Patrick Parker, is originally from Southern California and now lives on Hawaii.
“Energy Source,” painted engraving on wood by Patrick Parker
Below are two fun prints by Hawaiian artist Welzie that I bought on the same Hawaii trip in 2017. I got these on Oahu’s North Shore, in Waialua, at the Sugar Mill, a historic complex that was a functioning sugar mill until 1996 and now houses shops and other businesses. Welzie, who started out as a surfboard artist, creates whimsical paintings and murals. His paintings are shown throughout Hawaii’s fine art galleries, and he has done large-scale murals in California and Mexico. I love the octopus, but the turtle is special to me, because I absolutely fell in love with sea turtles on my two trips to Hawaii (before my 2017 trip, I had visited Maui in 2014).
Sea turtle and octopus paintings by Welzie
My friend Laurel Bushman, who lives in Santa Cruz, is a super-talented artist who does fine art, murals, teaching, and more. She painted this watercolor of beautiful monarch butterflies in 2017. I bought it from her in 2018. Not only is this painting lovely, but it reminds me of Laurel and her husband, Geoff, because they have raised monarchs in their home to release and help repopulate. I have this piece hanging above my desk, and it’s nice to look up and see it while I am working.
Monarchs watercolor by Laurel Bushman
I’m not sure who created these paintings, as they are not signed. The animals were painted on vintage postcards in Rajasthan, India. I think these may be similar to “assembly line hotel art,” where there are perhaps different people working together to mass produce these little paintings for sale. I could be wrong–maybe it is just one artist creating these charming works. In any case, I love them. I’m a big animal person–I already mentioned that I love monkeys, and I also love big cats, so I could not resist these four paintings. I got them through Etsy, I think in 2018.
Rajasthan leopard and lion painted on vintage postcards
Rajasthan monkeys painted on vintage postcards
In October 2018, I went to an open studios event in Santa Cruz with some friends. We all were taken by the amazing prints of Bridget Henry, a friend of a friend who has a charming studio overlooking the ocean. Henry is a printmaker who is inspired by nature and psychology. She manages the print shop and teaches at UC Santa Cruz. I love the following woodblock print of an old, dilapidated church. I find such beauty in things that are weathered, falling apart, and being taken over by nature. It was fun being able to look through several different versions of this print and choose the one I liked the best. In case you’re not familiar with the process of printmaking, each print in a series is often slightly different from the others, since each one is hand-inked. Although an artist typically tries to use the same colors and methods for each print in a series, it’s inevitable that there will be some slight variations in color and tone. After I bought this print, I started following Henry on Facebook and Instagram and recently bought a few more, smaller, prints from her on Etsy (see below).
“Broken Halos,” woodblock print by Bridget Henry
This shadow box was created by my friend AJ Sharkstar (see above for more info on her fabulousness)! Because it had been created a while back and was a little faded, I got to collaborate on touching it up with her and her husband, Todd, in April 2019. We had a great time–I love that one of the activities we do together is making art. The second picture below shows the box on the wall of my previous apartment in Santa Cruz with the cat-bat by AJ and some other art.
Mixed media shadow box by AJ Sharkstar
Various artwork, including two pieces by AJ Sharkstar, in my Santa Cruz apartment
Living in San Francisco
I moved to San Francisco in August 2019 to start a new job as a psychologist at University of San Francisco. Soon after I moved, I was walking around my new neighborhood and happened upon a small art gallery called The Great Highway that was having an opening for several local artists, one of whom was Jeana Hadley, a graphic designer and illustrator and the owner of Sealevel Studio. I fell in love with this octopus by Hadley, and since I live near Ocean Beach, it’s fun to have a print with a nautical theme.
Octopus giclée print by Jeana Hadley
My latest acquisitions are three prints by Bridget Henry, which I got through Henry’s Etsy shop. I purchased two small print collages on wood that were done in 2019 and a linocut print on cardboard created in 2020. I had ordered a print collage of a sparrow, not the bunny seen below (got that one by mistake), but I liked this one so much that I decided to keep it rather than return it and get the one I’d ordered. Henry was kind in offering to exchange them and give me a discount, but I was happy with what I received. The process Henry used to make the print collages is interesting: A woodcut was printed on acid-free paper and cut out to collage on a wood block. The background is hand painted with black tea and ink.
Raven print collage by Bridget Henry
Bunny print collage by Bridget Henry
“Good Luck” linoleum block print for the COVID-19 pandemic by Bridget Henry
The last work I’ll show is more of my own. These are just some silly paintings I did in acrylic on old barn wood for my garden. I wanted to paint something fun and represent some of the “wildlife” I see in my garden: bees and gophers.
Garden paintings in acrylic on wood by Blair Davis
This post was one of the most fun and rewarding ones I’ve written, since it was a chance to look at all my art and reminisce about when and how I got it. As I mentioned a few times in my post, I wish I remembered all the details better–this was one of the reasons I wanted to write this post in the first place, so I would not forget even more about my art collection. Note to self: Keep track of the specifics of any art you acquire in the future!
This was also one of the more challenging posts I’ve written: Once I started, I realized how much work it was going to take to photograph all my art, research the dates and circumstances of acquisition for many of the pieces (by looking through photographs and my social media pages for “clues” and asking friends to refresh my memory), and find websites and other information about many of the artists. I hope you enjoyed seeing and learning about my art!
One of the murals of Clarion Alley. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
A few weeks ago, I was feeling stir crazy from staying at home during the COVID-19 pandemic (other than walking in my neighborhood and taking a few trips to the grocery store), so I drove to San Francisco’s Mission District to see the Clarion Alley Mural Project. The project is a series of murals, mostly with a social justice theme, painted in Clarion Alley, which runs for one block between 17th and 18th streets and Mission and Valencia streets. Clarion Alley Mural Project (CAMP) was established in 1992 by a volunteer collective of six residents/artists who were inspired by the murals of Balmy Alley, another Mission District alley covered in murals that were created in the early ’70s as an expression of artists’ outrage over human rights and political abuses in Central America.
Murals of Clarion Alley. Photo by Blair J. Davis.Murals of Clarion Alley. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
I can’t believe I hadn’t seen Clarion Alley before! I still remember the first time I heard about it: It was 2006, and I was working as a therapist-in-training at my first practicum position, at my graduate school’s outpatient therapy clinic. A young man I was treating for mood and social problems asked me if I knew about “that alley in the Mission with all the murals.” Despite going to the Mission District all the time and being an art lover, somehow I had never made it to Clarion Alley (or Balmy Alley, for that matter). After my client asked me about it, I forgot about the murals, and strangely, I never came across them during any of my days or nights walking around the neighborhood.
Doorways of Clarion Alley. Photo by Blair J. Davis.
One of the important messages embodied by Clarion Alley is that there should be a place for artists in San Francisco. Gentrification, prioritization of corporations and the wealthy, and a lack of affordable housing and work spaces have pushed artists, as well as many other longtime residents of the Mission, out of the area. Many of the murals address other social justice issues and pay tribute to prominent community members.
My trip the alley was just OK. The murals and other street art in the area were amazing and inspiring. However, it was hard to fully appreciate all the beauty and meaning: With the pandemic going on, I don’t have as much enthusiasm for exploring. Also, I felt like I was doing something wrong by leaving my neighborhood–not following the spirit of the shelter-in-place directive. On top of that, I was sad to see so many homeless people out and about, some in pretty rough shape. Not that that’s unusual in San Francisco, sadly. But the number of people who appeared homeless and were acting out (e.g., yelling, throwing garbage) seemed less typical, plus none were wearing masks. Homelessness and poverty, as well as untreated mental illness, are for sure the types of issues the artists of Clarion Alley are trying to highlight.
Despite the problems of my visit, I am glad to have seen Clarion Alley. After going, I did a lot of online research to learn more about the project. And, next time I feel inspired to leave my neighborhood, I would like to see Balmy Alley. Read more about the Clarion Alley Mural Project and Balmy Alley to learn about the history of both projects.
Note that photos of the Clarion Alley murals are not to be used for any commercial purpose, and permission should be obtained from CAMP before using the site as a location for photography. I attempted to contact CAMP before publishing this blog post, but I did not receive a reply so am hoping that my reasons for showing my photos of some of the murals–to inform my blog readers about CAMP–will fit with the project’s intent.
Trigger warning: Artworks depicting injury and pregnancy loss.
Frida Kahlo wearing a plaster corset, which she decorated with the Communist hammer and sickle, c. 1951–’52. Photo: Florence Arquin.
Through a combination of recent family medical crises and my reading Barbara Kingsolver’s book The Lacuna (a novel from the point of view of a cook employed by Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera), I became interested in reading more about Frida’s life and art. I have always liked her art and fondly remember a wonderful retrospective exhibit of her work I saw at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2008. The Lacuna brings her to life in vivid (and not always flattering) ways, highlighting her strong personality and marital infidelity (although, to be fair, Rivera was also frequently unfaithful). The novel also shows Frida to be a clever, passionate, and resilient woman and artist.
One aspect of Frida’s life and work that grabbed me as I read more about her life and looked at pictures of her work was the prevalence of pain and medical trauma. As is widely known, at age 18, Frida was a victim of a terrible bus accident that resulted in serious injuries to her pelvis and spine and condemned her to a life of chronic physical pain, numerous surgeries, and pregnancy losses. Even before her tragic accident, she had serious health problems, having contracted polio at a young age, which left one of her legs shorter than the other and withered.
My family going through numerous medical events in the past few years, my own growing awareness of my mortality now that I am 50, and the suicides of three people I know over the past year have led me to think about health and death quite a bit. These experiences have made Frida’s focus on her own pain and mortality more poignant to me.
My perception of several of Frida’s paintings depicting medical imagery is that creating these works simultaneously exposed her pain while providing her with a vehicle for processing and coping with it. Frida herself noted that painting was a solace to her: “I lost three children and a series of other things that would have fulfilled my horrible life. My painting took the place of all of this.” As she approached her death at the young age of 47, she also stated, “I’m not sick, I am broken. But I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint.”
“Henry Ford Hospital” was painted in 1932, shortly after Kahlo lost a second pregnancy. The artist depicts herself lying naked on a hospital bed in a pool of blood. Frida’s bed is surrealistically placed in a desolate landscape to heighten her sense of isolation and vulnerability. She is shown as a small, naked, crying figure with six umbilical cords emanating from her body, connecting her to objects with personal meaning to her: a medical model of a female torso (referring to her inability to carry a pregnancy to term), a male fetus (her lost fetus), a snail (said to represent the excruciating slowness of the pregnancy loss), a machine (thought to indicate the technology that saved Frida but not her unborn child), a purple orchid (a gift given to her by Diego Rivera; the flower also resembles a uterus), and a pelvis (referring back to Frida’s debilitating accident).
Frida Kahlo, “Henry Ford Hospital” (1932).
Not surprisingly, many critics at the time recoiled from the graphic and shocking imagery in this painting. Frida showed courage and passion in making her personal and devastating experience public. This courage is needed in breaking down the secrecy and stigma that many feel in relation to medical trauma, particularly around birth-related traumas. Healing is often done in private; however, community, connection, and the ability to share one’s story on their own terms are often important aspects of moving forward after a tragic loss.
A lithograph from 1932, “El Aborto,” also deals with this pregnancy loss. Several similar versions were created by Kahlo. The artist’s naked body is central and once again is surrounded by symbolic forms: a fetus (whose umbilical cord is wrapped like a bandage around Frida’s damaged right leg), dividing cells, a crying moon, and growing plants. These images contrast burgeoning life with death. The heart-shaped palette Frida holds speaks again to the transformational power that creative expression held for her.
“The Broken Column” was painted in 1944, shortly after Frida had undergone a surgery on her spinal column. Although the original injury to her spine had occurred almost 20 years prior, it had a lifelong impact, frequently resulting in pain and disability and necessitating several surgeries. The 1944 operation left Frida bedridden and forced to wear a corset to help alleviate her chronic and intense pain.
“The Broken Column” by Frida Kahlo, 1944.
The classical column in the painting represents not just Frida’s actual spine but also the foundation of her body and spirit, which, while broken, continued to support her. As in other works, there is a dichotomy in the representation: Frida depicts herself as vulnerable in a barren setting, crying, split open, and riddled with nails. Yet, her posture, expression, and exposed breasts speak to her strength.
Like Frida, other professional artists, as well as amateurs, can find expression and solace in creating art. Those who do not make their own artworks can heal and process the pain of life through the shared experience of viewing art. There is something so powerful about the visual expression of emotion. It touches us in ways that words cannot always do. And, the bravery of those who choose to put their feelings and experiences on display can make us feel less alone, make us feel connected to others and to something larger than ourselves.
When I lived in Oakland, from 2005 to 2010, there was a decent amount of street art, but nowhere near as much as there is now. When I visited West Oakland and downtown this past weekend, I was blown away by the explosion of murals and graffiti. I used to frequent these areas when I lived in Oakland, but in the past few years when visiting, I haven’t spent much time in these neighborhoods.
Downtown Oakland street art.
Downtown Oakland street art.
Changes
I used to hang in West Oakland a lot because my partner was a metal artist who worked out of a large co-op in that neighborhood. Back then, the neighborhood was a mix of industrial and low-income housing, as well as blocks of dilapidated houses, abandoned buildings, and trash. It was an interesting place and not a very safe one: There were many break-ins and robberies, and there were bullet holes in the walls of buildings. On the plus side, people without a lot of money could still afford to live there–both long-time neighborhood residents and many struggling artists and “makers.” The influx of money was creeping along slowly then, with a couple condo buildings going up here and there but very few new businesses in the area.
When I drove through West Oakland yesterday, and I could hardly believe the changes since 2010. There were street art murals everywhere–too many to count. The sidewalk along Mandela Parkway was all fixed up with nice landscaping and fancy streetlamps. What used to be deserted streets were full of joggers and walkers (mostly white). There were new condo and apartment buildings as far as the eye could see, as well as coffee shops boasting organic coffee and WiFi.
Downtown Oakland street art.
Downtown Oakland street art.
Feelings About Gentrification
I have mixed feelings about the changes to West Oakland (and the whole Bay Area). On the one hand, I love public art and organic coffee. I’d rather live in a clean and safe apartment than a dilapidated hovel or an illegal warehouse. I like being places with vibrant business and people out and about. I have had a lot of privilege that has allowed me to live in places like these through most of my life.
But, that said, I wish that a neighborhood could grow and evolve without getting so expensive that the former residents (particularly low-income residents and people of color) can’t afford to stay. I’m not an expert on economics, but I imagine that federal, state, and local governments have to put specific programs in place to make this happen–leaving it up to the free market typically results in the wealthy winning out.
I did a little research on gentrification in Oakland and West Oakland in particular. After World War II, West Oakland became a thriving arts district and cultural haven for African-Americans, boasting many blues and jazz venues, as well as other businesses. However, economic changes starting in the 1950s and intensifying in subsequent decades led to the gradual deterioration of the neighborhood. Public projects damaging to the area’s fabric (such as the razing of homes to build the train station) also contributed to the area’s decline.
Regarding more recent changes to West Oakland, according to one article, “[Long-time residents] say newcomers are “Columbusing” Oakland—appropriating the city without any regard for the people who were here building community long before Oakland was the “it” place to move to. Others are happy to see changes, such as bike lanes, street repairs, and new businesses, come in. However, one thing that I can’t imagine anyone is happy about (except landlords) is the price of rent. A search of Craiglist revealed that rents in West Oakland are generally $2000 to $4000 for a one bedroom. Rents in the Oakland neighborhood where I lived, near Lake Merritt are similar, having doubled and tripled in the past 10 years. I would not be able to afford a one-bedroom apartment there now.
… Back to the Art
I could go on about gentrification. But to go back to the art: I was thrilled to see so much public art in West Oakland and downtown, and that inspired me to read more about that, too.
The Community Rejuvenation Project (CRP) has been around since 2005 and has been a major force in the creation of murals around Oakland. The nonprofit aims to beautify and cultivate healthy communities through public art.
The History of Mural Arts
An article on CRP’s website gives a fascinating history of mural art. The article chronicles the art from the earliest-known murals in France (created in 30,000 B.C.) to the early 20th-century Mexican mural arts movement associated with Diego Rivera to the Chicano art movement and African-American community mural movement of the 1960s to the 1970s and 1980s graffiti culture of Philadelphia and New York to contemporary aerosol and mural art.
Commodification of Street Art
One thing I hadn’t thought of (brought to my attention by another article on the CRP website) is the commodification of street art by private sponsors. Some developers see graffiti and other street art murals as “must-have amenities” for their properties. On the one hand, I think it’s great that these artists get paid for their work. But, I can also see the problem pointed out by CRP: Private mural sponsors may promote a gentrification agenda that displaces low-income residents, including artists, and fail to engage the community in creating the art.
More Mural Projects in Oakland
I saw several articles about the Oakland Mural Festival in 2018, which resulted in several new public works in the Jack London Square area. The Festival’s website says the event was planned to “use mural arts to engage East Bay youth, local Bay Area artists, and the Oakland community through beautification and placemaking activities … and to call attention to social issues, honor the legacy of Oakland’s historically industrial waterfront, and celebrate Oakland’s cultural identity.”
West Oakland street art.
West Oakland street art.
West Oakland street art.
Future Goals
I’ve always been drawn to public art, particularly graffiti art. I’ll have to make some more trips to Oakland to take more photos of these beautiful creations.
The study of how colors impact us in both conscious and unconscious ways is fascinating–at least to a psychology geek like myself. Did you know that studies have shown that people taking a “hot-colored” (e.g., red, orange) placebo pill felt more stimulated, and those taking a “cool-colored” one (e.g., blue, green), felt more sedate or depressed? Similarly, we may feel a certain way when looking at a painting made up of hot colors versus cool colors or of bright versus dull colors. These effects are mainly due to our expectations. In other words, we associate various colors with certain states and experiences. These expectations come from a mix of culture, biology, and individual differences.
Color Symbolism
In art, fashion, advertising, and architecture, color is often used symbolically to convey or stimulate feelings or moods. Different cultures have different associations with particular colors; also, this symbolism can change over time and varies in different contexts. For instance, in the 1800s and early 1900s, pink was considered a masculine color, and blue, feminine; however, this was not universally true, as the marketing of children’s clothes favored different colors in different parts of the United States in the early 20th Century. These days in American and European cultures, pink is generally considered a feminine hue. In many Western cultures, red is associated with passion or danger. In China, red is traditionally a color meaning good luck or happiness and is often used in weddings and other celebrations. Yellow is a color that many connect to happiness and sunshine in various cultures; however, it can also have the more negative connotation of cowardice in the United States (e.g., to be “yellow bellied,” a term that comes from cowboy culture and refers to birds with a yellow bellied, as birds may be seen as timid and easily startled).
”Young Boy with Whip”, American School painting, ca. 1840.
The color black has a complex impact on many. In the late 1800s, if a young Western woman was wearing black clothing, people would assume that someone had died and that she was in mourning. Today, we see women wearing black all the time and typically don’t associate it with death or mourning. Despite the more universal use of black in fashion, there are still some longstanding associations we have with it. Black is the color of night and lack of sunlight. Many children and some adults are afraid of the dark. Evolutionarily, we have been more vulnerable to attack by enemies or predators in the dark, as it is harder to see them coming and we can’t rely as much on vision to allow us to fight back or escape. Thus, black can have associations with fear, death, or danger in some contexts.
Environmental Psychology and Color
Color is an important factor in advertising, architecture, and interior design. However, as the impact of color is not universal, the use of specific colors to generate specific feelings or reactions is not always that reliable. That said, colors can play a fairly substantial role in purchases and branding. For example, research has show that the vast majority of consumers make instant judgments about how they perceive a product in terms of things like the product’s “personality” (e.g., the ruggedness of a motorcycle or piece of hardware) based on color.
Color has an important place in human-made environments. Faber Birren, considered the father of applied color psychology, was the first to establish the profession of color consultant in 1936. The work of Birren and others led to the thoughtful use of color in architecture and interior design in various environments to stimulate certain feelings and behaviors and inhibit others. For example, a goal in many institutional environments (e.g., prisons, hospitals) is to promote calm or focus and discourage overstimulation and agitation: In these settings, a good designer would use calming or muted colors, monochromatic schemes, or “weak” color contrasts. Specific colors are chosen for their associations: The color green may be used to promote calm and balance (so may be appropriate in a nursing home or jail), whereas white may be used to express sterility and neutrality, cleanliness and purity or spaciousness (and thus may be more fitting in an operating room or art gallery). Conversely, bright or strong colors and multicolored schemes would be used in environments where stimulation is the aim, such as a bar or a kindergarten classroom.
The 81st Security Forces Squadron confinement facility open bay area at Keesler Air Force Base, Mississippi is designed to house military inmates post and pre-trial on a rehabilitative basis. Note the subdued, calming colors.
I love museums! When I first graduated from college, I applied for a PR job at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archeology and Anthropology (and didn’t get the job). Sometimes I wonder how my life would have been different if I had gotten that job instead of my first publishing job, which led to many years of copy editing, production editing, and writing before I went back to grad school to become a psychologist. In any case, I have long enjoyed visiting museums of many sorts–art, culture, crafts, natural history … One of the things I most enjoy about them is that it’s a chance to step outside the usual routine and get immersed in a different and carefully curated reality for a while.
I recently learned that some museums have become involved in physical and mental health. This was both surprising to me (as I hadn’t heard about museum-based wellness programs before) and also not surprising, as I have long been aware of the therapeutic benefits of the arts on health and well-being. A report by the American Alliance of Museums provides some interesting information about how museums can be partners in health. As a psychologist, I was particularly intrigued by some of the programs related to mental health issues. Some museums provide programming as a form of therapy. For example, in Wausau, Wisconsin, the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum’s Treasuring Memories program, in collaboration with Aspirus Comfort Care and Hospice Services, helps community members of all ages who are coping with the death of a loved one by encouraging them to create memorial art. The Tucson Museum of Art offers programs for critically ill children at the University of Arizona Medical Center to help them explore and express their difficult feelings and interact with others through art-making.
Other museums have curated exhibits or offered educational programs about mental health topics. One example is the Otter Tail County Museum in Fergus Falls, Minnesota, which held an exhibit on the history of the Fergus Falls State Hospital, a facility for patients with concerns such as mental illness, epilepsy, and addiction. The Harriet Beecher Stowe Center in Hartford, Connecticut, created the “Stigmas, Stereotypes, and Solutions” program to help the community explore the prevalence and treatment of mental health issues and provide support for those struggling with such concerns.
According to Elisabeth Ioannides, the Assistant Curator at the National Museum of Contemporary Art, Athens, who wrote her dissertation and a number of articles on the application of art therapy in museums, there are a variety of ways in which galleries and museums play a role in mental health, both formally through programming and exhibits and informally, as she notes that simply being in a museum or gallery can contribute to feeling positive and inspired. In an article she wrote for Museum International, she goes into detail about the ways that these institutions can benefit people’s mental health.
I don’t get the chance to partner with any art institutions in my current work as a psychologist, but I do get to fulfill my creative side by integrating the arts into my work when possible, reading about the arts and culture, and writing this blog. Perhaps one day I will get the chance to work in a museum, but for the time being, I will continue to enjoy being a museum patron and art and culture lover.
