Muraltality

When public art vanishes.

by Ryan Creed

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Published: Aug 7, 2007

OUT OF SIGHT: Individuals Independent before it disappeared. Photo By: David Toccafondi (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Every Philadelphian has a favorite mural. Some are beloved for their empowering subject matter and artistry, while others for exactly the opposite reasons.

"I love the Patti LaBelle one!" exclaimed a co-worker to me, referring to West Philadelphia's crude portrait honoring the R&B legend. "She looks insane!"

In a similar spirit, I had always cited Individuals Independent, a montage of blind citizens actively living in Philadelphia, located on the Associated Services for the Blind (ASB) building on Walnut Street between Ninth and 10th, as my favorite. The mural was painted by a dozen disabled Philadelphians under the sponsorship of the ASB in 1996. It gave visibility to a largely invisible group, but it was my favorite because this visibility was entirely lost on the community it was representing. A mural with images of a blind man working in an office and a blind woman watering her plants is powerful and humanizing, but a work of public art created for and about people who are unable to appreciate it is a compelling combination of tragedy and transcendence.

True, my adoration is rooted in a snarking insensitivity toward the handicapped, but this self-awareness was little comfort when I recently noticed that Individuals Independent had disappeared. It was even less so when I found out it was quietly removed last year due to being obscured by Jefferson Hospital's under-construction chilled water facility, an initiative with Trigen-Philadelphia Energy to obtain the water more efficiently and cost-effectively.

Philadelphia is internationally renowned for its murals, both for the proliferation of murals and for what they contribute to the community.

"We're really thinking about exploring the nexus between public art and community development because there's a profound connection," said Jane Golden, director of the Mural Arts Program, the organization responsible for more than 2,700 of Philadelphia's murals. "Public art can play such an important role in revitalizing major parts of the city."

If a mural can play such an important role in community development, then how can one disappear without notice? Rose Marcus, a sighted artist who uses a wheelchairwho painted a portion of the mural, wasn't even notified of its removal: "They took down the mural? Oh no! Just shows how often I go downtown at age 82. I'm going to cry."

I thought this mural's permanent erasure would have inspired hordes of outraged disabled protesters and neighborhood sympathizers to surround Jefferson Hospital and demand public representation. Instead the reaction was less than a whimper; the invisible still invisible. 

"I don't remember what the mural looked like," said Sara Hutcheson, a research assistant who walks down Walnut every day on her way to work. "And I didn't notice that it was gone."

Gwen Harris, a cashier at the Wawa facing the Jefferson construction site also was indifferent. "What was it a mural of? I didn't really notice it."

"What is that?" joked Basil Ulysses Swinney, a blind man who regularly visits the ASB, when asked about the mural. But had he known about the mural or its undoing? "No."

A spokeswoman for the ASB itself had no comment on the matter.

So I turned to the city's last remaining bastion of uninhibited rancor and vitriol: the forums on Phillyblog.com. In the post "Monstrosity at 915 Walnut St.," group members discussed the urban-planning aspects of Jefferson's water chiller, but no mention of the mural.

Not all murals are lost with such little attention. When the famed Harriet Tubman mural on 908 Chestnut St. was demolished in 2002 for Jefferson Hospital parking, public outcry was widespread. And sometimes reaction against a mural is so strong that the citizens themselves want it removed. The Inquirer reported in June that the 125-foot-long dragon mural in South Philadelphia was covered in tarp by superstitious merchants who believed it cursed them. (That mural was painted over last week.)

"Murals are risky," said Golden. "You never know if a building will be bought or whether it will be knocked down or whether someone's going to build in front of it. You always know this in the back of your mind, so you do really good detective work at sites where you feel like the project will last for a long time."

It is difficult to argue the value of Individuals Independent over the usefulness of the Jefferson-Trigen water chiller. The 7,000-ton chiller will replace Jefferson Hospital's 35-year-old system, increase building space that is currently occupied by machinery, and save the hospital significant long-term capital expenses. Moreover, the mural was installed on 4-by-8-foot panels that over time had deteriorated and delaminated.

A source at Trigen who asked to remain anonymous noted that Trigen and Jefferson worked with the ASB to find an appropriate solution: When the project is completed at the end of the summer, there are plans to build another mural higher up on the same wall of the ASB building. But will the new mural have a blind woman mistakenly rendered to look angry? Will I be able to walk by it drinking coffee and feel connected with the painted blind man who is also enjoying a cup of coffee? Probably not.

Murals are temporary by nature; neighborhoods change and their identities and needs evolve. A mural is not made for one jaded and callous hipster, but for the community. In the end it's better to welcome change, accept progress, and take the time to find a new mural in the city to openly mock ... er, love.

(r_creed@citypaper.net)

 

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