03/08/2024
"Two things accompany a first meeting with Harold Adler: a handshake and a double-take. As I reach out to clasp Adler’s hand, my eyes catch framed photographs on the wall. Their subject: a man with a shocked black head of hair, hands in pocket, shoulders hunched, with a mouth slightly upturned in a familiar smirk. I presume this is a Bob Dylan shrine, but as my eyes flit from the images to the hand I’m shaking, I realize the man in the grainy photos is Adler himself.
Posted on11 Minutes Ago by ART HOUSE GALLERY & CULTURAL CENTER
Adler isn’t offended by this frequent comparison, but rather, flattered. Embodying Dylan is part of his charisma. “I learned the guitar when I first heard Dylan… I’m a Dylan cover artist,” said Adler in an interview pre-Halloweekend with The Daily Californian. To render it full circle, he ruminates on the idea of dressing up as Dylan for Halloween festivities — though, Adler could probably just show up as himself and convince the room.
But Adler isn’t the only blast from the past sitting in the Art Gallery House and Cultural Center — the space itself is an homage to a distant era. Alder calls it “kind of a time warp,” which is exactly what it feels like to enter an elongated hallway lit only by neon paint. Within the venue’s stomach, there’s not a blank space in sight; oriental rugs cover the floors, and the walls are coated in portraits of celebrated icons, dilapidated band posters and experimental paintings. Every scan reveals a new nook and cranny meant to hold art, people and energy. To an untrained eye, the space might appear a hoarder’s paradise, but to a creative, it’s a maximalist playground. The room seeps with soul — everything is intentional.
Adler consciously leaves one space blank: a 16-foot slab of sheetrock on the back wall, though even this is filled with an atypical medium. “Yeah, that’s my screen,” he explains, “Lance Gordon — he’s a psychedelic light show visual artist. He does shows sometimes and that wall just melts.” He explains this is part of his vintage vision. “Visuals were a big part of the ‘60s.”
If there’s one thing Adler knows, it’s the sixties. “The ‘60s and ‘70s were the most beautiful part of my life… The music, the colors, the visuals, the poetry — all of those things were really beautiful.” Adler traversed these decades as a young adult, growing up in some of the hotbeds of sixties spirit: Oakland and Berkeley. He tried the whole college thing, but grew restless: “I was there for a year and a half and just dropped out because there were so many things going on… I was bored stiff in school. Like, why am I here?”
So Adler thrust himself into the thick of it. He dropped the title “student” and became known as a “photographer” and more generally, a “hippie.” He became consumed by the art of photography. He explains, “I’ve always been amazed by the process of taking a picture and making a picture.”
But even more so, he fell in love with the scenes and subjects he was capturing. The ‘60s and ‘70s were energetic, rich and captivating — or so I can tell from the way Adler’s eyes lit up while describing it. But Alder clarifies that “it wasn’t just all s*x, drugs and rock and roll. It was activism… It was really about social protest. Every weekend, it was like a sit-in, a march, a demonstration in San Francisco or Berkeley, and I just wanted to go out and take the pictures.”
And take pictures he did. He holds up one of his older prints that he jokingly quips are from “100 years ago.” The subject: a jam circle. But everyone’s shoes are off, they’re sitting legs-crossed on the floor and they have beads, tufts and loud pendants hanging from their necks. They’re mid-song, mouths ajar and eyes closed; you can hear the music through the filmy layer. If Adler’s goal is to capture the heart and the soul of the ‘60s in his photographs, he’s done it.
As Harold talks roots with me, the man sitting on the well-loved sofa in front of me gradually blends into his surroundings. He’s a historic artifact of the ‘60s and ‘70s; one can imagine him on the wall amongst the ‘60s paraphernalia. He refers to some of the bands who come through his venue as “survivors of the ‘60s,” but this title extends to Alder himself. A true relic of a past scene, he even has the battle scars to prove it. “I’m deaf in this ear,” he says, pointing to his left, “That’s rock and roll!” But he adds a warning — “People should use earplugs!”— because he’s a little smarter now than when he was headbanging in his 20s.
Adler has held many titles, but now fondly refers to himself as “owner, operator, production coordinator [and] janitor of Art House.” It’s been about 15 years since the Art Gallery House’s inception, but Adler describes it in its current state: “It’s a celebration. It’s an art gallery. It’s a history center. It’s a museum. It’s all those things. You can’t really pin it down to one thing.” The venue is multifaceted; it means something different to everybody. But to Adler, it’s his stem; an extension of his ‘60s spirit.
In this sense, the addendum of “cultural center” is deliberate; Adler molds his venue to be a hub, to be something people feel comfortable collecting in. “We need a place to celebrate,” Adler says. “It’s a hippie funhouse… I want them to see beautiful things, beautiful colors and beautiful music… I want it to be casual… There’s no rules here.” There is responsibility in creating space, and Adler takes this obligation in stride.
Adler infuses his space with soul. His blood runs through the walls — Adler is the venue. This landing of his soul feels complete to him. “I’m just happy doing what I’m doing. You know, I think [we] are what we do… I did it and I’m doing it.” Adler’s found what remains largely unknown: purpose.
But perhaps the secret to purpose is that it’s ever-evolving. Adler explains, “I think we have to constantly evolve. I’m constantly evolving, I’m not just stuck here.” He’s restless, and it keeps him young. “Let’s move on. What’s next? What’s next?” he blurts out with a laugh.
But Adler has to contend with the fact that “what’s next?” might eventually outgrow him. He’s prepared for this natural process, however; he has leaves set to shed and form new roots elsewhere. “[Art Gallery] becomes my legacy. When I’m dead people will say, ‘Wow, that guy had a cool place.’”
Art House isn’t his only leaf; Adler’s photography carries his soul on. “Right now my photos are at the Getty Images in New York. They’re at the Bancroft Library [at] UC Berkeley. They’re at the Oakland Museum of California. And when I die, the California State Library in Sacramento will inherit my collection.”
Harold’s soul is a building block of Berkeley. It’s even published among us at The Daily Californian. Adler recalls, “I shot for the Daily Cal a really long time ago, like in the ‘90s or something like ‘71.” It might make one wonder, what spaces does one’s soul find refuge in?" The Daily Cal Article
