Edythe Boone has called Berkeley home for more than half of her 86 years, and she’s beautified the Bay Area for just as long. Her murals blend together a kind of utopia; community representation with a rainbow of people from all ages and stages of life, as well as music, art and nature. Together these elements represent the triumphs and the struggles that come with generations of systemic racism and gentrification, amounting to the displacement of many—particularly Black Americans.
In the hustle and bustle of life, many of us drive or walk past Boone’s mural on Ashby Avenue where it intersects with Ellis Street. To really appreciate the mural, which was completed in 2018 and rededicated this summer, it’s arguably worth pausing and taking in all the recognizable faces. One section depicts Eric Garner, Boone’s late nephew who was killed in 2014 after being placed in a chokehold following accusations of selling individual cigarettes. Other images include community activists, community gardeners, urban farmers, political leaders, unhoused people and even the trailblazing Betty Reid Soskin. Another section features the all-too-relatable slogan, “First they came for the homeless.”
“I’ve always done political work,” Boone says. “If I’m in a community and I see something that needs to be done, I do what I can to bring about change.”
With a paintbrush in hand, Boone immerses herself into the community, painting the kind of colorful imagery meant to make everyone feel at home—even those who are unsheltered and who have been displaced by rising rent costs. All of the love Boone poured into Berkeley didn’t spare her from being displaced from her favorite city after facing an eviction. Now, Berkeley is where Boone’s heart lives, but her home is more a state of mind than an actual place. Boone has been couch surfing across the Bay, spending days or weeks at a time with friends and relatives.
“I think a lot of people experience shame,” Boone says. “I did. I have never been in a position of not having my own place, and yet here I am.”
Boone says that the first friend she makes wherever she goes is always a tree.
“It’s stupid,” Boone says. “But I have always been attracted to trees. I love the base, the way the branches are situated, the way that there are lighter and darker shades of green. They’re like people or families. You’ve got people of different shades, but you still love them.”
Boone points out the trees to her daughter, Robyn Fant, also a senior citizen with a disability struggling to keep her own housing intact. As the Section 8 recertification process has moved online, it’s become difficult to get a call back from the people in the office. Fant doesn’t have a computer or an email address.
“A lot of us don’t have computer skills or access,” Fant says. “I wish someone would donate a computer, and I could get some classes to learn how to use one. It was a lot easier to keep up on everything for my housing when it was on paper.”
Fant worries about her mom and wishes she could do more to help her.
“It’s hard,” Fant says. “I’m trying to help my mom, but even I need support.”
Boone and Fant aren’t alone in their struggles and worries. In fact, they both fall into the demographic of California’s fastest growing unhoused population—those 55 and older. Appropriately, Boone’s mural, called “The Invisible Become Visible” sits across from the South Berkeley Senior Center on Ashby Avenue between Harper and Ellis. It came to life in 2018 with the help of community members from all walks of life. Rededicated this summer, the piece continues to tell an important story.
Victor Madevzenge serves as both an artist and a case manager for the unhoused population. Madevzenge’s image, located on the bottom right corner of the mural, coexists along with the images of many people in the community. Madevzenge remembers working on the mural with Boone and many unhoused members of the community.
“It’s hard to settle into an art project when you’re in survival mode,” Madevzenge says. “But [Edythe] managed to bring a level of comfort where people opened up and were very willing to participate in painting the mural.”
Madevzenge finds it sad and symbolic of a broken system when someone as successful and giving as Boone becomes a part of California’s unhoused population. “Every one of us will grow old,” he says. “The rising number of [previously successful] people becoming unhoused shows an issue with the structure of the system.”
Instead of fixating on her struggles, Boone pulls out her cell phone, which is filled with captivating images she captured from real life in hopes of transferring her visions to murals. The next mural will include rows of people from all walks of life. “They’ll come together like this,” she says while creating air-hearts with her hands. “That’s the artist in me talking.”
Boone painted her first mural in Harlem. Like all of her murals, it took on the theme of racial injustice. She already lived in California by the time her nephew, Eric Garner, died at the hands of New York Police, uttering the all-too-common last words, “I can’t breathe.” The truth about Garner is that he wouldn’t have been selling individual cigarettes if he wasn’t struggling to make ends meet. That’s the kind of systemic racial and class injustice to which Boone dedicated her life.
“I’ve always worried about my own children and my nephews and grandchildren, about what might happen to them if they’re stopped by police,” says Boone, the mother of four, with several grand and great-grandchildren.
“I worked multiple jobs as a single mom to keep my kids afloat,” she says. “They all turned out well, and none of them are in prison. I took for granted that we’d always have a place to live and food to eat. For a while things were improving, but now they’re changing back in the other direction.”
Boone says she intends to keep organizing and doing political work with her paintbrush until she dies. At the same time she aspires to make everyone feel at home with her murals—including those who are unhoused—by moving them to bloom where they’re planted. She also hopes to nudge them toward seeing the bigger world.
“I have friends from all over the place,” she says. “The next thing on my to-do list is to learn Spanish. A lot of people don’t know anything beyond the block they live on. It’s important that we at least get to know people who are different from us.”
Both Boone and her daughter, Fant, will likely vote “yes” on the “Justice for Renters” ballot measure in November, in hopes it spares more Californians from facing evictions or houselessness. Madevzenge says there’s a lot to be learned from the irony of Boone’s predicament.
“When elderly end up being destitute, especially the ones who have contributed so much to the community, there’s definitely an issue,” he says. “We need to rethink what it means to be in community and to be alive.”
To learn more about Boone, watch the documentary about her called ‘A New Color,’ which is streaming for free on Tubi. To help Boone, visit gofund.me/483eaaf3.
