Color catastrophe!

There are 199 schools in the Montgomery County school system: 129 elementary schools, 68 middle schools, 25 high schools and seven vocational schools. Out of this impressive armada of buildings, it's probably safe to say that Montgomery Blair's takes the title for "funkiest." Sure, the brick and sandstone facade lends a stately and serious air to our building, but who is it really trying to fool? All it takes is one peek into the wild, Seussian landscape within and that illusion is shattered.

The curvy walls, the fang-shaped light fixtures and that insultingly large clock overlooking the stairs (get to class!) all suggest that Ronald McDonald designed our school, and as a playground extension for the Mickey D's across the street. (That would certainly explain all the contraband bags of Chicken Selects that turn up after lunchtime.) But more so than the disorienting tango of oddly placed walls, it's perhaps the garish color scheme that truly distinguishes Blair.

Now, this is by no means a jab at our decorators. Seriously, they did a good job. In the Western world, bright red and green is typically the cue to break out some hideous reindeer sweaters and get drunk. But not at Blair. Here, by some magic of the Duron gods, the setting is less "eggnog and Santa Claus" and more "Green Eggs and Ham."

Take the ceiling along Blair Boulevard. It's green. (Well, to be more accurate, it's "Poseidon." Or "Cilantro," depending on where you buy your paint.) How strange to look up and see, instead of comforting white, a panorama of tiles that should belong on a bathroom floor somewhere. It's really a bit nauseating. Or like someone who just got nauseated. All over the ceiling.

But it's not just art for art's sake at Blair. Our colors serve a purpose beyond aesthetics. The firecracker reds and radioactive greens in the hallways? It's all a ploy to get you to class. Bright colors are supposed to inspire restlessness, says Ed Nuhfer, director of the Center for Teaching and Learning at Iowa State. "In a hallway," he says, "that's sensible because you want people moving through to come to rest in a room that is more inviting."

Part of Nuhfer's job is surveying classrooms and assessing how well they function as educational spaces. In the process, he has digested hundreds of articles and textbooks about design, color and lighting. Not all made sense. "Quite a bit of the literature I saw was little more than conjecture by crackpots," he says.

Still, some of the advice does seem to resonate on a gut level, like the claim that classrooms should be painted in two colors: one bold for the front of the room, and one drab for the other three walls. (Notice that in nearly every classroom at Blair, the one wall that isn't painted "Surprise Peach" is the one with the front board.) The rationale is that this color scheme makes taking notes easier, by focusing the eyes when they flicker from notes to the board.

But the Western design books that Nuhfer surveyed offered no input on the hues themselves — no explanation for why our classroom walls are upset-stomach green, instead of say, toilet-bowl blue. To fill the vacuum, I'd like to advance a pet theory of my own. According to ancient feng shui wisdom, the salmon pink of our classrooms is supposed to create an aura of marriage, love and roses; the teal promotes tranquility and relaxation. By this rhetoric, we are constantly being bombarded with subliminal chi­-messages to either flirt with our neighbor, or doze off. Sounds about right to me.

Other Perspectives:

Not everybody believes our school looks like a kiddie carnival with an open tap. The DesignShare architecture web site raves that Blair's "creative use of turquoise ceiling tiles in lieu of traditional white, the curving, deep red walls along Blair Boulevard, and the mix of several other warm colors throughout the facility are just a few examples of the designer's creativity and innovation."

Assistant Principal Suzanne Harvey, too, praises Blair's vibrant colors and unique design. "[Blair] is just so comfortable to be in and move around in," she says. Harvey's favorite spot in the school is the third floor landing overlooking Blair Boulevard. There, enveloped in Blair's turquoise and red, she finds a sense of peace. Harvey loves to watch sunrises from that vantage. "The feeling of the sun and the clouds and the sky surrounding you, it's like you're anywhere but here," she says.