This six-inch stone gargoyle — perched between two telephone poles on Orchard and Blake streets, near Porter Square — is charming most people. (Photo: Ken S. Kotch)

Many may be familiar with Disney’s rendition of the gargoyle archetype from the cartoon version of “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”: singing and dancing demonic effigies befriending social pariahs from cathedral roofs.

This is a rather campy view of these figures, which are normally used to ward off other creatures that go bump in the night with their own unsightly appearance.  Nevertheless, it’s an example of how these demon look-alikes are taking a warm place in our hearts.

A more local example: a six-inch stone gargoyle perched between two telephone poles on Orchard and Blake streets, near Porter Square. It rests eight feet from the ground on a block of wood holding the poles together. Walking down Orchard Street, the gargoyle is easy to miss; once you notice it, it is impossible to pass by without at least a furtive glance.

The sudden appearance of the gargoyle sparked a lot of local curiosity, but not much local legend. “I wait for my carpool on that corner,” said one passer-by. “I’ve looked at it every morning and wondered about it.”

Another observer, seeing the gargoyle for the first time, claimed, “It’s kind of disturbing… [it’s a] demonic symbol. It seems kind of like ‘Rosemary’s Baby.’”

It was a rare negative comment.  Most said the gargoyle was a great addition to the neighborhood. One Somervillian said, “It must be guarding the neighborhood. [I wonder] if it only guards the Cambridge side — we need one in Somerville.”

Katy Petersen, of Orchard Street, said, “Spontaneous art like that — I really like it. I think we need more of it.”

Residents who lived close to the perch were able to fill in the gaps of the gargoyle’s history. According to neighbor Sherry Oliver, Tim Fahey and wife Eileen lived in the corner house. Cantabrigians for almost nine years, the Faheys moved to Connecticut in August but didn’t want to give up their ties to the Porter Square neighborhood so abruptly.

They decided to contribute to the community something that had adorned their front stoop for many years: the gargoyle.

“Tim wanted it to sit up really high, but I guess that was the tallest ladder he could find,” a neighbor said.

The gargoyle has remained untouched for more than two months. Is it doing its job, deterring dark forces from the streets of Cambridge? Very possibly.

At least it’s more “Hunchback of Notre Dame” and less “The Incredible Journey.” The gargoyle hasn’t yet followed its family to Connecticut.

Dave Lewis’ dragon pokes his head into the living room of the filmmaker’s Porter Square home. (Photo: Ken S. Kotch)

Within filmmaker Dave Lewis’ eclectic art collection is a large dragon’s head descending from the stairwell of his studio apartment, clawed talons wrapped around the ledge of the ceiling, making the creature seem on the verge of pulling the rest of its body downward.

Though the dragon is inside Lewis’ apartment and usually difficult to see from the street, the display of it through the window at night, when lit, has a jarring effect on passers-by, to say the least.

“The original concept was to install some sort of device that would make the dragon smoke at the mouth and say something when you pushed a button,” said Lewis proudly, looking up at his brainchild. This dragon’s head was the first of many pieces Lewis commissioned from local artist Hilary Scott.

A frequenter of the Somerville Open Studios, Lewis discovered Scott’s work when he noticed a large dragon’s head mounted among other toylike pieces of art in Scott’s display. Immediately intrigued by the fantastical and childlike spirit emanating from it, Lewis asked Scott to create a customized version that would appear to be climbing down into his living room. The dragon’s head now looks over other fantastical creations of Lewis’ and Scott’s collaboration in what Lewis calls his “adult playroom.” They include wire hanger sculptures of flirtatious couples and an outlandish 3-D mural of a cityscape.

“We are the sum total of our experiences, of our ages, and there is a certain comfort that resonates in the childhood associations with images we have. I find that comfort here because a lot of these pieces show a childlike view of my world, and they all have a strong sense of play,” Lewis said.

Lewis’ appreciation of art stemmed from a family background in the trade; his mother and grandmother were artists. Lewis views himself as a patron of the arts, but no expert in art history. Though modest about his own artistic notions, he is rather serious about what the art he collects says about him.

“Art is whatever turns me on,” he said. “I’m a doer by nature, and where I haven’t had the talent to do, I’ve hired someone else to realize my vision.” 

This same collaborative philosophy is essential to Lewis’s filmmaking experience, as a producer of the critically acclaimed feature “Everybody’s Got One” and as the screenwriter and director of the new short “Spaghetti and Matzo Balls.”  Both are comedic movies that, like his art collection, challenge their viewers to come out and play.

The dragon is at 58 Regent St. in Porter Square.

Perhaps recently, on one of your last midafternoon walks of the season, you’ve ambled down past Longfellow Park toward the Charles and happened upon an ash-blue house that somehow catches your eye. It takes a second glance before figuring out what made you skip that step, but there you notice an odd but attractive assortment of knickknacks in each of the first-story window frames.

The first is a small clay figurine of a yellow- and red-clad superhero; the second is a postcard with a Man Ray photo of alluring lips; the third is a small paper house with a crumbling pillar at its side; the fourth a rusty entity composed of nails and wood; and, if you happened to have been brazenly nosey and ventured around the side of the house, the fifth window holds a spectacular wire sculpture of a bicycle.

Matthew Frederick and girlfriend Sorche Fairbank are to thank for entertaining you or piquing your curiosity for those few moments on your way toward the river. Their home at 199 Mount Auburn St. serves as a base for each of their businesses, an architecture design studio and literary agency, respectively. They admit having observed many passers-by stopping to ponder the display.

 “I just wasn’t sure if they were looking at the knickknacks or at our flowerboxes,” Fairbank said. 

The knickknacks admittedly differ from the usual wreath or stained glass hanging as window décor. They each share a personal story about their owners to an audience of anyone who cares to look.

“They were me, in a way,” said Frederick after pondering a moment.

The clay superhero is an homage to a character the couple made up as an inside joke: “Helpman.” With his handy feather duster and rubber gloves in hand, Helpman is ready for any task at hand. Fairbank made it and gave it to Frederick.

“This postcard is something Sorche sent me years ago, probably with some sentimental love note on the back,” said Frederick, glancing at Fairbank.

The other knickknacks don’t have as much to tell about the couple’s relationship as about each of their lives individually. The paper house was part of a model Frederick made in his design studio, and the rusty entity was identified as a piece of a bridge from a former hometown. The last decoration came from Fairbanks’ travels to Singapore.

“I don’t know,” Fairbank said, “I guess what few knickknacks we had ended up in the windows.”

After another knowing glance between the couple, Frederick remarked, “But these knickknacks were not so much about decorating the house as much as decorating the public space.”

And, instead of keeping the public space impersonal, decorating what public space they can with intriguing anecdotes about their lives.

David Tonnesen’s “Torso” sculpture adorns the Rose Institute’s yard on Elm Street. Owner Ayn Rose had envisioned a classic Greek form. (Photo: Alex Mavradis)

A stone’s throw from mundane Star Market on Elm Street, in a well-tended garden, there is a form of pure energy and stainless steel lifting from the earth in a graceful arc of flight.

Ayn Rose, owner of “ Torso,” hopes people will view the piece as a reflection of what she does at the Rose Institute, which offers massage and holistic healing, but primarily an approach to yoga that teaches how the body can use neglected muscles.

The institute began in a book of intentions, a collection of ideas, drawings and clippings Rose put together to help her more clearly picture her goals. She envisioned a small garden with a feminine form; the figure there now is not the classic Greek form in that vision.

She trusted the artist, though, and is delighted with the results.

That may be because the artist, David Tonnesen, says he takes a lot of his inspiration from his clients and wants his art to be a reflection of who his clients are.

Tonnesen is a longtime member and resident of the Brickbottom artists’ community in Somerville. He started out creating jewelry, but his pieces kept getting larger. Tonnesen says his shop mate, Obie Simonis, encouraged him to explore the larger medium of sculpture. Tonnesen, working in light and metal, has since produced more than 40 larger pieces, including the signature fish outside Legal Sea Food’s Boston headquarters.

“Torso” is less literal.

“All of us cling to preconceived notions of our limitation. At the Rose Institute, we promise to guide, push, coach or battle you into letting them go,” says Rose’s mission statement, making the soaring sculpture about breaking through boundaries, reaching toward dreams and aspirations.

Although Rose has been teaching yoga for 26 years, she opened the doors of the institute and installed “Torso” a little over five years ago. The house is a work in progress. She replaced the concrete in the front yard with blue stone, changed the fence and picked plants for the garden in cool blue tones. She hopes the community sees her garden and the sculpture as a welcoming landmark.

“Torso” can be viewed at 134 Elm St. The exhibit is always open.