Land's work (among others) pretty much proved that we can make sense out of just about anything. The human eye is, from an engineering standpoint, a mediocre device at best, but it's backed up by a pretty amazing processing system: the visual cortex. I've known people whose first indication of color vision deficiency was when the nice fellows at the recruiting station told them that they couldn't get into an electronics trade because they couldn't see the "29" on the PIPIC card.
I'll assume that you aren't asking about using a luminance-only sensor (one that doesn't have factory-installed color filtration, like a Bayer matrix or a Foveon sensor), and so aren't too worried about how many exposures with how many filters it would take to make a color photograph.
In the strictly bio-optical sense, all we need to worry about (assuming we have adequate color vision ourselves) is removing our own adaptation biases from the entire workflow. That means reasonably well-calibrated monitors (critical calibration is only necessary when matching off-screen color references, like Pantone swatches or product samples; for most purposes "close enough" really is close enough) and examining output (prints or transparencies) under full-spectrum, daylight-balanced lighting (which will minimize intracranial post-processing -- our eyes evolved to work in daylight). It's a good idea, too, to take a break and revisit a picture with "fresh eyes" from time to time when post-processing -- we can easily fool ourselves into seeing more or less contrast or hue shift than is actually there due to habituation and concentration.
Because our eyes do not feature apochromatic correction, it would be a good idea to avoid hard color transistions (edges) that cause scintillation where possible, like red against blue. Since our eyes can't focus those two colors on the same plane, a two-dimensional representation of something that looks perfectly natural out in the real world (because the red and blue things are at different distances) will cause our autofocus to hunt and introduce luminance artifacts. Uluru (Ayer's Rock) at sunset from the sunlit side on a clear day is beautiful -- almost beyond imagining -- but a picture of it is really hard on the eyes. A few clouds or a less-saturated sky can largely eliminate the scintillation. (The Expressionists exploited this fact deliberately to make skies appear brighter than they could actually be painted. You can use scintillation in the same way, but it's an effect you'd want to avoid most of the time -- particularly when working in-studio.)
Our perception of color also depends on context. That is, we perceive a color differently depending on the colors around it.
That's much more of a problem for an artist trying to paint something realistically than it is a photographer's problem. For instance, if you're trying to paint a still life in a low-key old masters chiaroscuro style, that lemon will never look right until you stop trying to use the bright lemon yellow you think you see and start using a muddy, toned-down yellow ochre. Most of the lemon will be a mid grey-brown barely biased towards yellow, but in the context of the surrounding colors it looks bright yellow.
On the other hand, if you were to paint the same still life, but with a light background and in a high key, getting the lemon to look the same bright yellow would mean using a bright lemon yellow pigment (which is not just brighter, but cooler) for much of the body of the lemon, and shadow and highlight colors would need to be cooler as well. Context changes a lot.
In straight photography, this is a self-resolving problem most of the time. If you get the exposure right, the colors will look right in their actual context. (There may be some issues because our eyes see a wider dynamic range than we can fit into the final color space, but that's not a color perception problem.) You may notice some odd/unexpected colors popping up in your pallette when you spot the image in post, but as long as you're selecting from nearby it's not something you need to give a lot of consideration to.
It's when you want to make wholesale changes that contextual color shift comes into play in a big way. That big block of OMG turn it down kindergarten-blocks orange in your original image becomes a weak, insipid pink or a dark, bloody crimson when you swap out the original background. It's something you'll notice right away. It may be a bit of surprise when you first see it, but it's not a "real" problem -- you're going to adjust the background color or the subject curves until the image looks right to you. (Color spill, where reflected light from the background becomes part of the lighting of the subject, is a separate issue.)
The only time context becomes a real problem is when you need to hit spot color targets for a client (real, or imaginary if you're trying to learn the craft), and that's usually a situation where you either are or should be working with an art director who has at least half a clue, and the problems that arise are often not with the photography, but with the juxtaposition of your photography with other elements on the page/screen. Depending on the scene, you may have to make a choice between making the logo on the product package look right or be right. If it looks right, you might have to arrange things so that it doesn't come too close to the spot-color printed logo (the location of which is often a part of the official corporate look; see the client's communications manual). If the main color of what you record needs to be an actual match to the Pantone process version of the official color (again, see the comms manual), then you may have some restrictions on how you shoot the scene and what else can be included in it. Again, you should be working with an AD (or someone who has the capacity to make decisions on behalf of the client), and you may have to tell them they can't have what they originally wanted due to some real technical limitations -- but you'll be showing them the problem on-screen.
One last thing, mostly for interior/architectural photography: mixed lighting. Our eyes are pretty good at reconciling mixed lighting; cameras are not. There's a reason why you can get sort-of-nd, blue and amber gels (probably mylar or acetate rather than real gels) in large, wide rolls -- they're for covering windows. If you're shooting an exterior but want to show the interior lighting (and it's not dark out yet), you'd cover the interior of the windows with weak blue gels to cool down tungsten or warm-balanced interior lighting a bit (just a bit -- you probably want warm, but not bright orange). Shooting an interior during the daytime, you'd want to use amber on the window exterior if the interior lighting is tungsten or warm-balanced fluorescent. This assumes that you need, for one reason or another, to use the actual lighting in place -- either because it's a feature you want to capture, or because it's the only practical way of lighting the whole space. This is pretty high-end stuff, though; you need a gel budget and a crew.
As diurnal critters, we are also biased towards color temperature. A warm (red/yellow) balance, as naturally occurs at the beginning and end of the day, tends to evoke a somewhat more relaxed attitude, while a cool (blue/green) balance puts us in a more serious mood (as it should if daytime food gathering is a priority). That being said, warmth plus very high contrast means firelight at night, which can either be intimate or spooky. In the natural world, we learned that bright colors mean either "really dangerous" or "really good to eat"; either way, they're meant to draw our attention, and still do. But that's about the end of the physiological and evolutionary stuff.
Most of the other effects of color are culturally and personally biased, and here you are stepping well out of the world of hardware into the world of software. It wouldn't matter a whit if humans had three or thirty-seven different classes of cones for data gathering if, culturally, red still meant "stop" and green still meant "go" and the two together still meant "Christmas" (which, in turn, means something completely different to those for whom Christmas invokes warm family feelings and to those who feel loneliness or cultural isolation at that particular time of the year).
If you are looking for universals, well, the best you can hope for is a sort of regional consensus, and straying too far outside of your own experience is going to be like speaking a foreign language -- you're probably going to miss a lot of the subtleties, nuances and connotations that a native "speaker" of that color culture experiences. Unlike language, though, you're probably not going to run across too many people who are willing to "listen" and try to make sense of what you're trying to say.
Even among people with a common culture, you can't count on common experience. Colors that are strongly evocative to you may be the next best thing to meaningless to the fellow next door, or you may find that your attempt to echo the little red wagon awakens memories of fire trucks, riots and looting among your not-so-suburban audience.
All you can do is say what you mean to say in a way that makes sense to you. Others will see what they see, and you can't really force them to see what you do without the photographic equivalent of explaining the punchline. All art is abstraction; the meaning is up to the viewer. As an artist, you can only ever convey the most superficial meaning directly (what the subject is and what the subject is doing -- the journalistic aspects). Everything else is the audience participation portion of the program, and the audience will bring their own cultural and personal experiences and biases with them.