art

The multidisciplinary artist rafa esparza was maybe 19 and in the break room of the now-defunct Orchard Supply Hardware in Pasadena when he first found out about the revolutionary art group Asco. It was the early 2000s, and he was working full-time while going to school part-time at East Los Angeles College. He’d bring his homework to his job, and an older colleague, Ignacio, took interest in the books he was reading — mostly about Chicana/o studies and art.

Ignacio grew up in East L.A., and showed esparza a big manila envelope stuffed with incredible sketches and drawings by Glugio “Gronk” Nicandro. Gronk, a friend of Ignacio, was one of the founding members of Asco, which roared to life as an unapologetically Chicano organization in the early 1970s and was made up of East L.A. natives including Patssi Valdez, Harry Gamboa Jr. and Willie Herrón.

Esparza is now among two generations of L.A. Chicano and Mexican artists who have passed the torch that Asco used to blaze its groundbreaking trail. The story of the art group and its descendants, also including Maria Maea and San Cha, is featured in the new documentary, “Asco: Without Permission.” Executive produced by Gael García Bernal and Diego Luna, the film premiered last year at SXSW and arrives on TV for the first time at 7 p.m. Friday as part of PBS SoCal’s “Voces” series (plus PBS.org and the PBS app).

The beginning of a movement

When Asco first coalesced, Gamboa Jr. went to Los Angeles County Museum of Art and noticed a striking absence of Chicano pieces. In the film, he recounts how, after his concerns were dismissed by a higher-up at LACMA, Asco decided to take matters into its own hands. The group came back later that evening and tagged the building with their names (“Spray Paint LACMA,” 1972), effectively reclaiming the entire museum as a work of Chicano art.

1/7

The No-Movie “Chicano Cinema,” starring Harry Gamboa Jr.  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

2/7

A group shot of the art group Asco. From left to right: Willie Herrón, Gronk, Patssi Valdez and Harry Gamboa Jr.  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

3/7

Members of the art group Asco pose in Malibu. From left to right: Gronk, Patssi Valdez, Willie Herón and Harry Gamboa Jr.  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

4/7

Patssi Valdez poses with her golden No-Movie Award, a parody of the Academy Awards, protesting the lack of Latino representation in Hollywood.  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

5/7

The Asco No-Movie “The Gores (Whittier Blvd + Ax)” (1974).  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

6/7

The Asco No-Movie “Star” (1980), starring Patssi Valdez.  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

7/7

A still photo of the Asco performance piece “Birds Wave Goodbye,” from 1972.  (Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

Asco’s work remained in relative obscurity — living in local mythology through storytellers like Ignacio — for decades. Then, in 2011, LACMA‘s views evolved and the museum gave Asco its first major retrospective, “Elite of the Obscure.” Documentary writer and director Travis Gutiérrez Senger came across press coverage of the retrospective and felt immediately drawn to the group, connected “on almost a cellular level.”

But it wasn’t until Trump’s first run for presidency and subsequent election, when his language around Latinos and immigrants dangerously sharpened, that Gutiérrez Senger knew in his gut that he needed to make this film now.

What set Asco apart was the fact that it was an art group, not a singular artist, working in tandem to react to social and political realities, including the 1968 East L.A. walkouts, the 1970 Chicano Moratorium, the Vietnam War, police brutality and gang violence.

“I would have never done the film if it wasn’t a collective,” Gutiérrez Senger said. “The thing about art history — and in literature and film — we often canonize individuals. When I saw Asco and it was a group, and they’re [on] the cover of Artforum or at the Whitney … that to me was really, really captivating. And, I thought, also very constructive.

“This isn’t just a group; this is a metaphor for how we mobilize and change,” Gutiérrez Senger remembers thinking.

Art as action

Asco was a fecund ecosystem, as is the close-knit community of contemporary artists following in its footsteps. The documentary recounts the history of the original group while heeding its call to action by collaborating with next-gen artists to carry the tradition forward. In 2023, Gutiérrez Senger curated a pop-up exhibition — featured in the film — alongside Pilar Tompkins Rivas, called “Asco and the Next Gen: An Inter-Generational Celebration of Latinx Art.” “Asco and the Next Gen” included esparza, Maria Maea, San Cha, Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya, Guadalupe Rosales, Gabriela Ruiz and Dorian Wood.

“When you’re deeply collaborating with folks, and you’re in each other’s mediums and you’re sharing thoughts, and you’re thinking together, conceptualizing together, birthing a project together from scratch, you really have to step beside yourself, and understand that this is something that you’re co-creating,” esparza said. “Versus, I think art teaches us to center the single voice, the singular author of an artwork. And my experience of life, of art-making, has been the complete opposite: I think that we’re constantly reflecting each other.”

Esparza’s contribution to that 2023 pop-up was called “Corpo RanfLA: Terra Cruiser” and was originally staged outside the fairgrounds of Art Basel Miami a year prior. The L.A. version took place in the parking lot of an Arts District strip mall. Esparza bounced. He lay in a prone position, arms extended, body ensconced in gold and green lowrider armature, adhered to a blue bike frame, rocking on a 25-cent mechanical ride mechanism. The early connections esparza had with Asco resonated deeply in his relationship to art-making.

“They’re guerrilla, not asking for permission, just doing what they wanted to do with the help of their collective efforts,” esparza said. “That’s an ethos that’s very present in my own performance work, and it’s something that I hold very dear to me. It’s something that I always want to protect, in terms of how the art industry so powerfully commodifies everything you make as artists. I feel like performance still holds this power to really resist that, depending on how we will it into being.”

The interdisciplinary artist Maria Maea (left) and the filmmaker Travis Gutierrez Senger (right), writer and director of “Asco: Without Permission,” pose at Barker Block. Maea is featured in the film, in which she and Gutierrez Senger collaborated on a new “No-Movie,” titled “Pasado/Futuro.”

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Moving pictures are part of the revolt

Asco also had an interest in film. The art group members didn’t see themselves — or Chicanos or Latinos — represented in Hollywood, so they did it themselves, subverting a movie into a single still photograph that became its own story; an implied narrative. These, featured in the documentary, were called No-Movies.

In addition to the “Asco and the Next Gen” pop-up exhibition, Gutiérrez Senger and the filmmaking team invited multidisciplinary artist Maria Maea, San Cha, musician Fabi Reyna and Mexico City-based Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya to create new No-Movies, also featured in the film, in response to Asco’s original No-Movies.

Maea first learned about Asco through esparza, too. He’s a mentor of sorts to her (they’re part of the same “interlocked brown community,” she says), and they were making adobe bricks together on the banks of the L.A. River for esparza’s 2017 Whitney Biennial installation when he told her the story about the hardware store and the manila envelope.

“They had a finite amount of resources, and they took this cinematic film lens or film camera film and shot these stills,” Maea said. “I think for me, it was so beautiful to see the infinity that could happen in front of it, the story that could happen behind it. It felt like we were just seeing this snapshot of a beautiful cinematic moment.”

The documentary’s new No-Movies are slightly longer, but still snippets of less than five minutes. The main character of Maea’s “Pasado/Futuro” No-Movie, the Being, sprang from the show “L.A. Fonts,” in the artist Alfonso Gonzalez Jr.’s backyard. (“Pasado/Futuro” also includes a group of kids working in a garage, meant to emulate Asco’s own garage origins — and to represent the next next gen. Its cast includes Maea’s younger sister, Ariel-Evelia Tuilaepa Diaz.) The Being is alien, mystical and magical, a migrant finding her way in a new world. (Maea often works with palm weaving, incorporated here, and palms have their own migration story to L.A.)

A still from “Pasado/Futuro,” one of the contemporary No-Movies in the film, featuring Maria Maea as The Being.

(Asa Nisi Masa Films / PBS)

“Something that really intrigued me was their sci-fi aspect of this film,” Maea said of Asco. “Like, they lived in a real world where they were experiencing the Chicano Moratorium, they’re experiencing violence in the streets, and they were also experiencing … the news projected back at them, that they were the issue,” stranger-than-fiction scenarios they synthesized into sometimes-futuristic or dystopian work.

Composer and performer San Cha’s No-Movie, “Luna,” made together with the musician Fabi Reyna, began as a song San Cha had written for a friend who had died; she had had a dream of him on the moon. In collaboration with Gutiérrez Senger, the No-Movie evolved into a piece about a lover, played by Reyna. Now, “Luna” is tender and otherworldly, drenched in the high drama and glamour that San Cha so loves.

San Cha was born in San José, then moved to San Francisco, where she was taken in by the Bay Area drag scene — specifically by her drag mother Per Sia, who’s still there. (San Cha recently relocated to Amsterdam.)

“She is from South-Central, but she studied art, visual art,” San Cha said. “She was a photographer, and she really got into the drag scene, and she was super familiar with Asco. We would do these processions in the Mission, from the Mission to the Castro … and she would always mention Asco in these moments.”

That’s likely because Asco’s early performances, as the art historian and curator C. Ondine Chavoya points out in the film, emphasized procession, mobility, mobilization and occupation, marking sites of political violence. Once San Cha moved to L.A., she found community quickly, too. She met Maea — with whom she made a video, “Coatlicue,” for the Music Center’s For the Love of L.A. program — and later lived with esparza.

“We can’t really perform in a vacuum,” San Cha said. “I can’t imagine doing this by myself, ever.… When I moved to L.A., there’s someone for everything.… And that way I didn’t feel the need to do everything alone. And even though in L.A. it was a little more professional, there’s so many people that are just like family.”

A still from “Luna,” one of the contemporary No-Movies in the film, featuring Fabi Reyna (left) and San Cha (right).

(Asa Nisi Masa Films)

When Gutiérrez Singer first started making this film, he thought that it — and Asco itself — was about saying “f— you” to the systems and institutions and racism that give us asco. (“Asco” means nausea or disgust in Spanish.)

“But at the end of the project, I started looking at the work and myself and the artists I had made the film with, and just seeing this incredible beauty and love,” he said. “And I realized that the power of Asco’s work is ultimately about self-love, and that when you feel that — and you can feel almost a collective sense of self-love as brown people — it gives you incredible potential and strength.”

The leader of the world’s biggest band is nervous.

“I think I revised this speech about 10 times, but somehow the more I worked on it, the more confused I became, like always,” said K-pop star and BTS rapper RM on Tuesday at a preview of a show he has co-curated at San Francisco Museum of Modern Art called “RM x SFMOMA: Between You and Me”

Three years ago, RM held an anonymous show in South Korea, but this is the first proper exhibition he has staged. For many of his fans — some of whom wait outside the museum trying to get a glimpse of him — his favorite activities, including museum-hopping, bicycling and being out in nature, come as no surprise. There is even a word for it: “namjooning,” a play on the singer’s first name, Namjoon. But still, the exhibition is the rare chance to view RM as a serious art collector; someone who values Korean identity in art but also loves works from many genres, eras and countries.

Philip Guston, Untitled (Red and Black Book), 1969; from the collection of RM.

(The Estate of Philip Guston / Hauser & Wirth)

Dressed in a gray T-shirt, dark collared shirt and leather pants, RM’s hair is a light burnt sienna color matching the fur of the stylized tiger on the screen behind him. From a 17th century painting by Lee Won-chan, it’s from his personal collection of more than 400 artworks. For this exhibition, 142 pieces owned by RM will be shown alongside 36 works from SFMOMA for a total of 178 works on display.

RM sees “Between You and Me” as an introduction to his inner life and reflection of contrasting aspects of his personality, whether as a public figure interacting with his adoring fans or an erudite intellectual and avid reader with a reputation as a clumsy and lovable goofball.

RM was on a hiatus from BTS and on the cusp of beginning his mandatory military service in South Korea when SFMOMA first approached him for the project two years ago. As it came to fruition, he sought to answer two main questions when contemplating which works of his collection to share with the public.

Does the artwork move him deeply? And, if the work is from a noncontemporary artist, does the piece have something to communicate in 2026?

“In an age where everything is consumed so fast,” RM explained, “I believe the attitudes of some of the past artists can resonate even more deeply today.

“I’ve always dreamed of seeing different places, times, boundaries and backgrounds all mixed together in harmony,” he continued. “It could be a mess because I’ve never formally studied, and I’m not a ‘curator, curator,’ but in any field sometimes an outsider can bring in a new breeze.”

Wonwoo Lee, “Candy,” 2023; from the collection of RM

(Wonwoo Lee / PKM Gallery)

It’s not RM’s first time working with a museum. In 2023, he partnered with Los Angeles County Museum of Modern Art to provide guided audio narration for “The Space Between: The Modern in Korean Art”.

At SFMOMA, RM was joined in his effort by two co-curators: SFMOMA project manager América Castillo and assistant curator of painting and sculpture Hyoeun Kim.

Kim, who has long championed Korean artists internationally, was particularly impressed with the diversity of Korean art that RM has amassed, including its “remarkable range.”

“His collection began with 6th century works, moved through the Joseon Dynasty, and continued to major Korean modern and contemporary art. It spans nearly 1,500 years,” Kim said during the preview.

The show is arranged in eight parts and begins with a large white wall at the entrance with the title of the show scrawled in RM’s handwriting. Handwritten touches are found everywhere — “Plz take it in with your eyes and heart” is scribbled on the floor in both English and Korean. The wall text for each piece, which also includes a QR code for audio narration, is composed by RM in both languages.

An inscription on the floor of an SFMOMA exhibit curated by RM of BTS features RM’s writing as part of the wall (and floor) text.

(Christine Terrisse.)

Guests will also receive a zine-style pamphlet with the same homespun appeal explaining each of the eight sections in RM’s words alongside a diagram of the room.

“Blue Water” centers the work of Kim Whanki, the late globe-trotting abstract artist and the first RM says he “fell for.” In addition to Whanki and works by Vija Celmins and Tony Feher, some RM fans might recognize one of Roni Horn’s glass cylinder sculptures from a now-archived Instagram post where it was casually displayed in RM’s apartment.

There’s even a room filled with especially eclectic pieces called “i don’t know..but i like it.” By way of explanation, RM said, “Sometimes I don’t really know why I collected all these things.”

The last room, “Umber” or “Dasaek” (referring to the color of Korean rice fields) might be the most meaningful to the singer. It features works by the late artist Yun Hyong-keun, for whom RM has a particular personal affinity. The cover for his debut solo studio album, “Indigo,” depicts Hyong-keun’s 1972 painting “Blue,” and the album’s lead track, “Yun,” a collaboration with Erykah Badu, kicks off with recorded dialogue from the artist.

Back in 2018, around the same time RM began his art journey with not much formal training in art history, co-curator Castillo began her career with SFMOMA.

At the time, she was in awe of the power of art to connect with people, but frustrated that more people from unconventional backgrounds weren’t being given opportunities to curate major shows, thereby shaping the stories told. Her work on this exhibition is part of a continuing mission to bridge the art world and the ordinary person.

Chang Ucchin, “Road,” 1986, from RM’s collection.

(Chang Ucchin Foundation / Seoul Auction)

This mission guided her through the process of selecting works by famous artists from SFMOMA’s collection to contextualize RM’s pieces from lesser-known but equally important names.

“The first time we pulled a list on the SFMOMA side, we had like 500 options we then dwindled down,” she said in an interview while standing in the “Umber” room. “There were some artworks and specific artists that we knew from the get-go we wanted to be in the show. We wanted them to have a moment. Mark Rothko was definitely one of them.”

The sole Rothko piece in SFMOMA’s collection, “No. 14,” (1960) is featured in one of the final rooms in the exhibition. Adjacent to it is “untitled” (1986-90) by Hyong-keun. In the exhibit pamphlet, RM notes that Hyong-keun’s paintings are often compared to Rothko’s, but “their darkness is not the same.” “To my eyes, if Rothko’s darkness is one that ‘opens’ then Yun’s is the darkness that remains after he endured everything he possibly could,” he writes.

As RM steps into the spotlight of the art world, he is learning to become comfortable with the uncomfortable in-between spaces he occupies. “I started this with an innocent heart. As I’m standing here talking to you, I still feel like I’m always drifting and floating somewhere, ” he said, adding that the feeling comes when he’s in the U.S. but also when he’s in his hometown of Seoul. “It’s not a very pleasant feeling. I think I’ve leaned on art a lot because of that feeling.”

Before the preview, BTS fans, called the ARMY, passed out small gifts to the press, and afterward donors lined up for a special reception. RM’s mother, father and sister even arrived to celebrate, but he didn’t have much time to hang around. He was scheduled to depart for Bogotá, Colombia, to join his bandmates on the Latin American leg of their ARIRANG stadium world tour.

It is time to leave the quiet of the museum for the roar of the crowd.

“RM SFMOMA: Between You and Me” opens to the public on Oct 3, and runs through Feb.7, 2027. For more information visit sfmoma.org

Academy Award-winning filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu and Pop artist Ed Ruscha have a long history of admiring each other’s work. Twenty-four years ago, a nervous Iñárritu visited Ruscha’s Venice studio to offer him the role of the gynecologist in “21 Grams.” They needed a doctor with noble features and blue, believable eyes. That plan didn’t pan out, schedule-wise, but the filmmaker and the artist finally found a way to collaborate.

The result — a Ruscha-designed poster for Iñárritu’s new film “Digger,” starring Tom Cruise — was unveiled Sunday at an intimate brunch at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, attended by Iñárritu, Ruscha and Cruise, as well as “Digger” actors John Goodman, Jesse Plemons, Michael Stuhlbarg and Ross Hatt.

Iñárritu and Cruise laughed as they made a clumsy attempt at a countdown before whipping aside a black velvet curtain to reveal the poster for the first time: a very Ruscha, text-heavy work on a slate gray background with a beige border. A looming ice shelf in the background is surrounded by phrases including, “A Man. A Plan. A Meltdown,” and “Comedy equals tragedy plus time.”

Filmmaker Alejandro Iñárritu and “Digger” star Tom Cruise unveil Ed Ruscha’s new poster for the film. (They just pulled off the black velvet curtain on the floor below.)

(Kevin Garrison)

“Well, the movie blew my hair back,” Ruscha said at the unveiling brunch inside LACMA’s new (still unopened) restaurant, with LACMA Director and Chief Executive Michael Govan by his side. “And not only that, it parted it down the middle. It has since grown back.”

The crowd laughed knowingly. “Digger,” which opens Friday, is a satirical black comedy that follows oil tycoon Digger Rockwell as one of his drilling rigs in Greenland explodes, dislodging an ice shelf that floats away to cause a global disaster. As a dark parable for the dangers of climate change, the film has already proved polarizing, with early reviews coming in mixed.

Ruscha noted that he first saw “Digger” at a screening about six months ago, alongside Govan. “I knew I had seen an epic production, an epic product from an epic producer,” Ruscha said. “So I jumped at the idea of doing the poster. And I thought about it, and I think about this movie, and it reminded me of a kaleidoscope. It’s got so many running-around ideas. It was kaleidoscopic in its message, and its content and its humor.”

Ruscha turned his attention to Iñárritu, “It’s got something to offer to the world, and I thank you for that.”

The filmmaker loved the poster, and the fact that the ice shelf sat front and center.

From left to right — “Digger” actors John Goodman and Jesse Plemons, filmmaker Alejandro G. Iñárritu, artist Ed Ruscha, actor Tom Cruise, LACMA director Michael Govan and actors Ross Hatt and Michael Stuhlbarg — pose with Ruscha’s new poster for the film.

(David Jon)

“The billing is nature: We are human beings, we are in a war against nature,” Iñárritu said — describing what he feels the poster relays — in a phone interview from Mexico City a day before the event. “We think that we are different from nature. So nature, in a way, becomes our enemy. We are fighting a fight against nature, and the enemy is an ice shelf going to Europe. And he just put [that] in the center of it, [like] a disaster movie, which is very clever, as he always is.”

“Those decisions that he made with a very prominent element in a simple way, with one or two words, it just says so much with so little,” Iñárritu continued. “And then he [put] some lines around [it], very Ruscha, that in a way convey the spine or the character itself.”

The director had the same feelings two years ago, at LACMA’s Ruscha retrospective. He said so much with so little, Iñárritu thought, and that “less is more” thinking could hold so much power in a film poster.

Iñárritu, too, has been exhibited at LACMA: earlier this year, with the film installation “Sueño Perro,” a resurrection of lost footage from “Amores Perros;” and in 2017-2018, with the virtual reality installation “CARNE y ARENA,” which explored the human condition of immigrants and refugees.

The director’s collaboration with Ruscha is proof of concept for LACMA’s annual Art + Film gala, entering its 15th year, which seeks to highlight and strengthen the connections between film and visual art by bringing the two communities together at a splashy party — often creating lasting connections between the two groups.

Both Ruscha and Iñárritu have been honored at the gala, the former in 2012 (with Stanley Kubrick) and the latter in 2015 (with James Turrell). “This is a beautiful encounter of art and film,” Govan said at the unveiling.

“Digger” has evolved over nine years, Iñárritu said. It’s been a long journey of taking note of current events, including where the world is going, as well as people’s obsessions and fears.

“The film is a love letter for the young generation,” Iñárritu said. “I think it’s kind of a warning, or a wake-up call. But you can have fun about it, because it’s the only way to — humor allows us to have space and recognize ourselves in that absurdity. So I feel that it’s a human, urgent, now film.”

Lego fans can explore the original Legoland and Lego House less than two hours from the UK – here’s my review of the underrated family holiday

As you wander around the picture-perfect Danish town of Billund, you could almost kid yourself you’ve stepped into the real-life version of the Lego City range – it feels as if someone planned the entire town, piece by piece. And in a way, they did.

Dedicated Lego fans may have heard of Billund as the home of Lego – the toy was created here in 1958. To this day the vast majority of Lego sets, themes, and bricks are designed at the headquarters here, with Lego employing the majority of local residents, and contributing hugely to the town’s development. Visitors come in their tens of thousands to enjoy the original Legoland – but we found the true star of Billund to be the unique Lego House, which rightly bills itself as the ‘ultimate interactive Lego experience’.

My seven year old and I took advantage of a mild, if a little rainy, early September weekend for a three-night stay in the Legoland Holiday Village’s Pirate Motel, booking a cheerful pirate-themed room complete with treasure chest, and combining a day at Lego House with a two-day Legoland pass.

While my Lego fanatic son and I have a soft spot for Legoland Windsor, we found the spotlessly clean Danish Legoland way less crowded. Indeed throughout our Friday/ Saturday visit even the most popular rides never more than a 15 minutes wait – and at times we were able to stay on for a second go.

Yet despite the tried and tested joys of a day at Legoland it was Lego House that was the absolute highlight of our visit. If at Legoland your child enjoys free play in the Lego pits as much as the thrill of the rides, then Lego House is for them.

Designed like a giant stack of 21 overlapping blocks, scaled up precisely from standard Lego bricks, the sprawling building feels like a living playground. The website describes four ‘interactive experience zones’, but this undersells what is on offer. There are endless activities which are carefully designed to be just as enjoyable for adult fans of Lego (afol as they call them here), as they are for children.

In just one section of an experience zone, we built our own Minifigures, photographed them for magazine covers, then used them to create stop-motion films in dedicated recording booths. These were then sent to us to view later via our wristbands.

Elsewhere, our highlights included racing our custom-built cars down speed tracks, creating Lego fish that were then scanned and joined a huge aquarium, and exploring a huge Lego world far more detailed than any Miniland we’ve seen, featuring everything from miner-filled mountains and underground train sets to volcanoes, fairgrounds, and cities.

There are innovative building challenges throughout, sitting alongside breathtaking installations like a cascading multi-coloured Lego waterfall and the jaw-dropping, 15-metre-tall Tree of Creativity built from over 6.3 million bricks which grows right up through the centre of the building.

My son loved watching Lego bricks being created from start to finish in the mini-factory on the ground floor before picking up our own complimentary bag of six freshly molded bricks to take home. Scanning your wristband creates a personalised card showing a unique combination to build.

Down in the basement vault, a history museum displays early prototypes and sets from across the years – I really enjoyed finding the ones my brother and I used to own in the 80s and 90s, and showing them to my son.

Up on the primary-coloured terraced roofs, which cascade down like giant red green and yellow steps, my son took a breather from crafting his creations. As I soaked up the panoramic views over Billund’s forests he played in a huge submarine, climbed a skyscraper and enjoyed an impromptu game of hide and seek with children speaking four different languages.

One of the best bits was trying out the Lego Masters Academy, which costs an extra fee on top of the Lego House entrance. We also loved visiting the Mini Chef restaurant, where we built our orders using physical Lego bricks and had our meals delivered by robots in giant Lego containers.

All in all, we thought Lego House was absolutely unmissable.

Everything you should know before you visit Lego House Billund

Standard Lego House general admission starts around around £28 per person with some discounts for booking online. It is often fully booked and is not open every day, especially out of season, so check availability before booking a trip.

The Lego Masters activity is an extra fee on top of Lego House, costing from £14 to £17 per person depending on the option booked. You can do this activity without entering the experience zones inside the Lego House, or on the same day you do these. Make sure you heck opening days, book ahead as slots fill up fast, and choose English language (if applicable).

Likewise Mini Chef reservations fill up well in advance and are rarely available on the day – it’s worth planning ahead. Meals when we visited cost £15 for a child meal which included a Minifigure surprise, and £27 for adults.

The Lego Shop on the ground floor opens an hour before the Lego House and stays open an hour later. We arrived early and did our shopping first thing, which was an unhurried pleasant experience compared to the packed store at the end of the day. You can leave purchases in a free secure locker on the ground floor, using your Lego House wristband.

Along with unique Lego House Lego sets, in the shop you can buy personalised custom printed Minifigures for £11.50, which make brilliant gifts.

If you are staying at LegoLand Holiday Village, as we were, or the neighbouring Lalandia, the walk to Lego House is a pleasant 20 minute stroll through Billund Sculpture Park.

Book the holiday

• Norwegian Air offers direct flights from London Gatwick to Billund with return fares from £120 on norwegian.com.
• Stay at the Pirate’s Inn Motel LegoLand Holiday Village, from £180 per night for two.
• LEGO House tickets start from £29 when booked in advance on legohouse.com.
• Lizzie and family enjoyed a two-day Legoland pass, starting from £57 for a 2-day pass when booked online, or £40 for a 1-day pass. You can find out more at legoland.dk/en.

John Green’s nine-year hiatus from fiction has ended, and his adult debut, “Hollywood, Ending,” comes right on time to explore the dark side of fame.

The novel centers on former child actor Juniper Castillo and Hollywood newbie Kai Laramie, who are cast in the artsy biopic “Andy Warhol Never Gets Old,” with hotshot movie star Matthew Malone in the title role. It’s Juniper’s chance to establish herself as an adult actor and Kai’s first foray into the spotlight, a position he quickly realizes doesn’t come without a personal cost.

“There’s no way I could have written this book without spending a lot of time on film sets,” Green told The Times in a recent call.

Over the last two decades, several of the author’s bestselling young-adult novels have been adapted for the screen. His debut, “Looking for Alaska” (2005), was adapted as a Hulu limited series in 2019, the same year Netflix released the feature film adaptation of his co-authored holiday anthology, “Let It Snow” (2008). On the big screen, “Paper Towns” (2008) made its film debut in 2015, while his bestseller “The Fault in Our Stars” (2012) became a box-office hit in 2014. Most recently, his 2017 novel, “Turtles All the Way Down,” received a feature film adaptation in 2024.

“I hope the book is a love letter to movies. But I also wanted to be honest about how difficult it is to make a work of art that, in order to be commercially successful, has to be loved by millions of people,” Green said. That’s where the Hollywood machine comes in. “It’s really hard to figure out how to get millions of people to pay to watch something, and that challenge leads to all kinds of compromises and sacrifices.”

While Green’s young-adult novels have often explored the teenage experience, he never felt confined by the YA genre. “I think teenagers have infinite intellectual capacity,” he said, adding that he doesn’t really think about which shelf will hold his novels inside a bookstore. In “Hollywood, Ending,” his main characters are navigating their early 20s, a period which Green finds especially interesting.

“The questions in this novel explore how it feels in those early years of adulthood when there are still so many possibilities, so many directions you might go,” he said.

The following conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

How did you land on Andy Warhol as a celebrity figure and metaphor to use in telling this story about Kai and Juniper?

I think Andy Warhol saw so much of our world coming. He saw that three-dimensional experience was going to be rendered in two dimensions. He’s most famous for taking cylindrical soup cans and making them flat, but he also saw celebrity culture coming.

There’s the famous quote about everybody being world-famous for 15 minutes. I think he understood that normal people were going to experience celebrity, and he also saw the way that the repetition of images, as I write about in the novel, would lead to a certain desensitization. So I think everything from screen-based experience to the ways that technology was going to reshape our lives, he was the patron saint of all of that.

One of the images that really struck me is when you talk about him dying wigless and being too uncomfortable with that to have friends come and visit him in the hospital.

I think Juniper says at one point that fame is a kind of armor. I don’t know how Warhol thought of his wigs, but I wanted it to be a sort of emblem of protection for him.

Your wife, Sarah, is an Andy Warhol scholar. Was that a major strength while you were writing this?

There’s a huge advantage to being able to fact-check something by shouting down the hall. I also wanted to include Warhol partly as a love note to Sarah … She co-wrote a book about Andy Warhol’s relationship with money and business called “Andy Warhol Enterprises.” After 25 years, our way of looking at art and the art that we’ve shared together is so deeply intertwined that anything I write is unimaginable without her. She’s my first reader and most important reader … It’s only thanks to her that Warhol’s in the book.

You really humanize the young actors in “Hollywood, Ending,” which, unfortunately, is a unique thing. This is an intimate, vulnerable portrayal of behind-the-scenes Hollywood — why was that important for you to examine?

I wanted to write about the machine that takes private experience and commodifies it, and I think that machine is especially challenging to navigate when you’re young, when you’re in early adulthood, because you don’t yet have those relationships that are going to carry you through. You don’t have the love that you need to survive all that you’ve got to survive. When my work became very successful, I was in my 30s. I was married. I had two kids. I lived in Indianapolis. I had best friends. I was pretty grounded, and it was still very disorienting.

How so?

It’s a completely different life to have everybody have opinions about your work than it is to take your kids to school every day. So I was thinking partly about that, but I was also thinking about the influencers I’ve known, and the actors I’ve known who’ve had to go through that [while] much younger, and what that’s been like for them as well.

You do a really good job of examining the dark side of the attention economy. Why was this especially of interest?

Well, it used to be that the attention economy was mostly a problem for actors and other celebrities, but now the attention economy is something we all participate in. We’re all taking our private experiences and packaging them up for public consumption on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and Reddit, and I think we gain something from that, or we wouldn’t do it. But we also lose a lot.

I wanted to try to be honest about what we gain, and also be honest about what we lose. My last novel, nine long years ago, was about a young woman with OCD. I also have OCD, and I had to make a decision when I was promoting that book, about whether I would talk about having OCD, and I decided that I would, and that became a huge part of talking about the novel — talking about my own experiences with mental illness, and it was a gift in many ways because so many people have said to me that it helped them to see that it’s possible to have a good and fulfilling life while living with a serious mental illness, and it was helpful for me because it helped me feel less alone in it.

But it was also complicated because there are real costs when you share something. It’s not yours anymore in ways that are a relief, but also in ways that are difficult.

You’re offering it up for scrutiny in a way that can be really scary.

It is really scary to have your private life scrutinized in that way, right? And there’s an element of judgment that comes with creative expression that’s a natural and healthy part of conversations about what art is and what art should be, but being in the middle of those conversations isn’t always fun.

I think you capture that in Kai’s experience. He is really pressured to come out and talk about his traumatic experience, and he doesn’t want to. The “machine” wants to sell tickets and exploit his trauma in the process.

It’s one thing to try to make good art. It’s another thing to try to make good art that lots of people interact with, and a portion of that second issue is inevitably finding ways to interest an audience, and nothing interests an audience quite like a personal story, especially a personal story of overcoming difficulty.

Was the movie star Matthew Malone based on anyone specifically?

I have aphantasia, this brain condition that causes me not to be able to imagine anything visually. I have no visual imagination, and so I can’t see actors when I’m writing. I can’t see characters when I’m writing. I can’t see anything. Everything’s made out of language, and so there’s no way I could have cast the movie in my mind or had somebody in mind for the character. It’s been great to hear all the folks who people were thinking of. I’m curious who you were thinking of.

I thought of Tom Cruise a couple of times. Have other people said that?

A couple people have said that as well. Yeah.

That’s so interesting about your work with language solely. Do you think that’s been a strength with you as a writer? Because you create such vibrant visuals for your readers.

It’s the only way I’ve ever been. I never knew that other people had this vibrant visual imagination until I was in my 40s, and my wife said I think maybe the reason you don’t have a sense of direction and you have to open up all the cabinets when you put away the dishes and you don’t know whether there’s a rug in the living room is because you don’t have a visual imagination, and I was like, of course I don’t. Nobody does, and she was like, you can’t picture an apple in your head? And I was like, no, nobody can picture an apple in their head. They say they can, but they mean it metaphorically … And Sarah explained to me that, in fact, the vast majority of people can see an apple, which still seems fictional to me, like science fiction stuff.

Some people don’t have that inner voice in their head (anendophasia).

I do have an inner voice. I think. But this all gets to something really interesting about being a person, though, which is that you’re stuck the whole time you’re here inside of one consciousness and looking at the world through one set of eyes. And I have no idea what it’s like to be you. The great thing about writing fiction for me is that act of imagination, that attempt to empathize, that attempt to escape the self and imagine what it would be like to be somebody else with some clarity, but of course, there’s always a limit to my ability to do that, and that problem has fascinated me my whole career.

Your books have meant so much to so many people, and in recent years, I’ve reported quite a bit on your book, “Looking for Alaska,” being one of the most commonly banned books. How do you feel about that?

I’m really concerned about attempts to limit intellectual freedom in the U.S., especially when it comes to libraries and schools. We have professionals we’ve trained to make collection decisions and to make curricular decisions in schools, and those professionals are teachers and librarians, and I’m very disturbed when other people come into that conversation and try to usurp the work that teachers and librarians are doing. I think a lot of times authors get most of the credit for the fight against book bans, and the truth is, all the credit should go to the teachers and librarians who are often putting their jobs on the line, making really difficult decisions to try to do the best by the kids that they’re representing and working with.

John Green will be in conversation with Julia Whelan to discuss “Hollywood, Ending” at 7 p.m. Tuesday, Oct. 13, at a ticketed ALOUD event hosted at Saban Theatre. 8440 Wilshire Blvd., Beverly Hills.

After more than two decades of planning and years of building, the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art opened to the general public Tuesday, and a vast campus that had been nearly empty for weeks of press previews filled to capacity with eager fans, including some who traveled across oceans to see what all the hype is about.

Actor D’Arcy Carden stopped by early, beating the cadre of guests crowding the main plaza beneath the now-famous oculus of the 300,000-square-foot Ma Yansong-designed building. A Stormtrooper drove by on a flatbed truck, shortly before R2-D2 greeted visitors in the courtyard, wearing an official staff badge. (The line for a selfie with the droll droid stretched as far as the eye could see.) Museum leaders have long said that “Star Wars” artifacts account for about 7% of the 100,000 square feet of gallery space, but one worker quipped 90% of opening-day attendees likely had a vested interest in the franchise.

This proved true, for the most part: Many visitors clearly knew and loved “Star Wars,” and Princess Leia buns and Yoda ears abounded. (Two Padmé Amidalas ran into each other, and according to a restaurant worker, one brave soul showed up in “Star Trek” gear.)

David Perez, 27, (right) donned his “Back to the Future” gear, hoping to see art from the movie. But he and his brother Carlos Perez, 28, (left) were quite pleased with the “Star Wars” artifacts in the Cinema section.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Still, the museum, as its famous co-founder George Lucas has repeatedly said, is about more than just one story, however beloved. That sentiment cropped up repeatedly in interviews, too: Early guests seemed to believe the museum’s brochure, which notes that the galleries are about the “narrative art” of illustrating stories.

Co-founders Lucas and businesswoman Mellody Hobson (also Lucas’ wife) gave remarks early Tuesday to the first 100 visitors, consisting of students from USC, Los Angeles Technology Center, Otis College of Art and Design and Los Angeles City College, who were all handed free tickets.

A yellow Naboo N-1 Starfighter hangs above the education lobby, across from the main plaza, guarding the research library.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

“I’ve spent more than 50 years collecting the work of artists who don’t always get their due — illustrators, cartoonists, muralists, painters — because I believe their images are as vital as any other art form,” Lucas said. “They deserve to be in a museum.”

“This is a museum of the ‘people’s art’ — the images are illustrations of the beliefs we live with every day,” said Hobson, “and for that reason, this art belongs to everyone.”

Later that day, The Times asked visitors to share their impressions of a museum that, until now, has lived largely in the imaginations of fans and in abundant social media posts online. The museum has drawn loads of applause but also plenty of criticism, mostly for its lack of context via wall text, and for displaying art that not everyone agrees should be elevated.

Do the people love the “people’s art”?

Responses have been edited for length and clarity.

Alden Chang and his wife flew 6,800 miles from Taiwan to thank George Lucas for creating the “Star Wars” films and franchise. Chang told The Times that he also wrote an academic paper examining “Star Wars” fan culture in Taiwan.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Alden Chang, 32, green product engineer from Taiwan

You flew all the way from Taiwan, just for this?

Chang: Yeah, halfway across the world to meet George Lucas and Miss [Mellody] Hobson.

Did you get to meet them?

Chang: Yeah, I just shook hands with them this morning. It’s like a dream come true.

How long ago did you and your wife get here, and how long are you staying?

Chang: For eight days. We came here on Sept. 18.

Is this the highlight of the trip?

Chang: Sure. [Laughs.] It’s my main mission and my main goal.

(Later, in an email, Chang told The Times that he also wrote an academic paper examining “Star Wars” fan culture in Taiwan.)

Friends Robert Meier, left, and Marc Downing used to work as ushers at the Music Center together. Growing up, Marc rode his bike where the Lucas Museum now stands.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Marc Downing, 71, retired, from Exposition Park and Robert Meier, 70, educator, from Highland Park

Downing: I go to all the museums. This was the newest museum, so I had to come and see this.

How does this compare to the other L.A. museums?

Downing: This is ultra modern, ultra space-future. I’m glad the museum is here; highly recommend it. And I’m proud that it’s in my city, and I’m glad that it’s in the neighborhood that I grew up with.

What made you want to be a member of the museum, Robert?

Meier: It’s giving to the neighborhood. I’ve admired George Lucas — I used to have a relative in Marin County, and growing up, we’d go to lunch, and I’d see George Lucas and his family. We’d be at the same restaurant together.

Downing: Well, speaking of this neighborhood: This used to be a parking lot. I remember it very well. And I used to come here and ride my bike in this neighborhood as a kid.

C.S. Lee sits on a bench at the south viewpoint of the museum, gazing out onto the sculpture garden below. “This is why you live in Southern California. This is why you live in L.A.: for days like these.”

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

C.S. Lee, 54, actor, from Koreatown

Lee: “Star Wars” was the very first movie I ever saw in my life as a 4-year-old when I immigrated here from Korea. We landed in Hawaii, in Waikiki Beach. Our family friends took us to a drive-in movie cinema place, and they said, “You want to come see a movie?” And it was “Star Wars” and “King Kong,” double billing. And my mom said when I saw the screen, my eyes popped out of my head because I’d never seen a movie before.

How do you think “Star Wars” impacted how you saw narrative and story?

Lee: I think I carried that all through my life: the story of “Star Wars.” I was like, “Oh, the good guys won!” And it was such an uplifting thing for me to hold on [to] all these years.

What did you think about the rest of the museum?

Lee: It’s so beautifully done: all the curves, all the light. You got the wind coming through the trees that they planted. I mean, honestly, I was just looking out, thinking to myself, “Wow, this is why you live in Southern California. This is why you live in L.A.: for days like these.”

The view of the sculpture garden and grounds beyond that C.S. Lee was contemplating from the south viewpoint.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

What about the building itself?

Lee: We rarely get to see architecture like this. But I think it’s good for people to see the artistry and the imagination of what people can build.

Janet Jacobs, 62, architect and Hanjin Jacobs, 25, audio equipment manufacturer technician, mother and son on a family trip from Portland (pictured at the top of the story)

I see you’re wearing a “Star Wars” T-shirt.

Janet: Yes, I am — actually from 1977.

Wow, really?

Janet: Yeah, I’ve had it for that long [laughs].

What was your overall takeaway from the museum?

Janet: I know George Lucas wanted to create this museum in a different way, like he didn’t have a sequence of events or a roadmap, he just wanted people to experience it the way they wanted to, so that’s all great. We do wish some of the things were explained a little more. Like, I know who Ralph McQuarrie is; [my kids] do not. So that would’ve been nice. Like in a typical museum, you do have a little blurb.

[My son] brought up a really good point: how ironic it is that it’s about storytelling, but yet there seems to be no storyline.

Andrew Liu, left, and Matthew Haak hang loose in front of a KAWS sculpture. They actually didn’t know it was opening day, but were happy to be there anyway.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Matthew Haak, 26, architectural designer, and Andrew Liu, 26, behavioral therapy assistant, both from University Park

Haak: We are not “Star Wars” fans. I haven’t watched a single “Star Wars” movie. I’ve somehow evaded them my entire life.

So, if not for “Star Wars,” why did you come out today?

Haak: I’ve been watching this building being constructed for the past two years. I’m just geeking out over the organic curvilinear forms. Not a single hallway has been straight. And they even have real expensive details, like light coves on the base [of the wall]. All of these things really stand out to me. Also, curved walls like this are so expensive; architects never get a budget to do stuff like that.

I was just surprised: It’s not just “Star Wars” stuff. There’s so much art; it’s so cool.

Nicole Garcia — dressed as Padmé Amidala in her lakeside gown — poses in front of a statue of Princess Leia.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Nicole Garcia, 24, cosplayer/costumer from Corona and Veronica Antonucci, 40, administrative assistant from Orange County

So, this might be an obvious question [given their fun outfits], but what brought you guys out today?

Antonucci: This little thing called “Star Wars”!

Garcia: Growing up with “Star Wars,” I always loved all the pieces, knowing that, for example, there’s miniature pieces that look just huge on-screen, and seeing them in-person is just, like, I want to shrink myself down and just be there.

Antonucci: It’s also amazing that it’s not just “Star Wars,” and it’s also so much more that everyone should come out and see.

Is there anything else you were particularly excited to see?

Garcia: I was shocked to see “Fritz the Cat.”

Antonucci: I was really excited to see the Frida [Kahlo]. I didn’t know she was gonna be here, so I think when I saw her, I gasped.

Is there anything else you’d like to add?

Garcia: I just hope the future generations of kids come back to see this, growing up with museums more often, and just learning how to make art — like, physically make art — and be inspired.

Antonucci: Actually, we talked about feeling jealous of all the kids who are going to be here on their school field trips, because we didn’t get to experience this.

Nikki Foster, left, loves a good field trip. She texted her group chat to visit the museum, and her bestie, Shalonda Dean, responded, so they both cleared their calendars for the visit.

(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)

Shalonda Dean, 47, consulting business founder and president, and Nikki Foster, 45, live event production executive, both from Beverly Hills

You both gravitated toward Norman Rockwell’s “The Problem We All Live With” — why did it stand out to you?

Dean: Being a Black woman, I can identify with this little Black girl. Even in 2026, I think this painting depicts a lot of what Black women are going through today, whether it be in the workplace, navigating motherhood, navigating life. And I think this is an example of the barriers that we’re constantly breaking through every day, even today.

Foster: I’ve never seen it in person until now. So when we saw it, we were like, “It’s here, it’s here!” Just to be able to lay our eyes on it, and not have to go to another country, another state — here in Los Angeles. This is divine. It’s a divine day.

“I love meeting people,” Vincent Zabierowski said. “People are my main inspiration. I’m very lucky I get to be in a place where people want to be, and people want to soak up all that creative energy and just experience art.”

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Vincent Zabierowski, 23, host at the Skywalker Grill and freelance illustrator, lives near Downtown L.A.

As an artist yourself, what are your favorite pieces in the museum?

Zabierowski: I love a lot of the things that are in the graphic novel collection, like the Jack Kirby, the Garfields. My favorite is the Art Nouveau artist Alphonse Mucha. The Diego Rivera mural, that one was really amazing — and just the history here, having it be in L.A.

How does your work as an illustrator inform how you see these pieces?

Zabierowski: When I was going through it with some of my co-workers, I would [ask] “Do you know why they use a blue pencil?” And it’s because, when you take a photograph or a scan, that blue pencil disappears. So it was just really cool to see the behind-the-scenes and understand.

So seeing those blue pencil marks tells you that a piece is real?

Zabierowski: A person made it! I feel like a lot of people see artwork in textbooks, or they see artwork on their phones, or they see artworks on posters, and it takes a lot of skill and intelligence and training to be able to do those pieces of artwork.

At 69, I had never hiked with a backpack and I had no idea what land art was. Nonetheless, when my friend Jackie, a nature documentary film-maker, invited me to join her and her friends Wendy and Sasha on a hiking trip to Refuges d’Art in the mountainous countryside of Haute-Provence, I said a resounding “yes”. We would be sleeping alongside sculptures by the renowned land artist Andy Goldsworthy.

First, I watch Rivers and Tides, a documentary on Goldsworthy’s work, and discover he has built exquisite ice sculptures and stone cairns in my own country, Canada. His work seems to speak to an older part of the soul. Then, I start walking up hills, gradually adding weights to my backpack until I can comfortably carry 9kg (20lb).

We meet in Digne-les-Bains, a bustling mountain town in the centre of the Unesco geopark of Haute-Provence, and the starting point for a 10-day, 150km (93-mile) hiking route that includes the possibility of staying overnight at seven reservable but free off-grid sleeping cabins. Goldsworthy worked alongside local teams to restore the abandoned shepherd huts, farmhouses, chapel and stone shelters, and created a site-specific artwork for each one. Over four days, we will visit three of these refuges and hike about 45km (28 miles).

Our first stop in Digne-les-Bains is Maison Alexandra David-Neél, a museum dedicated to the adventurous, peripatetic life of a woman who, in 1924, disguised herself as a beggar to become the first western woman to enter the Forbidden City of Lhasa in Tibet. The keys to the refuges are kept here, no doubt, to inspire hikers for the adventures that lie ahead.

On the first day, we encounter one of three sentinels that sit like giant mysterious eggs watching over the route. These 2 to 3-metre tall cairns were made by Goldsworthy without mortar or cement and rely on fitting the right shapes and weights of the stones.

Jackie has told us the trail is mostly flat and indeed, we start on even gravel, chatting and laughing, getting used to the weight of our packs. After 5km, she says we should look for a path leading up the hill on our right. She checks her satnav and points to a goat path going straight up the rocks. I panic. My backpack suddenly feels extremely heavy. In desperation, I check further down the road and, to everyone’s relief, find a path marked with white and red horizontal lines signifying a grande randonnée, a trail certified by the French government.

We begin our ascent, pausing to photograph curlicued and wispy plants right out of Dr Seuss, yellow, scarlet and blue wildflowers, an orange moth sitting on purple brush. Spanish broom perfumes the air. We lift our gaze and see multiple valleys and unique geological formations. It’s easy to imagine our ice-age ancestors walking these trails 15,000 years ago and it’s gratifying to be travelling under our own steam, as they did.

We arrive at the first refuge, La Forest, as the sun is setting. The key unlocks the door. Inside, the air is cold. Our eyes adjust to the dark. A table and benches stand in front of us. To the left, a stairway leads to sleeping platforms. To the right, a doorway into a dark, empty room. From its depths glows a cylindrical obelisk, light falling on one large stone where someone could sit. It’s concave, constructed of light grey stone ending in a porthole to the sky. It’s illuminated by natural light and changes with the time, the weather, the season. This art is living and feels sacred.

That evening, we eat freeze-dried mushroom risotto in the flickering candlelight, play cards, eat chocolate, laugh and share stories. Sasha, who works in film in Germany, teaches us two words: der salzlose – someone who is bland and without flavour; and extrawurst – someone who always demands more. Neither apply to our group. The camaraderie and conviviality bring pure pleasure.

We climb the stairs to the sleeping platforms. Wendy and Sasha have brought sturdy sleeping mats on Jackie’s recommendation. We lay them out and say goodnight. The quiet is complete. Then, a tidal wave of sound erupts. Wendy and Sasha have rolled over. The friction on the technical fabric of their sleeping mats is deafening. The price of comfort has been revealed; they must lie like mummies.

The next day, we descend, picnic by a river on crackers, avocados and cheese, then start climbing again. Sasha and I subversively agree that it’s psychologically better to be told something is going to be hard and then it turns out easier. I console myself that climbing with a backpack is good for bone density and way less boring than lifting weights.

The next refuge, Le Vieil Esclangon, is in a mountain-top meadow. A majestic fan of lifted rock shines across the wide valley. Everywhere we turn there are more mountains and valleys. The first floor of the refuge is a large dark room split in two by a massive fireplace. Upstairs, the sleeping platforms look out on to a sunlit verge. Across from the fireplace, a tall serpentine shape made of dried mud loops back and forth like a meandering river, ending at the top in the source.

The wind picks up and the temperature drops. We gather wood and light a fire. In the flickering orange light, the sculpture comes to life, looking like one of Plato’s eternal forms. We eat our freeze-dried pad thai, the art and the hikers transient and temporary but together in this warm and cosy moment.

Later, we sleep to the sound of wind and rain, woken only by a mouse rave in the middle of the night.

We arrive at the third refuge, La Ferme Belon, in time for a late lunch. In the basement, huge interlinked semicircular stone arches look like a dragon’s body swimming through earth. Upstairs, the sleeping platforms are lovely except for one small detail. A colony of bats hang above. I can feign nonchalance because I know Wendy, who is quietly uber-capable, will find us a delightful B&B for the night. Over pizza and cold rosé, Sasha and I confess to Jackie that we would have rather known how challenging the hikes were going to be. “But you wouldn’t have come if I’d told you,” she answers with a twinkle in her eye.

Andy Goldsworthy said: “To me there is a tremendous difference between works of art that we observe in a museum just for a few minutes and works of art in which we live for a short while, in which we sleep. To sleep in a sculpture is a wonderful idea.”

In Digne-les-Bains we return the keys and soak our stronger bodies in the town’s hot springs. We’ve already said yes to Jackie’s next adventure, sight unseen.

Claudia Casper’s novel The Mercy Journals won the Philip K Dick award for distinguished science fiction in 2017 (Arsenal Pulp Press)

In Philippe Caland’s semi-autobiographical 2003 film “Hollywood Buddha,” his mother, Huguette Caland, plays herself. Wearing her signature white smock, inscribed with a flurry of painted swirls, circles, letters and cross-stitches, the Lebanese artist makes precise gray-blue lines on a canvas spread across her dining room table as her son laments a fickle movie industry.

Filmed in her Venice home, the scene, her three children agree, was true to life. Caland worked constantly: on stretched canvas, on fabric folded in her lap, on a children’s menu, on the wall of her kitchen, or the sleeve of her smock. Whatever was at hand.

“Of course it could be frustrating,” said her daughter Brigitte, an elegant, soft-spoken scholar of Semitic languages who has managed Caland’s estate since her death in 2019.

Brigitte Caland, right, and Charley Caland — the daughter and granddaughter of the Lebanese-born painter, sculptor and fashion designer Huguette Caland — stand in Caland’s former L.A. home and studio.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Sitting in that very home, which Caland had built in 1997, Brigitte recalled the many times her mother invited her over only to continue working as they talked. “I’d go to leave, and she’d put the canvas away, beg me to come back, and as soon as I did, she’d start painting again.” Still, from early on, Brigitte understood the compulsion as evidence of her mother’s resolve. “She had this incredible drive to create.”

“Huguette Caland: A Life in a Few Lines,” opening Sunday at the Hammer Museum, traces that relentless drive across nearly 150 paintings, drawings, sculptures, garments and tapestries. Organized by the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid in collaboration with the Deichtorhallen Hamburg, the show comes to Los Angeles as the largest Caland survey in the country to date. Spanning five decades and installed chronologically, it features work from the 26 years she spent immersed in Venice’s creative community even as her practice was largely ignored.

It was Caland’s generous hospitality and boisterous wit that made her custom château a gathering place for a vibrant Westside art circle. Ed Moses, who lived around the corner, visited several times a week; Larry Bell, Frank Gehry, Robert Wilhite and others joined her for long meals and even longer parties. Her work surrounded them, and her studio, the grandest space in the house, stood open just beyond the living room. Yet her guests remained uninterested. “No one,” Brigitte said, “would walk the 10 steps.”

Huguette Caland in Stone Doorway, France, 1970.

(Huguette Caland Estate)

Curator Hannah Feldman sees that tension as central to Caland’s California years. “Instead of supporting and bolstering her as a creative in their midst, she became their salon host,” she said. The lack of recognition, Feldman argues, reverberates through Caland’s heavily impastoed portraits of Moses and her enigmatic late abstractions such as the rectilinear paintings in the “Silent Letter Series.”

“To draw a line is a way to contain one’s emotion, one’s anger, one’s anguish,” wrote Caland of her challenging relations with fellow artists in “Sketchbook 2” (1990-91). “My lines tell the story of my life, of people encountered along the path, people I loved, and found and even lost.”

Caland is perhaps best known for her cheeky, erotic paintings of fulsome body parts and for a biography too often reduced to cliché: the libertine daughter of Lebanon’s first post-independence president who left her husband and children in Beirut to pursue an art career in a less repressed Paris.

Huguette Caland, “Self-Portrait in Smock,” 1992

(Huguette Caland Estate)

Feldman hopes the exhibition, which spans fine-line drawings of entangled lovers and radiant topographical tapestries, will complicate that familiar account. “There’s joy, and there’s sex,” she said, “but there’s also pathos, vulnerability. The search for autonomy is not an easy one; it comes with conflict, strife.”

Caland’s freedom was no doubt hard-won. She first picked up a brush as a married mother of three in her thirties, and only after her father’s death. In her first painting, alternately titled “Soleil rouge” and “Cancer” (Red Sun/Cancer) (1964), hazy concentric circles gather in a crimson orb at the center of the monochromatic plane. Simultaneously a tumor and a light source, the refulgent motif holds grief and release.

Soon after, Caland enrolled in art classes at the American University of Beirut, relinquished much of her constricting couture wardrobe, and adopted a uniform of loose, flowing kaftans, which she would later turn into works of art in their own right. Archival photographs show a glamorous Caland arriving at an event in a floor-length garment bearing painted breasts, a belly button and a triangle of curly pubic hair.

Huguette Caland, “Bribes de corps,” 1973

(Huguette Caland Estate)

Caland moved to France in 1970, leaving her children (then 15, 13 and 12) in Beirut with their father, a French-Lebanese lawyer named Paul Caland. In paintings from that decade, Caland’s imagery of bodies swell, split, meld and dissolve. In “Enleve ton doigt” (Remove Your Finger) (1971), lipstick-red lips receive a pale finger reaching out from a crush of fantastical profiles; two years later, in “Self-Portrait” (Bribes de corps), Caland dispersed a sensual body across a pale pink field interrupted at the lower edge by a slight, shadowed cleft — either buxom cleavage or buttocks.

The distance from her children produced another kind of line: text. Philippe recalled receiving illustrated letters almost every week, filled with drawings, doodles and notes of affection. Most of these were later destroyed when the family house was bombed during the Lebanese Civil War of 1975. “I always knew my mother loved me,” Philippe said. “The family was not torn apart. She took a break, and in the end made a home for us in Paris, where we all landed when the war was raging.”

After the death of her lover, Romanian sculptor George Apostu, whose rough-hewn wood sculptures still populate the house’s patio, Caland’s children encouraged yet another departure. Her eldest son, Pierre, a businessman and former Olympic swimmer, paid for a stay at a friend’s Venice bed-and-breakfast, all but forcing his grieving mother out of Paris and to sunny L.A. Her initial reluctance gave way to affection. The light, arid climate and mountains sloping into the sea reminded her of Lebanon. “She liked that California land sounded like Caland,” Brigitte said.

Huguette Caland works at her home and studio in Venice, date unknown.

(Huguette Caland Estate)

After making Venice her primary residence, Caland collaborated with architect Neil Kaufman on the design for her enclosed château. Its towering, mostly unbroken face and narrow swimming pool suggested a rampart and a moat, but behind the concrete exterior, Caland eliminated every door save the guest bathroom. Long vertical windows opened onto a courtyard shaded by a sprawling olive tree. Art crowded the steep stairwell; it accumulated on scattered plywood and Formica tables and unraveled across the kitchen in an intricate mural composed of tessellated marks that recall Byzantine mosaics and tatreez, a form of traditional Palestinian embroidery.

“There was no distinction for her,” Brigitte said, between the home and the studio, art and life. Caland once described her “very, very mixed media” as including “every single exchange, a look, a smile, a brief encounter.”

That original interior survives in “Hollywood Buddha” and archival photographs. Philippe now lives in the house with his family, and although the concrete exterior remains intact, the rooms and the courtyard have been remodeled around their own aesthetics and routines. Along with the technicolor mural, Caland’s singular sensibility persists in scattered drawings, a bouquet of her preferred 30-inch paintbrushes and a pair of stiff-backed pews. Her presence, too, is felt in the people who now inhabit the space, like her granddaughter Charley, 25, whose easy warmth recalls qualities long ascribed to the matriarch.

The former Venice home and studio of the Lebanese-born painter, sculptor and fashion designer Huguette Caland. The home is still occupied by Caland’s family and no longer looks how it did when she was alive, but her spirit lives on in small details.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

When the Hammer selected Caland for “Made in L.A. 2016,” the honor brought some measure of the local attention that had long eluded her. “If you had to pick one critical turning point for her career,” Pierre said, “it was the inclusion of her work in that show.” For the family, the coming survey fulfills one of her long-held ambitions.

“She told me, ‘Live your life day by day and plan it on a thousand years,’” Philippe said. Only later did he understand that the advice described her own life. “Today, her work is here,” he added. “She continues with it.”

Huguette Caland, “Le grand bleu,” 2012.

(Huguette Caland Estate)

The final painting in the exhibition, an oceanic large-format canvas titled “Le Grand Bleu” (The Great Blue) (2012), once hung high above the central hearth in the Venice house. Surrounded by undulating circles, spots and stripes, red-roofed Lebanese abodes and white-masted schooners traverse an unsettled horizon line. From the dining table below, where a young Charley often helped her grandmother fill blank planes with delicate dots, Caland could look up and see how far her line had taken her.

If George Lucas invites you to a party, you go.

That much was clear Saturday at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art’s opening-night soiree, where the guest list was as celebrity-heavy as any Academy Awards after-party. As the festivities kicked off around sunset in the courtyard under the museum’s towering elliptical oculus, Oprah Winfrey hugged Robert De Niro, and Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart skipped the red carpet after chatting with Spike Lee. Laura Dern and Greta Gerwig laughed together by the entrance while Samuel L. Jackson plopped down on a curved bench, joking, “Hey, look what I did!”

He didn’t sit for long because Cynthia Erivo and Andy Garcia showed up and there were more hugs and handshakes and hellos. Owen Wilson, Leonardo DiCaprio, Kim Kardashian, Meg Ryan, Jack Quaid, Gov. Gavin Newsom, Rep. Nancy Pelosi, Justin Trudeau, Mark Hamill and Magic Johnson were there too, and that was just the beginning.

Gov. Gavin Newsom attended the opening-night party for the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art alongside a host of other notable guests and celebrities.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

After a rousing performance by a white-robe-clad vocal collective called Voices of Fire, co-founded by Pharrell Williams, Lucas’ wife Mellody Hobson noted that, “George kept saying, ‘Will this person come? Do you think this person will come?’”

“I said, ‘They will all come,’” Hobson said as the crowd laughed during opening remarks on a raised platform in the museum’s grand lobby.

And so they did. There was even a banner moment inside the posh fifth-floor Skywalker Grill where a group of directors gathered to be photographed in what could very well become a seminal photo of Hollywood influence in the 21st century. The shot included Lucas, Jon M. Chu, Chris Columbus, Francis Ford Coppola, Lee Daniels, Guillermo del Toro, Jon Favreau, Bryce Dallas Howard, Ron Howard, Peter Jackson, Chris Meledandri, Denis Villeneuve, Christopher Nolan, Spike Lee, Tyler Perry, Steven Spielberg, Frank Miller, Robert Rodriguez, Nathan Fielder and David Benioff.

Organizers were scrambling to find Gerwig, but she had dashed off somewhere else.

“Star Wars” legend Mark Hamill and his wife, Marilou York, were guests at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art opening party.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

There were artists in attendance too, of course, but not as many. Jeff Koons, Refik Anadol, Judy Baca and Takashi Murakami strolled through the crowd, as did museum directors including the Broad’s Joanne Heyler and Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s Michael Govan, who was relieved to be attending someone else’s party after hosting so many of his own in April and May when the new Geffen Galleries opened.

Lucas and Hobson went to great lengths to explain why the Lucas Museum matters and why it is different from other museums. Their comments, in many ways, sought to address the criticism that has been lobbed at the museum since it held its press preview a few weeks back.

Though it has received a number of rave reviews, critics have called narrative art a false conceit and argued that the juxtaposition of masterworks with pop culture ephemera does not work. Much of the criticism has been focused on a perceived lack of context since there is almost no wall text clarifying why certain curatorial choices were made.

George Lucas and his wife Mellody Hobson hosted an extravagant opening party at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

“When I started it, everybody said, ‘You’re crazy. You shouldn’t do it. It’s not going to work. People are going to come after you,’” Lucas said of his plans for the museum. “I said, ‘People have come after me all my life, especially in the movies.’”

Lucas also addressed why he curated the museum’s 100,000 square feet of gallery space on his own, noting that at a certain point plans were “getting off the rails.”

“I’m going to have to take this over because people don’t understand what I’m doing,” Lucas recalled thinking. “The idea that illustration is an art form and illustrators are artists was just too much for somebody who had been taught otherwise by the art schools that they went to and the universities that they went to.”

People with PhDs often can’t see the big picture, Lucas said, “You can’t say ‘This is art. This is not art.’ Art is in the eye of the beholder. If it is emotional to you, then it’s art. And, of course, I’ve been criticized up and down and sideways for that. But I believe it wholeheartedly — that you get to decide what art is.”

Members of the Virginia Beach vocal collective Voices of Fire, co-founded by Bishop Ezekiel Williams and Pharrell Williams perform at the Lucas Museum.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Lucas noted that throughout his career he has worked with many illustrators, “and I will tell you, they are as talented as any artist I’ve ever met. This is the way of giving back to them something that they’ve all wanted … inevitably, all of the illustrators say the same thing — everybody from R. Crumb to Rockwell — they all say, ‘I wish I could be in a museum,’ but they can’t. There isn’t a major museum in the world that’ll have this kind of art in it. I’m hoping this will change that.”

Lucas’ comments came after his friend and co-host Queen Latifah noted to the cheering crowd that, “Paris has the Louvre, New York has the Met and now L.A. has the artistic equal.”

Guests mingle at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art opening party.

(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)

It took more than a decade for the Lucas Museum to land in L.A. after a search that included Chicago and San Francisco as well as lots of civic pushback and lawsuits over the use of public parkland.

“We did not realize how hard it would be to give a city a museum,” Hobson said during her remarks, later joking: “If your husband or spouse comes home and says they want to build a museum, I suggest your response is a hard no.”

Laura Dern, left, and Greta Gerwig spent the early part of the night chatting and laughing.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Hobson went on to extol Lucas’ vision and his ability to never waver from his dream for the museum.

“He was driven to create a space that would showcase the brilliant illustrators that he thought were too often overlooked and ignored,” Hobson said. “And if critics say that a museum of narrative art is too much like a popcorn movie and not enough like an art film, well, we love popcorn movies in our family.”

Like a popcorn movie, the evening ended happily with a drone show in the night sky narrated by Winfrey and Jackson, and featuring images from the museum’s collection including the Cave of Altamira, N.C. Wyeth’s “The Storybook,” Julie Bell’s “The Huntress,” Banksy’s “Girl With Balloon,” the “Star Wars” Millennium Falcon and Maxfield Parrish’s “Ecstasy.”

Afterward the party moved inside from the rooftop terrace for a performance by the Black Eyed Peas.

When Judy Collins comes to Los Angeles, she likes to stay at the Beverly Hilton in part because “they serve a fabulous breakfast,” she says over coffee at the hotel on a recent morning. “That’s rare today,” she adds. “Too often a place will just send up a cardboard shopping bag with the things you ordered in it.”

Collins knows her amenities: At 87, the Grammy-winning singer and songwriter still plays about 120 shows a year, drawing audiences around the world with her high, clear voice and an expansive repertoire that blends the hits that made her famous in the 1960s and ’70s — Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now,” Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne,” Stephen Sondheim’s “Send in the Clowns” — with traditional folk tunes and material of her own.

Yet now she’s preparing to hang it up with a lengthy farewell tour she’s calling Sweet Judy Blue Eyes (after “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes,” the folk-rock classic her one-time lover Stephen Stills wrote about her for Crosby, Stills & Nash). The night before our interview, Collins played L.A.’s Ford Theatre; she’ll be back through Southern California for a Sept. 27 date at the Lobero Theatre in Santa Barbara and again next year for shows in Palm Springs and Aliso Viejo.

After we talk, she plans to do a bit of tai chi, for which she uses an app on her phone and which she wishes more people practiced. “Maybe that would alter civilization,” she says. “If we were all doing tai chi, we couldn’t be at war with Iran.” Then she’ll head to the airport for a flight home to New York, where she’s lived for decades — most of them with her husband, industrial designer Louis Nelson, who died in 2024.

At breakfast, Collins is wearing a patterned turquoise jacket over a matching dress and high-heeled black leather boots.

“You like these?” she asks of the boots. “These are Stuart Weitzman. I bought them 30 years ago, and I’ve never stopped wearing them.”

That’s a well-made boot.
They fit, they’re great and I reject all invitations to get rid of them.

Has your thinking about clothes changed over the decades?
I used to dress in jeans because I was a cowgirl — I hung out with rodeo riders in Colorado. As I came up, I liked what was simple. My mother made all our clothes on a Singer sewing machine for years. Now I love beaded things. I have full closets I need to go through.

Before you came onstage last night, an announcer told the audience not to take pictures or videos.
That’s my management’s doing — it’s important to them, so I go along with it. But the pictures are usually bad. Also, the phones take people’s minds off what’s going on onstage. People need the chance to focus. We’re in a period of insanity right now, so people need time to sit wherever they are. They could go to the ballet or to the theater, but they choose to come to me, and they get to sit there and they get to listen and they get to think about their own lives.

As a performer, that’s what you seek to provide.
I’m providing silence. It’s such a noisy world — so full of crappy music that plays outside all these hotels and places where we stay. It drives me nuts.

You have a line in the show where you say, “Something unexpected happened — I turned 87.” It got a good laugh.
People applaud too.

What are they saying by applauding?
They want to be acknowledged for their own ages, whether they’re 87 or 90 or 19. People are coming to see me, but they’re also coming to see their history. They’ll remember what happened 60, 70 years ago — they were probably marching at the same things I was marching at. And if they’re 19, they want to know why we’re not marching now.

Judy Collins performs on “The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour” in 1969.

(CBS via Getty Images)

You said we’re in a period of insanity.
This country is losing so much of the depth of our origin. The fact that workers who’ve come to this country are being taken off to God knows where — it makes no sense. Number one, these people often have some sort of legality. And secondly, they do the work here. Nobody else wants to go up to the orchards in Oregon and pick the fruit. Do you?

I can’t say that I do.
I don’t want to do that.

This tour is billed as your grand farewell.
So long, you guys.

I’m always reluctant to trust that framing. Cher’s done like eight farewell tours.
I hadn’t counted them up — shame on me.

Should we really believe you?
I think we have to believe in the present tense. What you’re hearing is what’s happening.

You had a music stand onstage with you. What was on it?
All the lyrics to all the songs.

You can’t possibly need the lyrics anymore.
Oh, yes, I do.

You’ve been singing some of them for decades.
Doesn’t matter — it has to be there in case you have to look at it.

Would you say you do look? Or is it more of a security blanket?
It’s a security blanket. But my eyes wander — I like to see who’s in the audience and what’s going on. I like to look up and down the aisles, and I like to fantasize: How did this happen?

Your life and career?
I mean, I know how it happened. I was 16, and I started going to the Denver Folklore Society, which was run by a guy named Lingo the Drifter. And Lingo the Drifter had these wonderful evenings where we all played the guitar and sang and drank illegal whiskey and so on.

Judy Collins last month in Beverly Hills.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

Before Denver, you lived briefly as a kid in Los Angeles.
My father was a very eclectic and fabulous radio personality. He had a radio show for 30 years in Seattle then here in Hollywood, broadcasting out of CBS — a big deal. If we weren’t in school, we would drive up Santa Monica Boulevard into Hollywood and we’d stand around and watch them produce the radio mysteries. People would walk in a sandbox to get the sound of somebody walking up the gravel road to the door.

Are you familiar with the term “nepo baby”?
No.

It refers to the child of a famous artist who follows in their parent’s footsteps.
Oh, that’s interesting.

People use it derisively, as if to say that a kid has overly benefited from their advantages.
We certainly had advantages. For instance, the Library of Congress, which is the jewel in the crown — I don’t know what they’re doing now — but they sent us Braille books and they sent us all the shows from New York and they sent us the recordings of all the Shakespearean plays by the great Dame Judith Anderson and John Gielgud. I had all that growing up. In some ways, I wasn’t raised — I was trained. I got to see how a professional has to handle his life. My father was a professional in all ways. He drank — occasionally, not all the time — but he was absolutely organized about everything, including that.

You’ve been sober for something like half a century.
Forty-eight years. I’m in my 49th now.

You ever miss drinking?
Oh, my God, no. I was so sick — I was gone. Bye-bye.

Some people replace one addiction with another.
I had an eating disorder, which is still kind of … You know, last night, I asked for apple juice during the show — I was in trouble because I wasn’t eating. When my husband died, I stopped eating again. I’d stopped eating in the ’60s and ’70s and ’80s, but I got over that. But suddenly I didn’t want to eat again.

Would you consider that disordered eating?
I don’t know. Anyway, I have to really be careful. We had a talk about it last night. I have to eat these protein bars, and I have to eat them all the time.

Do you remember the first gig you played after your husband died?
Oh, yes — I had to go out. When my son took his life in 1992, I got a call from Joan Rivers — she and I knew each other pretty well. She was getting ready to go out and do her show in Las Vegas, and she called me in New York and she said, “I have to tell you this” — her husband had just killed himself — she said, “You cannot stay home. You have to go out.” I was canceling all my shows, and she said, “You can’t do that because you won’t ever get over this if you do.”

How did you take that advice?
I said, “Thank you,” and I called my staff and I said, “Put ’em back on.” My mother came out with me, Louis came out with me, my sister came out with me, and it was incredibly true: I had to be working or else I would die. So when it came to Louis, I was out three days later.

What did that feel like?
Well, it was wonderful because I was working. I can work and get through anything — that’s the psychological effect of what I’m doing on the stage. I’m interacting with people, I’m hearing the laughter, I’m hearing the music. What could be more healing?

This is why I’m wondering why you plan to stop touring.
But you see, I have all these other things to do — I have a life that’s not just touring. I’m working on the music for a Broadway show. And I’m doing a new book — it’s called “Singing Through the Storm,” and it’ll be out next year, I hope.

Judy Collins and Leonard Cohen attend the 41st annual Songwriters Hall of Fame ceremony in New York in 2010.

(Larry Busacca / Getty Images)

You’ve interpreted the music of so many great songwriters: Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen. Was there ever a writer whose work you admired but couldn’t find your way into?
No.

OK.
I’ll tell you my funniest Leonard story. In 2014, I think it was, I went to this little group in Norway called Democrats Abroad — lonely group of people. That night, this woman came up to me and said, “Hi, I’m Marianne.” I said, “Hi, Marianne.” And then she said, “I’m Leonard’s Marianne.” She said, “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for many years: We were living together in Spain, Leonard and I, and he was writing songs and we were swimming in the nude. And then one day he came to me and he said, ‘Marianne, I’m going to New York to sing my songs for Judy Collins,’ and he went to New York and he played you all his songs and you recorded them.” Marianne said, “I just wanted to tell you that you ruined my life.” Fortunately, we became friends on Facebook.

You opened last night’s set with “Both Sides Now.”
Oh, yes.

This might be the most famous song you do. Some artists would save it for later in the show.
I don’t want people to wonder for an hour and a half: Will she? Won’t she? What will I do if she doesn’t?

Do you still enjoy singing “Both Sides Now”?
I love it. It was Al Kooper who brought me to Joni — she sang it to me over the phone. Al is living a very sane, quiet life in the Northeast now. He’s married — never goes out anymore. It’s hard to think of Al Kooper just sitting there enjoying his marriage and his garden.

What will you do on the plane home today?
I’ll probably get out the computer and noodle around on the book and see what I can come up with.

The work never ends.
It never ends because it’s not done.

For the first time since California and Congress passed a pair of laws bolstering U.S.-based claims to Nazi-looted artwork around the world, two lawsuits have been filed in California demanding prominent museums relinquish pieces seized during World War II.

In one case, filed in federal court in Los Angeles on Monday, the daughters of Auschwitz survivor Dina Gottliebova Babbitt sued the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum in Poland for the return of watercolors Babbitt was forced to paint of fellow prisoners for the Nazi physician and war criminal Josef Mengele.

In the other, filed in Los Angeles Superior Court on Monday, the Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles and Daniel Gryczman, the federation’s board chair, sued the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena for the return of the diptych “Adam and Eve,” a pair of 16th century masterpieces by Lucas Cranach the Elder.

The lawsuits revive legal battles waged unsuccessfully for the watercolors and the diptych for years, on the premise that their claims are newly viable under the new laws — one passed by California lawmakers in 2024 and the other signed into law by President Trump earlier this year.

Both laws were inspired in part by another legal battle over looted art between a California family and a prominent museum, which is still ongoing.

Lilly Cassirer Neubauer escaped Germany at the dawn of World War II by relinquishing to a Nazi art broker the exquisite impressionist masterpiece “Rue Saint-Honoré in the Afternoon. Effect of Rain,” by Camille Pissarro. The painting is now worth millions. Her grandson Claude Cassirer, who moved to California, and great-grandson David Cassirer have been fighting for the painting’s return from the Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection in Madrid for the last two decades.

Amid that battle, California lawmakers rewrote state law to make clear that in situations where it and another jurisdiction’s law on looted artwork are in conflict, California law applies and requires the return of the art to its original owners regardless of the passage of time. In an unusual moment of bipartisanship, Congress followed up by passing its own measure — the Holocaust Expropriated Art Recovery Act of 2025 — to further bolster such family claims.

The two new lawsuits — neither of which provide a valuation for the artwork in question — were filed just ahead of a deadline under the California law for claims to artwork with long-known locations.

David Cassirer said his father would be “extremely proud” to know a California law passed in part in response to his family’s fight has also given other families another chance “to vindicate their ancestors’ artistic legacies.”

Auschwitz watercolors

Michele Babbitt Kane, of Ben Lomond, Calif., and Karin Wendy Babbitt, of Las Vegas, say in their lawsuit that Mengele demanded their mother produce the seven watercolors in question — each depicting a Roma prisoner later murdered — to support his “pseudo-scientific” and racist work studying the Roma people. Known as the “Angel of Death,” Mengele conducted gruesome medical experiments on Auschwitz prisoners.

They said their mother obliged “with deep sympathy for her subjects,” on the condition Mengele “spare her and her mother from the gas chambers.”

After liberation, the lawsuit says, their mother moved to California and worked for nearly 20 years as an animation assistant for Hollywood studios such as MGM and Warner Bros., where she contributed to familiar cartoon characters such as Wile E. Coyote, Tweety, Daffy Duck and Speedy Gonzales.

They say theirs is exactly the sort of case California’s new law was enacted to allow — involving “a California family seeking the return of watercolors created by their Jewish mother under Nazi coercion at Auschwitz and withheld by a Polish state museum for decades despite the Museum’s own repeated acknowledgments of the family’s rights.”

Paweł Sawicki, a spokesperson for the Auschwitz Memorial, said in a statement to The Times that the Babbitt paintings “must remain in the Memorial as part of the documentation of the crimes of Mengele,” and that many in the Roma community agree.

“We fully understand the emotional approach of Dina Gottliebova’s family to the works she made on the orders of Josef Mengele in circumstances that certainly affected her life, but in carrying out our statutory responsibility, we express the deep conviction that the watercolors should remain at the Memorial,” Sawicki said. “The portraits of Roma victims are the few remaining fragments of the documentation made by Mengele as part of his criminal experiments. Therefore, they should be treated as unique documents related to the history of Auschwitz.”

‘Adam and Eve’ diptych

According to the Jewish Federation’s lawsuit, the “Adam and Eve” paintings were part of a vast collection seized from prominent Dutch Jewish art dealer Jacques Goudstikker by Hermann Göring, Hitler’s second-in-command. The collection was later recovered by Allied forces and given to the Dutch government, with the diptych being sold to the Norton Simon in 1971.

The lawsuit says Marei von Saher, Goudstikker’s surviving heir, has long sought the return of the Goudstikker collection, and years ago was successful in forcing the Dutch government to return 200 pieces still in its possession. She first demanded the “Adam and Eve” paintings from the Norton Simon in 2000, without success.

The new lawsuit says Von Saher on Monday signed her claimed rights to the paintings over to Gryczman and the Jewish Federation, which said in a statement that they will use a majority of any proceeds from the return of the paintings to “care for Los Angeles-area Holocaust survivors living in poverty.”

Von Saher’s daughter, Charlène von Saher, said in an interview that her family gave the painting rights to the Jewish Federation because of that shared mission. She said she wishes California and Congress had acted sooner but hopes a win now will help other Jewish families reclaim what is rightfully theirs in the future.

“My grandfather lost his life fleeing the Nazi invasion, and many of his family members were sent to Auschwitz and did not survive,” she said. “Victory would be justice, and a piece of the puzzle to restoring my grandfather’s legacy and his collection.”

The Norton Simon Art Foundation said in a statement to The Times that it was reviewing the new lawsuit, but that various courts, including the U.S. Supreme Court, have over decades of litigation confirmed that the foundation “has proper title” to the diptych paintings, and the foundation “will continue to make these important artworks accessible to the public.”

The Pissarro

The Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection and the Kingdom of Spain, which owns it, have fought the Cassirer family’s claims to the Pissarro painting since Claude Cassirer, now deceased, first sued for its return in 2005. Spain has argued the painting was legally obtained by the collection prior to its 1993 sale to the country by Baron Hans Heinrich von Thyssen-Bornemisza, a prolific art collector whose wealthy industrialist family helped finance Adolf Hitler’s rise.

The matter has repeatedly wound its way through the U.S. courts, including to the Supreme Court, which remanded the case to the lower courts for additional review in light of California’s new law. A hearing is set for next month.

The museum has contended California’s new law is unconstitutional, which California is contesting. David Cassirer has argued the law clearly requires the museum to return the painting — and has pledged to support other looting victims with any proceeds.

He said both California and Congress “acted decisively to guarantee that stolen art victims, and victims of political persecution in particular, can have a fair shot to recover family legacies the Nazis ruthlessly tried to destroy,” and that “the momentum at all levels of government in favor of restitution is very encouraging.”

It’s been five years since “Call My Agent!,” known in its home country as “Dix pour cent” (“10 percent”), ended with the staff of Paris’ bankrupt ASK talent agency moving en masse toward the exit, as in the closing moments of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”

The rich workplace comedy mounted four seasons from 2015 to 2020; the fourth was made without its creator, Fanny Herrero (she went on to create the fine but less successful “Standing Up,” about Parisian comics). But she has returned, along with “Standing Up” writer Lison Daniel, for “Call My Agent! The Movie,” premiering Thursday on Netflix, which picks up the scattered ensemble more or less where they imagined they’d be when the series ended, and gets them back in the same frame.

As a movie, it’s its own sort of beast — a complete statement in a single package, with not just A and B stories, but C and D as well, and arcs that might develop over a season of the show compressed into a couple of hours. But its essentials are essentially unchanged: It’s still about the difficulty of making art, and the often unsavory business that lets art get made, with known actors playing fun house versions of themselves and our heroes attempting to wrangle them into order, with whatever works — lies, bribes, real shared feelings. The regular cast, many of whom Americans will first have met here, still feel identical with their characters, rather than just professionals who have been paid to play them, so that even when the action is outlandish the emotions are real.

The focus here is on the fierce Andréa (Camille Cottin), who has left agenting and is about to direct her first movie, a drama set in the woods, and Noémie (Laure Calamy), whom Andrea hires as a replacement producer — she has become the producer of a hit workplace comedy, “Les Colleagues,” the sort of show that produces a lot of branded merch — believing that she can mold Noémie to her will. On the domestic front, Andréa separated from partner Colette (Ophélia Kolb), a co-parent to her daughter Flora — some sticky questions will arrive, doubling the pressure.

Noémie is still with Mathias (Thibault de Montalembert), once the most formidable of agents, who has quieted down somewhat owing to a Season 4 heart attack, and the fact that he’s working in the agency his daughter Camille (Fanny Sidney) announced at the end of the series. He’s feeling old (comparatively, he is, at 64 — though Liliane Rovère as agent emeritus Arlette beats him at 93) and things with Noémie are not great, which sets the stage for some romantic comedy, including a wild boar.

Andréa’s movie brings the old cast together, including sensitive junior agent turned aspiring actor Hervé (Nicolas Maury), and I am glad to see them. (Stéfi Celma’s Sophia, a receptionist turned actor, is sadly missing.) Much goes wrong, before things go right. (It’s a comedy, they will — though there are some moving dramatic moments along the way.) To be sure, there are no backstage comedies — or dramas, or dramedies — in which nothing goes wrong, or things even go mostly right. Disaster is the air they breathe.

On the eve of production, Andrea loses her male lead (Laurent Lafitte as himself) to a Wes Anderson movie; the psychologically delicate actor they get to replace him, Vincent Macaigne as himself, who’s represented by former ASK agent Gabriel (Grégory Montel), now working for their old rival, has a messy history with the other lead, Laetitia Casta, also as herself. They can barely work together. (There will be a bit of romantic comedy wrapped around this thread, as well.)

Then there’s a storm.

The French actors playing themselves are not well known here — Casta may be more familiar as a ’90s supermodel, for those who are familiar with that sort of thing — but Americans have been given the gift of cameos from Eva Longoria and an uncredited George Clooney who takes a comically unproductive lunch meeting with Andrea, crashed, in more than one sense, by Noémie.

Though the series finale made for a satisfying ending, there was already talk then of another season or a film. Still, “The Movie” arrives seemingly out of left field, as sort of a happy surprise. It doesn’t betray its legacy. We know from the supermarket magazines and internet scandal sites that some actors are seemingly as crazy as these actors pretend to be. But somehow movies get made. Most every show business satire is also a show business celebration. There’s no business like it.

Comparing the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art to a spaceship has become an internet cliche, but the otherworldly campus really does feel like it exists in a galaxy far, far away. Nestled in Exposition Park beside the Natural History Museum and down the block from the soon-to-open Samuel Oschin Air and Space Center (with its actual spaceship), the Lucas Museum’s Ma Yansong-designed building sticks out like a green thumb.

There are 11 acres of lush public park space to explore, dotted with “Star Wars”-themed statues and a hanging garden, as well as benches and an amphitheater for outdoor events. A waterfall tucked on the north end of the building acts as a cooling mechanism for the 300,000-square-foot structure, but also serves as a gathering spot for jovial seagulls.

If you get peckish, there are two options: A cafe on the ground floor with typical sandwich and salad fare as well as a Starbucks; and a fifth-floor restaurant called Skywalker Grill with a full bar, curved cherry wood walls and lovely views of downtown L.A. (Nab a reservation or you’ll likely never get in.)

There are 100,000 square feet of gallery space, with the art spread mostly across the fourth floor — and in a fifth-floor murals gallery where you’ll find a selection of Banksys hidden in a back corner. More than 30 discrete galleries have something for almost everyone and are curated by broad themes including motherhood, community, romance, sports, science fiction and comics.

And, yes, there is a “Star Wars” exhibit, but it’s just a small part of the overall scene. If you come explicitly for that, your day will be filled with unexpected discovery.

Here’s a useful map to guide your way.

1/3

1. Galleries
2. Galleries
3. Library
4. Sculpture garden 

2/3

5. Education lobby
6. Lucas plaza
7. Oculus
8. Galleries
9. Private event space
10. Main lobby
11. Cafe
12. Gift shop 

3/3

13. Theaters
14. Skywalker Grill
15. Galleries
16. The History of Narrative Art: Heroes, Myths, The Sacred
17. Waterfall 

1/3

4th Floor Galleries 

2/3

4th Floor Galleries 

3/3

4th Floor Galleries 

Uzbek and Saudi creative communities gathered in Riyadh’s Diplomatic Quarter to mark the 35th anniversary of Uzbekistan’s independence through a unique celebration of shared artistic heritage.

Titled The Art of Al-Mounamnamat: From Bukhara to Arabia — Stories Along the Routes of the Sacred, the exhibition at The Space in Al-Mashtal brought together artists, academics, and diplomats to examine how Islamic miniature art serves as a living bridge between Central Asia and the Arab world.

The event featured panel discussions on how manuscript illustration, sacred geometry, and visual storytelling have documented spiritual and cultural practices across generations. Tracing the historic journey of miniature painting from Transoxiana to the modern Middle East, participants explored how the borderless medium continues to evolve.

Nodirjon Turgunov, ambassador of Uzbekistan to Saudi Arabia, said: “Events like The Art of Al-Mounamnamat strengthen ties between Saudi Arabia and Uzbekistan by bringing people together through Islamic art and our shared cultural heritage. They offer an opportunity to learn about one another’s traditions, exchange ideas and build friendships that deepen the relationship between our countries.

“Holding this event in Riyadh is particularly meaningful. Saudi Arabia has great potential in the field of Islamic art, and we see opportunities for closer cooperation between our artists and cultural institutions. We want to develop cultural diplomacy as a way to bring our peoples closer together, encouraging exhibitions, creative exchanges and joint initiatives. Through these connections, we can celebrate our shared heritage while creating new opportunities for future generations.”

Turgunov added: “As a next step, we plan to organize a similar exhibition featuring Saudi artists in Uzbekistan in the coming years, giving Uzbek audiences an opportunity to discover and appreciate Saudi artistic traditions. We also hope to expand these exchanges to other art forms that reflect the rich cultural heritage of our two nations, building a lasting dialogue between our artists and communities.”

In a session titled From Bukhara to Arabia: Contemporary Practice and Artistic Dialogue, contemporary miniature painter Firuz Kurbanov from Bukhara joined Fahad Al-Jebreen, a Saudi visual artist and assistant professor of art education at King Saud University, to discuss how traditional techniques inform modern creative education.

Highlighting the diplomatic weight of cultural programming, Mirzohid Eshonkulov, first secretary at the Embassy of Uzbekistan in Riyadh, highlighted the role of creative engagement in deepening bilateral ties.

“It’s a very important part of bilateral and multilateral relations, because we also call this ‘people-to-people’ diplomacy, because when people love each other, the governments strengthen bilateral relations,” Eshonkulov said. “That’s why we are, as an embassy, ready to boost these cultural ties in Mounamnamat.”

The personal resonance of the art form was highlighted during a joint presentation by Kurbanov and Saudi artist Afnan Tash, founder of Al-Mihrab.

Tash recalled how her journey into miniature painting began following her experience during the Hajj pilgrimage in Makkah in 2018.

“Once I went to this journey and I came back, I was unable to talk; I was unable to express my feelings,” Tash said, adding that she subsequently discovered miniature art as an expressive outlet. She said that her recent works draw inspiration from historic Hajj certificates, created to honor her parents who completed the pilgrimage seven decades ago.

Responding to her narrative, Kurbanov said that while Tash’s work echoes the pattern work of his own Central Asian cultural tradition, his individual practice approaches miniatures through mathematical algorithms and a structured scientific lens.

The evening illustrated how Islamic storytelling continues to serve as an effective mechanism for soft diplomacy, uniting artists across regions through a shared aesthetic tradition.

George Lucas and Mellody Hobson want their massive spaceship of a museum to be an experience. Across 300,000 square feet and 11 acres of park space, there’s a lot to take in. Staring up at the 90-foot-diameter oculus four stories above the entrance plaza makes one feel like a speck in the galaxy.

Instead of trying to conquer everything on a first visit — there are more than 1,300 works — hit our highlights below. If you aim to walk around the striking building to view a mishmash of masterpieces, children’s illustrations, movie memorabilia that’s heavy on “Star Wars” and comic strips, you’ll have a good time. If you’re hoping to learn about what’s on display or how adjacent pieces relate, curb your enthusiasm. It’s almost as if the museum is making a statement: you don’t need some analysis to connect with the works. If you complain about the collection, the co-founders don’t care. “Is it fine art? It’s finer art because it’s actually telling a story,” Lucas said at a museum party last week.

The 90-foot-diameter oculus provides unique viewing from the fourth-floor gallery.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

The gee-whiz elevators at the entrance of the museum.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Whoosh up in the glass-tube elevators to the massive fourth floor to begin. Best to explore the bulk of the galleries when your gas tank is full. Then head up a floor to see the murals. Take a break at the rooftop Skywalker Grill before ambling to the library and grounds. Skip the first floor’s “History of Narrative Art.” The exhibition is mostly screens, projections and reproductions, with a handful of great works from the 16th and 17th centuries and feels superficial at times. If you care about whether something is an original or a copy, check the gallery labels. Hungry for more detail? There’s a $30 exhibition catalog in the gift shop.

Prepare to get your steps in and feel a little turned around once it opens Sept. 22. Admission is $25 for adults, free for kids.

Inside the Universalist Unitarian Church of Riverside, a line of masked people filed into the red-lighted chapel, one by one, to take part in the rite of confession.

The private booth was framed in flowers, and rather than a priest listening inside, it was a microphone recording their confessions, to be played at an upcoming art exhibition. The brick triangle-roofed church that held the booth has stood since opening in 1892; that night, it was the site of a masquerade, or as Riverside artist Perry Picasshoe called it, the “Masqueerade.”

Picasshoe, whose real name is Neveah Marquez, hosted the event, which had an entirely LGBTQ+ guest list and one requirement: Bring a mask, whatever that looks like to you.

Marquez, a 26-year-old transgender woman robed entirely in red, stood at the pews and danced to the experimental electronic DJ sets and drag performances as guests entered in masks that ranged from papier-mâché deer antlers to collaged photos of eyes and lips.

The event came as a celebration ahead of the Riverside native’s first solo exhibition, “SagradX,” which will open Saturday at Riverside Art Museum and remain through Jan. 31.

The recorded confessions, layered over one another until they become an unintelligible cacophony, represent just one piece of the 25 paintings, photographs and interactive displays in the exhibition. The show explores the meaning of “sacred” as Marquez documents her most private places and experiences, and asks viewers to consider what they hold sacred.

The exhibition, she says, began with heartbreak.

Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe), 26, sits inside the Riverside Art Museum.

(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)

“The first time I started thinking about sacredness … was when my ex-partner brought somebody into our bed,” said Marquez.

“I was crying, distraught, and drove over to these hills over Lake Mathews [in Riverside] and I realized: The bedroom was sacred to me. That’s why it hurt so much. And I started thinking, if it wasn’t sacred to them, how do we decide what is sacred to each of us?”

The very headboard of that bed sits in the exhibition; on it, Marquez painted fairy-tale creatures representing the lovers gallivanting across the woods.

While Marquez’s experience with betrayal sparked the idea, the exhibition explores sanctity in many different scenarios: In one, the artist plays with the concept of the digital safe space by inviting guests to look through her phone as she is tied on a handmade iron-wrought cross. Inside the exhibition space, she uses a small painter’s brush to slowly paint the white walls red over the course of the show.

In curating the exhibition, Marquez began to look inward, painting and photographing herself in ways she never had before: through the lens of femininity. She lived the previous 26 years of her life as a man, growing up religious to the point that she once considered becoming a priest. The paintings serve as portals into a part of her that she long held inside.

“I describe it like having blurry vision your whole life and not realizing how clearly you can see, until you put glasses on,” Marquez said. “That’s how painting myself as a woman felt.”

Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe) considers what is sacred.

(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)

Though she initially identified with her male birth name, the more she painted herself in Venus-like, feminine poses and with longer hair, her understanding of her identity shifted. Illuminated by her signature scarlet red clothing and tastefully shrouded in sheets, the soft expression on her face was inspired by Raphael’s “La Fornarina.”

“I wasn’t thinking much of it in the moment, but as I kept painting these portraits, I was thinking a lot about myself and thinking about gender and my identity,” Marquez said. “Through my art process, I realized: ‘Maybe I would be a pretty woman.’ That’s what scared me the most from transitioning, was not feeling like I would be beautiful enough.”

In “SagradX,” Marquez’s body is documented vulnerably; easing into her own identity becoming a painfully honest artistic process, which the audience is now invited to watch.

“I feel like I don’t paint very often because when I do, it’s just so emotionally intense. Like when Olivia Rodrigo wrote that she’s scared of her guitar because she couldn’t lie to it, that’s how I feel about painting,” Marquez said. “I can’t lie to my painting.”

Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe) wears long, flowing red clothes.

(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)

Aside from her self-portraits, Marquez includes photographs of her ice blocks project, in which she placed 25-pound blocks where immigration enforcement raids took place in the Inland Empire last year. These were once safe places that she says have been “desecrated with fear.”

Marquez’s personal journal, which documented her inner joys and struggles over the last year, is also open on a table in the exhibition for guests to read through, draw over, or tear. For Marquez, “SagradX” was the catalyst to “let everything out.”

“If the show is about vulnerability, I need to practice that for myself as well. Otherwise, you would see in the work that there’s a blockage, you can sense when artists aren’t fully honest,” Marquez said. “I want people to question, ‘What is sacred to you?’ If I give you access to something sacred to me, what will you do with that?”

I wasn’t born in Los Angeles, but it’s the city that raised me. I moved here fresh out of college with a doe-eyed dream of stepping into the kind of art scene I’d read about in history books. Instead, it quickly became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to just waltz in with my Southern charm and big smile; there would need to be some sort of hack into the art world — a place rife with unspoken roles and gatekeeping — if I wanted to get anywhere as a non-nepo artist.

After years of blister-inducing heels-on-the-ground gallery hopping and late-night schmoozing, I found myself falling in love with this city and slowly realizing that the best parts of L.A. were rarely found in mainstream spaces. There’s an inventiveness here that comes from the sprawl of the city — artists like myself who are constantly improvising, building their own ecosystems because nothing is handed to them. I fell in love with how “never-ending” the artist’s practice can feel in Los Angeles, how a studio visit can veer into an hours-long conversation about life. It made the city feel less like a scene to fit into and more like a living, breathing network you have to contribute to before receiving anything back.

In 2014, Alex Benzer and I decided to put our hard-earned knowledge to work by creating Curate LA: a community-driven platform designed to pull back the curtain on the Los Angeles art world by mapping under-the-radar exhibitions and adventurous artist-run spaces, and connecting our audiences directly with artists, curators, galleries and collectors through candid interviews, weekly guides and real-time event recommendations. Because despite appearances, an art scene isn’t held up by pristine white walls; it’s built by the artists sharing a cig and an idea outside on the sidewalk, the gallerists stocking the free booze and championing new voices, and the person you meet sitting at the front desk who tells you about the cute spot around the corner with affordable bites.

For me, an ideal L.A. weekend is a little bit of all of that: a great studio visit that turns into an unexpected conversation, stumbling onto an unconventional exhibition of an artist I’ve never heard of, eating something delicious with friends who I ran into at a show opening, and ending the night at a bar where half of the room just spilled out from the gallery down the street. What I’ve made for you is my personal, slightly circuitous, weekend guide to Los Angeles’ sprawling creative landscape. These are my snapshots of the places and people that I return to, the ones that have fed me, surprised me, taught me something or made a long day of circling the block to find parking impossible to forget.

FRIDAY: Downtown → MacArthur Park → Koreatown

Greg Ito with “Personal Effects,” 2026, “The Spectrum Within,” 2025 and “Love is a Vessel,” 2026.

1. My first stop is visiting Greg Ito at his DTLA studio. I love the way his work draws me into a layered dreamscape and rearranges my sense of time and space. Greg is also a great storyteller. Pulling from archival family photos and childhood memories as a fourth-generation Angeleno in West L.A., his work weaves together a certain kind of nostalgia that always makes for a heartfelt studio visit. DM @gregitooo for availability and address.

   

   Eduardo Medrano at John Doe Gallery.

2. From there, I head over to John Doe Gallery, which is run by two artists, Eduardo Medrano Jr. and Alfonso Gonzalez Jr. They show some of the best up-and-coming artists in Los Angeles, and their openings are always a good time. It’s the kind of place where I’m just as likely to run into someone I know as I am to discover someone I don’t, which in my opinion is exactly what a good art space should do. 107 E. 11th St., Los Angeles. DM @johndoegallery for open hours.

   

   Vita Kari in front of “My Girlfriend Named Herself After a Water Bottle,” 2024, at their DTLA studio. Kari wears Barrio Drive.

3. You might recognize Vita Kari as “The craziest thing about being creative” personality from IG, but what you might not know is that they completed their MFA with a thesis on “Virality as Form,” wherein lies the proof in the pudding, a.k.a. their art. Vita uses textiles, performance and video to speak about internet culture, along with stunning visuals that incorporate their family’s Middle Eastern diaspora and history. DM @vitakari for availability and address.

   

   Samala Meza in her DTLA studio with works in progress.

4. I make my way over to Samala Meza, who creates soft, sexy paintings that look like she literally breathed a secret into them. Her studio is situated at Princess Castle, an artist-run studio space, so you can pop over to some other great artists while you’re there. DM @samalameza for availability and address.

   

   Devin Troy Strother on the roof of his studio overlooking DTLA.

5. Devin Troy Strother is an L.A.-born and -based artist and co-founder of Coloured Publishing, a printing press making books, zines, T-shirts and other editioned works, all by artists of color. Nestled among the produce district, there’s never a dull moment in Devin’s studio. Often working all hours of the night, there’s usually a cast of characters coming in and out, similar to the subjects you’ll see throughout his paintings. DM @devintroy for availability and address.

   

   Commonwealth and Council Team (L to R clockwise): Isabel Einaudi, Audrey Bui, Brenda Reyes-Chavez, Oliver Sweet and Young Chung.

6. What began as an artist-run exhibition space in Young Chung’s apartment 15 years ago has grown to be one of L.A.’s most championed emerging artist safe havens, Commonwealth and Council. I’ll always make time for this space if I’m in the neighborhood. 3006 W. 7th St., Suite 220, Los Angeles, door code: 01220 (please note that this space is not wheelchair–accessible). Thursday to Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., @commonwealthandcouncil

   

   Holcomb in front of the Prince. Styled by Jocelyn Corona, wearing AYANEGUI, TANAMACHI and Vacr.

7. To round out the day, I recommend decompressing at the Prince in K-Town, a place where you can spot celebrities and L.A. artists under one roof. Many galleries have had their after-parties here, where you can catch up on the night’s gossip in a dimly lit booth over a kimchi pancake. 3198 1/2 W 7th St., Los Angeles. Call before your visit to confirm hours and dining details (this space is also not wheelchair–accessible). princektown.com

SATURDAY: Beverly Hills → Hollywood → Eastside

Jerson Hondall in the library of Gagosian Gallery, Beverly Hills.

8. I start the day by visiting one of my favorite people in the L.A. art scene, Jerson Hondall. Jerson worked for Curate LA back in the day, but now you can find him working as an artist liaison at Gagosian Gallery and serving on the board of LACE. He is a literal art encyclopedia, which you can see through his Instagram series #dosisdiariadearte, and he is one of the loveliest people you will find, so don’t be afraid to approach him if you see him out and about. DM @jersonhondall for availability.

   

   Jonny Negron in his Los Feliz studio featuring works in progress “virtue signal” and “tellurian lube.”

9. Next, I head east to Los Feliz to visit Jonny Negron at his home studio. His paintings make you feel like you’re sitting across the bar from some of the coolest people in the room. You might recognize his work, which was commissioned for Rosalía’s single “Dolerme.” There’s something about seeing his works in the exact place where they were made that makes the paintings feel even more alive. DM @jonnynegron777 for availability and address.

   

   LAST Projects exterior in Lincoln Heights with co-founder Ilona Berger and pup.

10. I then make my way to Lincoln Heights and visit LAST Projects, an alternative space and gem. This gallery has given many artists in L.A. their first shows in their early careers (myself included). It’s one of those places where I know I’m going to see something that makes me pause, even if I have no idea what I’m walking into beforehand. 206 S. Ave. 20, Los Angeles. Open Thursday, 1 to 5 p.m. and Sunday, 1 to 6 p.m. @last_projects

    

11. Next I visit Drex, owned and curated by Vivian Hicks, a vintage homeware store tucked into Cypress Park. With a knowledge of designers that is truly unmatched, Vivian scours the internet and estate sales to hand-select some of the most desired American Modern, Italian and French design collectibles ranging from the early 20th century to the early 2000s. DM @drex.drex.drex for an appointment and address.

    

    Huevos a la Mexicana breakfast burrito at Lupita’s Restaurant in Cypress Park.

12. I skipped breakfast, so Vivian recommends I go around the corner to Lupita’s Restaurant, and they do not disappoint with their huevos a la Mexicana breakfast burrito. Simple but effective. 2634 Idell St., Los Angeles. Open daily 7 a.m. to 2 p.m.

    

    Ever Velasquez outside of Charlie James Gallery on Chunk King Road, Chinatown.

13. Satiated, I hop over to Chinatown to visit curator Ever Velasquez at Charlie James Gallery. While her name might not be on the door, Ever is the star of the show, putting together show after show of L.A.’s hottest rising artists. 969 Chung King Road, Los Angeles. Open Tuesday to Saturday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. and by appointment. @charliejamesgallery @ever.a.k.a.thegirlabouttown

    

    Human Resources exterior in Chinatown.

14. A few blocks away, there is Human Resources. An L.A. staple, HRLA has been around for 16 years now and continues to showcase some of the most experimental works coming out of the city. This space is truly a breeding ground for pure creativity and expression. Make sure to check the calendar on their website to see what’s happening. 410 Cottage Home St., Los Angeles. @humanresourcesla

    

    Drinks at El Prado in Echo Park.

15. Finally, I end the day at El Prado, a local artist watering hole. Nick Fisher, the owner, used to bartend his personal bar called FISHTANK at gallery openings and come up with the craziest drink concoctions and home-brewed beers on theme with whatever exhibition was opening that evening. With names like the Loudspeaker cocktail and a Blood and Fire Smoked Lager, they were sure to get you litty. You can still sample his creations at the bar, albeit they might not be as experimental as they once were. 1805 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles. Open Monday to Friday, 5 p.m. to 2 a.m., Saturday to Sunday, 2 p.m. to 2 a.m. @ficknish, @elpradobar

SUNDAY: South L.A. → Mid-City → Pico

Aleza Zheng in her South L.A. studio featuring “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” 2026, “Of Providence,” 2026 and “All That Is In Heaven,” 2026.

16. I start Sunday with Aleza Zheng at the artist-run Tlaloc Studios. Much like her artwork, she is quite the whimsical, spontaneous person. The first time we met, I was deep in the trenches of L.A. Art Week, starving at my probably fifth art event of the day. I was ready to call it quits when Aleza popped out of her car, dressed to the nines, with multiple bags of In-N-Out. She’s been feeding me ever since. DM @alezazheng for availability and address.

    

    Dominique Clayton at Harun Coffee in Leimert Park.

17. From there I spend some time with Dominique Clayton in the heart of Leimert Park, where she was born and raised. Dominique is an L.A. native, curator and woman about town. She’s currently organizing Mom’s Night Out at Harun Coffee, a bimonthly meetup of mothers looking to connect with other creatives and artist moms. I love the way Dominique thinks about community — not as some abstract art world buzzword, but something you have to actually cultivate IRL. DM @lookatdominique to connect.

    

    Jamal Hasef in front of his mural “Sky is the Limit,” 2026 on 11th & Vernon in Leimert Park.

18. I make my way to see Jamal Hasef, who uses paint to move between the personal and the political, digging into the complex and sublime afterlives of the African diaspora in his canvases and portraits. You can check out his mural on the corner of 11th and Vernon or visit him at his studio in nearby Baldwin Hills. @_hasef_ DM for availability and address.

    

    Holcomb in front of Watts Towers in Watts, wearing Desigual and styled by Jocelyn Corona.

19. If you haven’t heard of or visited the fairy-tale world of Simon Rodia’s Watts Towers, you’re in for a treat. Next door to the famous landmark is the Watts Towers Arts Center, a historical site of political activism and assemblage art, most notably by L.A. legendary artist Noah Purifoy, who once ran the gallery. I love bringing people here because it reminds me of why I’m so enamored with the city: It’s weird, completely handmade and unlike anything else. 1727 E. 107th St., Los Angeles. Gallery hours are Wednesday to Saturday, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., but you can check out the towers from the street any day of the week. wattstowers.org

    

    Books purchased from Reparations Club in Mid City (L to R): “Assata: An Autobiography,” “Love Poems’ by Nikki Giovanni, “Directed by Desire: The Collection of Poems” by June Jordan and “Communion: The Female Search for Love” by bell hooks.

20. By now I’m ready for some retail therapy, so I head to Reparations Club in Mid-City, my absolute favorite bookstore in Los Angeles. I could buy the entire store if my wallet and storage would allow, but on this particular trip my haul was “Assata: An Autobiography” by Assata Shakur, “Love Poems” by Nikki Giovanni, “Communion: The Female Search for Love” by bell hooks and “Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems of June Jordan.” Considering the state of literacy we are facing in this AI-driven world, I’d say we all could benefit from frequent visits here. 3054 S. Victoria Ave., Los Angeles. Open Monday to Saturday, 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., Sunday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. @reparations.club

    

21. And finally, I end the weekend with pure sustenance. My last stop is Merkato, an Ethiopian cafe where the walls are filled with eclectic knickknacks and the plates are eat-with-your-hands style, packed with flavorful goodness; it’s the kind of meal that makes you want to linger. If you have the time, don’t skip out on the traditional Ethiopian coffee. 1036 1/2 S. Fairfax Ave., Los Angeles. Open daily 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.

Shelley Holcomb is an artist, curator, writer and cultural leader, whose work spans painting, installation, storytelling, advocacy and making art more accessible.