artist

Back in the early 2010s, the music industry was at a low point.

Piracy was rampant. Compact disc sales were on a steady decline. And the then-new audio streaming services, like Spotify, were taking hits from creators for paying low royalty rates.

Today, Spotify has grown into the world’s most popular audio streaming subscription service and the highest-paying retailer globally — paying the music industry over $11 billion last year. The Swedish company said in a recent post that the payouts aren’t strictly going to ultra-popular artists, but that “roughly half of royalties were generated by independent artists and labels.”

“A decade ago, a lot of the questions were really fair. Spotify had to be able to prove out if it could scale as an economic engine. People didn’t know if streaming would scale as a model,” said Sam Duboff, Spotify’s global head of marketing and policy of music business.

Duboff said Spotify’s payouts aren’t “plateauing — we’re still growing that royalty pool on Spotify more than 10% per year.” He credits the streaming platform’s growth to “incentivizing people to be willing to pay for music again” by providing personalized experiences and global accessibility.

The company, founded in 2006, serves more than 751 million users, including 290 million subscribers, in 184 markets.

“The average Spotify premium subscriber listens to 200 artists every month, and nearly half of those artists are discovered for the first time,” Duboff said. “When you build an experience where people can explore and fall in love with music, it inspires them to upgrade to premium and keep paying.”

The platform offers a wide variety of playlists, curated by editors like the up-and-comer-driven Fresh Finds or rap’s latest, RapCaviar. There are also personal playlists generated for users, such as the weekly round-up Discover Weekly and the daily mix of tunes called the “daylist.”

The streamer considers itself the first step toward “an enduring career” for today’s indie artists. Last year, more than a third of artists making $10,000 on the platform in royalties started by self-releasing their music through independent distributors.

“Streaming, fundamentally, is about opportunity and access. It’s artists from all over the world releasing music the way they want to and reaching a global audience from Day One,” Duboff said. He adds that when fans have a choice, they will discover new genres and music cultures that may have otherwise languished in obscurity.

In 2025, nearly 14,000 artists earned $100,000 from Spotify alone. The streamer’s data also show that last year the 100,000th highest-earning artist made $7,300 in Spotify royalties, whereas in 2015, an artist in that same spot earned around $350.

The company, with a large presence in L.A.’s Arts District, emphasizes that the roster of artists on its platform who earn significantly more money — well into the millions — is no longer limited to the few. A decade ago, Spotify’s top artist made around $10 million in royalties. Today, the platform’s top 80 artists generate over $10 million annually. Some of 2025’s top artists globally were Bad Bunny, Taylor Swift and the Weeknd.

Spotify claims those who aren’t household names can earn six figures, with more than 1,500 artists earning $1 million last year.

For some musicians, the outlook is not as clear

Damon Krukowski, a musician and the legislative director for United Musicians & Allied Workers, argues that Spotify’s money isn’t necessarily going to artists — it’s going to their labels.

Those without labels usually upload music through distributors such as DistroKid and CD Baby. These platforms charge a small fee or commission. For example, DistroKid’s lowest-level subscription is $24.99 a year, and the site states users “keep 100% of all your earnings.”

”There are zero payments going directly to recording artists from Spotify,” Krukowski asserts. “Recording artists deserve direct payment from the streaming platforms for use of our work.”

The advocacy group, which has mobilized more than 70,000 musicians and music workers, recently helped draft the Living Wage for Musicians Act to address the streaming industry. The bill, introduced to the U.S. House of Representatives last fall, calls for a new streaming royalty that would directly pay artists a minimum of one penny per stream.

In the Q&A section of Spotify’s Loud and Clear website, the streamer confirms that it “doesn’t pay artists or songwriters directly. We pay rights holders selected by the artist or songwriter, whether that’s a record label, publisher, independent distributor, performance rights organization, or collecting society.”

Instead of following a penny-per-stream model, Spotify pays based on the artist’s share of total streams, called a “streamshare.”

“Streaming doesn’t work like buying songs. Fans pay for unlimited access, not per track they listen to,” wrote the company online. “So a ‘per stream’ rate isn’t actually how anyone gets paid — not on Spotify, or on any major streaming service.”

On a dreary February afternoon in Chinatown, Ben Lovett, pianist and keyboardist of the British folk-rock group Mumford & Sons, was hours away from releasing his band’s sixth album, “Prizefighter.” The LP — co-produced by Aaron Dessner with guests Hozier, Gracie Abrams and Chris Stapleton — rejuvenates a catalog that includes a Grammy for album of the year in 2013. He could have been celebrating, or at least resting up for his upcoming “Saturday Night Live” gig and fall arena tour.

Instead, Lovett was calf-deep in sludgy rain water flooding the streets from a sudden downpour, standing at the roll-gate of a ripped-apart warehouse. “You’ll need this,” Lovett told a Times reporter as he handed out hardhats, walking his construction team through the still-raw hallways, shouting over a cacophony of circular saws.

In a few weeks, this site will be Pacific Electric, a new 750-capacity music venue that Lovett and his venue-developer firm TVG Hospitality have been converting for six years. It’s a small but ambitious entry into a Los Angeles venue landscape that’s recovering from fire and economic woes, yet has also seen several jolts of life recently.

Pacific Electric is a new flagship for the team at TVG, which has become an independent-scene force in the U.S. and U.K. over the last decade. Beyond his band, this project plants Lovett’s flag as an L.A. live music entrepreneur too.

“I’ve never had such a significant moment around a venue launch,” Lovett said in the soon-to-be dressing room at Pacific Electric. “It’s the seventh venue we’ve done, but it has never coincided with such an important creative moment with the band. I have to be very disciplined right now.”

Mumford & Sons led the 2010s folk revival that minted a generation of plaintive, earnest singer-songwriter acts atop the charts. While their genre peers’ fates have varied, Mumford & Sons remained perennial arena and festival headliners, with an ambitious midcareer streak in the studio. As pop culture’s tastes shifted, and his band moved around New York, L.A. and the U.K., Lovett returned to his show-producing roots in 2016 to build the 320-capacity nightclub Omeara in London.

Los Angeles, CA – February 19: Exterior view of the new music venue Pacific Electric, which is under construction in Chinatown and owned by Ben Lovett of the Grammy-winning folk band Mumford & Sons. (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

“A lot of rooms in America are owned by the promoter, so unless you are working with that promoter, you can’t play that room. I don’t like that. I think there’s something fundamentally broken with that practice,” he said. “I wanted to prove out that idea, but I had to learn everything, like how you get a liquor license. It wasn’t perfect, but the intent was so pure.”

Two years and a couple U.K. venues later, TVG got an unexpected call from the city of Huntsville, Ala., to build the Orion Amphitheater, an 8,000-capacity anchor venue for the massive civic project Apollo Park. The futuristic Grecian agora, which opened in 2022, was beyond anything they’d built before — similar to Red Rocks in Colorado or Forest Hills Stadium in New York. Suddenly, Lovett and TVG were players in the U.S. too.

“When I’m off the road, I drop my kid at school and I go to work. I sit in an office from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.,” Lovett said. “That’s not common, but there are people I really admire like Pharrell Williams who have a foot in entrepreneurship while also being a creator of songs. By doing a day’s work with TVG, sitting down at the piano can still feel like a hobby.”

Lovett, who lives in L.A., had long wanted something closer to home. The industrial northern pocket of Chinatown housing Pacific Electric is well-known to ravers and foodies — Insomniac’s Naud Street warehouse is close by, and the upscale cocktail bar Apotheke and pan-Asian restaurant Majordomo are around the corner. But besides festivals at Los Angeles State Historic Park, there hadn’t been much of a live music presence in the area (a plan to open an outpost of the NYC venue Baby’s All Right was thwarted by the pandemic).

Pacific Electric will be on the small side for a theater, a more intimate peer of downtown’s Regent or Bellwether. But Lovett’s plowed 20 years of notes from touring into the space — from the serene sandstone-hued dressing rooms with a piano and built-in laundry facilities, to a fully-separated horseshoe bar area to keep fan drink lines moving. There’s no bad sightline in the space, from either the ground floor or upper level balcony, which looks out over a stage wreathed in pink neon and wood cutouts evoking the industrial cityscape outside.

“Keeping the dirt under my fingernails with projects like this, and watching shows as often as I do, you realize how hard and how much creativity and magic there are around shows,” Lovett said. “It’s never a given to have an audience.”

To manage the venue, TVG brought on Stacey Levine, a veteran of the Palladium, Wiltern and Theatre at the Ace Hotel (now the United Theater on Broadway). While her management experience is in larger, historic venues, the chance to build something from scratch with an artist’s insight was enticing.

“People really want to get off their phones and back into independent venues, and this little pocket of downtown is about to pop off,” Levine said. “It’s very cool and close to different areas of L.A. But the venue is also really artist-focused. At 750 capacity, do you often have really nice dressing rooms? Probably not. But this is like welcoming artists into a nice hotel.”

Pacific Electric is independent in the sense that it’s not wholly exclusive for either promoter conglomerate (they plan to work with both Live Nation, AEG and others). Lovett, who cited the San Francisco concert impresario Bill Graham as a model for his company, said, “I love the opportunity to back an artist and be their advocate, and they should be able to work in any room they want to. I’ll die on that hill.”

The music won’t lean especially Mumford-ish. Its first show, with the synthwave group TimeCop1983, is slated for March 20, with a Robyn-themed club night, heavy rockers Militarie Gun and a big comedy slate from the Netflix Is a Joke festival up next.

L.A.’s nightlife — particularly in downtown — is still recovering from the pandemic-era culling of live venues and hospitality. After the malaise that’s ripped through L.A.’s entertainment economy of late, and a year of fires, ICE raids and other withering events in Los Angeles, Pacific Electric will have its work cut out to build its regular audience.

But new venues like South Pasadena’s Sid the Cat Auditorium and Re:Frame in Atwater Village have taken similar big swings in recent months. Lovett sounded hopeful that L.A. has plenty of room for more.

“I operated five venues in the pandemic, and conversations abounded like ‘Is this the death of live experiences?’” Lovett said. “My take was different, which was the one thing that we couldn’t figure out how to fix, was how to spend time together. Our greatest void was human interaction. We’re always going to trend towards congregation. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t do this.”

After years of ticketing complaints and frustrations, the trial for the Department of Justice’s antitrust lawsuit against Live Nation is officially underway.

As part of its case, the DOJ has accused Live Nation of requiring artists to use its promotional services when they play a Live Nation-owned venue. Because so many venues are owned by the company, the government claims Live Nation’s alleged practices are anti-competitive.

Jury selection began Monday in a New York federal court and opening statements are expected Tuesday for the complaint first filed in 2024. Since then, the antitrust case against the Beverly Hills-based company has been streamlined — examining whether Live Nation uses illegal anti-competitive practices and whether the company and Ticketmaster should be broken up.

The legal proceeding is expected to last around a month, with Judge Arun Subramanian, who also presided over Sean Combs’ sentencing last year, at the helm.

Live Nation’s presidents Michael Rapino and Joe Berchtold, executives from competing companies like Anschutz Entertainment Group and Irving Azoff, the former Ticketmaster CEO, are expected to testify. Musicians like Ben Lovett of Mumford & Sons and entertainer Kid Rock could also take the stand.

Key claims in the lawsuit

The original lawsuit led by a cadre of interested parties including the federal government, 39 states and the District of Columbia alleged that Live Nation and its subsidiary Ticketmaster have monopolies in various aspects of the live music industry, such as concert promotion, venue operations, artist management and ticketing services.

The lawsuit states that Live Nation manages over 400 artists and controls more than 265 venues in North America. Ticketmaster simultaneously controls around 80% of the primary ticket marketplace and is also increasing its involvement in the resale market.

Many of the large monopoly claims were thrown out during a pretrial hearing with Judge Subramanian last month, including an allegation that Live Nation’s industry power raises ticket prices and harms consumers.

The claim with arguably the greatest potential impact centers on whether Live Nation should own Ticketmaster. The two companies merged in 2010, a move that has frequently been considered controversial. Beyond the ownership of Ticketmaster, the DOJ claims Live Nation forces venues to sign exclusive contracts with Ticketmaster, barring the inclusion of other ticket vendors.

“For over a decade, Ticketmaster and Live Nation have promised reform, but meaningful competition has remained out of reach. The industry now stands at an inflection point: restore a competitive marketplace that supports innovation, or allow the status quo to continue narrowing options for American consumers,” Dustin Brighton of the Coalition for Ticket Fairness said in a statement.

“Yet the very competitors that could check this monopoly and restore balance are routinely boxed out by restrictive practices that limit innovation and reduce consumer options,” Brighton added.

Live Nation did not respond to a request for comment. When the complaint was first filed, the company called the claims “baseless.”

“Calling Ticketmaster a monopoly may be a PR win for the DOJ in the short term, but it will lose in court because it ignores the basic economics of live entertainment,” wrote Live Nation in a previous statement.

Next steps after the trial

If Live Nation loses the trial, the judge will decide how the company should be restructured, which could mean selling Ticketmaster to a competitor. Live Nation maintains the right to appeal such a decision, if it materializes, and take the matter to a higher court.

“If the court finds Live Nation violated the law, monetary penalties and behavioral commitments alone will not be sufficient,” Stephen Parker, executive director of the Independent Venue Association, said in a statement.

“The relief must be proportionate to the harm,” Parker added, “and that means structural separation of primary ticketing, resale ticketing, venue operation, national tours, advertising/sponsorship, and artist management must be seriously considered.”

Beyond the current DOJ trial, Live Nation is also facing a lawsuit from the Federal Trade Commission and a handful of class action lawsuits from groups of concertgoers.

Ulysses Jenkins, the pioneering Los Angeles-born video artist whose avant-garde compositions embodied Black experimentalism, has died. He was 79.

Jenkins’ death was confirmed by his alma mater Otis College, where he studied under renowned painter and printmaker Charles White in the late 1970s and returned as an instructor years later. The Los Angeles art and design school shared a statement from the Charles White Archive, which said, “Jenkins had a profound impact on contemporary art and media practices.”

“A trailblazing figure in Black experimental video, he was widely recognized for works that used image, sound, and cultural iconography to examine representation, race, gender, ritual, history, and power,” the statement said.

A self-proclaimed “griot,” Jenkins throughout his decades-spanning career maintained an art practice grounded in the tradition of those West African oral historians who came before him. Through archival documentaries like “The Nomadics” and surrealist murals like “1848: Bandaide,” he leveraged alternative media to challenge Eurocentric representations of Black Americans in popular culture.

He was both an artist and a storyteller who sought to “reassert the history and the culture,” he told The Times in 2022. That year, the Hammer Museum presented Jenkins’ first major retrospective, “Ulysses Jenkins: Without Your Interpretation.”

“Early video art was about the problems with the media that we are still having today: the notions of truth,” Jenkins said. “To that extent, early video art was a construct that was anti-media … a critical analysis of the media that we were viewing every night.”

Born in 1946 to Los Angeles transplants from the South, Jenkins was ambivalent about the city, which offered his parents some refuge from the blatant systemic racism they encountered in their hometowns, but housed an entertainment industry that had long perpetuated anti-Black sentiment.

“What Hollywood represents, especially in my work, is the classic plantation mentality,” Jenkins told The Times in 1986. “Although people aren’t necessarily enslaved by it, people enslave themselves to it because they’re told how fantastic it is to help manifest these illusions for a corporate sponsor.”

Jenkins, who participated in a group of artists committed to spontaneous action called Studio Z, was naturally drawn to video art over Hollywood filmmaking. “I can address any issue and I don’t have to wait for [the studios’] big OK. I thought this was a land of freedom, and video allows me that freedom and opportunity that I can create for myself and at least feel that part of being an American,” he said.

Jenkins went on to deconstruct Hollywood’s vision of the Black diaspora in experimental video compositions including “Mass of Images,” which incorporates clips from D.W. Griffith’s notoriously racist “The Birth of a Nation,” and “Two-Tone Transfer,” which depicts, in Jenkins’ words, a “dreamscape in which the dreamer awakens to a visitation of three minstrels who tell the story of the development of African American stereotypes in the American entertainment industry.”

Jenkins’ legacy is not only artistic but institutional, with the luminary having held teaching appointments at UCSD and UCI, where he co-founded the digital filmmaking minor with fellow Southern California-based artists Bruce Yonemoto and Bryan Jackson.

As artist and educator Suzanne Lacy penned in her social media tribute to Jenkins, which showed him speaking to students at REDCAT in L.A., “he has been an important part of our histories here in Southern California as video and performance artists evolved their practices.”

Erica Mahinay, showing with Make Room Gallery at Frieze L.A.

Some art shows are not just about the art. At Frieze L.A., it’s also about seeing — and being seen.

On Thursday morning, over 100 artists, gallerists and collectors representing 24 countries wafted into the maze that is Frieze at the Santa Monica Airport and transformed the space into a winding runway. The dress code was eclectic and appropriately L.A.: hyper-curated and nonchalant. Archival Mugler was paired with reconstructed relaxed denim. Silk pajama pants slouched over Wales Bonner loafers. And much like the works on display, attendees dared to be visually undefinable.

This year, the four-day frenzy is expected to draw about 30,000 attendees to exhibitions both in and outside the tent, including public installations from Frieze Projects’ “Body & Soul,” and the Focus section curated by Essence Harden, which spotlights young and lesser-known artists.

Storm Ascher, left, founder of Superstition Gallery and Greg Ito pictured with his solo booth, “A Cautionary Tale,” in the Focus Section curated by Essence Harden.

Undeniably, the art this year is a product of now. Outside, Patrick Martinez welcomes guests with neon quotes supporting immigrant rights. Across the tent, in a display of performance art, Amanda Ross-Ho continuously pushes a giant, inflatable Earth around a soccer field, symbolic of “the labor it takes to just keep things going all the time.” Walking around the fair, a shared sentiment of post-fire rejuvenation, cultural collaboration and a pride for the Los Angeles community was deeply felt.

Angeleno and artist Sharif Farrag said he’s “excited to show in the city [he] grew up in.” His ceramic collection “Hybrid Moments” with Jeffrey Deitch is a cultural analogy for his childhood. “I hope my work can reflect the times we’re in through a lens of color,” he said, “and the flora and fauna of L.A.”

Nicole Reber, an L.A.-based real estate agent, was giving “’90s sparkle princess,” coupling a pair of Chanel loafers with a vintage Escada jacket that’s “highly underrated.” She came to Frieze to scope out the next addition to her home. “There’s something valuable about living and collecting art,” she said. “It’s a chance to live with somebody else’s energy.”

Dr. Joy Simmons wore a calf-length button-down by South African designer Thebe Magugu. Collecting art, like clothes, is her way of exploring the diaspora. “I just want to find something that’s different,” she said. “[African American artists] bring a different kind of color palette and excitement to the art world.”

Sharon Coplan Hurowitz came to Frieze with her “support animal, ‘Hector.’” The pebble grain Thom Browne shoulder bag, though, was no size comparison to the 10-foot John Baldessari sculpture she stood in front of. Coplan, who recently authored a catalog of Baldessari’s notable art, is excited to see support for his archival works.

Nevine Mahmoud sculpture at Sebastian Gladstone Gallery

Sebastian Gladstone, owner of namesake New York and L.A. galleries, said he loves the L.A. art community because it brings together “people that would never mix otherwise.” If he could describe “good” art in a sentence, it would be: “an alchemy where there’s a mystery of its creation, and how it makes you feel.”

Kibum Kim, partner at the Commonwealth and Council gallery

rafa esparza at Commonwealth and Council booth

Kibum Kim, a partner at the Commonwealth and Council gallery, said sifting through Frieze is like making “Sophie’s choice.” He wore a jacket from Jakarta-based brand Tanah le Saé, adorned with mixed-matched buttons. In a similar spirit of upcycling, his exhibition shows Rose Salane’s newest project from Pompeii featuring rocks and other ephemera taken from the historic site.

William Escalera, left, and Francisco George

Francisco George, a longtime art collector and docent at LACMA, is a Frieze regular. To him, good art “grabs your attention and keeps it. It communicates.” He visits the fair with his husband, William Escalera, who this year is looking for art that incorporates textiles. “It’s different,” he said.

Gallerist Susanne Vielmetter

Gallerist Susanne Vielmetter layered an Issey Miyake Pleats Please dress with a skirt from J.Crew underneath. At Frieze, she never knows whether it’s going to be cold or hot in the tent. “It’s an onion look,” she said. Although she is particularly excited to display paintings by Alec Egan, depicting the trauma of the Palisades fire, she is glad that the fair is bustling and joyous. “People are just done with doom and gloom,” she said. “They’re positive, they’re energetic, they want to go back to collecting.”

Shio Kusaka, left, and Jonah Wood

An artwork by Jade Guanaro Kuriki-Olivo, aka Puppies Puppies

Conny Maier wears a Healthy Boy Band tee and MISBHV biker shorts.

Jwan Yosef and Steven Galloway

Davida Nemeroff of Night Gallery

Soshiro Matsubara, showing with Bel Ami

Soshiro Matsubara, Bel Ami

Kelly Wall with her installation

The Museum of Contemporary Art has acquired Kara Walker’s sculpture “Unmanned Drone,” a cornerstone of the museum’s groundbreaking “Monuments” exhibition.

It joins the 158 works by 106 artists that were added to MOCA’s permanent collection last year, including major works by Jacqueline Humphries, Mike Kelley, Shizu Saldamando, Mary Weatherford, Julie Mehretu and Nairy Baghramian. Fifty artists are new to the collection, including Jonathas de Andrade, Leilah Babirye, Meriem Bennani, Paul Chan, Cynthia Daignault and Ali Eyal.

“Unmanned Drone” — a towering testament to the power of transmogrification — commands a room of its own at the Brick, which co-presented the “Monuments” exhibition in October. Walker created the 13-foot-tall bronze sculpture out of a statue of the prominent Confederate Gen. Stonewall Jackson that was originally in Charlottesville, Va. The statue had been removed after serving as a significant gathering place for the infamous 2017 Unite the Right rally of white supremacists.

A detail of a severed arm — part of Kara Walker’s sculpture “Unmanned Drone,” which she created using a decommissioned statue of Confederate Gen. Stonewall Jackson.

(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)

In a review of “Monuments,” which declared the exhibition “the most significant American art museum show right now,” former Times art critic Christopher Knight called “Unmanned Drone” “devastating” and “brilliant.”

In an interview last fall, Brick director Hamza Walker explained to The Times that the city of Charlottesville issued a request for proposals from organizations interested in taking possession of the statue. The Brick applied and was deeded the statue, taking physical possession on Jan. 6, 2022. The gallery then gave the statue to Walker.

“They were getting rid of the Lee and the Stonewall Jackson statues, and they said, ‘We don’t want them put back up for further veneration,’” Hamza Walker said. “And so the idea of giving the statue to an artist fit that bill.”

Other applicants skipped over the line about not putting them up for further veneration, Hamza Walker said, noting that the Brick’s proposal was up against ones from Civil War battlefields and Laurel Hill, the birthplace of Confederate general J.E.B. Stuart.

A detail of the horse’s nostril in Kara Walker’s sculpture “Unmanned Drone,” which MOCA has acquired.

(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)

Kara Walker sliced apart the statue with a plasma cutter and welded it back together in an entirely new form. She did away with Jackson’s face and put much of the focus on his famous steed, Little Sorrel. The horse now stands upright with its head pushing out from the back of its saddle.

“She didn’t want you to be able to identify with him. She wanted the emphasis on Little Sorrel rather than the myth of the man,” Hamza Walker explained of Kara Walker’s intentions. “She wanted to reduce it to horse and rider.”

“The fiend has no head,” Knight commented in his review. “The folkloric Euro-American story of the ‘headless horseman’ comes to mind — a nightmarish, animated corpse who haunts the living. As a metaphor for obtuse white supremacy, still active today, that terror figure is hard to beat.”

Walker’s work was the only transformed statue out of the nearly dozen decommissioned statues related to the Confederacy featured in the “Monuments” exhibition. The others were all presented as they looked when they were removed, many during the protests that swelled in the summer of 2020 in the wake of the murder of George Floyd.

A detail of a sword on Kara Walker’s sculpture “Unmanned Drone.”

(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)

In addition to “Unmanned Drone,” MOCA announced several other acquisitions that were either featured in recent exhibitions or have significant connections to the museum. These include an environmental sculpture by Olafur Eliasson; work by Takako Yamaguchi; a media installation by Paul Pfeiffer titled “Red Green Blue” (2022), co-acquired with the Brooklyn Museum; and pieces by Cynthia Daignault, Shizu Saldamando and Henry Taylor.

“The expansion of MOCA’s collection this year reflects a sustained and deeply collaborative effort to think critically about what it means to build a museum collection in the twenty-first century,” Clara Kim, chief curator and director of curatorial affairs, said in a statement.

“If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”

James Baldwin’s quote about the artist’s role in society is emblazoned on billboards across Los Angeles this winter. Created by artist Patrick Martinez, the purpose of the signage is two-fold: to promote Frieze Los Angeles and, in the case of neon signs at the art fair’s entrance, to stand as a discrete work of art on its own.

Martinez, an East Los Angeles-based artist, has long translated protest language into storefront-style neon, a strategy he now extends into a broader campaign tied to Frieze, which runs Feb. 26 through March 1 at the Santa Monica Airport and features more than 100 galleries.

This year, however, some of the fair’s most compelling work may be happening outside the tent. Frieze Projects’ “Body & Soul” features eight installations staged across Santa Monica’s Airport Park and beyond. The initiative is intended, organizers say, to broaden the fair’s reach beyond its art world audience — positioning Frieze as a civic platform rather than a purely commercial event.

In addition to Martinez’s creations, “Body & Soul” brings together site-specific works including Amanda Ross-Ho’s durational performance rolling a 16-foot inflatable Earth around the perimeter of a nearby soccer field; Cosmas & Damian Brown’s interactive fountain installation incorporating ceramic heads, incense and water; and Shana Hoehn’s first large-scale public sculpture, fabricated from a fallen tree sourced through Santa Monica’s Urban Forest program. Off campus, Kelly Wall extends the program to a former Westwood Village newsstand, where glass “magazines” will be displayed — 136 in all, priced at $300, with 15 given away.

Martinez’s billboards bearing 2024’s “If I Love You (James Baldwin)” serve as the most highly visible part of the fair’s public outreach. His neon installations respond to ICE raids and immigrant rights, placing protest at the literal threshold of one of Los Angeles’ most visible art events.

L.A. artist Patrick Martinez’s work is featured on billboards around the city, as well as at the entrance to Frieze Los Angeles.

(David Butow / For The Times)

The public art program acts as “a way that we can bring in people who may not be just the ticket goers or the VIP,” said Christine Messineo, Frieze’s director of Americas.

It also serves to amplify the city’s cultural temperature.

“Our job is to represent what’s happening in our community,” Messineo said, adding that immigration and social impact are not anomalies at the fair but part of its foundation.

Some of Martinez’s neon entrance signs — including “Abolish ICE” (2018), “No Body Is Illegal” (2021) and “Then They Came for Me 2” (2025) — predate the current political moment. Instead, they emerge from years of observation and protest.

The artist credits Messineo with approaching him last summer to utilize what he calls his “urgent warning signs” as the face of the fair. Demonstrators also carried signs bearing Martinez’s imagery last June during protests against ongoing federal immigration crackdowns in downtown Los Angeles.

Those events, Martinez says, are not experienced evenly across the city — particularly by the well-heeled audience that attends Frieze and spends $85 to $106 for weekend general admission tickets.

Patrick Martinez, “If I Love You (James Baldwin),” 2024.

(artwork Patrick Martinez / photo Paul Salveson)

Martinez wants his signs to unsettle viewers who are insulated from the city’s unrest.

“The Westside people aren’t even going to see any of that, right? So it’s bringing that kind of mindfulness to that space.”

“It felt prescient then,” Messineo said of engaging Martinez last year, “and I think even more so now.”

Frieze has integrated public art into its Los Angeles fair since its 2019 debut. But the works in “Body & Soul,” produced with the nonprofit Art Production Fund, lean into the particular conditions of public space.

The exhibition brings together Los Angeles artists exploring ideas of memory, community and collective experience — often in quieter ways than Martinez’s overt messaging.

Additional participants include Dan John Anderson, Polly Borland and Kohshin Finley.

Casey Fremont, Art Production Fund’s executive director, said most of the works are newly commissioned.

The program is designed to prioritize innovation over sales. “It isn’t transactional. It’s really just about experimenting and giving the public the opportunity to experience art like they’ve never experienced before.”

Artists scale up — and slow down

“Body & Soul” marks several participants’ first ventures into public work, including Hollywood artist Finley, whose “The Piano Player” will be installed near the corner of Airport Avenue and Donald Douglas Loop. Finley’s piece arranges ceramic vessels inside shadow-box shelving that the artist describes as containers for memory — some “you love to take out and peek into,” others that “should just stay shut forever.”

Kohshin Finley’s “The Piano Player” arranges ceramic vessels inside shadow-box shelving that the artist describes as containers for memory.

(Micaiah Carter)

The title references the film “Casablanca,” and its piano player, Sam, whose music stirs up memories of the central love story.

Finley said the public setting creates an unusually direct encounter as he, like many of his fellow artists, will be standing with his work.

“A lot of people have never seen a living artist,” he said.

Ross-Ho takes visibility even further with her inflatable soccer ball Earth, which weighs 78 pounds. The familiar “blue marble” image will no doubt draw spectators at the Airport Park Soccer Field outside the Frieze tent.

Amanda Ross-Ho is creating a durational performance on a soccer field by Frieze Los Angeles.

(Jennelle Fong for ILY2)

Ross-Ho’s performance, “Untitled Orbit (MANUAL MODE),” functions as an endurance test that is a response to what she calls “the temporal container of the art fair” — and to the pressures of contemporary life.

“Gesture and duration are the ways that I could achieve scale rather than something that was materially constrained like a giant sculpture,” she said.

Designing for gathering

Brown’s installation, “Fountain: Sources of Light,” invites guests to congregate. Positioned between the Airport Park playground and dog park, it combines running water, ceramic vessels, incense and sound.

“I really wanted to make a fountain because I thought that [it’s] something that … people tend to gravitate to,” he said.

The work will incorporate metal plates and bowls created by participants in the youth workshop Art Sundae, taking place Feb. 28 at Airport Park.

Near Brown’s fountain, Echo Park artist Hoehn will present “Deadfall,” a massive fallen fig tree embedded with carved cheerleader legs and skirts — imagery drawn from her Texas upbringing.

Shana Hoehn with one of her carved wooden sculptures.

(Josh Cohen)

“I’ve been working with cheerleading iconography for the past few years,” she said, linking the imagery to what she calls an omnipresent football culture layered with “American patriotism and militaristic qualities.”

Hoehn acknowledged that the fair’s four-day window and limited nearby parking may keep the audience closer to fair-goers than the broader public the program aims to reach.

Beyond the airport fence

A few miles away in Westwood Village, Mar Vista artist Wall will extend the program beyond the airport campus with “Everything Must Go,” installed at a defunct newsstand and on view from 5:48 p.m. (sunset) to 8 p.m. during the fair.

Where magazines and newspapers once were, glass stand-ins bearing skyline imagery will occupy illuminated lightbox shelves. As the glass “magazines” are removed, glowing silhouettes mark their absence.

Kelly Wall, ‘Everything Must Go’.

(Kelly Wall)

Wall’s related project will appear on the Frieze campus with found newspaper boxes transformed into lightbox displays for her glass publication.

“In things coming to an end, there is no real end … there’s transformation,” she said. “How you might see [the piece] may differ depending on different times — or where you’re personally at in your life.”