artist

The Country Music Assn. will put on a two-hour live TV special honoring Dolly Parton, who died last month at the age of 80.

The association said Wednesday that the television tribute — titled “CMA Presents I Will Always Love You: A Celebration of Dolly Parton” — will be recorded live at the Fisher Center for the Performing Arts, on the campus of Belmont University in Nashville.

The tribute will air Oct. 21 at 6 p.m. Pacific on ABC and Disney+, and will stream on Hulu a day later.

In a news release, CMA described the special as a “joyful, emotional celebration” dedicated to Parton, the rhinestone-studded singer whose life began humbly, in a one-room cabin at the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.

Robert Deaton, veteran executive producer of the Country Music Awards and Billboard Music Awards, will fill that role on the Parton project.

“Dolly gave Country Music its heart, and giving some of that heart back to her is an incredible honor,” said Deaton in a news release Wednesday. “My hope is simply that we do right by her story, her music and the people who love her, so that this evening feels like the tribute my friend deserves.”

Sarah Trahern, CMA chief executive, added that the tribute is the association’s “responsibility”: “This special is our way of saying thank you, on behalf of every artist, industry member and fan who found a piece of themselves in her music.”

The tribute is in partnership with Belmont University, which hosted the 2025 world premiere of “Dolly: A True Original Musical,” a biographical production about the “9 to 5” singer that is scheduled for its Broadway debut on Jan. 19, what would have been the Parton’s 81st birthday.

The university also previously launched “Dolly U,” an immersive educational partnership designed to connect students with hands-on opportunities in entertainment, media and creative industries.

Greg Jones, president of Belmont University, welcomed the special with a statement of his own: “It is a privilege to welcome artists, friends and fans from around the world to celebrate her extraordinary life and legacy from this stage in Nashville, honoring a woman whose love for Tennessee was woven into everything she did.”

Both the CMA and Belmont University will make a donation from the proceeds to Parton’s Imagination Library, which was launched by the Dollywood Foundation in 1995 to address childhood literacy by giving millions of children the gift of a free book each month. Disney will also support the program.

News of the television tribute follows an announcement last month by Parton’s estate that revealed plans for Dollyfest, a two-day celebration in Nashville and London next year across two consecutive weekends to honor her legacy.

Additional details for the CMA special, including performers and tickets, will be announced at a later date.

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?”

Good vibes weren’t invented in Marin County. But reading “Morning in Marin,” David Perlis’ history of the place and its outsize cultural influence for much of the 20th century, you get the sense it served as America’s leading countercultural way station.

Hosts of spiritual-minded sorts called it home: Alan Watts popularized Zen Buddhism in the ’60s, alongside poets Gary Snyder and Kenneth Rexroth. Francis Ford Coppola decamped there to write his script for “The Godfather,” and it’s where his compatriot George Lucas conjured up the “Star Wars” universe. (The cuddly Ewoks in “Return of the Jedi” were named after the region’s Miwok tribe.) Jack Kerouac sought enlightenment there; his compatriot Neal Cassady was imprisoned there, in San Quentin. It was the Grateful Dead’s retreat, Robin Williams’ launchpad, and the solid ground upon which Philip K. Dick questioned reality.

Why all these people, in this place, at that time? Perlis, an artist, radio host and Marin native, doesn’t strive for sociological or demographic explanations. His strategy is to sinuously move from moment to moment, artist to artist, as if in one continuous tracking shot, pausing only for a moment to catch some of the interesting characters he spots along the way. Over there, film critic Pauline Kael; and there, poet and sitcom star Suzanne Somers; and look, there’s bar-band singer Hugh Cregg, who’ll eventually use the stage name Huey Lewis.

Author David Perlis

(Jordan Blackman)

Still, Perlis breaks the flow just enough to offer a few reasons why the region became America’s affluent bohemia. It is, of course, gobstoppingly gorgeous, with Mount Tamalpais, Stinson Beach, Point Reyes and Bolinas practically designed to be edenic retreats. (Fairfax, he writes, is “ribboned with waterfalls, tufted with moss.”) Its isolation made it a counterculture haven for those looking to avoid San Francisco’s bustle: Gay poet Elsa Gidlow made her home there in the 1940s, among the first of many misfit pioneers. Wreckage from the 1906 earthquake was used to build the first “arks,” houseboats in Sausalito, providing a quirky infrastructure. Add some slow-growth initiatives, and you get artsy scrimping arrivistes; add LSD, legal until 1966, and you have a party.

So by the late ’60s, Marin had become a haven for a particular type: creative, interested in Eastern spirituality and profoundly disinterested in social convention (not to mention conspicuously white). Perlis’ portrait of the county at the height of the decade suggests a region that had escaped — or at least refused to look at — the worst of America’s turmoil. “Despite atomic bombs, rampant racism, political violence, and the war in Vietnam and Marin, there is hope, a sincere, emphatic belief, in an imminent inner revolution,” he writes. “When Zen, acid, or whatever your trip is, opens enough minds that people can outgrow this absurd, unwinnable conflict with nature and themselves.”

Perlis writes that with a slight smirk — of course nobody outgrew the conflict. Sure, a lot of people made a mint on the dream of transcendence: The Grateful Dead became a premier touring act, Lucas taught the country the ways of the Force and Sausalito’s Record Plant became the studio of choice for Sly Stone, Fleetwood Mac and more. But in the process, Marin became a kind of parody of itself, satirized by the writer Cyra McFadden in her 1977 novel, “The Serial.” In a world of what Perlis calls “swimmable wealth,” enlightenment sure looked a lot like narcissism in caftans. “I have no idea how I manage to do it,” Dick muses about his productivity at one point, prompting Perlis to bluntly break into the narrative: “I do. Drugs.”

Perlis could have gone further than that. One of the peculiarities of the Marin cultural scene, at least in Perlis’ reckoning, is that it hardly seems like a scene at all. Otis Redding and Frank Herbert and Linda Ronstadt and Anne Lamott and Shel Silverstein and Van Morrison all had little in common and interacted even less; if Marin was an incubator, it’s one where every egg hatched a different, brand-new species. Communal activity seemed relegated to the checkout aisles where locals kibbitzed over “The Serial,” or druggy extravaganzas that would in time claim Dick and various Dead members and associates as victims.

The irony, as the region stumbled into the ’80s, is that between its wealth and carefully cultivated isolation, Marin came to exemplify the ethos of conformist America: every man for himself. The actor Peter Coyote resisted: “When a Buddhist is thinking about shooting out traffic lights, it’s time to leave,” he quips. Others dug in: Huey Lewis and the News climbed the charts with a song titled “Hip to Be Square,” though to his credit, he explains to Perlis that it was meant to be a song about the difficulty of reconciling affluence and bohemian values. The man knows where he lives.

Perlis’ book isn’t a dismissal of Marin’s cultural moment, or even really a critique of it: His story is more something to be wondered at, like fog rolling over Mount Tamalpais. And Perlis’ storytelling skills make it seem like good fun as he pingpongs from artist to artist, each somehow inventing a meaningful, or at least recognizable, cultural touchstone. Marin gave us New Age music and Pablo Cruise; it also gave us Jim Carroll’s indelible punk classic, “People Who Died.” But one of the things to wonder at amid the good vibes is whether a different, more coherent, more sober scene would have been more meaningful, more enduring.

A regular contributor to The Times, Athitakis is a writer in Arizona and the author of “The New Midwest.”

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.

Meow Wolf is getting closer to unveiling its Los Angeles locale. When doors open — the company is targeting late 2026 — anticipate a walk-around, floor-to-ceiling experience that pays homage to the art of cinema with a sci-fi, psychedelic-like bent.

And to bring that vision to life, the Santa Fe, N.M.-based experiential art collective will be working with nearly 40 L.A. artists across multiple mediums. Expect more than a dozen sculptural and diorama artists to contribute, along with those who specialize in mixed media for interactive and video content. Local artists will also create a number of murals for the space, and a handful of artists have been chosen to curate their own life-size rooms in the venue at West L.A.’s Howard Hughes entertainment complex.

Artist Gabriela Ruiz will be contributing a major piece to Meow Wolf L.A.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

While the bulk of a Meow Wolf exhibition is envisioned and designed by a core in-house team in Santa Fe, the company partners with dozens of local artists in each city to ensure a local flavor. Here in Los Angeles, the task of curating L.A. artists fell heavily to Han Santana-Sayles. As a SoCal native from a Mexican American family, Santana-Sayles has told me, “I would be dishonored” if the exhibit failed in its mission to capture the breadth of the L.A. population.

“It’s really important to make that intentional,” Santana-Sayles said. “I’m not just going out and saying, ‘They have art I like. I’m going to bring them in.’ It’s a combination. Yes, they’re an amazing artist, and they have a really important story for this region.”

Santana-Sayles worked closely with art curator AJ Girard as Meow Wolf’s local art liaison. Girard has spoken of being inspired by everything from L.A.’s emphasis on social media to commercialism to graffiti art.

“Social media and social capital is so relevant in our city,” Girard said. “How do we make fun of it in an avant-garde, punk, radical way? How do we poke holes at it?”

Artists tapped to create full-scale rooms at Meow Wolf L.A. include Gabriela Ruiz, who crafted an adorably vibrant, multicolored insect that will serve as a periscope, and collective Everything Is Terrible, who described their space as featuring a “cartoony, root vegetable floating alien god.”

Also look for contributions from Compton’s Charles E. Dickson, a renowned self-taught sculpture artist, whose public works can be found throughout the region, including at Metro’s Mariposa Station and outside the California African American Museum, and Jen Stark, whose geometric kaleidoscope art flirts with the natural and the synthetic. Stark’s “Chromatic Cascade” is a staple of downtown’s Art’s District.

Lauren YS (a.k.a Squidlicker) is also tapped to have a room at Meow Wolf L.A., known for hyper-vivid colors and surrealist mythology. The artist currently has a piece in “Mythical Creatures: The Stories We Carry” at the USC Pacific Asia Museum.

Downtown L.A. street artist S.C. Mero will be contributing a sculpture piece to Meow Wolf L.A.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

Others with exhibiting rooms include Wayne White, album artist, surrealist and puppeteer, perhaps best known for his work as the main puppet-maker for the children’s show “Pee-wee’s Playhouse; Seth Bogart, known best as a local musician (Hunx and his Punx); upcycled fashion specialist Corinne Loperfido; cartooney psychedelic artist Killer Acid; and longtime Meow Wolf contributor Nick Toll.

Meow Wolf L.A. lists seven artists as contributing either video installations and games to the space, including artist/musician Vinyl Williams and musician/animator Hugo Shiboski with director/media artist Will Wharton. Animators Réka Bucsi, Agnus Oakes and Cadmiumcoffee, as well as digitial artist Blake Kathryn will also contribute. It was previously announced that local animation house Titmouse would be supplying media for Meow Wolf L.A.

Six artists are slated to paint murals for Meow Wolf L.A. Look for work from Bunnie Reiss, Ozzie Juarez, Greg Ito, Harlen Hue, Evelyn Tan and Devin Reynolds.

Finally, more than a dozen L.A. artists are listed as contributing either sculptures or dioramas to the exhibition. Those artists range from downtown L.A. street artist S.C. Mero to multidisciplinary artist Ruben Ulises to former Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival contributor Sofia Enriquez.

Rounding out the list will be David Altmejd, Sharif Farrag, Joe Holliday, Nemo Gould, Alake Shilling, Elrod, Brooke Weston, Shrine, Hana Ward, Roberto Benavidez, Estevan Oriol, Wizard of Barge, Mike Chattem and Karla Ekaterine Canseco.

Meow Wolf helped define the modern immersive space. Since 2016, when the once-scrappy Meow Wolf opened Santa Fe’s “House of Eternal Return” exhibition, the company has welcomed about 10 million visitors across its four venues in locales such as Las Vegas, Denver, Houston and the Dallas suburbs.

Phil Tippett, the visual effects artist who crafted aliens in “Star Wars” and dinosaurs in “Jurassic Park,” is shutting down his Berkeley-based studios after more than 40 years of business.

The closing was marked by a weekend liquidation sale, where fans purchased memorabilia from movies like “Star Wars,” “Jurassic Park,” “RoboCop” and “Starship Troopers.” The sale included models of Imperial Walkers from “The Empire Strikes Back,” “Starship Troopers” miniatures, signed posters and equipment like computers and 3D printers.

“We have recently decided to evolve our physical footprint and production approach, and to exit our longtime Berkeley facility,” said the company in a statement on social media. “As we make this transition, Tippett Studio continues its visual effects and animation work across film, television and entertainment.”

The closure follows Tippett‘s sale of a majority stake in the company to PhantomFX, an India-based VFX studio, in 2024 and the Chapter 11 bankruptcy filing that followed. PhantomFX has completed the acquisition of Tippett Studio and will operate the studios under the same name.

Tippett and his wife, Jules Roman, founded the studio in 1984, by which point he’d already made his name in the world of visual effects through his work on the original “Star Wars” trilogy. He was instrumental in doing the stop-motion miniature chess scene in “Star Wars: A New Hope,” bringing the Imperial Walkers to life and creating aliens like Jabba the Hutt and tauntauns.

Under his own studio, he became best known for the dinosaurs in Steven Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park,” using computer generation to animate the prehistoric creatures. He also worked on effects for “The Matrix” films, “Hellboy” and the “Twilight” franchise.

Tippett had occupied the 6,200-square-foot Berkeley facility for 35 years, but as technology evolves, the studio no longer needs the large space.

“Stop-motion remains an important part of our creative capabilities, but maintaining a large permanent physical footprint is no longer necessary for our current requirements,” wrote Tippett Studios. “When projects require dedicated stages, fabrication, motion-control photography or other specialised physical infrastructure, we will work with appropriate external facilities to meet the needs of each production.”

The company‘s Toronto studio will keep running and is “currently in active production on a large feature film,” per the same statement.

The downsizing comes amid a particularly challenging stretch for film and TV productions in California. Following Covid-19, labor strikes and the flight of major Hollywood productions to other states and countries, many specialty businesses such as prop houses and VFX studios are struggling to stay afloat.

Despite the sale, Tippett told CBS News he isn’t giving up or planning to retire. He does not have plans to retire. “I will die with my sword in my hand,” he said. “We had almost a 40-year run. It was a good run.”

BANGKOK — Chinese artist Gao Zhen was sentenced to three years in prison on Tuesday for “infringing upon the reputation of heroes” over his satirical works of art, including statues of China’s former leader Mao Zedong.

U.S.-based Gao, who was part of an artistic duo known internationally as the Gao Brothers, was arrested while visiting family in China in August 2024. He has been in official custody since then.

He was sentenced by the Sanhei People’s Court court in northern Hebei province, according to his wife, Zhao Yaliang.

The charges against Gao relate to artistic works that China’s authorities claim insulted revolutionary figures, including a 2009 statue called Mao’s Guilt, which shows the former leader and founder of modern China as kneeling in repentance. Others include as series called Miss Mao, which shows a caricatured version of Mao with breasts and an engorged nose.

Shane Yi, a researcher at Chinese Human Rights Defenders, who has been advocating for the case, described the sentence as “a very clear case of a violation of a person’s freedom of expression.”

Yi noted that the artworks in question were created before the law Gao was sentenced with had been passed and said the artist plans to appeal the sentence.

The court did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Amnesty International criticized the court sentence which it described as a deterrent against artistic expression.

“The lengthy pre-trial detention and, ultimately, decision to convict Gao Zhen and sentence him to the maximum three-year prison term under this offense illustrate the authorities’ determination to deter others from engaging in independent artistic expression,” said Amnesty’s China Director Sarah Brooks.

“No artist should face criminal punishment for creating work that challenges official narratives or encourages critical reflection on history,” she said.

Zhao said she hopes to be reunited with her husband and be able to return to the U.S., where the family had immigrated to.

“I felt two years was my limit, and I was really disappointed and sad. I haven’t been able to catch my breath,” she said. She had prepared clothes for her husband hoping that he would be released. Chinese courts often count the time of a sentencing from the date a prisoner is taken.

The Gao Brothers, whose works addressed themes of authoritarianism and censorship, became famous in a time of relative openness in China and were exhibited both inside the country and abroad.

However, in recent years, the state’s increased its controlling grip on certain aspects of expression, especially in regards to political figures with the passage of law in 2018 that bans criticism of the nation’s heroes.

Wu writes for the Associated Press.

Celebrated artist Sliman Mansour, one of the founding figures of contemporary Palestinian art, has died at the age of 79 after a long illness, his family announced on Monday.

Born in Birzeit, near Ramallah, in 1947, Mansour rose to prominence in the 1970s as part of a generation of Palestinian artists, writers and poets seeking to rebuild a threatened identity through symbols rooted in land and memory. Over more than five decades, his paintings came to embody the story of Palestine: the farmer clinging to his soil, the stone house on a hill, the embroidered thobe and the smile of a young girl carrying the hope of return.

Mansour studied art in Beirut and Washington and went on to exhibit extensively, both in solo shows and group exhibitions across the Arab world and internationally. His works are held in museums and private collections worldwide, and he received numerous awards in recognition of his contribution to Arab and Palestinian culture.

His visual language drew deeply from the region’s ancient civilisations – Canaanite, Pharaonic and Assyrian – as well as Islamic and Arab art, particularly calligraphy and geometric motifs. At the same time, his upbringing in Birzeit anchored his work in the everyday life of Palestinian villages: the landscape, peasants, traditional homes and clothing. Mansour also absorbed influences from global art that carried messages of freedom and resistance, blending local forms with a universal appeal.

During the first Intifada, he helped found the New Vision group with fellow artists, turning to mud, straw, wood, leather, henna and natural dyes after Palestinian artists boycotted Israeli-made supplies. This shift, he later said, forged a vital link between post-Nakba art and the work of younger generations.

For many Palestinians, Mansour’s canvases were more than images; they were a visual archive of the cause itself. His brush, critics and admirers agree, carried the homeland.

Al Jazeera looks at some of his famous paintings.

The group exhibition “To Share a Stomach” is a bit like the children’s game Telephone, in which a phrase, whispered from person to person, inevitably comes out a bit garbled. Urgently conceived by curator Aram Moshayedi in March, on the heels of the latest U.S.-Israeli attacks on Iran, it features works envisioned by 25 Iranian artists that were fabricated with varying degrees of collaboration by 24 counterparts here in the U.S.

Hampered by significant internet blackouts, displacements and the loss of studios and artwork in Iran, as well as an extremely compressed timeline (just five months), the results are understandably rangy and uneven. Yet the show, now on view at the Brick through Sept. 19, is an achingly beautiful meditation on the difficulty of communication and the shared goodwill that intermittently, imperfectly, surmounts it.

Sina Ghadaksaz and John Ziqiang Wu, “What the Clouds Remember and the Mountains Forget,” 2026; Carmen Argote, “Aram’s sneakers: Mount Eynali,” August 6, 8–1030p.m., 2026; Mohammadreza Jahanshir, “Glory / 50904020,” 2026; Maryam Lashkari, Hodjat Salimi, and Oscar Tuazon, “Can You S…?,” 2026; Kelly Akashi and Mimi Amini with David Gutierrez, Matt Rademacher and Kazuki Takizawa, “The Anatomy of a Postponed Intent: The Glass Blade,” 2026; Fatemeh Kazemi and Olivia Mole, “The Conference of the Birds,” 2026, can be seen in the exhibition “To Share a Stomach,” at the Brick in Los Angeles.

(Ruben Diaz 2026)

None of the works address the recent bombardments directly, although the precarious context of ongoing threat, instability and struggle can be felt in almost all of them. Ducking into Maryam Lashkari, Hodjat Salimi and Oscar Tuazon’s interactive sculpture — an enormous cardboard tube lying on its side — feels like entering a culvert or a bomb shelter. Inside, one lies on a crude bed of felt blankets and dons a set of headphones; the sounds of jet planes, a party, conversations and emergency sirens are interspersed with an imperious voice reading a guided meditation on how to be present in one’s body during a bombing. The harsh realities of war are woven into the textures of everyday life, warping and fraying into something absurd. Viewers may scan a QR code for their own copy of the audio track, which deteriorates in sound quality with every download.

Slow disintegration also appears in a triptych of videos by Ismail Ghanbari (facilitated by Tala Madani but not credited as a collaboration). In the largest central one, we see Ghanbari holding two nearly destroyed boxing gloves as he explains how he trained so intensely for a performance in which he boxed for five hours that the gloves began to fall apart. Their tattered remnants, barely held together with patches and stitching, are poignant metaphors for a battered will that keeps fighting even as protections wear thin.

Vulnerability and violence also co-exist in Mimi Amini and Kelly Akashi’s collaboration: a sword made of clear glass. Hanging from the rafters, the tip of its blade points down ominously over viewers’ heads, emphasizing both the danger of the weapon and its fragility. If it fell, would it pierce one’s skull or shatter into bits? It exists suspended between latent violence and the risk of its own annihilation.

Fatemeh Kazemi and Olivia Mole, “The Conference of the Birds,” 2026; Fatemeh Kazemi, “What the Birds Did Not Tell Upon Their Return,” 2026, in the exhibit, “To Share a Stomach,” at the Brick in Los Angeles.

(Ruben Diaz 2026)

These impressions are responses to the works as they exist in the gallery, but the show has another layer, revealed in an accompanying booklet that reproduces the initial emails or texts from the Iranian artists to the curator. Interwoven with stories of life during wartime are proposals or instructions, allowing viewers to assess for themselves how much the works in the gallery reflect the artists’ original ideas. For example, the tube-bunker was initially envisioned as a “completely dark space” twinkling with a variety of malfunctioning countdown clocks. Ghanbari’s video appears in lieu of the gloves themselves, and Amini’s original digital rendering of the glass sword is much more detailed and intricate than the comparatively “low-res” version on view.

If we think of an artwork as an intentional, carefully wrought creation that comes directly from an artist, what are we to make of these incomplete, unfaithful interpretations? I was reminded of the reality TV show “Nailed It!,” in which amateur bakers fail spectacularly to reproduce complex cakes. I cackle at the distance between perfection and utter collapse, but I also feel a pang of tenderness: I am moved by their effort.

Artists, of course, are no strangers to things not going to plan. While the exhibit is enabled by the entwined ubiquity of the English language and the internet, the artists know these technologies aren’t transparent. Most of the Iranian artists left their instructions generously open-ended, inviting the interpretations and transmutations of their U.S. peers. In some cases, it seems the partners did not continue the conversation; whether due to disagreement, bombardment or government-imposed internet blackouts (described to chilling effect in an essay by Negar Karimkhani) is unclear. The U.S. artists were constrained by a very compressed timeline (and presumably budget and space) to fabricate and display the works. Even without these limitations, to hand over one’s vision to someone else, and conversely, to shoulder the responsibility for realizing it are both touching acts of trust.

Ali Ansari and Renée Petropoulos, “Between Entries”, 2026; Salman Khoshroo and Daid Roy, “Defensive Wall,” 2026; Ismail Ghanbari, “Proxy (Neyabati) 1,” “Proxy (Neyabati) 2,” “Proxy (Neyabati) 3,” 2026, on view as part of the exhibition, “To Share a Stomach,” at the Brick in Los Angeles.

(Ruben Diaz 2026)

Viewers must exert themselves a little too. Understanding who is responsible for what work and to what degree requires consulting a floor plan, a checklist and the booklet: an awkward juggling act that would have been eased by some wall labels. Still, as I shuffled papers, I became part of the buffering, incomplete chain of communication. As Amini wrote of the glass blade, “the perfection of this form is preserved only with the mental space shared between the conceptualizing artist and the interpreting artist.” I venture to add the viewer to that space, thinking of Yoko Ono’s instruction artworks (across town at the Broad) which short-circuit any physical acts of making to take shape only in our minds.

This kind of intimacy — thinking, envisioning, constructing together — is rare when it comes to American intersections with Iran. I was previously unfamiliar with the Iranian artists in the show, and I’m sure I missed many cultural and linguistic references in their works. My focus on pieces evoking violence predictably reflects my limited knowledge of Iran as other than a locus of U.S. antagonism (the result of a different information blackout).

Yet, “To Share a Stomach” lays down — gingerly, gently — an alternate connective thread, spun from a mutual recognition of fallibility. In his introductory essay, curator Moshayedi reveals that the show’s title is his mistranslation of the Farsi word for “empathy.” (The correct translation is “to share a heart.”) He goes on to confess that after many years’ study, he finally gave up on learning the language. We will never understand each other perfectly; I am still moved by the effort.