artist

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.

Sliman Mansour, the iconic Palestinian artist whose work became a symbol of resistance, has died at age 79. His art preserved Palestinian culture and heritage while documenting decades of struggle, displacement, and perseverance.

Published On 24 Aug 202624 Aug 2026

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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.

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.

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.

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.

Hugo Lara and Manolo Cabrera — the Mexican DJ pair better known as RØZ — casually strolled through Sightglass Coffee in Hollywood, one gripping a half-melted iced coffee, the other an empty Erewhon juice bottle.

To any onlooker, they might appear as two standard Gen Z Angelenos in sardonic streetwear: 22-year-old Cabrera flaunted a hat that referenced the 2008 financial crisis while 25-year-old Lara’s faded tee read, “You don’t dream of a better version of yourself.”

But over the past year, this fresh-faced pair from Querétaro, a small state just outside Mexico City, has dominated the festival world circuit. Spinning heart-thumping electronic beats and Latin house rhythms, RØZ has taken the stage at many a popular event, such as the most recent Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, Lollapalooza Chicago, Hard Summer, EDC Las Vegas and Sueños.

“We’ve had huge crowds at festivals, even the workers on stage are like, ‘No way, you filled more venues than yesterday’s headliner,’” Cabrera told The Times. “We filled it up and people started leaving for the next person, which is obviously not cool. It feels awful. But you do think: good! They value Latinos and Mexicans now.”

Besides regaling ravers at their concerts — which will continue for the remainder of the calendar year, including a 20-city North American tour that kicks off in Boston on Oct. 21 — RØZ has landed another major artistic goal.

Last Friday, they released their first full-length album, “Se Esta Haciendo Tarde.” It’s a 19-track, introspective debut that solidifies the duo’s standing in the EDM world as both masterful mixers and vocalists.

“We are neither fully DJs, or fully singers, but artists,” said Cabrera. “Our shows, with the album, are going to be us playing synths, at another point singing and at another point we mix some songs.”

Featuring cameos from Latin superstars like Peso Pluma, J Balvin and Ryan Castro, the LP itself is hard to define as simply house music; RØZ is known best for peppering its EDM with a heavy dose of Latino sazon. It’s a sonic recipe that the two former schoolmates have been mastering since they were under lockdown from COVID.

This era also saw the commercial rise of other Mexican artists in their generation: Natanael Cano and Latin Mafia were among the most prominent Mexican acts who maximized their creativity during the isolation period and used social media platforms like TikTok to gain traction.

“It’s like if Fred Again, Skrillex, Frank Ocean, Mora and Bad Bunny adopted a child and raised him,” said Cabrera about their own music, which they began uploading to the streaming platform Soundcloud in 2022.

At the start of their disc jockey journey, they remixed already established songs, from Bad Bunny and Bomba Estéreo’s “Ojitos Lindos” to Bellakath’s “Gatita.” By 2024, they would release their frosty original track, “Cora de Hielo” under Warner Music Mexico; this featured Natt Calma and Mau Moctezuma, artists whom they met through the local indie scene.

Their subsequent releases went viral — including the dark-synth pop “Flashes” with Yng Lvcas and atmospheric “Apaga la Luz” with a rather mellowed performance from Peso Pluma — which were released under LT:Vision Records, Queens Road Music and Atlantic Records.

“At that time, emotions were secondary [in the music],” said Cabrera when looking back on those early songs. “Perhaps we didn’t resonate with the artist’s lyrics, we might have helped with some ideas. But with this [new] project, we wanted to find more of a balance — we want to be transparent, while also releasing f— bangers.”

Inspired by the transient beauty of cherry blossoms, known in Japan as sakura — which is illustrated in their album cover, alongside a dark pegasus — much of the LP also hinges on melodrama. Glitchy beat drops in “Acelero Lento” (featuring Chitra) fade into acoustic ballads. The bouncy freestyle rhythm in “Soho” melts into feverish pop harmonies. There’s also an interlacing spiritual hymn in “Yo Gospel” (featuring Rodrii) that showcases the heavenly vocals of an American-style church choir.

“Everyone will give [the album] a different interpretation, but I think the through line is the drama, or poetic essence,” said Lara. “Perhaps in 10 years we will listen to the same song and have a different interpretation.”

The new LP is imbued with various Latin genre fusions. In “Ya es de Noche” (featuring Rodrii and Olisso) they open with neo-perreo rhythms that slowly wade in and out of a cumbia-guided trance. In “Hanami,” named after the traditional Japanese custom of observing a floral bloom, RØZ is joined by Colombian producer Sky Rompiendo, whose pulsating reggaeton beats undergo a warping process, as their lyrics harp on romantic tension.

“Cherry blossoms only last a while, so it was our way of saying that we must appreciate the moment in which beauty exists,” said Lara.

The magnetic pull of RØZ — whose stage name is pronounced like the second syllable in “arroz” — cannot be overstated. They’ve already sold out six shows in their upcoming tour, which will wrap up Feb. 27 in their home state of Querétaro. Their popularity comes at a time when electronic music was registered as the largest-growing genre in the U.S. in the first half of 2026, per Luminate’s 2026 data report, which also found that casual monthly listenership in Latin music peaked at 54% of streams in the first quarter.

The growing admiration for Latin-fused EDM by Latino listeners was most visually evident during their Coachella debut in April. One attendee uploaded a video to Instagram showing the jammed entrance to the Sonora Tent, which reached full capacity before the duo began their Sunday set: “Coachella underestimating the Latino crowds like [what do you mean] I can’t see RØZ [because] it’s at full capacity both weekends,” the subtext on the video read.

Even before their breakout year, on the night of their first U.S. performance on the rooftop of the Fonda Theatre in Los Angeles last August, the line to get inside stretched across the Hollywood Boulevard sidewalk with attendees eager to hear the pair’s early tracks.

Still, it doesn’t surprise RØZ that a Latino act like themselves might be early on the call sheet — or left to assemble a last-minute crew after their original team ran into visa processing delays ahead of the first Coachella weekend. “In this genre that we’re moving in, you’d never picture a Latino headliner. Latinos are always put down, down, down,” said Cabrera.

But some milestones have given them faith that the mainstream world is opening up to putting Latino acts at the top of the bill; including the fact that Colombian singer Karol G was the first Latina Coachella headliner this year. “And with music in Spanish, not English,” marveled Lara.

And rather than sulk about the conditions of Latino artists, RØZ is ready to put up a fight.

“Just because I’m Mexican or Latino doesn’t mean that I can’t connect with people the same way a person from the United States can,” said Cabrera. “Headlining is possible, without a doubt.”

Whitney Houston is the latest addition to the world of Barbie.

The El Segundo-based toy company is honoring the late pop star with a new Barbie Signature doll. The toy, which debuted over the weekend in Atlanta, is wearing the recognizable look from Houston’s 1987 hit music video, “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me).” The Houston doll wears a lilac-hued tank dress, colorful drop earrings and vibrant eye makeup, and comes with a microphone stand. The collectible costs around $60.

Houston’s estate worked closely with Mattel to create a doll that captures the late singer’s essence and glamour. The release lands about 40 years after the New Jersey-raised musician appeared in the music video for the popular song.

“Whitney Houston’s music has been the soundtrack to countless moments for fans around the world. Barbie is proud to honor her extraordinary legacy with the latest addition to the Barbie Signature Series,” Mattel Vice President and Head of Barbie Nathan Baynard said in a statement. “We hope it gives fans a meaningful way to celebrate the artist whose voice and influence continue to resonate around the world.”

The doll arrives at an uneasy moment for the brand it’s built on. In second-quarter results reported Aug. 4, Mattel’s worldwide gross billings for dolls fell 5% to $318 million, driven primarily by a decline in the Barbie brand — the same story as the first quarter, when doll billings dropped 8%, and as 2025, when the category slid 7% for the full year on Barbie declines. In March, Mattel laid off 65 employees, roughly a year after cutting 120 jobs to reduce costs. Shares of Mattel hovered around $14.72 midday, down 0.5%.

Mattel hopes to appeal to adult collectors and fans of Houston with its latest release.

Throughout her career, Houston earned the nickname of “The Voice” because of her unparalleled vocal abilities. Some of her biggest hits include “Saving All My Love For You,” “I Have Nothing,” and her cover of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.” To this day, Houston holds the Guinness World Record for the most awards won by a female artist, with more than 400 prizes, including six Grammys. The singer died unexpectedly at age 48 in 2012.

Houston is joining other iconic female musicians as Barbie dolls. In recent years, Mattel released dolls that resemble Tina Turner, Stevie Nicks, Gloria Estefan and Mariah Carey. Mattel’s Signature Series appeals to collectors of all kinds, as the company releases dolls of athletes such as LeBron James and Angel Reese, fictional characters such as Cher from the 1995 feature film “Clueless,” Supergirl and historical figures such as Ida B. Wells.

“The new Whitney Houston Barbie honors a woman whose voice, grace, beauty, and spirit inspired generations around the world,” Pat Houston, the executor of Houston’s estate, said.

“May this doll remind every child and every collector that dreams have no limits, excellence leaves a lasting imprint, and true greatness never goes out of style.”

Kavinsky, the French electronic musician and DJ whose moody single “Nightcall” scored the hit film “Drive,” has died. He was 50.

French newspaper Le Figaro and TV station BFM reported that Kavinsky, born Vincent ‌Belorgey, died from a suspected stroke. Paris prosecutors investigated and found “no suspicious elements,” they said.

Kavinsky was a defining act of the Paris electronic scene of the 2000s and 2010s, whose neon-smeared synths and noirish atmospheres lent themselves to L.A. freeways and Montmartre nightclubs alike.

Adopting a droll persona — a red-eyed electronic producer who returned from the dead after a Ferrari crash — Kavinsky was a major figure in the second wave of the “French touch” dance scene.

His popular breakthrough came with “Nightcall,” a collaboration with CSS’ Lovefoxxx and Daft Punk’s Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo. The song was a propulsive theme of Nicolas Winding Refn’s 2011 film “Drive,” a brutal and romantic revenge thriller beloved for its slinky, retro-futuristic soundtrack. Kavinsky performed the song to close out the 2024 Paris Olympics, performing with the French band Phoenix and the Belgian singer Angèle.

While he only released two studio LPs, including the 2013 singles collection “OutRun” and “Reborn” in 2022, he was influential to major acts that came after him. The Weeknd, who sang on an edit of Kavinsky’s “Odd Look,” wrote on X: “So heartbreaking to hear the news. An inspiration to so many, including myself. I will continue to honor your name and your music. Rest easy Kavinsky.”

French President Emmanuel Macron also wrote a tribute on Instagram, calling Kavinsky an artist France could be proud of forever.

Betye Saar, a Los Angeles artist who transformed collections of bigoted bric-à-brac — Sambo dolls, ceramic mammies and crude renderings of pickaninnies — into potent works of assemblage that mined the searing history of race in the United States, and whose works influenced generations of artists, has died. She was 99.

Saar died in her sleep — just a few days short of her 100th birthday — in Los Angeles, her longtime gallerist Julie Roberts at Robert Projects said. Saar’s death was confirmed by her publicist Hannah Gottlieb-Graham.

“Betye Saar was one of the greatest artists of our time, and it has been an immense honor to work with her for nearly 20 years,” Roberts said. “Her singular vision transformed the course of contemporary art, and her legacy will continue to inspire generations of artists, scholars, and audiences around the world.”

A diminutive woman with a low-key manner that belied a steely resolve, Saar was known for combing garage sales, flea markets and junk piles for objects that she employed in collages and assemblages large and small. These explored difficult aspects of American history — including slavery and Jim Crow — but also touched on more personal themes of family, memory, magic and spirituality.

“My work has to do with recycling,” she told a documentary crew in the 1970s. “Each item I collect has a certain energy from its previous function that carries over into its new use.”

In a 1984 profile, Times art writer Suzanne Muchnic described Saar as an artist who used found objects in a way that “draws on the power of mystery, the hurt of discrimination and the authenticity of individual vision.”

As Saar’s 100th birthday approached, her work and its groundbreaking importance were celebrated afresh in a slew of articles, including two recent profiles in The Times. As she approached the momentous milestone, Saar appeared more interested in creating new art than in dissecting her legacy. “That’s what art is,” she told The Times in an interview in late June. “Making something where there was nothing.”

Saar first rose to prominence in the 1970s, after crafting a small assemblage — roughly the size of a shoebox — that featured at its center a stereotypical Black mammy figurine bearing a rifle in one hand and a grenade in the other. The piece was first shown at the Rainbow Sign, a community center in Berkeley that was located near the headquarters of the Black Panthers.

The artist had begun her professional life as a designer of greeting cards and home accessories. But 1972’s “The Liberation of Aunt Jemima,” as the assemblage was called, catapulted her into the center of the Black Arts Movement and connected her with a broader tradition of assemblage in California and the art world at large. Three years after its creation, she had a solo exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York. Decades later, activist Angela Davis credited “The Liberation of Aunt Jemima” with spurring the Black women’s movement.

“It’s like they abolished slavery, but they kept Black people in the kitchen as mammy jars,” Saar said in a 2015 interview. “I had this Aunt Jemima, and I wanted to put a rifle and a grenade under her skirts. I wanted to empower her. I wanted to make her a warrior. I wanted people to know that Black people wouldn’t be enslaved by that.”

In June 2020, in the wake of the uprisings following the murder of George Floyd, Quaker Oats announced that it would retire the Aunt Jemima brand. Saar took to Instagram with an image of her famous work and a message: “She’s liberated! Finally at long last! And it’s about time!”

“Liberation” now resides in the collection of the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, not far from where it was first shown.

Betye Saar was born Betye Irene Brown in L.A. on July 30, 1926, the eldest of Jefferson Maze Brown and Beatrice Lillian Parson‘s three children. Her father, with whom she was close, died when Saar was about 5. And shortly thereafter, Parson relocated the family to Pasadena to live with her maternal aunt, Hattie Parson Keys. (Years later, Saar created a series of works in honor of Keys, employing objects that her aunt had left behind — something she would do for other family members as well.)

Saar’s parents weren’t artists, but art was in the air. When she was a child, her mother encouraged her to sew and make crafts. And, in the summers, she spent time at the home of her paternal grandparents in Watts, where she saw Simon Rodia building the Watts Towers and was struck by his use of materials.

“The one I find the most amusing is the corn cob,” she told the podcast “The Modern Art Notes” in 2016. “He had a piece of space with wet cement so he just put the corn cob in there. And I just love the kind of freedom to make the piece. Anything can go in there.”

After graduating from high school, Saar spent two years at Pasadena City College before transferring to UCLA in 1947. She majored in design, figuring that she would become an interior decorator — and, for a time, she did indeed work in that field, teaming up with Curtis Tann to form a cleverly named studio called Brown and Tann. Operating out of Tann’s home, the company produced an array of decorative and functional objects, including bowls, ashtrays and jewelry.

To market their goods, they turned to an informal network of African American artists, staging pop-up exhibitions in people’s homes and in other impromptu locations. In 1951, the pair was featured in Ebony magazine.

It was through that circle that she met a ceramicist of German American descent by the name of Richard Saar. In 1952, they married. The following year, their daughter Lezley was born. Two other daughters followed: Alison in 1956 and Tracye in 1961. (Lezley and Alison are now respected artists in their own right. And, in fact, on more than one occasion, all three women have shown their work together, most recently at the Museum of Art & History in Lancaster in 2018.) In 2024, the Equal Justice Initiative Legacy Gallery installed Saar’s “Seeking Secrets of Destiny” alongside her daughter Alison’s sculpture “The Beckoning.”

In 1962, the Saar family moved to a rambling hillside home in Laurel Canyon, then a very rustic part of L.A. It put them in a hotbed of hippiedom right as the 1960s got rolling.

“Down the road was Frank Zappa,” Saar recalled in one interview. “There weren’t that many houses. We had the long skirts and long hair, and it was very casual. You’d go to a love-in or a concert.”

“We were as hippie-ish as hippie could be, while still being responsible.”

By the late ‘60s, she and Saar had divorced. But she remained in Laurel Canyon, where she would live and work until the end of her life.

Saar came to art almost by accident. In the late 1950s, she enrolled at Cal State Long Beach to pursue a master’s degree so that she could teach. But a stroll through campus led her past the university’s printing department.

“I walked past the print workshop and I was like, ‘Heyyy!’ ” she later recalled.

The master’s degree never happened. Instead, she poured herself into printing.

“I loved making prints,” she recalled. “The move into fine art, it was liberating. It gave me freedom to experiment.”

A pair of other, longer journeys, also proved formative.

There was a trip to Chicago’s Field Museum, where she immersed herself in the institution’s extensive collection of African art, followed by a trip to Haiti in the early 1970s. Saar was drawn to the Caribbean nation because of her interest in voodoo and magic — and the power that these could confer on inanimate objects.

“In the early 1960s I began going to coffee houses and they’d have books on the occult,” she told the New York Times in 1978. “I was attracted to signs and diagrams of alchemy and palmistry, and I began to use them in my prints. I also haunted second-hand and junk stores, and I started to frame my prints in old window frames.”

But it was a visit to an exhibition of the work of Joseph Cornell at the Pasadena Art Museum (now the Norton Simon Musuem) that inspired her to take a three-dimensional turn in her work. Saar was moved by the surreal qualities of the New York artist’s intimately scaled assemblages, which were often presented in small boxes.

“I immediately started collecting stuff after I saw that show,” she told the L.A. Times in 2016. “I started going to yard sales and estate sales.”

During the ‘60s and ‘70s, she took on a series of part-time jobs to provide for her children, designing costumes at a cultural center and teaching at area art schools. These provided her with necessary income, but also allowed her enough time to make work — which she often did at the kitchen table.

Saar’s creations from that era are on display through Aug. 22 at Roberts Projects. Titled, “Let’s Get It On: The Wearable Art of Betye Saar,” the show covers the years Saar spent in the costume department for the Inner City Cultural Center’s theatrical productions.

“Art comes from the heart and the head,” she once said. “You don’t need to have a separate space in which to make it.”

Plus, art gave Saar a crucial political voice at a time of the civil rights and Black power movements. “If you are a mom with three kids, you can’t go to a march,” she once stated, “but you can make work that deals with your anger.”

In her assemblages, she incorporated symbols that channeled dark episodes of U.S. history and African American struggle: the schematics of slave ships, the hackneyed images of vintage kitsch and the cruel sobriquets used by white supremacists to describe Black children.

At first she was apprehensive about using this type of imagery in her work. “Blacks were ashamed of those derogatory images,” she told the New York Times. “I like to think I recycled those images from negative to positive.”

But there was power in those images — and Saar knew just how to harness it.

“Saar’s assemblage doesn’t just describe history,” wrote former Times art critic Christopher Knight of her work in 2019, “it embodies a visceral connection to it.”

She would go on to deploy these tropes in myriad ways throughout her career — in particular the stereotypical figure of the Black mammy.

This included one particularly potent work: a glass bottle featuring the visage of a smiling mammy, which she transformed into a Molotov cocktail. The piece, which for decades had been in a private collection, reappeared in the traveling exhibition “We Wanted a Revolution: Black Radical Women, 1965-85,” which went on view at the California African American Museum (CAAM) in 2017.

“Historically, the mammy was the ultimate image of Black female servitude in the American psyche,” wrote historian Steven Nelson in the catalog that accompanied a 2017 exhibition of Saar’s work at the Craft Contemporary (then known as the Craft & Folk Art Museum). “She was kind and giving. She cooked and cleaned and did the laundry. She took care of the children. She was harmless.”

By arming her mammies with revolvers, rifles and bullets, Saar turned a symbol of servility into one of militancy and power.

Her work also frequently touched on the personal: family, dreams, magic and the body (particularly the Black female body). In the process, she influenced a younger generation of artists, key figures such as Houston Conwill, Senga Nengudi and David Hammons.

“You can really see the impact she had on them,” said Kellie Jones, a scholar and independent curator who organized “Now Dig This!: Art and Black Los Angeles 1960-1980” at the Hammer Museum in 2011. “She had this multimedia practice. It was about Africa, but it was about the world. She has works with Mexican milagros, she has titles in Spanish, she at certain points has Asian influence and Haitian influence. She was really looking at the globe. She was a person in the world, and she really modeled that for people like Hammons and Conwill and Nengudi.”

Saar’s work resides in the permanent collections of more than 80 international museums, and in recent years, she was the subject of solo shows at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, the Prada Foundation in Milan and the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art in Arizona (which hosted a retrospective).

In L.A., she had regular exhibitions at her Culver City gallery Roberts Projects, as well as one-woman shows at CAAM and the Craft Contemporary. In 2019, a small but potent show at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art explored the ways in which her drawing process factored into her assemblage work. But a full retrospective at one of her hometown’s major museums eluded her.

Saar told The Times that she didn’t let it bother her: “I’ve always done what I did and never felt I was competing with what was going on.”

If anything, she competed only with herself.

Well into her 90s, she continued to get up every day to craft assemblages out of the objects she had amassed in her studio. At 96, she scoured the Huntington Library gardens for a commissioned installation she called a “full-circle” project.

“I used to come to the Huntington with my mother when I was a child. She loved to garden, especially African violets, and she passed that love of plants and nature on to me,” Saar told the New York Times Style Magazine in 2024.

That love is palpable in “Drifting Toward Twilight” and its accompanying documentary, which sees Saar fawning over the orange tint of sloughed bark and the mystical qualities of garden scraps.

“Even in death those things can be really beautiful,” Saar said in the short documentary.

After working with a 17-foot canoe as a centerpiece for the Huntington exhibition, Saar told Curate LA that she felt compelled to return to small-scale pieces. The result was her 2024 Roberts Projects exhibit, “Betye Saar: New Work,” an objet trouvé medley in bronze and gold hues.

“At first, the new works were more nostalgic, with vintage photos and female ephemera, like gloves and such,” Saar said. “Then I brought in the tall ship bookends and African masks, and the works moved in a more ancestral and political direction.”

Even her grandson’s discarded computer parts made a cameo, a testament to Saar’s uncanny ability to mine inspiration from the most mundane objects.

“The worst problem for an artist is having nothing to say,” she once said in an interview. “I just have so many ideas. … Look at things that are important to you, what’s happening in your life. If you have that, you never run out of ideas.”

With her centennial on the horizon, Saar in 2025 formed the Betye Saar Legacy Group, a committee of her trusted curators and collaborators charged with preserving her vast archive and keeping her name fresh in the minds of new generations of artists.

A Saar biography penned by Zoé Whitley, who co-curated “Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power,” is expected in 2027.

Saar is survived by her daughters Lezley, Alison (both artists) and Tracye (a writer), and her grandchildren Kyle Leeser, Maddy Inez, Sola Saar, Gen Saar Agustsson, Spencer Saar Cavanaugh, Megan Cavanaugh

Times staff writers Malia Mendez and Jessica Gelt contributed to this report.

Artist Vija Celmins and filmmaker Denis Villeneuve will be honored at Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s upcoming Art + Film Gala, the first to be hosted after the spring opening of LACMA’s new David Geffen Galleries.

Now in its 15th year, the glitzy annual event co-hosted by Eva Chow and Leonardo DiCaprio is set to take place Nov. 7. If the museum follows the blueprint it implemented with its Geffen Galleries opening party, the evening’s festivities will unfold in a posh tent beside the new building with a cocktail hour at the base of Peter Zumthor’s concrete creation.

With LACMA still in the international limelight, this year’s Art + Film gala is poised to be its most high-profile yet, enabling it to further its mission of creating connections between the city’s thriving arts and cinema ecosystems. Celmins and Villeneuve certainly live up to the hype. The former, 87, is a pioneer in photo-realistic paintings of natural settings and objects; the latter is an Oscar-nominated director and filmmaker whose projects include the “Dune” movies as well as the upcoming James Bond film for Amazon MGM Studios.

“This year, we are honoring two icons of visual creativity. Whether in painting, drawing, printmaking or other media, Vija Celmins’ exacting renderings of the natural world blend realism and imagination, resulting in sublimely beautiful works,” Michael Govan, LACMA’s director and chief executive, said in a news release. “Likewise, Denis Villeneuve’s meticulously crafted worlds give his films an unforgettable visual impact, from contemplative and cerebral stories to global blockbusters. It will be a privilege for LACMA to honor both of these artists and their extraordinary careers in November.”

Over the years LACMA’s Art + Film Gala has featured a high-profile list of respected artists and filmmakers, including Simone Leigh, Baz Luhrmann, Judy Baca, David Fincher, Helen Pashgian, Park Chan-wook, Amy Sherald, Kehinde Wiley, Steven Spielberg, Betye Saar, Alfonso Cuarón, Catherine Opie and Guillermo del Toro.

Last year’s event, held in honor of Mary Corse and Ryan Coogler, netted a record $6.5 million in support of the museum and its programs.

Yo-Yo Ma closed his eyes as he drew a bow slowly across his cello, playing the first notes of the Catalan lullaby “The Song of the Birds.” But this venue wasn’t like any vaulted concert hall he had toured globally.

At Maywood’s Riverfront Park, Ma was accompanied by the vroom of nearby traffic, cascade of a yucca rainstick and burbling hum of a water synth. An oblivious biker pushed past the world-renowned classical musician. The music flowed on.

Ma’s pop-up show in Southeast Los Angeles was part of his ongoing efforts to highlight people’s relationship to nature through music. He is among a new wave of artists who have been hosting shows along the L.A. River, a waterway with a complex history.

The river once terrorized Angelenos; its unconstrained flow was prone to flooding until most of its 51 miles were lined with concrete starting in the 1940s. While it’s been neglected, trashed and often forgotten over time, myriad governmental and nonprofit groups have been working for years to restore habitat, add park space and establish recreational elements (sometimes in conflict over the vision). And recently, creatives and activists, who dream of transforming it into a hospitable greenway, have been hosting arts events.

“Awareness around the river itself is changing,” said Maria Meija, executive director of L.A. River Arts, one of the organizations bringing attention to its history and cultural significance through public programming. She sees the serpentine stretch of the river as a natural highway that connects Angelenos from the San Fernando Valley to Long Beach. “We believe that if the river is properly activated as a green and cultural landscape, then Angelenos will fundamentally also get to experience Los Angeles in a different way.”

Visions of those possibilities were realized on the summer solstice in mid-June at L.A. River Arts’ inaugural River Solstice Festival at an Elysian Valley park abutting a soft-bottomed area of the river known as the Glendale Narrows.

Children and parents applauded the performances by the Bob Baker Marionette Theater and opera singer San Cha at Lewis MacAdams Riverfront Park in what’s otherwise known as Frogtown. Attendees also gathered for guided bird-watching along the bike path by the water. Four-year-old Juni Wahab was entranced by the sight of the swallows and cormorants swooping low overhead and the rushing twists of water.

“It’s going so fast,” Wahab said, wiggling and pointing as her aunt held on tightly for safety. “There are so many waves.”

A quick stroll upstream, a group of DJs unaffiliated with the family-friendly festival hosted a day party aimed at Gen Z and millennial attendees, perched on one of the channel’s outcrops. Roughly a dozen people at the if-you-know-you-know event grooved and shuffled to EDM music while kayak enthusiasts paddled by and locals fished for carp.

Dominic Tsoi drove from Orange County to spin at the open decks hosted by the DJ collective Helipad Society. “This event really resonated with me, because it mixes two things that I really love, music and being a part of nature,” said Tsoi, adding the commute was worth it. An indoors club setting can feel stifling, but outdoors is where Tsoi feels free.

Just up the sloped bank, Antonio Solano and Erick Torres were sweeping outside their tent, where they live under the Glendale Freeway. Torres started noticing events at the river increase over the last three years.

“It gets people together,” said Torres, who’s been living above the river for over a decade. The music is a source of pleasure even as Torres and Solano stay vigilant to avoid city encampment sweeps. “It’s good, we enjoy it.”

Social media has driven interest in these DIY events as artists playing ambient music against a backdrop of verdant green have gone viral on TikTok.

“The attention has expanded to people who otherwise wouldn’t have given the L.A. River a second thought,” said Noah Klein, a lifelong Angeleno who has hosted popular river jams over the last two years through his Living Earth public art series.

People don’t need approval to host these impromptu gatherings, said Dash Stolarz, director of public affairs at the Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority. The park agency oversees commercial use of the L.A. River recreation zones in Elysian Valley and the Sepulveda Basin, another section of soft-bottomed riverbed.

In her 25 years on the job, this was the first time Stolarz had heard of people using the riverfront for mini concerts. She was excited by the ingenuity of artists; as long as people aren’t charging for events, they don’t need permission.

“It’s exactly how we envisioned people enjoying the river,” Stolarz said. “We want people to use the river like a park.”

Though unlike a regular park, the L.A. River is primarily treated as a flood control channel, so park rangers carefully monitor for rain when the recreation zones open for leisure, like kayaking, during the summer.

While appreciating the L.A. River can be a good thing, social media algorithms can flatten the context around the waterway, particularly when it comes to demographic changes in nearby neighborhoods.

“The City of L.A.’s greatest skill is the erasure of its own history, and the L.A. River kind of feels like the perfect encapsulation of this,” Klein said.

Once home to mostly working-class Latino families, neighborhoods along the river in northeast L.A. have seen home prices surge for years. To preserve the history of these neighborhoods, Clockshop, an arts organization, has been collecting interviews with locals as part of a multimedia oral history project since 2023. The project includes everything from videos of an Indigenous musician performing a song about water in the Tongva language to brothers worrying about the future of their family’s 60-year-old pickle business in the face of gentrification.

Jon Christensen, director of the Laboratory for Environmental Narrative Strategies at UCLA, said river revitalization can be part of a “green gentrification cycle” as new development pushes out old communities. Like the chicken-and-egg paradox, it’s hard to tell which comes first: the amenities surrounding the L.A. River or the more affluent people seeking them.

Christensen hopes artists engaging with the river spurs conversation for more equitable green investments that benefit communities and the environment. “When people are more connected to nature, they want to support nature more,” Christensen said of his studies on how people connect to the outdoors. “It’s really kind of a virtuous cycle there.”

Cindy Donis, a water organizer with East Yard Communities for Environmental Justice, said artwork can also raise awareness around inequities. While there are aspirations to turn the river into a greenbelt, nightmarish pollution incidents have still haunted Southeast L.A. communities.

Ma’s performance was nearly canceled in May due to 25,000 gallons of crude oil that spilled into the L.A. River after a pipeline rupture in Boyle Heights. Weeks later, the Lineage warehouse fire sent even more debris and pollution downstream. Donis said multiple people reached out with complaints of a foul smell emanating from the river. Miles away, some at the River Solstice Festival wore masks due to poor air quality caused by the fire.

Earlier this year, East Yard Communities for Environmental Justice held an exhibition at Art Space Huntington Park called “We Are Water” to uplift local Indigenous artists. “Art really allows and embraces healing,” Donis said. “It’s another tool that allows us to process these feelings and get closer to the solutions as a community.”

The L.A. River inspired Arturo Gonzalez to found his arts education nonprofit that focuses on gang intervention among young people in East L.A. As Ma performed in the park, Gonzalez stood in the river basin, spray-painting in neon-pink blockbuster letters the name of his organization, East Side of the River, onto pillars under Slauson Avenue.

As a teenager in the early 2000s, Gonzalez was involved in gangs that would tag the gray walls of the L.A. River, but his passion for graffiti and Chicano art eventually led him out of those circles.

“The river was a safe place to paint, where you could sit and spend the day learning colors, composition,” he said of illicit tagging as a teenager, which eventually led to his public art work. “There’s a thin line between vandalism and art.”

This time, Gonzalez arrived with permission from the county and painted on a detachable fabric in case the mural needs to be removed.

“The opportunity to get into the river and paint again was like a dream,” he said. He seeks the input of local residents in his planned projects so they can participate in beautifying their neighborhoods. “We call it wall medicine for the community.”

For its upcoming Los Angeles venue, experiential art firm Meow Wolf will focus on the art of storytelling, with a specific eye toward spoofing our city’s moviemaking magic. To help bring that vision to life, Meow Wolf has entered into a creative partnership with Titmouse, one of L.A.’s most renowned independent animation houses.

The Hollywood-based studio behind popular series such as “Big Mouth” and “Star Trek: Lower Decks” will create animation that will be shown throughout the West L.A. venue, which is on target for a late 2026 opening at the Howard Hughes entertainment complex.

It’s a move that represents a shift for Santa Fe, N.M.-based Meow Wolf. Over the last decade-plus, the art collective has grown beyond its anything-goes, punk-meets-psychedelic roots into an organization with full-scale, maximalist installations in its hometown, Denver, Las Vegas, Houston and the Dallas suburbs. In the past, Meow Wolf kept most of its media in-house.

As part of its larger-than-life participatory art installations, Meow Wolf L.A. will feature a mix of live action and animation, the former filmed by Meow Wolf in its Santa Fe studio. Meow Wolf’s James Stephenson, a senior VP with the company and its creative director of emerging media, said the degree to which the L.A. exhibition will lean into various animation styles necessitated an outside partner. Titmouse’s work, in development by a number of directors with contrasting tones, will be shown on a variety of formats, ranging from cinema screens to full-room projections.

“I really believe in animation as an art form, and I know the Titmouse folks do too,” Stephenson says. “Animation is made by artists. It’s made by artists with their own hands. It’s something that is still very rooted in craft.”

Meow Wolf’s L.A. space is set in a former cinema complex, and will champion its location, taking guests on a journey through a converted movie house and beyond, into a sci-fi-inspired fantasyland with sentient spaceships and a 30-foot-tall mushroom tower. Meow Wolf creatives have spoken of the fantastical movie theater as one that will feature animated, self-aware candy before attendees enter the main exhibition space, making Titmouse’s work some of the first art guests will encounter. Titmouse co-founder Chris Prynoski has said the studio has lined up at least six directors for the exhibit.

Titmouse, says Stephenson, is the right partner because “they’re known less for a house style, and more for a house vibe.” Over the years, Titmouse has been behind such diverse shows as “Scavengers Reign,” owning a Jean Giraud influence rooted in French and Spanish surrealism, the lively “Jentry Chau vs. the Underworld,” with an unique color palette that took inspiration from anime and Chinese mythology, the exaggerated comic book feel of Adult Swim’s “Metalocalypse,” and the approachable yet expressive tone of “Star Trek: Lower Decks.”

“Meow Wolf’s vibe is similar to Titmouse’s vibe,” Stephenson says. “It’s artist-first, artist-driven, independent and kinda edgy. They are always trying to find the edge of what’s possible. They try to see how far they can go, and it’s done for fun and in the spirit of taking risks.”

Prynoski says working with Meow Wolf will give Titmouse a sense of artistic freedom it doesn’t always have when delivering content for more traditional Hollywood partners. He says the multi-director approach is a callback to the early days of Warner Bros. Animation, when individual creators put their own stamp on Looney Tunes material.

“I use Bugs Bunny as an example,” Prynoski says. “You’ve got a Friz Freleng Bugs Bunny short. You’ve got a Chuck Jones Bugs Bunny short. You’ve got a Tex Avery Bugs Bunny short. They’re all different versions of Bugs Bunny, and people who are really paying attention can tell which director directed each one. Even though to the layman, these are all Bugs Bunny, but if you lined them up, they are drawing in different styles, sensibilities and techniques.”

Prynoski says that was a centerpiece of his pitch to Meow Wolf, noting that characters will reappear in multiple installations, each handled by a different artist. Meow Wolf L.A., in fact, will be the firm’s most character-driven exhibition, as guests will follow the storylines of three main protagonists throughout the space.

In announcing the partnership, Meow Wolf and Titmouse released an image from an animated work directed by Luca Vitale. It features a key character having a moment with a hummingbird and it’s done in an elegant, slightly anime-influenced style. It’s an image full of movement, reflecting a character in transition with inviting pastels and bold dashes.

“I like that image because I think it captures some of the sense of wonder that we want people to feel,” Stephenson says. “The character is having an encounter with the elusive nature of creativity and reality in a way that makes them have a different perspective of what’s possible.”

Other contributing animation directors to Meow Wolf L.A. include Space Dawg, Felix Colgrave, Alexander Vanderplank and Philémon Martin, and Jun Ioneda.

Titmouse’s partnership with Meow Wolf will extend beyond the L.A. exhibition. The two will be working on the development of Meow Wolf New York, which is slated to open some time after Los Angeles, and are collaborating on a planned animated series, which Prynoski is spearheading.

Meow Wolf exhibits are the result of sometimes hundreds of disparate artists coming together in a shared space. Distilling that into a signature, singular style for a series could be a challenge. Stephenson pinpoints some guiding principles.

“You really need to feel the hand of the artist,” he says. “You need to feel a DIY aesthetic. You need to feel the materiality. Those are very specific to what we are.”

“We’re putting on social, immersive figure drawing events for neurodivergent, queer nerds,” says Jennifer Martina, the producer at Nest of Friends, the nonprofit production company that stages biweekly figure drawing at Geeky Teas & Games in Burbank.

Martina and artist Sketkh Williams, Sketch by Sketkh’s host, provide a welcoming atmosphere across identities, skill levels and nerdy interests, while also playing to their own backgrounds in theater. The sessions feature dramatic lighting, staging and soundtracks, and use professional cosplayers as models. Embodying characters from “Star Wars,” video games, anime and other IP, these pros don’t just dress the part, they take pains to hit their characters’ canonical stances for attendees to capture.

For Martina and Williams, the events are an alternative to nude or more traditional figure drawing sessions. “That just doesn’t interest us,” says Martina. “We’re both theatrical people, so for us part of putting on a show is seeing characters, some cool costume design and a theme.”

• Best for: Practiced amateurs with nerdy interests
• When: Every other Thursday at 7:30 p.m.
• Ticket price: Starts at $23.18

One Wednesday evening in May, at the boutique hotel Dream Hollywood — located just off the Walk of Fame — a young hotel staff member shuffled over to her co-worker to discuss a special guest on the top floor. Together they exchanged whispers about an artist’s unknown whereabouts and whether or not they would catch him on his descent to the first floor.

The name “Tito Double P” slipped out, referring to the Mexican corrido singer who happened to be in town promoting his latest album, “Acomodo.”

I met the 28-year-old on the top floor, where he opted for a warm, friendly hug in lieu of a firm business handshake. We were quickly rushed into a side room to conduct his last interview of the evening.

Those who’ve followed Tito Double P’s musical journey since 2023 would likely describe him as a chaotic force, with weathered vocals, off-the-cuff ad libs, riotous pelvic thrusts and suggestive tongue expressions.

Come Sunday, he’ll bring the ruckus when he headlines Belico Fest in L.A.’s BMO Stadium. But when we spoke about his second solo album, “Acomodo,” the Nayarit-born, Sinaloa-raised singer, whose real name is Jesús Roberto Laija García, arrived polished, perfumed and poised.

“After this LP, don’t be surprised if you see different things from me,” said Laija García.

Released on May 28, the LP contains 23 corridos, which see Laija García strike the commanding tone of brazen CEO. In its focus track, “Me Vale V,” the singer firmly declares he is manifesting his dreams and not paying anyone else mind. Its lyrics reveal it all: “Ya van tres días que no paro, pero bien trabado” (I’ve been going nonstop for three days now, but I’m totally locked in).

But listeners also get a more vulnerable side of the músicana mexicana singer, who agonizes over heartbreak in “La Fama” — while simultaneously voicing his vice for women and boozy escapades. Throughout the record, the singer sprinkles in the catchphrase, “Bélico pero no tanto, mija,” which translates to “warlike, but not too much, my dear” — striking a balance between his hard-shelled exterior and inner tenderness, namely in the yearning jazzy corrido “Pase y Pase,” in which he pleads for a late-night booty call.

Most notably, “Acomodo” boasts no features whatsoever, a rarity in an industry where artist collaborations play a key role in bringing in bigger audiences (and bigger payouts).

“Many people called me to ask why they weren’t going to be on [the record],” he said. But the solo move marked a milestone achievement for Laija García, who had no designs of becoming an international musical marvel.

“I was never the child who sang, who played the guitar in school festivities or at family parties,” said Laija García in a calm tone — occasionally referring to his stage name in the third person.

The singer still can’t fathom his own success. He cut his teeth by penning career-defining songs for his famous cousin, Peso Pluma — including anthemic corridos like “El Belicon,” “Siempre Pendientes” and “AMG.” These standout ballads touted a rugged lifestyle with elements of organized crime, which aided his primo’s ascent to the mainstream.

In the process of composing his cousin’s Grammy-winning 2023 album, “Génesis,” Laija García asked him if he could also release his own material. “Let’s go!” he recalled Peso Pluma saying. “Your first song will be a duet with me.”

The plan was to debut Tito Double P with “La People,” a fiery narcocorrido that details the inner life of a cartel’s tactical security guard, who narrowly escapes a police raid.

But Laija García’s rollout plan took a detour when an unmastered version of his track was leaked to TikTok in spring 2023 — a bouncy tune he later renamed “Dembow Belico,” which is characterized by a Dominican-style boom-chi-boom-chick rhythm and raw, spitfire lyrics. This party track introduced audiences to a version of Tito Double P that radiated a lighthearted madness — fueled by Skyy vodka and Old Parr whiskey, as per the song’s lyrics.

“I liked it, it was something new,” said Luis R. Conriquez, who called up the new singer to be a collaborator. “What makes him special is his voice, his sound. He’s his own person.”

Together with Conriquez and Joel De La P, “Dembow Belico” was released on June 5, 2023, and became Tito Double P’s official debut in the music world — even giving life to one of the most viral clips of Mexican boxer Canelo Alvarez, who can be seen awkwardly dancing to it.

“From there on, Tito Double P was another persona,” said Laija García. Throughout his lively retelling of the story, he added a series of sound effects to move the story line — among them, wacha, pum, pum, pum, gol. “More than anything, Tito Double P came across as a character, because that guy was totally crazy, he didn’t give a damn.”

In real life, Laija García considers himself a timid, camera-shy guy. That’s why he chose an illustration for the cover of his 2024 debut album “Incómodo,” rather than a real-life image of himself; the LP title directly translates to “discomfort.”

“I was going to be one of those artists that [only] releases songs, because [I thought,] ‘How embarrassing would it be if I got up on stage?’” he mused. “But now, I dominate the stage from head to toe. And I don’t want to come down.”

The debut record also served as an experimental project for Tito Double P, whose hard-won swagger elevated every sound he toyed with — whether it was on the brass-heavy banda song “La 701” with Luis R Conriquez, the techno thump of “La Bandolera,” the heavy-hitting urban track “Linda” with Neton Vega and the guitar-powered ballad “Los Cuadros” ft. Peso Pluma).

Featuring collaborations with established acts, such as Natanael Cano, Junior H and Grupo Frontera, the album peaked at No. 11 on the Billboard 200 chart and helped the rising star distinguish himself from his high-profile cousin — who he toppled from the No. 1 spot on the Top Latin Albums chart, five weeks after his debut release.

Although Laija García hasn’t shied away from embracing that familial tie either; in May, both Tito Double P and Peso Pluma concluded their “Dinastía” tour following their joint 2025 album of the same name.

“I still see comments on TikTok where people are surprised that we are cousins,” remarked Laija García.

Now with “Acomodo” — which debuted at the top of both Spotify Top Albums USA and Top Global Charts across all genres — Tito Double P affirmed his rightful place in música mexicana upper echelons.

“That’s why it’s called ‘Acomodo,’ because everything is aligning itself as it should be,” he said.

As Tito Double P made his way to the lobby, a member of the Dream Hollywood valet — who likely bore witness to Hollywood A-listers and other luminaries — asked if he could take a picture with the singer. “Tito, Tito, a photo please!” asked the employee.

Laija García flashed a friendly smile. Thankfully for the attendant, Tito Double P is always camera-ready.

The Autry’s current exhibition, “Life, Liberty, and Los Angeles” is an excellent show that takes a deep regional dive pegged to its 250th American anniversary programming. Of all the pieces, See Lee’s meticulously stitched “Hmong Story Cloth” (circa 1980) is a poignant chronicle of making the journey to an unknown future in the United States. Utilizing the traditional paj ntaub embroidery format, the textile documents Lee’s family fleeing war-torn Laos and resettling in Long Beach during the 1970s. The narrative unfolds in sequential sections depicting military violence at a chaotic crossing of the Mekong River; lower panels remember Thai refugee camps, a rescue airplane and a Greyhound bus. This visual testimony shares striking cross-currents with Latin American arpilleras and paños Chicanos, linking disparate diasporic traditions through the shared language of quietly political, deeply personal needlework — in this case, preserving a crucial chapter of Southeast Asian migration to Southern California.

🗓️ On view through Jan. 31, 2027

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A dull yellow light peeks through a brooding sky looming over rolling Southern California hills. The oil painting “Approaching Storm” captures the kind of picturesque scene that would get fine artist Paul Grimm work in early Hollywood. Known for his plein air landscapes and masterful depictions of clouds, he turned to studio work to make money during the Great Depression.

He is one of many artists on display at a new UC Irvine Langson Orange County Museum of Art exhibition about set painters whose work would go uncredited or overlooked.

“They weren’t making their living selling their paintings, but they were making their living working for the studios,” said museum director Kathryn Kanjo. “The artist would lose their individual credit and recognition, to be at the service of what was needed by the studio.”

Elsewhere in the “Staging California in Early Hollywood” exhibition, hangs an 18-by-25-foot painted backing for “The Sound of Music” (1965), a project led by the then-art director of 20th Century Pictures’ special effects department, Emil J. Kosa Jr. He’d be the only one to get credit at the time, not the five other contributing artists, including celebrated plein air artist Arthur Grover Rider, who are also noted in the museum description.

“In general, at the studios, they systematized the production design, so that it was fast,” Kanjo said, describing the rigid process as militaristic. “Five artists at a time work day after day to get these things done.”

It’s the museum’s first exhibition since UC Irvine acquired the Orange County Museum of Art last September, building a 9,000-piece collection dating back to the 19th century.

The exhibition, with about 50 pieces, is the first since Kanjo’s appointment in December. It’s a love letter to the film industry’s anonymous and little-known artists, whose works were vital to movies.

Take two of the most prolific set artists of the mid-20th century: Warren Newcombe and George Gibson. Newcombe was a Massachusetts-born, well-educated artist who started working on sets as early as 1920. He’d eventually join the MGM art department, where he perfected a visual effect technique called “matte painting.” For a time, it was simply referred to as the “Newcombe shot.”

Gibson was also at MGM around the same time. When the studio first hired the Scottish artist, he’d routinely miss shifts to paint plein air in Southern California. He and Newcombe would help craft “The Wizard of Oz” (1939), but when the credits rolled, both their names were missing.

Newcombe and Gibson would go on to be recognized and celebrated for their work. About a decade after “The Wizard of Oz,” Newcombe won two Oscars for special effects, for “Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo” (1944) and “Green Dolphin Street” (1947).

“He was really instrumental in the professionalization of artists at MGM,” assistant curator Michaëla Mohrmann said of Gibson. “His insistence on color saturation is something that really informs his work for ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ and it’s really that movie that cements his reputation as one of the masters of scenic art.”

Meanwhile, artists like Arthur Beaumont hardly got their due. Raised by a military family in England, the California transplant was particularly captivated by naval vessels. By 1933, he had painted maritime art for most of the U.S. Naval fleet. As a result of his work, he was commissioned as a lieutenant in the U.S. Navy and recognized as its fleet’s official artist.

He also began producing promotional materials and storyboards for Paramount Studios’ naval films as early as 1935, first for a movie titled “Mutiny on the Bounty.” In 1942, he would do the same for “Wake Island” in the midst of World War II. His work was later etched into metal plates and used to mass-produce publicity prints.

“They were participating [in the military and war] in different functions and not always credited for that kind of work,” Mohrmann said. “I think there was an act of generosity [during wartime] in general — everyone was really patriotic.”

The exhibition also features a silent film titled “The Life and Death of 9413: a Hollywood Extra,” a 1928 short highlighting the plight of a background actor known as “9413.”

“It’s all like him being shoveled around and underappreciated and not even given a name, right?” Kanjo said. “Everybody thought it was funny because it was kind of meta, but it was pointing out real issues.”

Beyond giving credit where credit’s due, the exhibition aims to uplift background art.

“Back then as well as now, people question the artistic merits of these works because they were made for films that were for profit,” Mohrmann said. “When in reality there was a ton of talent and artistry and critical thinking.”

Quincy Bowie Jr. contributed to this report.

In 2015, musician Roberto Carlos launched Boleros de Noche, an annual concert series held in Los Angeles that aimed at preserving and showcasing the Latin American bolero music genre.

This year, the event is celebrating its 10th anniversary with performances at the Ford on Aug. 1 by Puerto Rican singer and former Calle 13 member iLe and L.A.-based bolero trio Voz Bohemia

On Friday, the city of L.A. honored the series’ decade-long run and legacy of uplifting bolero music by declaring Aug.1 “Día del Bolero.”

Boleros are ballads noted for their slow tempo and romantic lyrics accompanied by a crooning vocal style. Though the genre originated in Cuba, it quickly gained popularity across Latin America, with each culture putting their own spin on it. In the early 20th century, the evolving sound of boleros was shaped by the Cuban group Trio Matamoros, Mexican composer Agustín Lara, Puerto Rican artist Rafael Hernández and Ecuadorian singer Julio Jaramillo.

The genre saw a resurgence in popularity in the 1980s and ‘90s when famed Mexican artists Juan Gabriel and Luis Miguel embraced the bolero sound. In recent years, the bolero movement has been modernized and electrified by artists such as Mon Laferte, Romeo Santos, Adrian Quesada and Kali Uchis. In the last five years, Quesada has released two bolero albums, “Boleros Psicodélicos” and “Boleros Psicodélicos II,” that mix the genre’s classic sounds with elements of psychedelic rock.

“Over the past decade, Boleros de Noche has presented numerous concerts featuring both local and international artists, has brought together thousands of people across the city to bask in the lush orchestration of this music,” said City Councilmember Nithya Raman, who presented Carlos with the honor. “For so many in the Latino community and beyond, this isn’t just music, it’s memory, it’s home, and perhaps most importantly, it’s heritage being carried forward.”

Raised in L.A. County by parents who immigrated from the Mexican state of Oaxaca, Carlos says he first fell in love with live performance and bolero music in his midteens, when he would frequent the now-defunct Teatro los Pinos in South Gate.

He yearned for that same level of comfort and awe at music and wanted to share that with a larger audience. The first iteration of Boleros de Noche took place in 2015 at an art gallery in Echo Park.

“Over the years, I have heard countless stories from audience members who tell me how this music reminds them of their parents, grandparents, first loves and family traditions,” Carlos said Friday at City Hall. “Ten years ago, bolero was rarely part of our city’s cultural conversation, and today bolero programming can be found across Los Angeles, and I’m honored that Boleros de Noche has been a driving force behind its growth.”

Boleros de Noche has sold out shows at the Ford over the last few years and has featured artists such as Gaby Moreno, Marisoul and the legendary trio Los Panchos. In 2025, the event made its debut at Chicago’s historic Symphony Center.

The bolero genre’s popularity and cultural significance has been spotlighted outside of L.A. in recent years as well.

On Dec. 5, 2023, UNESCO, the United Nation’s agency aimed at safeguarding social and cultural foundations, recognized the musical genre as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

As part of Friday’s ceremony, Carlos and his bolero group Los Rebeldes Románticos performed several tunes, including the Mexican bolero classic “Sabor a Mí.”

Last year, Carlos spoke with The Times about his ambitions for Boleros de Noche and the mentality that drives the event series.

“At Boleros de Noche, [I want] for us to speak in Spanish, to feel recognized, to do this music as a celebration for all these artists that unfortunately became background music for a lot of like weddings and quinceañeras,” he said. “How about if we celebrate them and give them recognition? How about if, through my events, I can take people back to the 1940s to my experience at Teatro los Pinos?”

Given recent attacks on Latinos on the local and national levels, Carlos said he hoped his events would create a safe and welcoming gathering place.

“It’s about bolero music. It’s about community. It’s about people. It’s about the musicians,” he said. “Many of the musicians were undocumented. They brought this music to L.A. through their hometowns.”

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences invited 529 artists and executives to join its membership Wednesday, including actors Jenna Ortega, Teyana Taylor, Jacob Elordi, Mia Goth and Josh O’Connor and filmmakers Benny and Josh Safdie, as the organization continues to reshape the body that votes on the Oscars.

If all invitees accept, the academy’s voting membership will grow to 10,338 members, up from roughly 6,000 a decade ago, as the organization continues to expand its ranks and broaden its international reach. Overall membership, including emeritus members who no longer vote, will rise to 11,319.

The academy’s expansion accelerated after the 2015 #OscarsSoWhite controversy, which drew attention to the organization’s overwhelmingly white and male membership and prompted a sustained effort to recruit more women, people of color and international filmmakers. The academy met its initial post-#OscarsSoWhite diversity targets several years ago but has continued to expand and internationalize its membership.

The latest class includes 95 Oscar nominees, 21 Oscar winners and three recipients of Scientific and Technical Awards.

“We are delighted to invite this remarkable group of film artists and professionals from around the world to join the Academy,” academy CEO Bill Kramer and President Lynette Howell Taylor said in a joint statement. “Through their commitment to filmmaking, this year’s exceptionally talented class has made significant contributions to our global movie industry.”

The academy said 42% of this year’s invitees are women, 56% are from underrepresented communities and 53% are from 60 countries and territories outside the United States. Last year’s class was 41% women, 45% from underrepresented ethnic or racial communities and 55% international.

Across the academy’s overall membership, 36% are women, 25% come from underrepresented communities and 22% are international, according to the organization.

Other notable invitees include actors Jon Bernthal, Julia Garner, Bill Skarsgård, Anthony Ramos, Jemaine Clement, Jenny Slate and Simu Liu; singer-songwriter Sara Bareilles; documentary filmmaker Andrew Jarecki (“Capturing the Friedmans”); and director Zach Cregger (“Weapons”).

Nine individuals, including filmmakers Benny Safdie (“The Smashing Machine”) and Josh Safdie (“Marty Supreme”), received invitations from multiple branches and must choose one upon accepting membership.

Membership in the academy is by sponsorship rather than application. Oscar nominees are automatically considered for membership in the year they are nominated, while branch executive committees review additional candidates before recommendations are approved by the academy’s Board of Governors.

The latest class is five names fewer than last year’s group of 534 invitees. The academy’s largest-ever class came in 2018, when it invited 928 new members as part of a broader effort to diversify its ranks.

The 99th Oscars will take place March 14, 2027, at the Dolby Theatre at Ovation Hollywood.

A coalition of advocacy groups for artists, songwriters and managers is warning musicians about the growing risks of artificial intelligence music.

Recently, many major record labels have inked deals with AI music startups such as Suno, Udio and Klay. But the coalition, which includes organizations such as the Music Artists Coalition and the Songwriters of North America, argues in a new letter that “artists and songwriters whose works, voices, performances, likenesses and creative identities make those deals valuable are not being meaningfully consulted.”

The letter, released Monday, stated that many artists and songwriters in existing recording and publishing agreements are currently receiving letters from their labels and publishers claiming that they “will be opted in to AI-related uses by default, with little actual choice offered.” Even new artists are receiving agreements that include “AI rights clauses as a standard condition of signing.”

“We support innovation and recognise that AI can create new opportunities for music,” the coalition wrote in the letter. “However artists are not simply catalogue assets, and innovation cannot be used to override artists’ rights.”

The National Independent Talent Organization, a live entertainment advocacy group that signed the letter, said many of its members are coming to the organization with label contracts that include “non-negotiable AI usage clauses.”

“We can’t allow for contract language signed decades before this technology existed to be the standard bearer. These rights belong to the creators and they get the final say on usage,” said Nathaniel Marro, NITO’s executive director, in a statement to The Times.

“Music companies are leading the fight to protect artists’ and songwriters’ rights in the age of AI,” said a spokesperson for IFPI, the recording industry’s global trade body.

“While our members have taken different approaches, they share the same fundamental objectives: combating the unauthorized use of music and establishing licensing models that return revenue to artists and songwriters,” the IFPI spokesperson added.

The coalition is asking the industry to move forward on AI deals only under four conditions: that musicians directly consent to any agreement; that artists receive fair compensation; that there be transparency between the companies and the talent; and that companies make a public commitment to end contracts built on default AI opt-ins and forced AI clauses.

“Artists need a real seat in these conversations, clear terms on revenue share, and the ability to say no without losing their deal,” said Ron Gubitz, the Music Artists Coalition’s executive director, in a statement.

This letter comes at a time when policymakers are reviewing copyright rules in response to AI and when streaming platforms and social media platforms are overflowing with AI-generated music.

A little over two weeks ago, the American Federation of Musicians sued Universal Music Group and Warner Music Group. The complaint claims the major labels “received significant compensation” from the AI companies for past copyright violations and licensed “substantial” portions of their music catalogs to them, but haven’t shared that with the musicians.

Despite the confrontational tone of the letter, some signatories struck a more conciliatory note. Overall, the industry seems to be receptive to these AI changes, said Willie “Prophet” Stiggers of the Black Music Action Coalition, another signatory advocacy group. At this point in AI’s development, he added, everyone in the industry — from artists and labels to AI start-ups and policymakers — has a responsibility to establish effective guardrails.

“The companies building these technologies understand that trust is essential to long-term success, and trust begins with respecting creators’ rights,” Stiggers said in a statement to The Times. “There’s still important work ahead, but we’re encouraged that the conversation has shifted from whether protections are needed to how we build them together.”

“The structures being created now will shape the music ecosystem for years to come,” the coalition’s letter said. “The future of music must be built with artists, songwriters and their representatives, not imposed on them.”

Times staff writer Wendy Lee contributed to this report.

Walk into the Grammy Museum in downtown L.A., and you’ll see Clive Davis’ legacy everywhere.

The museum’s intimate performance space is named for the late record executive, and his visage greets guests at the front door. (Davis was the first million-dollar donor to the nascent Recording Academy archive and exhibition space.) His sprawling roster of acts — Bruce Springsteen, Miles Davis, Whitney Houston, Alicia Keys, Earth, Wind & Fire — defined an entire art form and business model as preserved in the Grammy Museum. Davis’ pre-Grammy gala was the most coveted invitation in music every awards season.

Davis’ death at 94 is “devastating,” said Michael Sticka, chief executive and president of the Grammy Museum. “Clive was always a north star of music and talent and artistry. We’re all lucky to have his legacy to look up to.”

Davis’ death marks the end of perhaps the most important and enduring career in the record industry. Sticka spoke to The Times about Davis’ remarkable longevity, creative vision and how a career like his will likely never be possible again.

Clive was a giant of the record business. How did his career shape the modern record industry?

His career was iconic. He really had a unique ability to not just bring an artist to their fullest potential artistically, but commercially. From attending Monterey Pop and first seeing Janis Joplin to Whitney Houston and Alicia Keys, I don’t think anybody had that ear in them the way that he did.

With Clive, what you got was not just hearing commercial viability, but an understanding of what was going on in the zeitgeist. That’s what propelled his career and legacy beyond most record executives.

His name’s on the building at Grammy Museum’s theater. What did he mean to the institution — not just for fundraising but as a living connection to music history?

He didn’t just donate to the museum. He donated his time, his historical knowledge of music, his firsthand perspective. He always kept tabs on what was happening in music. I always say the Clive Davis Theater is the toughest ticket in town for its intimacy and the level of programming we do. But he did an annual program at the museum where people could come hear stories directly from him. Once he decided he was in, he was all in.

His gala was the place to be every Grammy season too.

I don’t think anybody could gather a roomful of luminaries like that from entertainment, tech and politics in the way that Clive did. We were lucky to be a part of that. Even with the stature he had, he was still a physical presence there, he was approachable. He was always looked at as this living legend, but his legacy was continuously being built.

That’s true over the arc of his career, which saw him lead Columbia, Arista, J Records and more. He had a lot of resurrections as well as successes.

He had this ability to resurrect. Look at Santana and “Supernatural,” he was a producer on that album that was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame just last year. So many of us would just give up, but he just had this resolve to continue, and thank God he did.

The record industry is so different now than when he began his career. Artists find audiences on social media rather than being discovered by label executives. Is a career like his — a famous executive driven by their own taste and individual savvy — even possible today?

That’s true, artists break on social media before they’re even on record executives’ radars now. I don’t know if we’ll see that kind of career arc again. Clive had a rare combination of gravitas and being recognized so publicly. The man and his legacy are not going to be replicated.

Beyond the name on the theater, how do you hope the Grammy Museum will honor him with its programming in time to come?

I don’t know yet. We weren’t really prepared for this. We’re gonna have to sit down and think how to pay tribute to such a legacy. I think that the impact the Clive Davis Theater has, bringing in 120 artists a year — I couldn’t think of a more apropos name on the door.

BTS member Jungkook, seen here performing in New York’s Central Park in September 2023, topped 3 billion Spotify streams with his single “Seven,” his agency BigHit Music said Tuesday. File Photo by John Nacion/UPI | License Photo

“Seven,” a hit solo track by BTS member Jungkook, has surpassed 3 billion streams on Spotify, making him the first Korean artist to hit the threshold with a single song, his agency BigHit Music said Tuesday.

“Seven” is also the only song released in 2023 globally to reach the milestone, according to the agency.

A passionate serenade about wanting to spend every day with a loved one, “Seven” blends a catchy melody with a warm acoustic guitar sound and rhythms from UK garage, a genre of electronic music that emerged in Britain in the early 1990s.

The song’s music video surpassed 600 million views on YouTube in April.

Since its release, “Seven” has enjoyed worldwide success, debuting at No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 and reaching No. 3 on the British Official Singles Chart Top 100.

K-pop supergroup BTS, to which Jungkook belongs, is currently on its largest-ever scale world tour, “Arirang.”

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Instead of the usual phalanx of cars and buses, Saturday evening traffic on Wilshire Boulevard was replaced by massive balloons, mobile sculptures, gaggles of gallerists and an endless array of elaborate costumes.

The first-ever Los Angeles Art Parade, a collaboration between the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) and famed gallerist Jeffrey Deitch, transformed the stretch of Wilshire known as Museum Row into a human-powered exhibition of the city’s dynamic art scene.

About 146 groups, made up of more than 1,400 participants, marched in the parade, with projects ranging from larger-than-life marionette dolls to squads of children in do-it-yourself costumes to mobile re-creations of LACMA’s most iconic art pieces.

The parade followed an all-day block party thrown by LACMA as part of its Grand Opening Weekend, celebrating the new David Geffen Galleries and the completion of the 20-year-long, $724-million campus construction project. Together, the block party and art parade attracted an estimated 60,000 attendees, who swarmed the galleries, danced to explosive DJ sets, and lined the streets to watch the eclectic procession of artists.

According to LACMA Director and Chief Executive Michael Govan, the event was a long time coming and “just the beginning” of how his team plans to use the campus space, which he previously called the city’s “living room.”

“We’re not gonna close Wilshire every weekend, but it’s an example of what we can do,” Govan said. “It’s really exciting to see the building work.”

Following a crowd-drawing DJ set from electronic low-fi hip-hop artist Flying Lotus, Govan introduced L.A. County District 2 Supervisor Holly J. Mitchell. She said the event made her “proud to represent LACMA” and to be a Metro board member, referencing the recently-opened Metro D-line extension, which dropped attendees off a quick stroll from LACMA’s entrance.

“Just seeing you all at this amazing public facility does my heart good,” she said. “This is your local government at work.”

As the party raged on LACMA’s campus, hundreds of parade participants hurriedly prepared for their debuts in the corners of nearby streets and parking lots. One group inflated a giant disco ball, while another smeared themselves with body paint next to a line of rehearsing dancers. Elsewhere, a megaphone-wielding leader herded dozens of black cats in the style of artist Gary Baseman into some semblance of order.

Deitch originally staged the first Art Parades in New York City’s SoHo neighborhood between 2005 and 2008. While those took a more art-world-exclusive approach, Deitch said the Los Angeles version was designed with inclusion in mind. The call for parade proposals was open to “emerging and established artists and creatives of all ages and backgrounds,” according to guidelines, as long as the work was appropriate for all ages and didn’t require a motorized element.

“The New York one was much more oriented toward people in the art community. We didn’t put out this kind of open call,” Deitch explained. “This is very different in its openness and its diversity. There are some famous artists and famous choreographers, L.A. legends. But there are also mothers from the San Fernando Valley with their children. I really love that.”

“It’s just a very open platform, so you don’t have to have an M.F.A. to express yourself as an artist,” he added.

The procession was dizzying in its variety and scale. While many projects leaned into beauty and whimsy, others took a more overtly political approach, displaying anti-ICE messages on T-shirts and signs, sporting trans pride flags, or, in the case of performance artist Amy Kaps, wearing an unraveling U.S. constitution.

Some even referenced local causes, such as the “Boo Boo Bandage Brigade for Safe Streets,” which advocated for fixing sidewalks and increasing accessibility downtown. One particularly moving display by the Pali-Altadena Collective featured participants carrying miniature models of buildings and landmarks lost in the 2025 fires.

Chicana artist Nao Bustamante and Track 16 Gallery brought “Brown Disco” to the streets, which featured a giant gold disco ball and figures from decades of L.A. queer nightlife.

“As a brown, queer person, I think that this really brought a light into our community, and now its presence [creates] an intergenerational conversation,” said Track 16 Assistant Director Steve Galindo. “The nightlife scene is how we come out as queer people, so it’s really special to be in the parade.”

For Joie Mitchell, volunteer coordinator for the Bob Baker Marionette Theater, which recently purchased its permanent Highland Park home, the parade was an opportunity to “show up for L.A. and be involved in the art history of this city.”

“Puppetry has been part of the arts for so many years,” added Daisy Hernandez, the theater’s production manager. “It’s a way that people express themselves, just like every other art form. So that’s what we’re here to do: express ourselves through puppetry.”

Spanish painter Nieves González arrives in Los Angeles for her first U.S. solo exhibition having already experienced a taste of fame.

The 29-year-old caught the attention of the art and fashion worlds last year after being discovered on Instagram and commissioned to paint the cover of Lily Allen’s album “West End Girl.” Depicting the singer as a Baroque aristocrat clad in contemporary designer fashion, the portrait helped propel González onto an international stage.

Collectors have taken notice. The 13 paintings in “A Friendship Story,” opening Saturday at Richard Heller Gallery in Santa Monica, have already sold out, according to the gallery, with prices ranging from $4,000 to $20,000.

Elle magazine dubbed González “Fashion’s Favorite New Artist,” while exhibitions in Rome, Paris, Belfast and Bilbao, Spain, expanded her reputation across Europe.

González developed her classic yet defiantly modern approach while studying at the University of Seville, where Spanish masters such as Diego Velázquez and Francisco de Zurbarán painted in the naturalist Baroque tradition. Drawing liberally from fashion, art history and everyday life, she often dresses the subjects of her portraits in puffer jackets — garments she wears herself during the cold winters of Granada, Spain, where she lives. The material, she said, recalls the sculptural rendering of fabric in paintings by Zurbarán and Velázquez: the folds, the volumes, the high shine.

“It works beautifully from a visual standpoint,” she said, speaking Spanish during an interview at Santa Monica’s Bergamot Station a few days before the exhibition opened. Wearing blue jeans and a pink button-down blouse, she echoed the pastel blues and pinks that appear throughout many of the works surrounding her.

“Fashion inspires me,” she said. “Just as 17th century artists drew inspiration from the fashion of their day — often creating paintings that served as catalogs of current styles — I do the same,” she said. “The goal is to not merely convey a specific message or ideology but to create a testament to a generation and the era in which we live.”

This fall, González’s painting “La Sfida” (2025) will appear in the Städel Museum’s exhibition “Mary Magdalene. Sin. Pray. Love” in Frankfurt, Germany, alongside works by Lady Gaga, Marlene Dumas and Auguste Rodin. The painting depicts Mary Magdalene with long, flowing hair, draped in a regal red garment and clutching a skull — a contemporary interpretation of one of Christianity’s most enduring figures.

“Nieves González is the youngest of these artists and, at the same time, probably the one who most closely follows in the tradition of the Old Masters,” curators Bastian Eclercy and Stefan Roller wrote in an email.

The Santa Monica exhibition marks an evolution from the paintings that established González’s reputation. Earlier works often centered on solitary women posed with the self-possession of royal portraits or religious icons. “A Friendship Story” focuses on relationships between pairs of women, exploring friendship, intimacy, support and shared experience.

For González, friendship is one of the most profound aspects of women’s lives and a subject she felt deserved greater attention in painting.

Victoria Rios, a curator who works with González, said the artist’s paintings “rewrite the narratives of the past, rewrite the history of martyrdom and place women at the center.”

“Nothing in her painting is arbitrary,” Rios said in an email. “Every formal decision is also an ethical one.”

González frequently turns art historical conventions on their head. In “Salir a robar caballos: Go out to steal horses,” she replaces the archetypal portrait of a gallant man on horseback with two young women dressed in puffer and vinyl jackets, posed like contemporary Amazons atop rearing horses.

“The horse elevates the art; symbolically, it carries connotations of elegance and nobility,” González said. “It seemed like a way to elevate the concept of friendship. It also has an element of play, adventure and fun, since having fun is part of the bond too.”

The artist also sees her work through a feminist lens.

“We live in a patriarchal society, and so, unfortunately, I belong to the oppressed segment of that society, and my work relates to that,” she said. “It stems from a struggle, an understanding and a process of redefining concepts that we have historically established as normal, natural and habitual.”

“I am interested in portraying us as brave and powerful, sometimes even with an air of haughtiness,” she said.

Another painting, “Something’s crossed over me and I can’t go back” (2026), captures González’s fusion of historical and contemporary references. Two women dressed in green and pink fur cradle each other’s heads, reimagining medieval depictions of cephalophores — Christian martyrs who carry their severed heads while continuing to preach or pray.

The title comes from a pivotal line in the 1991 film “Thelma & Louise,” marking the turning point for Geena Davis’ character Thelma, fully committing to her ultimately fatal adventure with Susan Sarandon’s Louise.

González builds each painting from what she calls a “Frankenstein” — a digital composite assembled from archival photographs, found images and reference material. The painting process then takes over. A mid-project visit to the Prado Museum in Madrid, for instance, might send her back to the digital sketch to pull in a compositional element from Velázquez before returning to the canvas. “The final result often ends up being completely different from what I initially envisioned,” she said.

Heller began representing González, whom he calls an “original voice,” last year after being introduced to her work by another painter.

Staging her first U.S. solo exhibition in Los Angeles rather than New York reflects what he sees as a more relaxed environment for an emerging artist, without the glare and expectations of the New York art world.

“L.A. feels a little less constrained,” Heller said. “It feels a little more free.”

González’s portrait of Allen is currently on view at London’s National Portrait Gallery, hanging in the same room as a self-portrait by David Hockney. She said while it “has been very significant in terms of media exposure,” exhibitions and professional opportunities were already in motion before the album cover brought wider attention.

“I’ve always said that what I want to do in life is make a living from painting,” she said.

Mission accomplished.