downtown

There’s a hidden door in Downtown Disney. Only this one isn’t meant to be walked through.

Flanking a stage near the monorail station, you’ll find a glistening white tower, the work of artist and activist Nikkolas Smith, who has adopted the term “artivist.” At first glance, the tower — one of Downtown Disney’s most striking works — appears to be a nod to Disneyland’s Midcentury art, for its curved lines and space-age optimism wouldn’t be out of place in Tomorrowland.

That’s there, says Smith, but there are also a number of more subtle inspirations.

The tower is a nod to five Black architects, trailblazers whose creations sometimes went unnoticed or overlooked. And that’s why at the base of the structure is a looping opening meant to signify a half-open doorway.

Downtown Disney’s Legacy Tower touches on the styles of different Black architects as it rises into the sky.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

Smith shares a distressing anecdote. “They had to learn how to read drawings upside down, because they weren’t allowed to sit next to the white clients,” Smith says, adding they also had to endure unequal pay. “So I was incorporating things like the half doorway to symbolize their struggle.”

Officially designated as the Legacy Tower, Smith himself fixates on that word — “legacy.” The term, he says, represents a thematic constant across his work. A regular collaborator on a number of Walt Disney Co. projects and a former architect with Walt Disney Imagineering, the division of the company focused on theme park experiences, Smith is something of a connector. His canvas art, full of fast-moving brush work, is often rooted in the past while urgently seeking to draw links to the present.

Artist Nikkolas Smith went viral for his portrait of Martin Luther King Jr. in a hoodie, a tribute to slain teenager Trayvon Martin.

(Nikkolas Smith)

His 2025 children’s book, “The History of We,” tells the story of how humanity can trace its roots to Africa. And one of his best-known pieces is of Martin Luther King Jr. in a hoodie, meant to evoke the image of Trayvon Martin, the slain 17-year-old whose death inspired a social justice movement. The work went viral in 2013 while Smith was still working for Imagineering. It altered his career trajectory.

“It was like, ‘I cannot just make art about churros and rides right now,’” Smith says. “There’s a time for that, and there’s also a time to talk about this.” He references his portraits related to the killings of Black men, many at the hands of police officers, such as Philando Castile and Michael Brown.

“At the end of the day, Disney understood that,” Smith adds. “They understood that I needed to make art that was extremely important at the moment, about justice or the lack of justice.”

Smith left Disney in 2019 after 11 years but has maintained a close relationship with the company, so much so that Imagineering called upon Smith to design the tower, which opened in 2023.

Artist Nikkolas Smith, left, chats with guests Ricky Yost and Martina Yost of Aubrey, Texas, who recognized Smith from a recent Disney cruise excursion.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

As the Legacy Tower spirals toward the sky, its patterns and and lattice work nod to the likes of James H. Garrott, Robert A. Kennard, Roy A. Sealey, Ralph A. Vaughn and Paul Revere Williams. All were active in Los Angeles — Williams, for instance, was a pivotal designer on the LAX Theme Building — and Smith interlaces decorative flourishes in varying styles that twist around one another to work up the Legacy Tower’s pointed spheres.

The door of the Legacy Tower symbolizes perseverance, Smith says. “They made it through, despite all of the obstacles they had to go through.”

Smith had studied the architects while a student at Hampton University, and has documented on his Instagram their various stylings, which range from restrained to whimsical to ornate. A section referencing Vaughn is modern minimalism, whereas an area dedicated to Sealey is full of jagged, pointed linework. All of it is held together via a coiling design that feels full of movement.

The patterns of the Legacy Tower are nods to the likes of James H. Garrott, Robert A. Kennard, Roy A. Sealey, Ralph A. Vaughn and Paul Revere Williams.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

“How can I show humanity’s interconnected future? That’s the idea,” Smith says. “There’s this African theme of Sankofa. If we look toward our future, we have to look at the past and value and appreciate the past. I thought it would be great if I could really commemorate some Black designers and architects as the foundation and backstory of the tower. And I was also thinking about these breezeway block patterns that you see in Leimert Park.”

And yet it also feels like something that belongs in the park. Smith says he looked at some Tomorrowland designs.

“A Midcentury Modern vibe was Walt,” Smith says, referring to park patriarch Walt Disney. “That was Walt’s thing. It all connects. I love that people can hopefully now connect both things. You can connect Tomorrowland and Walt with Paul Revere Williams.”

It’s clearly Smith’s favorite design of his for Disney, although it’s not the only space at the resort that features his artistry. During his decade-plus with Imagineering he regularly worked on teams that focused on projects at Disney California Adventure, which this year is celebrating its 25th anniversary. He was heavily involved, he says, in the evolution of Avengers Campus, contributed to a small promenade stage in Pixar Pier and helped envision the facade of Guardians of the Galaxy — Mission: Breakout!, which transformed the former Tower of Terror into a sci-fi structure.

Nikkolas Smith says elements of Downtown Disney’s Legacy Tower symbolize perseverance.

(Gary Coronado / For The Times)

Smith looks back fondly at his years at Imagineering, specifically calling out his time on the Guardians project. The former fake hotel is now full of glistening bronze pipes, a retro futurist look that former Imagineer Joe Rohde, who led the design, has said takes influence from the high-tech aesthetic of architect Renzo Piano, who worked on France’s Pompidou Centre.

“How much can we add to it? How much can we get away with gluing onto this thing?” Smith says of the Guardians facade. “What is the right amount of ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ without being too much? Without scaring people on the freeway?”

Today, Smith continues to focus on social justice work, and has also collaborated with filmmaker Ryan Coogler, such as completing concept designs for his Oscar-nominated film “Sinners.” Smith’s 2023 children’s book “The Artivist” documents the importance of creating art that’s in conversation with the world, believing it’s not only a source for education but for empathy. Smith’s weekly paintings speak out often against the current administration, and Smith has been particularly vocal on the ICE raids.

A selection from “The Artivist,” an illustrated book from Nikkolas Smith.

(Nikkolas Smith)

“Some people say that all art is activism, but I feel that some of the best art that is created is art that has a message,” Smith says. “And hopefully that message has to do with the humanity of all people, and for me, I like to focus on marginalized communities, and how we can value the humanity of everybody. That’s why I make picture books about the origins of humanity and the origins of this country.”

The Leimert Park resident says his wife and young son regularly visit the Disneyland Resort. And when he does, Smith says, he always takes a moment to stop by the Pixar Pier stage that he contributed to, which is often used for character meet and greets.

“They were team projects, and I do go up to them with so much pride,” he says. “I go up to the Pixar Pier promenade stage, and I just go up to it and touch it. … The beautiful thing about Disney is these creations are usually around for a lifetime.”

It turns out you can take the artivist out of Disney, but you can’t fully take the Disney out of the artivist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By day, you’d be forgiven for walking past the newest theater in downtown L.A.

It isn’t hidden in an alley or obscured via a nameless door. No, this performance space is essentially a theater in disguise, as it’s designed to look like an electrical box — a fabrication so real that when artist S.C. Mero was installing it in the Arts District, police stopped her, concerned she was ripping out its copper wire. (There is no copper wire inside this wooden nook.)

Open the door to the theater, and discover a place of urban enchantment, where a red velvet door and crimson wallpaper beckon guests to come closer and sit inside. That is, if they can fit.

With a mirror on its side and a clock in its back, Mero’s creation, about 6 feet tall and 3 feet deep yet smaller on its interior, looks something akin to an intimate, private boudoir — the sort of dressing room that wouldn’t be out of place in one of Broadway’s historic downtown theaters. That’s by design, says Mero, who cites the ornately romanticized vibe and color palette of the Los Angeles Theatre as prime inspiration. Mero, a longtime street artist whose guerrilla art regularly dots the downtown landscape, likes to inject whimsy into her work: a drainage pipe that gives birth, a ball pit for rats or the transformation of a dilapidated building into a “castle.” But there’s just as often some hidden social commentary.

With her Electrical Box Theatre, situated across from the historic American Hotel and sausage restaurant and bar Wurstküche, Mero set out to create an impromptu performance space for the sort of experimental artists who no longer have an outlet in downtown’s galleries or more refined stages. The American Hotel, for instance, subject of 2018 documentary “Tales of the American” and once home to the anything-goes punk rock ethos of Al’s Bar, still stands, but it isn’t lost on Mero that most of the neighborhood’s artist platforms today are softer around the edges.

Ethan Marks inside S.C. Mero’s theater inside a fake electrical box. The guerrilla art piece is near the American Hotel.

“A lot of galleries are for what can sell,” Mero says. “Usually that’s paintings and wall art.”

She dreamed, however, of an anti-establishment place that could feel inviting and erase boundaries between audience and perfomer. “People may be intimidated to get up on a stage or at a coffee shop, but here it’s right on street level.”

It’s already working as intended, says Mero. I visited the box early last week when Mero invited a pair of experimental musicians to perform. Shortly after trumpeter Ethan Marks took to the sidewalk, one of the American Hotel’s current residents leaned out his window and began vocally and jovially mimicking the fragmented and angular notes coming from the instrument. In this moment, “the box,” as Mero casually refers to it, became a true communal stage, a participatory call-and-response pulpit for the neighborhood.

Clown Lars Adams, 38, peers out of S.C. Mero’s theater inside a fake electrical box. Mero modeled the space off of Broadway’s historic theaters.

A few days prior, a rideshare driver noticed a crowd and pulled over to read his poetry. He told Mero it was his first time. The unscripted occurrence, she says, was “one of the best moments I’ve ever experienced in making art.”

“That’s literally what this space is,” Mero says. “It’s for people to try something new or to experiment.”

Marks jumped at the chance to perform for free inside the theater, his brassy freewheeling equally complementing and contrasting the sounds of the intersection. “I was delighted,” he says, when Mero told him about the stage. “There’s so much unexpectedness to it that as an improviser, it really keeps you in the moment.”

A downtown resident for more than a decade, Mero has become something of an advocate for the neighborhood. The area arguably hasn’t returned to its pre-pandemic heights, as many office floors sit empty and a string of high-profile restaurant closures struck the community. Mero’s own gallery at the corner of Spring and Seventh streets shuttered in 2024. Downtown also saw its perception take a hit last year when ICE descended on the city center and national media incorrectly portrayed the hood as a hub of chaos.

Artist S.C. Mero looks into her latest project, a fake electrical box in the Arts District. Mero has long been associated with street art in the neighborhood.

“A lot has changed in the 13 years when I first got down here,” Mero says. “Everybody felt like it was magic, like we were going to be part of this renaissance and L.A. was going to have this epicenter again. Then it descended. A lot of my friends left. But I still see the same beauty in it. The architecture. The history. Downtown is the most populous neighborhood in all of L.A. because it belongs to everybody. It’s everybody’s downtown, whether they love it or not. And I feel we are part of history.”

Art today in downtown ranges from high-end galleries such as Hauser & Wirth to the graffiti-covered towers of Oceanwide Plaza. Gritty spaces, such as Superchief Gallery, have been vocal about struggles to stay afloat. Mero’s art, meanwhile, remains a source of optimism throughout downtown’s streets.

At Pershing Square, for instance, sits her “Spike Cafe,” a mini tropical hideaway atop a parking garage sign where umbrellas and finger food props have become a prettier nesting spot for pigeons. Seen potentially as a vision for beautification, a contrast, for instance, from the nature intrusive barbs that aim to deter wildlife, “Spike Cafe” has become a statement of harmony.

Elsewhere, on the corner of Broadway and Fourth streets, Mero has commandeered a once historic building that’s been burned and left to rot. Mero, in collaboration with fellow street artist Wild Life, has turned the blighted space into a fantastical haven with a knight, a dragon and more — a decaying castle from a bygone era.

“A lot of times people are like, ‘I can’t believe you get away with that!’ But most people haven’t tried to do it, you know?” Mero says. “It can be moved easily. It’s not impeding on anyone. I don’t feel I do anything bad. Not having a permit is just a technicality. I believe what I’m doing is right.”

Musician Jeonghyeon Joo, 31, plays the haegeum outside of S.C. Mero’s latest art project, a theater in a faux electrical box.

After initially posting her electrical box on her social media, Mero says she almost instantly received more than 20 requests to perform at the venue. Two combination locks keep it closed, and Mero will give out the code to those she trusts. “Some people want to come and play their accordion. Another is a tour guide,” Mero says.

Ultimately, it’s an idea, she says, that she’s had for about a decade. “Everything has to come together, right? You have to have enough funds to buy the supplies, and then the skills to to have it come together.”

And while it isn’t designed to be forever, it is bolted to the sidewalk. As for why now was the right time to unleash it, Mero is direct: “I needed the space,” she says.

There are concerns. Perhaps, Mero speculates, someone will change the lock combination, knocking her out of her own creation. And the more attention brought to the box via media interviews means more scrutiny may be placed on it, risking its confiscation by city authorities.

As a street artist, however, Mero has had to embrace impermanence, although she acknowledges it can be a bummer when a piece disappears in a day or two. And unlike a gallerist, she feels an obligation to tweak her work once it’s out in the world. Though her “Spike Cafe” is about a year old, she says she has to “continue to babysit it,” as pigeons aren’t exactly known for their tidiness.

But Mero hopes the box has a life of its own, and considers it a conversation between her, local artists and downtown itself. “I still think we’re part of something special,” Mero says of living and working downtown.

And, at least for now, it’s the neighborhood with arguably the city’s most unique performance venue.