exhibition

A cross section of a 250-year-old Pasadena oak tree that was uprooted in a 1993 windstorm is among the first things visitors will see upon entering the Huntington’s new exhibit, “This Land Is…” Jagged cracks in the trunk, which was once rooted in the Huntington’s lawn, are feebly held together by wooden joints.

It’s a fitting emblem of what’s to come in a long-planned show curated to coincide with the country’s upcoming semiquincentennial, and crafted to pose land itself as central to the country’s complex past. After taking in the exhibit, attendees can draw their own conclusions about the land’s role as a “geographical and metaphorical space of promise, struggle, and belonging.”

• Share via Close extra sharing options

On a recent late afternoon, the Pasadena sun drilled down on the facade of the Huntington’s MaryLou and George Boone Gallery, where the show’s organizers waited beside four chiseled columns with their hands tucked behind their backs, swaying in anticipation.

“It’s the first time anyone is seeing it,” said Linde B. Lehtinen, the museum’s senior curator of photography.

Joining her are Josh Garrett-Davis, curator of Western American history, and Armando Pulido, assistant curator for special projects. All three smile with excitement.

For the better part of the last two and a half years, Lehtinen and Garrett-Davis have spearheaded the curation of “This Land Is…,” which opens Sunday and runs through early next year.

For them the fallen oak tree represents hope amid disturbance: Another once-towering elder on the museum’s North Vista was uprooted during a windstorm in 2025 — one of its acorns has since sprouted and now stands more than 6-feet tall.

Still, it only brushes the surface of an exhibition that seamlessly draws upon a plethora of works crafted across U.S. history. Want to plan a visit? Here are five things you shouldn’t miss seeing.

1/2

“This machine kills fascists,” etched on the back of Woody Guthrie’s guitar on display at The Huntington.  (Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

2/2

A closer view of the “This Machine Kills Facists” etching.  (Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

Woody Guthrie’s guitar, inscribed with ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’

In 1940, Woody Guthrie sat in a Midtown Manhattan hotel, toiling over lyrics for what would become “This Land Is Your Land.” Today, it’s been adopted as a quasi-anthem for the U.S. and the epitome of American progressivism.

For this exhibition, the museum acquired Guthrie’s C.F. Martin and Co. guitar, a seamless blend of spruce, mahogany, celluloid, ebony and mother-of-pearl. On its back, a carved inscription reads, “This Machine Kills Fascists.”

“The idea for ‘This Land Is…’ emerged … because the scope and breadth of his voice in terms of his activism and how prolific he was … and thinking about how he reflected on and experienced American land,” Lehtinen said.

Alongside the guitar is a copy of the Declaration of Independence, annotated by John McKesson, secretary of New York’s Fourth Provincial Congress, in the days following July 4, 1776. According to Lehtinen, the two objects were paired as instruments of protest and change.

“We talked to [Guthrie’s] granddaughter Anna Canoni, and she said to us at one point that he used guitars like pens or tools, and that was so appropriate to how we were thinking about its relationship to this document,” she added.

A map of the Butte Community, Gila River Relocation Center drawn by an internee.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

Japanese flower farmers photographed before, during and after internment

Not far from the Guthrie guitar is a panoramic portrait of the Kuromi family, posing amid a flower farm that stood where Los Feliz Boulevard is now. To its right is a watercolor painting of the Gila River War Relocation Center in Arizona, where many members of the family were forcibly transported to and imprisoned during World War II.

“I was looking at a historic preservation report, and the name was the same as my mechanic in Los Feliz,” Garrett-Davis said. “The next time I went to get my oil changed, I took a printout of that panorama and was going to show it to them and ask, ‘Do you know anything about this? Is this related?’

“I walked into their office, and a copy of that photo had been on their wall for years. In 10 years, I had never noticed it,” he said with a laugh.

After their internment, the Kuromi family returned to their farm in 1945 to find their equipment stolen. The process of regaining access to their land was slow, but they eventually settled back in, and operated the farm until losing their lease in 1961.

‘A Harvest of Death’ and mail from home on the Civil War front

One of the most grotesque displays on view is an albumen print of an 1863 photo titled “A Harvest of Death,” taken by Timothy H. O’Sullivan after the Battle of Gettysburg. Within its frame lies the bodies of fallen soldiers, sprawled out and lifeless on the grass.

“That evocative title signals some of the other things that we have been thinking about, whether it’s looking at gardens or loss … in this case, these are bodies that have been left, and they’re decomposing,” Lehtinen said.

Paired with the print is a letter from a young woman named Harriet Bailey to her uncle on the front lines of the Civil War, containing seeds delicately etched with drawings of a ship, facesand a dog. The two pieces represent a stark contrast in experiences during the same conflict, once again touching upon the theme of hope amid disturbance.

“This is a remnant of home that he’s actually being sent while on the battlefield,” she continued. “So, the joy and lightness to what is an incredibly somber moment in American history.”

“Archiving the Watershed” is a collection of artifacts from the Colorado River assembled by Otis R. “Dock” Marston on display.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

The Colorado River, mapped out through an adventurer’s eyes

This display is described as a “tiny slice” of the Huntington’s archive on Otis Reed “Dock” Marston, a historian and river runner who made it his life’s goal to collect information on the Colorado River. According to Garrett-Davis, Marston had around 185 binders full of photographs, often placed on a cut-out map of where they were taken and organized mile-by-mile, from below the U.S.-Mexico border all the way into Utah.

This taps into a focal point of the exhibition: adapting it to a West Coast perspective. In this way, the idea of independence is viewed expansively as it unfolds across time and place.

“The Huntington has a wonderful collection of presidential papers and documents relating to the Colonial era, but we also have materials on California … from the lens of the West,” said Huntington President Karen R. Lawrence.

“We can show the West’s visual culture at the same time that we can show the original copies of the Declaration of Independence … we have a breadth that’s quite rare.”

Artist Noni Olabiisi’s, “Troubled Island” mural on canvas, depicting the struggling of the Haitian revolution.

(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)

‘Troubled Island’ and a mirrored struggle

The Haitian Revolution may seem out of place in an exhibition celebrating the U.S., but Haiti was the second independent nation in the Western Hemisphere. Its independence from the French was proclaimed in 1804, just two decades after the American colonies signed the Treaty of Paris.

In the mural “Troubled Island,” Noni Olabisi chronicles the Haitian struggle for independence, including how suffering under French colonists led to the 1791 slave rebellion. The piece was first painted for the William Grant Still Arts Center in West Adams in 2003, referencing an opera of the same name.

The opera was composed by Still with a libretto from the Missouri-born poet, playwright, novelist and social activist Langston Hughes, who connected Haiti’s struggle for freedom to his home country’s.

“We wanted to focus on parts that might seem peripheral but are actually quite central to American history,” Garrett-Davis said.

Three years later, Olabasi would render the same powerful mural on canvas.

In 1995, when the L.A. Metro system was in its most nascent stage, Ken Karagozian — then an amateur photographer in an Owens Valley, Calif., workshop — found his way underground to document the subterranean marriage between downtown L.A. and Westlake through Metro’s Red Line, now called the B Line.

From that came a feature in Life magazine, but more importantly, a driving principle: Karagozian believed that the construction workers, engineers and electricians who were subject to the whims of a city indecisive on the subway project were deserving of intimate documentation. The invisible many who built the pyramids and New York’s skyline never got that chance, he said, but the people who contributed to the historically controversial Metro D Line from Koreatown to Westwood would, if he had a say.

“When I did take photography workshops, they always said, ‘Do a project close to your home,’” Karagozian said on a call from his Agoura Hills residence. “I wrote a letter to [L.A. Metro], which said, ‘How can I get permission to photograph?’”

Days before the fires ravaged L.A. in 2025, Altadena-based historian and author India Mandelkern had a phone call with Karagozian, who was interested in collaborating on a project about the D Line. After publishing a book on the art and politics of street lighting in Los Angeles, Mandelkern worked on the L.A. Metro blog, soliciting interviews from Angelenos who seemed desperate for a line to the Westside.

A Karagozian photo shows a group of workers during the Section 2 breakthrough during the underground construction of the Metro D Line.

(Ken Karagozian)

A photo by Karagozian shows sunlight filtering underground into the Wilshire/Fairfax site during construction.

(Ken Karagozian)

After Mandelkern connected with Karagozian, their project had solid form: a photo book, titled “Wilshire Subway: The Making of the D Line Subway Extension,” about the history, conflict and people behind the scenes and underground ahead of the May 8 opening of the subway expansion along Wilshire Boulevard. (New stations will be added at Wilshire/La Brea, Wilshire/Fairfax and Wilshire/La Cienega. In the future, stations in Beverly Hills, Century City and Westwood will open.)

A related photo exhibition, “Wilshire Subway: Photographed by Ken Karagozian,” is on view through May 14 at the 1301PE art gallery on Wilshire Boulevard.

This week, we chatted more with Karagozian and Mandelkern about their project.

After writing a book about the social history of street lighting, what brought you underground?

Mandelkern: Well, a couple different reasons. First, I was very interested in Metro just because I had worked there as the blog editor, and in that role, I got to explore so many different stories. I thought Wilshire Boulevard was one of the most interesting places, the stories of this rail-building ambition that persisted for so many different years, and what that says about Angelenos. Second, I think that we talk about L.A. as a horizontal city, and that’s certainly true. If you go somewhere like Tokyo, you instantly see that this is what a vertical city is, but I wanted to bring a little bit of that to L.A. There is so much history buried beneath the ground that we seem to forget, and once you start tunneling, you realize that it’s always been there and it hasn’t disappeared. It’s just pushed beneath us.

In support of their new project, writer India Mendelkern, left, and photographer Ken Karagozian appear at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books in April.

(Ken Karagozian)

Of all the people you spoke to for this book, which one most influenced the way you understood what the D Line could provide for the city?

Karagozian: This was a joint venture between three contractors, and they each had their specialty. It was Skanska, Traylor [Bros.] and Shea. With Traylor, they were brothers and they were doing the tunneling. Richard McLane [chief mechanical engineer of Traylor Bros.] was very helpful in telling me a little bit about the history of Wilshire Boulevard and facts of tunneling. … All these different contractors impacted the project in some way.

Mandelkern: I always say Ken is one of the best construction photographers out there, but his specialty is really people. When I interviewed some of these individual workers, a whole different story came to light, and I realized that many of these workers came to L.A., started at the bottom of the totem pole, and through working on the subway have risen through the ranks, gotten promotions, become leaders, and their kids now work in construction. … It’s just so amazing that so many of these individuals are doing all this work behind the scenes that creates infrastructure that connects all of us.

1

2

1. Carpenter Jenna Dorough poses for a portrait by Karagozian during the underground construction of the Metro D Line. 2. A concrete supervisor photographed by Karagozian at the La Cienega Boulevard station. (Ken Karagozian)

There are many portraits in the book of the builders who created the D Line. India referred to the short lifespans of the workers compared to the marvelous structures they craft: Was it intentional that you documented most of the D Line’s visual history through the people who built it?

Karagozian: When I go down underground and after the stations are completed, to me, it’s the people that built it that should tell the story. I didn’t just want to get a shot of them from behind. I really like to photograph their faces. … When I photographed the workers from the Red Line, some of these workers from the middle ’90s are still working on the Purple Line. I’ve known them for years, and now their children are working in construction; it becomes a family issue. … Going down and photographing the tunnels with that lighting in that perspective, it’s always been so interesting.

Mandelkern: That just reminded me of one of the quotes in the book from John Yen, who is the VP of operations at Skanska. He said, “In construction, we work ourselves out of a job.” I always found it really interesting that, as we build, the whole point is to kind of disappear. It reminded me of one of my favorite quotes in the essay, when James [Rojas] writes [that] when the stations are open, they’ll be shiny and new, but that will kind of erase all the memories and all the work of the people who’ve been doing this for all this time. This book really became a way to sort of remember all of these different people that have been working on these projects for decades and decades, even if they’re not really remembered in the official record.

As the D Line prepares to open, does it somehow feel like the end of a journey?

Mandelkern: This just [started] so many other things for me. Afterwards, I decided I really want to learn about the geology of L.A., and I found an interest in paleontology, too. I hope with any book that it just gets people curious, and it gets them to start asking questions. I think that “Wilshire Subway” does accomplish that. L.A. is just this bowl with all these different salad layers, and as we penetrate down, we learn more and more about our history.

Karagozian: It does a little bit. With May 8 being the grand opening, and as the stations are complete and they’re testing the trains underground, it almost feels like it’s graduation time. Time to celebrate the journey of going through high school, college, whatever. I am still continuing to photograph the [Purple Line extension], which is Rodeo or Beverly [Hills] station … Now it’s just the accomplishment of celebrating all the work that I’ve put into this project and going down almost once a week and photographing the process for so many years.

Most Angelenos know Frank Gehry as the rebel architect whose deconstructivist buildings reinvigorated L.A. amid its late-century identity crisis.

Fewer know him as the sentimental sculptor celebrated in Gagosian Beverly Hills’ upcoming “Frank Gehry” exhibition, the first to showcase Gehry’s work since his death in December. Curated by those who worked with and loved the famous architect, the show, scheduled to open May 14 and run through June 27, is equal parts tribute and art presentation. It will feature several of Gehry’s animal-themed sculptures, including a rarely seen stainless steel bear figure, on loan from the artist’s family.

The exhibition will also include the first public screening of Gehry’s entry in Gagosian Premieres, a series of videos by the gallery showcasing new art exhibitions through a mix of intimate artist interviews, studio visits and specialized musical performances.

By spotlighting Gehry’s artistic practice rather than his design ouevre — which includes Walt Disney Concert Hall, Guggenheim Museum Bilbao and Fondation Louis Vuitton — the exhibition reveals a different side of the late visionary, said Deborah McLeod, senior director at Gagosian Beverly Hills.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a retrospective, but it is a chance to stand in the room and be with him,” McLeod said, adding that she “wouldn’t have the hubris to say this is going to offer anybody closure,” but that she hopes it will help people — especially those who worked closest with Gehry — to process his loss.

“Everybody is kind of raw and missing Frank, and it’s just a chance to come together and do this again as his team,” she said.

McLeod curated the exhibition alongside Meaghan Lloyd, chief of staff and partner at Gehry Partners, whom the director said “really speaks for Frank.” Gehry‘s studio will design the show, which was realized in collaboration with the artist’s family.

“We didn’t get a chance to put one in the gallery proper. Every time we’d make one, it would get sold,” Deborah McLeod said about Frank Gehry’s bear sculptures.

(© Frank O. Gehry. Photo: Benjamin Lee Ritchie Handler / Courtesy Gogosian)

The highlight of the Gagosian exhibition is an artist proof of “Bear with Us” (2014), which the gallery lifted out of Gehry’s wife Berta Aguilera’s garden with a crane. Another edition of the bear sculpture is on view at the New Orleans Museum of Art, but at Gagosian, the work for the first time will be on view as part of an exhibition.

The stainless steel figure has a crumpled appearance that many believe is the result of Gehry balling up a piece of paper and seeing the bear in the crumple, although McLeod said Gehry told her himself that wasn’t true. The director added that the bear’s form gives the illusion of something “coming into being or dissolving.” The sculpture will likely have the Gagosian’s north gallery completely to itself.

“We’re really going to give him his due,” McLeod said. It was only right for a piece that, to her, reads as Gehry’s “self-portrait.”

A handful of other animal-themed sculptures will populate the south gallery, including a glowing black crocodile, gouache-painted papier-mâché snake lamps, and “Fish on Fire” (2023), the last of Gehry’s fish sculptures to be rendered in copper. Illuminated within the darkened gallery, the pieces will have a “magical” flair, McLeod said.

The first fish sculptures Gehry made in the ’80s were contained, even still. But when he returned to the fish form 30 years later, Mcleod said, “they started to become actually Baroque, so that’s kind of neat to see that evolution.”

Rounding out the exhibition are a series of ink, watercolor and acrylic works on paper that “express the energetic motion of fish in networks of black line and clouds of color,” a news release said.

A portion of the pieces in the exhibition will be available for purchase, with a detailed checklist to come.

The first Frank Gehry Fish Lamps were exhibited in 1984 at Gagosian in Los Angeles.

(© Frank O. Gehry. Photo: Robert McKeever / Courtesy Gagosian)

Gehry’s designs breathed life into the city’s core, but he didn’t get to finish a number of his most exciting plans, including one to transform the 51-mile-long L.A. River.

And while his architecture was his great gift to his adoptive hometown — his art was his gift to himself.

“As one of the busiest architects in the world, imagine the math and the minutiae that you have to go through,” McLeod said, noting the enormous pressure from clients that Gehry must have felt in his daily practice.

“For him, just to make something the shape he wants to make it, plug it in … I know it was a huge relief for him,” she said. “I know how much he loved doing it, and I loved being a part of that part of his life.”