WASHINGTON — Visitors to the Capitol will now have a visible reminder of the violent attack against the building on Jan. 6, 2021, and the officers who fought and were injured defending it that day.
Steps from the Capitol’s West Front, where the worst of the violence occurred, workers quietly have installed a plaque honoring the officers, three years after it was required by law to be erected. The plaque was placed on the Senate side of the hallway because the Senate voted unanimously in January to install it after House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) had delayed putting it up. Many Republicans had balked at installing the plaque.
“On behalf of a grateful Congress, this plaque honors the extraordinary individuals who bravely protected and defended this symbol of democracy on January 6, 2021,” the plaque says. “Their heroism will never be forgotten.”
The Washington Post first reported the installation of the plaque, which was witnessed by a reporter about 4 a.m. Saturday.
Sen. Thom Tillis (R-N.C.) led the effort to install it as he commemorated the fifth anniversary of the attack and insurrection and described his memories of hearing people break into the building. “We owe them eternal gratitude, and this nation is stronger because of them,” he said of the officers who were overwhelmed by thousands of President Trump’s supporters before eventually pushing them out of the building.
The mob of rioters who violently pushed past police and broke in were echoing Trump’s false claims of a stolen election after the Republican was defeated by Democrat Joe Biden in the 2020 presidential election. The crowd stopped the congressional certification of Biden’s victory for several hours, sent lawmakers running for safety and vandalized the building before police regained control.
Five police officers and four protesters died as a consequence of the violence. More than 140 officers from the U.S. Capitol Police, the Metropolitan Police Department and other agencies were injured.
The fight to have the plaque installed came as Trump returned to office last year and the Republican Congress has remained loyal to him. The president, who has called Jan. 6 a “day of love,” on his first day of his new term granted pardons or commutations to nearly 1,600 people convicted or charged in the rioting.
Trump was impeached and criminally indicted for his role in the insurrection. The Senate did not convict him, and the felony charges were dropped after he was reelected in November 2024.
Congress passed a law in 2022 that set out instructions for the honorific plaque listing the names of officers “who responded to the violence that occurred.” It gave a one-year deadline for installation, but the plaque never went up.
After more than a year of silence — and a lawsuit by two of the officers who fought at the Capitol that day — Johnson said at the beginning of the year that there were technical problems with the statute and the plaque could not be erected.
Tillis went to the Senate floor shortly afterward and passed a resolution, with no objections, to place the plaque on the Senate side.
One of the officers who sued, Metropolitan Police Officer Daniel Hodges, said the lawsuit would continue. Hodges, who was crushed by the rioters in the heavy doors steps away from where the plaque is now displayed, said Saturday that the overnight installation was a “fine stopgap” but that it was not in full compliance of the law. The original statute said that all of the officers’ names should be listed, among other technical specifications.
“The weight of a judicial ruling would help secure the memorial against future tampering,” Hodges said. “Our lawsuit persists.”
Jalonick and Mascaro write for the Associated Press. AP writer Allison Robbert contributed to this report.
“If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”
James Baldwin’s quote about the artist’s role in society is emblazoned on billboards across Los Angeles this winter. Created by artist Patrick Martinez, the purpose of the signage is two-fold: to promote Frieze Los Angeles and, in the case of neon signs at the art fair’s entrance, to stand as a discrete work of art on its own.
Martinez, an East Los Angeles-based artist, has long translated protest language into storefront-style neon, a strategy he now extends into a broader campaign tied to Frieze, which runs Feb. 26 through March 1 at the Santa Monica Airport and features more than 100 galleries.
This year, however, some of the fair’s most compelling work may be happening outside the tent. Frieze Projects’ “Body & Soul” features eight installations staged across Santa Monica’s Airport Park and beyond. The initiative is intended, organizers say, to broaden the fair’s reach beyond its art world audience — positioning Frieze as a civic platform rather than a purely commercial event.
In addition to Martinez’s creations, “Body & Soul” brings together site-specific works including Amanda Ross-Ho’s durational performance rolling a 16-foot inflatable Earth around the perimeter of a nearby soccer field; Cosmas & Damian Brown’s interactive fountain installation incorporating ceramic heads, incense and water; and Shana Hoehn’s first large-scale public sculpture, fabricated from a fallen tree sourced through Santa Monica’s Urban Forest program. Off campus, Kelly Wall extends the program to a former Westwood Village newsstand, where glass “magazines” will be displayed — 136 in all, priced at $300, with 15 given away.
Martinez’s billboards bearing 2024’s “If I Love You (James Baldwin)” serve as the most highly visible part of the fair’s public outreach. His neon installations respond to ICE raids and immigrant rights, placing protest at the literal threshold of one of Los Angeles’ most visible art events.
L.A. artist Patrick Martinez’s work is featured on billboards around the city, as well as at the entrance to Frieze Los Angeles.
(David Butow / For The Times)
The public art program acts as “a way that we can bring in people who may not be just the ticket goers or the VIP,” said Christine Messineo, Frieze’s director of Americas.
It also serves to amplify the city’s cultural temperature.
“Our job is to represent what’s happening in our community,” Messineo said, adding that immigration and social impact are not anomalies at the fair but part of its foundation.
Some of Martinez’s neon entrance signs — including “Abolish ICE” (2018), “No Body Is Illegal” (2021) and “Then They Came for Me 2” (2025) — predate the current political moment. Instead, they emerge from years of observation and protest.
The artist credits Messineo with approaching him last summer to utilize what he calls his “urgent warning signs” as the face of the fair. Demonstrators also carried signs bearing Martinez’s imagery last June during protests against ongoing federal immigration crackdowns in downtown Los Angeles.
Those events, Martinez says, are not experienced evenly across the city — particularly by the well-heeled audience that attends Frieze and spends $85 to $106 for weekend general admission tickets.
Patrick Martinez, “If I Love You (James Baldwin),” 2024.
(artwork Patrick Martinez / photo Paul Salveson)
Martinez wants his signs to unsettle viewers who are insulated from the city’s unrest.
“The Westside people aren’t even going to see any of that, right? So it’s bringing that kind of mindfulness to that space.”
“It felt prescient then,” Messineo said of engaging Martinez last year, “and I think even more so now.”
Frieze has integrated public art into its Los Angeles fair since its 2019 debut. But the works in “Body & Soul,” produced with the nonprofit Art Production Fund, lean into the particular conditions of public space.
The exhibition brings together Los Angeles artists exploring ideas of memory, community and collective experience — often in quieter ways than Martinez’s overt messaging.
Additional participants include Dan John Anderson, Polly Borland and Kohshin Finley.
Casey Fremont, Art Production Fund’s executive director, said most of the works are newly commissioned.
The program is designed to prioritize innovation over sales. “It isn’t transactional. It’s really just about experimenting and giving the public the opportunity to experience art like they’ve never experienced before.”
Artists scale up — and slow down
“Body & Soul” marks several participants’ first ventures into public work, including Hollywood artist Finley, whose “The Piano Player” will be installed near the corner of Airport Avenue and Donald Douglas Loop. Finley’s piece arranges ceramic vessels inside shadow-box shelving that the artist describes as containers for memory — some “you love to take out and peek into,” others that “should just stay shut forever.”
Kohshin Finley’s “The Piano Player” arranges ceramic vessels inside shadow-box shelving that the artist describes as containers for memory.
(Micaiah Carter)
The title references the film “Casablanca,” and its piano player, Sam, whose music stirs up memories of the central love story.
Finley said the public setting creates an unusually direct encounter as he, like many of his fellow artists, will be standing with his work.
“A lot of people have never seen a living artist,” he said.
Ross-Ho takes visibility even further with her inflatable soccer ball Earth, which weighs 78 pounds. The familiar “blue marble” image will no doubt draw spectators at the Airport Park Soccer Field outside the Frieze tent.
Amanda Ross-Ho is creating a durational performance on a soccer field by Frieze Los Angeles.
(Jennelle Fong for ILY2)
Ross-Ho’s performance, “Untitled Orbit (MANUAL MODE),” functions as an endurance test that is a response to what she calls “the temporal container of the art fair” — and to the pressures of contemporary life.
“Gesture and duration are the ways that I could achieve scale rather than something that was materially constrained like a giant sculpture,” she said.
Designing for gathering
Brown’s installation, “Fountain: Sources of Light,” invites guests to congregate. Positioned between the Airport Park playground and dog park, it combines running water, ceramic vessels, incense and sound.
“I really wanted to make a fountain because I thought that [it’s] something that … people tend to gravitate to,” he said.
The work will incorporate metal plates and bowls created by participants in the youth workshop Art Sundae, taking place Feb. 28 at Airport Park.
Near Brown’s fountain, Echo Park artist Hoehn will present “Deadfall,” a massive fallen fig tree embedded with carved cheerleader legs and skirts — imagery drawn from her Texas upbringing.
Shana Hoehn with one of her carved wooden sculptures.
(Josh Cohen)
“I’ve been working with cheerleading iconography for the past few years,” she said, linking the imagery to what she calls an omnipresent football culture layered with “American patriotism and militaristic qualities.”
Hoehn acknowledged that the fair’s four-day window and limited nearby parking may keep the audience closer to fair-goers than the broader public the program aims to reach.
Beyond the airport fence
A few miles away in Westwood Village, Mar Vista artist Wall will extend the program beyond the airport campus with “Everything Must Go,” installed at a defunct newsstand and on view from 5:48 p.m. (sunset) to 8 p.m. during the fair.
Where magazines and newspapers once were, glass stand-ins bearing skyline imagery will occupy illuminated lightbox shelves. As the glass “magazines” are removed, glowing silhouettes mark their absence.
Kelly Wall, ‘Everything Must Go’.
(Kelly Wall)
Wall’s related project will appear on the Frieze campus with found newspaper boxes transformed into lightbox displays for her glass publication.
“In things coming to an end, there is no real end … there’s transformation,” she said. “How you might see [the piece] may differ depending on different times — or where you’re personally at in your life.”
Darkness engulfs me right before I step into a dream. The Oscar-winning Mexican filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu guides me from a pitch-black hallway into an open space, where beams of light and smoke, interspersed with sounds from the streets of Mexico City, create a vortex into a unique cinematic experience.
Inside the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Iñárritu is giving me a tour of his new installation “Sueño Perro:” a sensorial celebration of his 2000 debut film, “Amores Perros,” in honor of its 25th anniversary. The only physical elements on display are six film projectors and the celluloid that contains frames of unreleased footage, which are shown on screens of different sizes around the room. Detached and unburdened by the need of a narrative, the images simply exist.
“I love doing installations,” Iñárritu says in Spanish. “It’s like playing a game with your friends. And it’s liberating for me, because I don’t have to think about selling tickets.”
Before arriving at LACMA, his “Sueño Perro” mesmerized audiences in Milan, Italy, and in his hometown of Mexico City. LACMA previously hosted Iñárritu’s intense and immersive project “Carne y Arena,” which allowed visitors to put themselves in the shoes of a person crossing the U.S.-Mexico border on foot.
In Milan and Mexico City, “Sueño Perro” occupied labyrinthine spaces with multiple rooms. Contained within a single room, the L.A. iteration is the “paranoic version,” Iñárritu says. Once inside, there’s no respite to the barrage of images and the soundscape that surround you. He aptly describes the projectors’ beams of luminosity as “light sculptures.”
Curiously, he notes, people have such reverence for these hypnotic streams of light that they duck to avoid disturbing them rather than crossing in front of them. Iñarritu wishes they would, in fact, disrupt the light, so their shadows can enter the frame and transform it.
Never-before-seen footage from “Amores Perros” projects from 35mm projectors across the walls at LACMA, Wednesday, Feb. 18, 2026.
(Sarahi Apaez / For De Los)
The projected footage is material that didn’t make it to the final cut of “Amores Perros”: a gritty, visceral drama following three different stories across different social classes in a chaotic Mexico City during the turn of the millennium. Back in 2018, Iñárritu learned that all his dailies (raw takes) from that shoot, which in most productions are thrown away, were preserved at Mexico’s National University (UNAM).
“It was like looking through an album you haven’t opened in 25 years, which smells of dust,” he says. “Because of the distance, the images actually evoked a beautiful nostalgia in me.”
And that album was substantial. Iñárritu recalls that he and cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto shot an immense amount of footage, nearly 1 million feet of film.
Gael García Bernal from a scene in “Amores Perros,” released in 2000.
“It’s like the placenta that’s thrown away when a baby is born. Suddenly, that discarded material, rich in DNA, which was already dead but was once part of a living being, has a life of its own,” Iñárritu explains vividly. “I didn’t know that these fragments, this dead material could be resurrected, but light has given new life to something that was forgotten.”
Critically acclaimed and Oscar-nominated for international feature film (foreign-language film back then), “Amores Perros” marked a watershed for the Mexican film industry, as an ambitious production that captivated both local and international audiences while unflinchingly portraying the country’s social ills from a humanistic standpoint.
“Look at Gael! He was 19 then. That’s a beautiful image of him,” Iñárritu says of “Amores Perros” lead García Bernal, whose shaved head is projected on one of the installation screens. The actor made his feature film debut in “Amores Perros” and has since had an extraordinary career.
At one point, three of the six projectors go dark — and the three remaining show the pivotal car crash that connects the film’s three narratives. Iñárritu and Prieto shot the imposing accident with nine different cameras. Seeing all nine different angles unspool in “Sueño Perro” provides a new understanding of the moment’s challenging orchestration.
Such a sequence evinces that “Amores Perros” was the work of an artist in his mid-30s willing to put it all on the line, uncertain whether he would get to make another film.
“I’ve changed a lot as a filmmaker, but I’m still the same idiot I’ve always been. That’s the bad news,” Iñárritu says laughing. “The other bad news is that I couldn’t make a film like that anymore, because of the number of shots and setups, and the energy behind each of those shots.”
The passage of time, in tandem with the film’s anniversary, allowed an opportunity for Iñárritu and screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga (who wrote “Amores Perros,” “21 Grams,” and “Babel”) to reconcile after a long-standing falling out. The two mended their bond in public last year during an event in Mexico City.
“It was very important for me to close this chapter,” Iñárritu explains. “There was something so special about our friendship as people — and our children were also very close. I truly missed him as a friend. As you get older, you realize that grudges and animosity are the worst investment; it’s like having a disease inside you and not wanting to let it go.”
While most exhibits celebrating a film’s legacy feature artifacts or costumes that appeared on screen, Iñárritu ultimately decided to opt out of that route. Initially, he admits, the director was tempted to find the scraps of the wrecked car that belonged to García Bernal’s character in the film, a black Ford, and place it at the center of the installation. But it was LACMA’s CEO Michael Govan who persuaded him to preserve the purer approach.
“Michael loved the idea of the projectors, of the light and memory. And he wisely told me, ‘Perhaps the material object will be distracting. This work is ethereal, and maybe something solid will create a knot.’ I thought it was a great reflection, and I said, ‘That’s true. I’m going to try for this exhibition to exist without physical matter, because it’s about the analogous, but also the immaterial, which is light and time.’”
The objects or “archaeological remains of a film,” as he calls them, cause Iñárritu great sadness. To him those relics are akin to looking at a collection of lifeless butterflies preserved in a box. “When I see the shoes that so-and-so wore or the dress that so-and-so wore, they seem to me like butterflies that once flew and now they’re dead,” Iñárritu says. “Objects that once appeared in film lack life afterwards. They’re like skeletons.”
(Sarahi Apaez / For De Los)
For young people who have mostly watched movies on their electronic devices, Iñárritu thinks witnessing “Sueno Perro” could spark great curiosity about the way cinema existed for most of its history: on film. It will allow them to think of cinema in a primal manner.
“We are organic beings, and our capacity for understanding and our development involves all our organs, and digital screens have forced us to perceive everything only on an intellectual level,” he says. Entering the installation, he hopes, will resemble the feeling of entering a womb or a cave. “The flickering light from the lamps in the projectors is reminiscent of the fire in caves when people gathered and shared stories,” he adds.
Sonically, “Sueño Perro” envelops attendees not in lines of dialogue or a musical score, but the sounds of life in Mexico City — from street vendors to a marching band — recorded over the years and brought to L.A. with the help of sound designer Martín Hernández, who’s worked on every single Iñárritu film since “Amores Perros.” And while some of those aural elements still exist today, “Amores Perros” also serves as a time capsule of a city that has evolved and mutated incessantly.
“I still recognize the city when I watch the film, but it makes me laugh so much to see the cars and the clothes of the time,” he says. “It now looks like the Paleolithic era. And I think, ‘I’m so old!” But yes, it was definitely a different city back then.”
(Sarahi Apaez / For De Los)
Like Iñárritu, I still lived in Mexico City, then known as Distrito Federal, when “Amores Perros” was released. In those days, international tourists often feared visiting the metropolis for fear of being kidnapped. To see Mexico City become a trendy, sought-after destination for “digital nomads” from the U.S. and elsewhere feels jarring.
“People from the U.S. have for so long been snobbish about Mexico, and now they go and say, ‘F—, this is a city with incredible cultural depth,’” Iñárritu says. “They realize that their snobbishness came from a misconception, based on propaganda they’ve been fed, which portrays us Mexicans only as “sombrerudos.’”
What’s so bewitching about Mexico City, and the country at large, Iñárritu thinks, is the people’s worldview and how they confront their realities.
“There’s no other country that has that kind of vitality, because despite all of its problems, and there are many — like how violence and corruption have become so normalized — the people have an energy, a joy, a vitality that’s very hard to find in any other city around the world,” he says.
On the subject of the ingrained issues that still plague his home country, Iñárritu recalls that those in power were not pleased with how “Amores Perros” addressed them on screen.
“The Mexican government was ashamed of the film,” he says. Whenever the film would win an award at an international festival, the Mexican ambassadors or diplomats in any given country would decline invitations to celebrate the accomplishment.
“They said it was a bad representation of Mexico, that what the film showed wasn’t Mexico,” Iñárritu recalls. “They said it showed too much violence. Give me a break, as if I were the secretary of Tourism.”
Aside from promoting this latest stop in the “Sueño Perro” installation’s journey, Iñárritu is in the post-production stage of his upcoming film “Digger,” starring Tom Cruise. Besides that, he’s also working on a project to honor Mexican American artist Judy Baca.
Baca is best known for the mural “The Great Wall of Los Angeles,” which extends for over half a mile along the Tujunga Wash and depicts the complex history of California. Iñárritu and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki shot a piece on this major work that will be screened at Walt Disney Concert Hall on March 7, alongside a special concert put together by Gustavo Dudamel and Gabriela Ortiz, and featuring several guest composers.
“I want to showcase the work of Judy, a Chicana who was 50 years ahead of her time and told the story of California through her eyes. I want it to be a landmark in Los Angeles. I want people to say, ‘You can’t go to L.A. and not see this mural.’”
As part of the ongoing celebration of “Amores Perros,” MACK has published a book featuring essays, behind-the-scenes photos, and storyboards. A double vinyl compilation including Gustavo Santaolalla’s score, plus tracks by generation-defining Mexican rock bands like Control Machete and Café Tacvba, has also been recently released.
Iñárritu hadn’t seen the film in a theater in many years. But when he saw it again at the Cannes Film Festival last year, he was pleased to realize it maintains its potency.
“I was struck by how well the film holds up. And it’s not just because I made it. It still has a rhythm and a muscle. It hasn’t aged badly at all. On the contrary, it’s like a young old soul,” he says with a laugh.
“Sueño Perro” will be open to the public from Feb. 26 until July 26.
