Someday, you might be able to ride a bike from the western San Fernando Valley to Long Beach along the Los Angeles River. But not yet.
The longest unfinished stretch is the eight miles from Elysian Park through downtown to Maywood. For decades, advocates of the path have tried to complete those eight miles along the concretized river.
Yet a decade later, the unrideable gap remains. The ambitious project remains mired in planning and bureaucratic complications, with groundbreaking still two years off and the cost nearly tripling to more than $1 billion — almost $24,000 per foot — documents reviewed by The Times show.
It looked like the prospects for the bike route to the sea were getting serious after Angelenos enthusiastically passed a half-cent tax for transit projects in 2016 that earmarked $365 million for the L.A. River Path.
At the time, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, the lead on the project, priced out a simple path on one side of the river.
An aerial view of bicyclists where the Los Angeles River Path ends near Golden Shore and Shoreline Drive in Long Beach.
But by last year, the proposed designs were much wider and added seven pedestrian bridges. They also included sections where the path would be elevated above the ground, supported by beams. The changes responded to community input and comments from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and L.A. Department of Water and Power, among others. Estimated completion of the initial phase is not until 2031.
Navigating the web of nearby structures, like active rail lines and historic bridges, is part of what makes the construction so complex, Metro says. An original $75 million set aside for unforeseen expenses in 2016 swelled to $309 million last year, and the rising cost of construction also added to the high price tag.
Advocates for the path say this grander plan would be great, if there were a way to pay for it.
Yuval Bar-Zemer is a board member with Streets for All, a group that advocates for safer streets in L.A. He also is a downtown loft developer and commissioned studies that helped inform a far less expensive option that would run down near the flowing river, rather than up above. The path would be unusable during heavy rains, but Bar-Zemer and others say that would be less than 20 days each year.
This option was included in Metro’s initial scoping of the path in 2016 but has since been dropped, with the agency citing safety concerns. Bar-Zemer contends that safety features could be installed to make sure pedestrians have enough time to exit the pathway if water rises swiftly. He says he’s spent $350,000 of his own funds in engineering studies and advocacy to advance the path.
A pedestrian walks with an umbrella on the L.A. River Path near Lewis MacAdams Riverfront Park.
“The benefits are so obvious, it’s such a home run and such a low-hanging fruit that for me, it’s like criminal not to make it happen,” he said.
Currently, bikers headed southbound run out of path where Riverside Drive crosses the L.A. River at Egret Park. From there, they’re forced to weave through high-traffic streets in neighborhoods including Lincoln Heights, Chinatown, Downtown L.A. and Boyle Heights before they find the path again in Vernon.
“It’s a huge chasm,” said Michael Schneider, founder and chief executive of Streets for All. He called the gap in the L.A. River path “a shame because it’s an otherwise amazing resource.”
Some 76,000 residents live within walking distance of the proposed path, and a million within three miles of the L.A. River, according to Metro estimates from 2022. Around 17% of working-age people who live within a bikeable distance already walk, bike or take transit in their regular commute.
An aerial view of downtown Los Angeles and the Sixth Street Bridge amid an unfinished eight-mile gap in the L.A. River Path.
Metro had the eight-mile gap on its list of 28 projects it wanted ready for the 2028 Olympic and Paralympic Games. As costs soared, it quietly was taken off the list.
Yet there are recent signs of progress for the L.A. River Path.
In late May, the Metro board voted to create a committee that brings together all the players needed to push it to toward completion.
The Los Angeles River runs under the Sixth Street Bridge amid an unfinished eight-mile gap in the L.A. River Path in downtown Los Angeles.
Mayor Karen Bass chairs the Metro board. Despite the project’s stagnation, she continues to convey optimism.
“Angelenos voted in 2016 to make the L.A. River Path path a reality, and Mayor Bass is marshaling the resources necessary to eliminate further distraction that have threatened the project’s pace and cost,” her office said in statement.
Metro staffers are reviewing comments on the draft environmental impact statement, the agency said. They intend to recommend a path forward in the fall.
The Westside subway extension has long been L.A’s most stubborn urban fantasy: an infrastructural mirage chugging toward the sea, and then, with less sex appeal, Westwood. Stalled since the ‘80s, the first western leap of the elusive project is now real. And in the month or so since the Metro D Line pushed beyond Wilshire/Western to three new stations — Wilshire/La Brea, Wilshire/Fairfax, and Wilshire/La Cienega — multiple rides have made the benefits, and shortcomings, clear.
Suddenly the city feels different. Not transformed, exactly. But more connected. The fracturing grip of the city’s incomprehensible expanses, clogged arteries, and stagnant governance — all intimidating barriers to healthy civic life — feels a little looser. The dense belt tying the city together more complete, a critical mass of movement, still expanding, where there used to be a vestigial nub.
The stations, too, feel more connected, with art, architecture and infrastructure blending seamlessly into a cohesive experience, a tribute to Metro’s sharpened design approach and its ever-evolving commitment to public art. But above ground, it’s a tale of two (transit) cities. Outdoor plazas lack the kind of textured civic presence that’s been created below. Metro, which has become the most dominant regional force for urban transformation, is still less ambitious once it leaves the station box.
Passengers wait to board the first train to arrive at the Metro D Line at the Wilshire/Fairfax station in Los Angeles in early May.
(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
Before descending into the new stations, you might want to take a moment to appreciate that they exist at all, surviving, among other trials, a massive methane explosion, federal and local bans, major delays, and a battalion of lawsuits. Then notice how their myriad components work together. Art, for instance, is not simply attached to walls, but forms them, its patterns tracing your descent through space. Lighting doesn’t just illuminate surfaces, but becomes an artful complement to what’s around it. Escalators are not just conveyances, but reflective surfaces forming a utilitarian palette for art and light. The line between each piece becomes blurred, creating a sense that all is working together — a layered place that is intuitively easy to use.
This fluent incorporation of art builds on the long-running L.A. Metro Art program (formerly Metro Art in Transit), which since the early ‘80s has commissioned and installed over 200 artworks across the sprawling system, from mosaics and photography to multi-story murals. In fact, it’s quietly hummed along as one of the most successful public art programs in the country.
Artist Fran Siegel’s artwork at the Wilshire/La Brea Metro station is part of one of the most successful public art programs in the country.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
In many of its earlier iterations, art and architecture were conceived together to create strange, jaw-dropping, one-of-a kind spaces, like Peter Millar and Ellerbe Becket’s Santa Monica/Vermont station. Opened in 1999, this Red line stop featured among other things, a goliath stainless steel wing canopy topping a 42-foot-tall, raw concrete-clad escalator cavern, lit by massive skylights, etched with row after row of enigmatic questions.
Another personal favorite is Stephen Antonakos’ “Neons for Pershing Square,” a postmodern wonderland of suspended neon sculptures in the depths of downtown’s Pershing Square station that creates a kind of 3-D sculpture playing off the ‘80s gridded ceilings and Miami Vice white columns.
Wild creativity aside, these 20th century stations are marked by inconsistency in quality, comfort, and maintenance — and the lack of predictability can be confusing. (Wait, where do I go now?) This includes Metro’s inaugural A line, in which art-driven architecture, though fun, often feels like a quixotic gesture, unable to compete with loud, uncomfortable, concrete-dominated settings.
A man waits for a train on a platform at the Wilshire/Vermont station, which is along Metro’s B Line, formerly the Red Line.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Lines opened in the 2010s had their own issues. The Expo line (now the E line), barely 14 years old, features rather tentative wavy canopies and surface wraps and comparatively small spaces for artworks. With the new extension, Metro has found a balance between completely foregrounding art and relegating it to background. The new designs are guided by a “kit of parts,” a shared language of materials, lighting, signage, and wall systems that was developed first by local architects Johnson Fain and later by the global architectural firm Gensler, which served as the D Line’s systemwide station designer.
Yes, I miss the epic scale and immersive feeling of those older stations. But the tradeoff is a cleaner, brighter, more legible and human-scaled version, lending long-needed coherence to both the stations themselves and the system at large. And by the way, the art is still fantastic.
At the descending entryway of Wilshire/La Brea, for instance, the cosmic, angled lines of Eamon Ore-Giron’s “Infinite Landscape: Los Angeles Para Siempre,” which are embedded into porcelain enamel, channel not only the geometric forms of Wilshire’s Art Deco Buildings, but the visceral one-point perspective of a train speeding into a tunnel, and even the angled geometries of adjacent escalators.
Artist Eamon Ore-Giron’s “Infinite Landscape: Los Angeles Para Siempre,” at the Wilshire/La Brea Metro station.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Heading down allows you to ponder its shifting mysteries. Circular abstractions might suggest headlights zooming along Wilshire, or perhaps a train’s fast-approaching lights? Its artfulness expands outward. Frosted glass panels wrapping the entry portal are clad with a similarly mystical language, accentuated by neon strips of light, with the lightweight canopy above reflecting the colorful lines. Art and architecture are working together, each feeding off the other.
A particularly fertile locale for drama at each station are the wide bands of art topping the tunnels themselves: beacon-like destinations for your eyes, not to mention invitations to occupy more of the platform. In the same station, Mark Dean Veca’s “Miracle of La Brea” takes its cues from the curvy ornament and stepped motifs of the nearby Wilshire Tower’s Art Deco façade. Look closer, and those crisp patterns dissolve into swirling, viscous forms that evoke the La Brea Tar Pits, flowing oil, and even barley-shaped references to the area’s agricultural past. The mural’s repeating forms also mirror the station’s rigorous order, its clean, syncopated forms and linear perspectives.
Another hallmark of the new stations is how they subtly make infrastructure itself into art. Celebrating — whether intentionally or not — the improbable engineering feat of carving a subway under one of the most dense, congested, and geologically and politically complicated parts of Los Angeles. Jogging white lines along concourse floors, meant as tactical guides for the vision impaired, rhythmically and playfully lead you forward. Glinting stainless steel railings, gridded perforated metal ceilings, and thin bands of suspended light bouncing off polished terrazzo floors, pull you forward on stairs and platforms, tracing the speed and linear movement of trains. Corduroy concrete walls, etched with endless vertical grooves, give tunnels a tightly rhythmic texture while still exposing their hefty bones.
The Wilshire/La Brea Metro station is part of the D Line extension and features evenly lit spaces, with porous surfaces and long sight lines to improve navigation and safety. Glass fare gate doors organize entry without turning the stations into fortresses.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
The quality of surfaces and experiences has been upgraded too. Unlike most older Metro stations, where low light and heavy surfaces can feel tired and oppressive, spaces are more evenly lit, with porous surfaces and long sight lines to improve navigation and safety. Glass fare gate doors organize entry without turning the stations into fortresses. Glass elevators and large cuts between levels create a sense of connected, kinetic openness.
Sometimes this palette feels too uniform and predictable. The heroic scale and quirkiness of older stations can be more exciting; more unique to their place. A surprise or two never hurt anyone. But overall it’s a good balance of unity, utility and identity, allowing the art to sing, but as part of a chorus, not a soloist.
The tune, however, shifts dramatically above ground. Station plazas wrap handsome modern architecture—clean, controlled, well-detailed portals of beveled stainless steel, frosted glass, and art peeking above entryways and on peripheral panels. But the hard plazas themselves are barren; lacking enough shade, art, greenery and invitation. Benches, where they exist, are tiny and defensive.
Pedestrians walk past the Metro D Line at Wilshire and LaBrea, which features a barren plaza lacking the beauty and design of the art-filled stations below.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
These places seem scared to let people linger — clearly trying to avoid some of the city’s intransigent challenges, like homeless encampments, disorder, maintenance burdens, and controversy. This is understandable, but in avoiding those risks, the areas also avoid the purpose of public space: to create a place for everyone, not just a zone for people passing through.
Yet life appears anyway. At Wilshire/Fairfax, a dance class from a nearby studio recently gathered in a thin sliver of shade around the station. It was beautiful, and improvised, but also indicative of the underlying problem. Civic life was there, but the space had failed to make enough room for it. Imagine if that plaza had real shade, generous seating, creative sculpture, plantings, water, and edges that encouraged people to stay.
Another unresolved question is service. On multiple visits trains were not crowded. They also didn’t come often enough. Ten or 12 minutes of stagnant wait time does not feel like freedom if you are trying to lure Angelenos out of cars.
The last-mile problem doesn’t help. There is no easy parking near stations for those who don’t live close, no seamless transfer or final step. The bikes that Metro provides still have share docks, meaning you’ll need to find another dock on the far end (good luck). This remains, as it should, a system for people who already need transit. But for an institution struggling to add ridership, you wonder if it can become a system for people who have choices.
The Wilshire/La Cienega Metro station is part of L.A.’s new D Line extension. The outdoor plazas are not conducive to community or gatherings.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Still, we should not understate what has happened. Los Angeles finally has subway stops that serve some of its densest, most public destinations, and Metro is still growing. The D Line makes the Miracle Mile feel less like a traffic corridor and more like a metropolitan spine. It suggests a Los Angeles in which neighborhoods, jobs, cultural destinations, and sidewalks begin to connect physically and with surprising immediacy. (Twenty minutes from LACMA to downtown feels like light speed!) It makes the city feel more like a city.
It also reveals the imbalance of power and imagination in Los Angeles. Metro, for all its flaws, has the ability to marshal money, planning, engineering and art at a scale the city itself generally cannot. All the more reason to branch more boldly beyond its tracks and stations.
The question remains: Can the agency coordinate with government, developers, cultural institutions, and neighborhoods to make these stations into places rather than portals?
The new stops prove that Los Angeles can design infrastructure artfully below ground. Above ground, however, it too often retreats into caution. The subway has arrived. The city around it still has to catch up.
Gap in the L.A. River bike path downtown has a billion-dollar problem
Someday, you might be able to ride a bike from the western San Fernando Valley to Long Beach along the Los Angeles River. But not yet.
The longest unfinished stretch is the eight miles from Elysian Park through downtown to Maywood. For decades, advocates of the path have tried to complete those eight miles along the concretized river.
Yet a decade later, the unrideable gap remains. The ambitious project remains mired in planning and bureaucratic complications, with groundbreaking still two years off and the cost nearly tripling to more than $1 billion — almost $24,000 per foot — documents reviewed by The Times show.
It looked like the prospects for the bike route to the sea were getting serious after Angelenos enthusiastically passed a half-cent tax for transit projects in 2016 that earmarked $365 million for the L.A. River Path.
At the time, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, the lead on the project, priced out a simple path on one side of the river.
An aerial view of bicyclists where the Los Angeles River Path ends near Golden Shore and Shoreline Drive in Long Beach.
But by last year, the proposed designs were much wider and added seven pedestrian bridges. They also included sections where the path would be elevated above the ground, supported by beams. The changes responded to community input and comments from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and L.A. Department of Water and Power, among others. Estimated completion of the initial phase is not until 2031.
Navigating the web of nearby structures, like active rail lines and historic bridges, is part of what makes the construction so complex, Metro says. An original $75 million set aside for unforeseen expenses in 2016 swelled to $309 million last year, and the rising cost of construction also added to the high price tag.
Advocates for the path say this grander plan would be great, if there were a way to pay for it.
Yuval Bar-Zemer is a board member with Streets for All, a group that advocates for safer streets in L.A. He also is a downtown loft developer and commissioned studies that helped inform a far less expensive option that would run down near the flowing river, rather than up above. The path would be unusable during heavy rains, but Bar-Zemer and others say that would be less than 20 days each year.
This option was included in Metro’s initial scoping of the path in 2016 but has since been dropped, with the agency citing safety concerns. Bar-Zemer contends that safety features could be installed to make sure pedestrians have enough time to exit the pathway if water rises swiftly. He says he’s spent $350,000 of his own funds in engineering studies and advocacy to advance the path.
A pedestrian walks with an umbrella on the L.A. River Path near Lewis MacAdams Riverfront Park.
“The benefits are so obvious, it’s such a home run and such a low-hanging fruit that for me, it’s like criminal not to make it happen,” he said.
Currently, bikers headed southbound run out of path where Riverside Drive crosses the L.A. River at Egret Park. From there, they’re forced to weave through high-traffic streets in neighborhoods including Lincoln Heights, Chinatown, Downtown L.A. and Boyle Heights before they find the path again in Vernon.
“It’s a huge chasm,” said Michael Schneider, founder and chief executive of Streets for All. He called the gap in the L.A. River path “a shame because it’s an otherwise amazing resource.”
Some 76,000 residents live within walking distance of the proposed path, and a million within three miles of the L.A. River, according to Metro estimates from 2022. Around 17% of working-age people who live within a bikeable distance already walk, bike or take transit in their regular commute.
An aerial view of downtown Los Angeles and the Sixth Street Bridge amid an unfinished eight-mile gap in the L.A. River Path.
More recent numbers could be higher since high fuel prices have motivated many to use transit, bikes, e-bikes and scooters. The path also could provide recreational benefits to an area that has some of the most limited access to green space in Los Angeles.
Metro had the eight-mile gap on its list of 28 projects it wanted ready for the 2028 Olympic and Paralympic Games. As costs soared, it quietly was taken off the list.
Yet there are recent signs of progress for the L.A. River Path.
In late May, the Metro board voted to create a committee that brings together all the players needed to push it to toward completion.
The Los Angeles River runs under the Sixth Street Bridge amid an unfinished eight-mile gap in the L.A. River Path in downtown Los Angeles.
Mayor Karen Bass chairs the Metro board. Despite the project’s stagnation, she continues to convey optimism.
“Angelenos voted in 2016 to make the L.A. River Path path a reality, and Mayor Bass is marshaling the resources necessary to eliminate further distraction that have threatened the project’s pace and cost,” her office said in statement.
Metro staffers are reviewing comments on the draft environmental impact statement, the agency said. They intend to recommend a path forward in the fall.
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The art and architecture of Metro’s D Line
The Westside subway extension has long been L.A’s most stubborn urban fantasy: an infrastructural mirage chugging toward the sea, and then, with less sex appeal, Westwood. Stalled since the ‘80s, the first western leap of the elusive project is now real. And in the month or so since the Metro D Line pushed beyond Wilshire/Western to three new stations — Wilshire/La Brea, Wilshire/Fairfax, and Wilshire/La Cienega — multiple rides have made the benefits, and shortcomings, clear.
Suddenly the city feels different. Not transformed, exactly. But more connected. The fracturing grip of the city’s incomprehensible expanses, clogged arteries, and stagnant governance — all intimidating barriers to healthy civic life — feels a little looser. The dense belt tying the city together more complete, a critical mass of movement, still expanding, where there used to be a vestigial nub.
The stations, too, feel more connected, with art, architecture and infrastructure blending seamlessly into a cohesive experience, a tribute to Metro’s sharpened design approach and its ever-evolving commitment to public art. But above ground, it’s a tale of two (transit) cities. Outdoor plazas lack the kind of textured civic presence that’s been created below. Metro, which has become the most dominant regional force for urban transformation, is still less ambitious once it leaves the station box.
Passengers wait to board the first train to arrive at the Metro D Line at the Wilshire/Fairfax station in Los Angeles in early May.
(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
Before descending into the new stations, you might want to take a moment to appreciate that they exist at all, surviving, among other trials, a massive methane explosion, federal and local bans, major delays, and a battalion of lawsuits. Then notice how their myriad components work together. Art, for instance, is not simply attached to walls, but forms them, its patterns tracing your descent through space. Lighting doesn’t just illuminate surfaces, but becomes an artful complement to what’s around it. Escalators are not just conveyances, but reflective surfaces forming a utilitarian palette for art and light. The line between each piece becomes blurred, creating a sense that all is working together — a layered place that is intuitively easy to use.
This fluent incorporation of art builds on the long-running L.A. Metro Art program (formerly Metro Art in Transit), which since the early ‘80s has commissioned and installed over 200 artworks across the sprawling system, from mosaics and photography to multi-story murals. In fact, it’s quietly hummed along as one of the most successful public art programs in the country.
Artist Fran Siegel’s artwork at the Wilshire/La Brea Metro station is part of one of the most successful public art programs in the country.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
In many of its earlier iterations, art and architecture were conceived together to create strange, jaw-dropping, one-of-a kind spaces, like Peter Millar and Ellerbe Becket’s Santa Monica/Vermont station. Opened in 1999, this Red line stop featured among other things, a goliath stainless steel wing canopy topping a 42-foot-tall, raw concrete-clad escalator cavern, lit by massive skylights, etched with row after row of enigmatic questions.
Another personal favorite is Stephen Antonakos’ “Neons for Pershing Square,” a postmodern wonderland of suspended neon sculptures in the depths of downtown’s Pershing Square station that creates a kind of 3-D sculpture playing off the ‘80s gridded ceilings and Miami Vice white columns.
Wild creativity aside, these 20th century stations are marked by inconsistency in quality, comfort, and maintenance — and the lack of predictability can be confusing. (Wait, where do I go now?) This includes Metro’s inaugural A line, in which art-driven architecture, though fun, often feels like a quixotic gesture, unable to compete with loud, uncomfortable, concrete-dominated settings.
A man waits for a train on a platform at the Wilshire/Vermont station, which is along Metro’s B Line, formerly the Red Line.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
Lines opened in the 2010s had their own issues. The Expo line (now the E line), barely 14 years old, features rather tentative wavy canopies and surface wraps and comparatively small spaces for artworks. With the new extension, Metro has found a balance between completely foregrounding art and relegating it to background. The new designs are guided by a “kit of parts,” a shared language of materials, lighting, signage, and wall systems that was developed first by local architects Johnson Fain and later by the global architectural firm Gensler, which served as the D Line’s systemwide station designer.
Yes, I miss the epic scale and immersive feeling of those older stations. But the tradeoff is a cleaner, brighter, more legible and human-scaled version, lending long-needed coherence to both the stations themselves and the system at large. And by the way, the art is still fantastic.
At the descending entryway of Wilshire/La Brea, for instance, the cosmic, angled lines of Eamon Ore-Giron’s “Infinite Landscape: Los Angeles Para Siempre,” which are embedded into porcelain enamel, channel not only the geometric forms of Wilshire’s Art Deco Buildings, but the visceral one-point perspective of a train speeding into a tunnel, and even the angled geometries of adjacent escalators.
Artist Eamon Ore-Giron’s “Infinite Landscape: Los Angeles Para Siempre,” at the Wilshire/La Brea Metro station.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Heading down allows you to ponder its shifting mysteries. Circular abstractions might suggest headlights zooming along Wilshire, or perhaps a train’s fast-approaching lights? Its artfulness expands outward. Frosted glass panels wrapping the entry portal are clad with a similarly mystical language, accentuated by neon strips of light, with the lightweight canopy above reflecting the colorful lines. Art and architecture are working together, each feeding off the other.
A particularly fertile locale for drama at each station are the wide bands of art topping the tunnels themselves: beacon-like destinations for your eyes, not to mention invitations to occupy more of the platform. In the same station, Mark Dean Veca’s “Miracle of La Brea” takes its cues from the curvy ornament and stepped motifs of the nearby Wilshire Tower’s Art Deco façade. Look closer, and those crisp patterns dissolve into swirling, viscous forms that evoke the La Brea Tar Pits, flowing oil, and even barley-shaped references to the area’s agricultural past. The mural’s repeating forms also mirror the station’s rigorous order, its clean, syncopated forms and linear perspectives.
Another hallmark of the new stations is how they subtly make infrastructure itself into art. Celebrating — whether intentionally or not — the improbable engineering feat of carving a subway under one of the most dense, congested, and geologically and politically complicated parts of Los Angeles. Jogging white lines along concourse floors, meant as tactical guides for the vision impaired, rhythmically and playfully lead you forward. Glinting stainless steel railings, gridded perforated metal ceilings, and thin bands of suspended light bouncing off polished terrazzo floors, pull you forward on stairs and platforms, tracing the speed and linear movement of trains. Corduroy concrete walls, etched with endless vertical grooves, give tunnels a tightly rhythmic texture while still exposing their hefty bones.
The Wilshire/La Brea Metro station is part of the D Line extension and features evenly lit spaces, with porous surfaces and long sight lines to improve navigation and safety. Glass fare gate doors organize entry without turning the stations into fortresses.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
The quality of surfaces and experiences has been upgraded too. Unlike most older Metro stations, where low light and heavy surfaces can feel tired and oppressive, spaces are more evenly lit, with porous surfaces and long sight lines to improve navigation and safety. Glass fare gate doors organize entry without turning the stations into fortresses. Glass elevators and large cuts between levels create a sense of connected, kinetic openness.
Sometimes this palette feels too uniform and predictable. The heroic scale and quirkiness of older stations can be more exciting; more unique to their place. A surprise or two never hurt anyone. But overall it’s a good balance of unity, utility and identity, allowing the art to sing, but as part of a chorus, not a soloist.
The tune, however, shifts dramatically above ground. Station plazas wrap handsome modern architecture—clean, controlled, well-detailed portals of beveled stainless steel, frosted glass, and art peeking above entryways and on peripheral panels. But the hard plazas themselves are barren; lacking enough shade, art, greenery and invitation. Benches, where they exist, are tiny and defensive.
Pedestrians walk past the Metro D Line at Wilshire and LaBrea, which features a barren plaza lacking the beauty and design of the art-filled stations below.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
These places seem scared to let people linger — clearly trying to avoid some of the city’s intransigent challenges, like homeless encampments, disorder, maintenance burdens, and controversy. This is understandable, but in avoiding those risks, the areas also avoid the purpose of public space: to create a place for everyone, not just a zone for people passing through.
Yet life appears anyway. At Wilshire/Fairfax, a dance class from a nearby studio recently gathered in a thin sliver of shade around the station. It was beautiful, and improvised, but also indicative of the underlying problem. Civic life was there, but the space had failed to make enough room for it. Imagine if that plaza had real shade, generous seating, creative sculpture, plantings, water, and edges that encouraged people to stay.
Another unresolved question is service. On multiple visits trains were not crowded. They also didn’t come often enough. Ten or 12 minutes of stagnant wait time does not feel like freedom if you are trying to lure Angelenos out of cars.
The last-mile problem doesn’t help. There is no easy parking near stations for those who don’t live close, no seamless transfer or final step. The bikes that Metro provides still have share docks, meaning you’ll need to find another dock on the far end (good luck). This remains, as it should, a system for people who already need transit. But for an institution struggling to add ridership, you wonder if it can become a system for people who have choices.
The Wilshire/La Cienega Metro station is part of L.A.’s new D Line extension. The outdoor plazas are not conducive to community or gatherings.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Still, we should not understate what has happened. Los Angeles finally has subway stops that serve some of its densest, most public destinations, and Metro is still growing. The D Line makes the Miracle Mile feel less like a traffic corridor and more like a metropolitan spine. It suggests a Los Angeles in which neighborhoods, jobs, cultural destinations, and sidewalks begin to connect physically and with surprising immediacy. (Twenty minutes from LACMA to downtown feels like light speed!) It makes the city feel more like a city.
It also reveals the imbalance of power and imagination in Los Angeles. Metro, for all its flaws, has the ability to marshal money, planning, engineering and art at a scale the city itself generally cannot. All the more reason to branch more boldly beyond its tracks and stations.
The question remains: Can the agency coordinate with government, developers, cultural institutions, and neighborhoods to make these stations into places rather than portals?
The new stops prove that Los Angeles can design infrastructure artfully below ground. Above ground, however, it too often retreats into caution. The subway has arrived. The city around it still has to catch up.
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