museum

After more than two decades of planning and years of building, the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art opened to the general public Tuesday, and a vast campus that had been nearly empty for weeks of press previews filled to capacity with eager fans, including some who traveled across oceans to see what all the hype is about.

Actor D’Arcy Carden stopped by early, beating the cadre of guests crowding the main plaza beneath the now-famous oculus of the 300,000-square-foot Ma Yansong-designed building. A Stormtrooper drove by on a flatbed truck, shortly before R2-D2 greeted visitors in the courtyard, wearing an official staff badge. (The line for a selfie with the droll droid stretched as far as the eye could see.) Museum leaders have long said that “Star Wars” artifacts account for about 7% of the 100,000 square feet of gallery space, but one worker quipped 90% of opening-day attendees likely had a vested interest in the franchise.

This proved true, for the most part: Many visitors clearly knew and loved “Star Wars,” and Princess Leia buns and Yoda ears abounded. (Two Padmé Amidalas ran into each other, and according to a restaurant worker, one brave soul showed up in “Star Trek” gear.)

David Perez, 27, (right) donned his “Back to the Future” gear, hoping to see art from the movie. But he and his brother Carlos Perez, 28, (left) were quite pleased with the “Star Wars” artifacts in the Cinema section.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Still, the museum, as its famous co-founder George Lucas has repeatedly said, is about more than just one story, however beloved. That sentiment cropped up repeatedly in interviews, too: Early guests seemed to believe the museum’s brochure, which notes that the galleries are about the “narrative art” of illustrating stories.

Co-founders Lucas and businesswoman Mellody Hobson (also Lucas’ wife) gave remarks early Tuesday to the first 100 visitors, consisting of students from USC, Los Angeles Technology Center, Otis College of Art and Design and Los Angeles City College, who were all handed free tickets.

A yellow Naboo N-1 Starfighter hangs above the education lobby, across from the main plaza, guarding the research library.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

“I’ve spent more than 50 years collecting the work of artists who don’t always get their due — illustrators, cartoonists, muralists, painters — because I believe their images are as vital as any other art form,” Lucas said. “They deserve to be in a museum.”

“This is a museum of the ‘people’s art’ — the images are illustrations of the beliefs we live with every day,” said Hobson, “and for that reason, this art belongs to everyone.”

Later that day, The Times asked visitors to share their impressions of a museum that, until now, has lived largely in the imaginations of fans and in abundant social media posts online. The museum has drawn loads of applause but also plenty of criticism, mostly for its lack of context via wall text, and for displaying art that not everyone agrees should be elevated.

Do the people love the “people’s art”?

Responses have been edited for length and clarity.

Alden Chang and his wife flew 6,800 miles from Taiwan to thank George Lucas for creating the “Star Wars” films and franchise. Chang told The Times that he also wrote an academic paper examining “Star Wars” fan culture in Taiwan.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Alden Chang, 32, green product engineer from Taiwan

You flew all the way from Taiwan, just for this?

Chang: Yeah, halfway across the world to meet George Lucas and Miss [Mellody] Hobson.

Did you get to meet them?

Chang: Yeah, I just shook hands with them this morning. It’s like a dream come true.

How long ago did you and your wife get here, and how long are you staying?

Chang: For eight days. We came here on Sept. 18.

Is this the highlight of the trip?

Chang: Sure. [Laughs.] It’s my main mission and my main goal.

(Later, in an email, Chang told The Times that he also wrote an academic paper examining “Star Wars” fan culture in Taiwan.)

Friends Robert Meier, left, and Marc Downing used to work as ushers at the Music Center together. Growing up, Marc rode his bike where the Lucas Museum now stands.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Marc Downing, 71, retired, from Exposition Park and Robert Meier, 70, educator, from Highland Park

Downing: I go to all the museums. This was the newest museum, so I had to come and see this.

How does this compare to the other L.A. museums?

Downing: This is ultra modern, ultra space-future. I’m glad the museum is here; highly recommend it. And I’m proud that it’s in my city, and I’m glad that it’s in the neighborhood that I grew up with.

What made you want to be a member of the museum, Robert?

Meier: It’s giving to the neighborhood. I’ve admired George Lucas — I used to have a relative in Marin County, and growing up, we’d go to lunch, and I’d see George Lucas and his family. We’d be at the same restaurant together.

Downing: Well, speaking of this neighborhood: This used to be a parking lot. I remember it very well. And I used to come here and ride my bike in this neighborhood as a kid.

C.S. Lee sits on a bench at the south viewpoint of the museum, gazing out onto the sculpture garden below. “This is why you live in Southern California. This is why you live in L.A.: for days like these.”

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

C.S. Lee, 54, actor, from Koreatown

Lee: “Star Wars” was the very first movie I ever saw in my life as a 4-year-old when I immigrated here from Korea. We landed in Hawaii, in Waikiki Beach. Our family friends took us to a drive-in movie cinema place, and they said, “You want to come see a movie?” And it was “Star Wars” and “King Kong,” double billing. And my mom said when I saw the screen, my eyes popped out of my head because I’d never seen a movie before.

How do you think “Star Wars” impacted how you saw narrative and story?

Lee: I think I carried that all through my life: the story of “Star Wars.” I was like, “Oh, the good guys won!” And it was such an uplifting thing for me to hold on [to] all these years.

What did you think about the rest of the museum?

Lee: It’s so beautifully done: all the curves, all the light. You got the wind coming through the trees that they planted. I mean, honestly, I was just looking out, thinking to myself, “Wow, this is why you live in Southern California. This is why you live in L.A.: for days like these.”

The view of the sculpture garden and grounds beyond that C.S. Lee was contemplating from the south viewpoint.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

What about the building itself?

Lee: We rarely get to see architecture like this. But I think it’s good for people to see the artistry and the imagination of what people can build.

Janet Jacobs, 62, architect and Hanjin Jacobs, 25, audio equipment manufacturer technician, mother and son on a family trip from Portland (pictured at the top of the story)

I see you’re wearing a “Star Wars” T-shirt.

Janet: Yes, I am — actually from 1977.

Wow, really?

Janet: Yeah, I’ve had it for that long [laughs].

What was your overall takeaway from the museum?

Janet: I know George Lucas wanted to create this museum in a different way, like he didn’t have a sequence of events or a roadmap, he just wanted people to experience it the way they wanted to, so that’s all great. We do wish some of the things were explained a little more. Like, I know who Ralph McQuarrie is; [my kids] do not. So that would’ve been nice. Like in a typical museum, you do have a little blurb.

[My son] brought up a really good point: how ironic it is that it’s about storytelling, but yet there seems to be no storyline.

Andrew Liu, left, and Matthew Haak hang loose in front of a KAWS sculpture. They actually didn’t know it was opening day, but were happy to be there anyway.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Matthew Haak, 26, architectural designer, and Andrew Liu, 26, behavioral therapy assistant, both from University Park

Haak: We are not “Star Wars” fans. I haven’t watched a single “Star Wars” movie. I’ve somehow evaded them my entire life.

So, if not for “Star Wars,” why did you come out today?

Haak: I’ve been watching this building being constructed for the past two years. I’m just geeking out over the organic curvilinear forms. Not a single hallway has been straight. And they even have real expensive details, like light coves on the base [of the wall]. All of these things really stand out to me. Also, curved walls like this are so expensive; architects never get a budget to do stuff like that.

I was just surprised: It’s not just “Star Wars” stuff. There’s so much art; it’s so cool.

Nicole Garcia — dressed as Padmé Amidala in her lakeside gown — poses in front of a statue of Princess Leia.

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Nicole Garcia, 24, cosplayer/costumer from Corona and Veronica Antonucci, 40, administrative assistant from Orange County

So, this might be an obvious question [given their fun outfits], but what brought you guys out today?

Antonucci: This little thing called “Star Wars”!

Garcia: Growing up with “Star Wars,” I always loved all the pieces, knowing that, for example, there’s miniature pieces that look just huge on-screen, and seeing them in-person is just, like, I want to shrink myself down and just be there.

Antonucci: It’s also amazing that it’s not just “Star Wars,” and it’s also so much more that everyone should come out and see.

Is there anything else you were particularly excited to see?

Garcia: I was shocked to see “Fritz the Cat.”

Antonucci: I was really excited to see the Frida [Kahlo]. I didn’t know she was gonna be here, so I think when I saw her, I gasped.

Is there anything else you’d like to add?

Garcia: I just hope the future generations of kids come back to see this, growing up with museums more often, and just learning how to make art — like, physically make art — and be inspired.

Antonucci: Actually, we talked about feeling jealous of all the kids who are going to be here on their school field trips, because we didn’t get to experience this.

Nikki Foster, left, loves a good field trip. She texted her group chat to visit the museum, and her bestie, Shalonda Dean, responded, so they both cleared their calendars for the visit.

(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)

Shalonda Dean, 47, consulting business founder and president, and Nikki Foster, 45, live event production executive, both from Beverly Hills

You both gravitated toward Norman Rockwell’s “The Problem We All Live With” — why did it stand out to you?

Dean: Being a Black woman, I can identify with this little Black girl. Even in 2026, I think this painting depicts a lot of what Black women are going through today, whether it be in the workplace, navigating motherhood, navigating life. And I think this is an example of the barriers that we’re constantly breaking through every day, even today.

Foster: I’ve never seen it in person until now. So when we saw it, we were like, “It’s here, it’s here!” Just to be able to lay our eyes on it, and not have to go to another country, another state — here in Los Angeles. This is divine. It’s a divine day.

“I love meeting people,” Vincent Zabierowski said. “People are my main inspiration. I’m very lucky I get to be in a place where people want to be, and people want to soak up all that creative energy and just experience art.”

(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)

Vincent Zabierowski, 23, host at the Skywalker Grill and freelance illustrator, lives near Downtown L.A.

As an artist yourself, what are your favorite pieces in the museum?

Zabierowski: I love a lot of the things that are in the graphic novel collection, like the Jack Kirby, the Garfields. My favorite is the Art Nouveau artist Alphonse Mucha. The Diego Rivera mural, that one was really amazing — and just the history here, having it be in L.A.

How does your work as an illustrator inform how you see these pieces?

Zabierowski: When I was going through it with some of my co-workers, I would [ask] “Do you know why they use a blue pencil?” And it’s because, when you take a photograph or a scan, that blue pencil disappears. So it was just really cool to see the behind-the-scenes and understand.

So seeing those blue pencil marks tells you that a piece is real?

Zabierowski: A person made it! I feel like a lot of people see artwork in textbooks, or they see artwork on their phones, or they see artworks on posters, and it takes a lot of skill and intelligence and training to be able to do those pieces of artwork.

In Philippe Caland’s semi-autobiographical 2003 film “Hollywood Buddha,” his mother, Huguette Caland, plays herself. Wearing her signature white smock, inscribed with a flurry of painted swirls, circles, letters and cross-stitches, the Lebanese artist makes precise gray-blue lines on a canvas spread across her dining room table as her son laments a fickle movie industry.

Filmed in her Venice home, the scene, her three children agree, was true to life. Caland worked constantly: on stretched canvas, on fabric folded in her lap, on a children’s menu, on the wall of her kitchen, or the sleeve of her smock. Whatever was at hand.

“Of course it could be frustrating,” said her daughter Brigitte, an elegant, soft-spoken scholar of Semitic languages who has managed Caland’s estate since her death in 2019.

Brigitte Caland, right, and Charley Caland — the daughter and granddaughter of the Lebanese-born painter, sculptor and fashion designer Huguette Caland — stand in Caland’s former L.A. home and studio.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Sitting in that very home, which Caland had built in 1997, Brigitte recalled the many times her mother invited her over only to continue working as they talked. “I’d go to leave, and she’d put the canvas away, beg me to come back, and as soon as I did, she’d start painting again.” Still, from early on, Brigitte understood the compulsion as evidence of her mother’s resolve. “She had this incredible drive to create.”

“Huguette Caland: A Life in a Few Lines,” opening Sunday at the Hammer Museum, traces that relentless drive across nearly 150 paintings, drawings, sculptures, garments and tapestries. Organized by the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid in collaboration with the Deichtorhallen Hamburg, the show comes to Los Angeles as the largest Caland survey in the country to date. Spanning five decades and installed chronologically, it features work from the 26 years she spent immersed in Venice’s creative community even as her practice was largely ignored.

It was Caland’s generous hospitality and boisterous wit that made her custom château a gathering place for a vibrant Westside art circle. Ed Moses, who lived around the corner, visited several times a week; Larry Bell, Frank Gehry, Robert Wilhite and others joined her for long meals and even longer parties. Her work surrounded them, and her studio, the grandest space in the house, stood open just beyond the living room. Yet her guests remained uninterested. “No one,” Brigitte said, “would walk the 10 steps.”

Huguette Caland in Stone Doorway, France, 1970.

(Huguette Caland Estate)

Curator Hannah Feldman sees that tension as central to Caland’s California years. “Instead of supporting and bolstering her as a creative in their midst, she became their salon host,” she said. The lack of recognition, Feldman argues, reverberates through Caland’s heavily impastoed portraits of Moses and her enigmatic late abstractions such as the rectilinear paintings in the “Silent Letter Series.”

“To draw a line is a way to contain one’s emotion, one’s anger, one’s anguish,” wrote Caland of her challenging relations with fellow artists in “Sketchbook 2” (1990-91). “My lines tell the story of my life, of people encountered along the path, people I loved, and found and even lost.”

Caland is perhaps best known for her cheeky, erotic paintings of fulsome body parts and for a biography too often reduced to cliché: the libertine daughter of Lebanon’s first post-independence president who left her husband and children in Beirut to pursue an art career in a less repressed Paris.

Huguette Caland, “Self-Portrait in Smock,” 1992

(Huguette Caland Estate)

Feldman hopes the exhibition, which spans fine-line drawings of entangled lovers and radiant topographical tapestries, will complicate that familiar account. “There’s joy, and there’s sex,” she said, “but there’s also pathos, vulnerability. The search for autonomy is not an easy one; it comes with conflict, strife.”

Caland’s freedom was no doubt hard-won. She first picked up a brush as a married mother of three in her thirties, and only after her father’s death. In her first painting, alternately titled “Soleil rouge” and “Cancer” (Red Sun/Cancer) (1964), hazy concentric circles gather in a crimson orb at the center of the monochromatic plane. Simultaneously a tumor and a light source, the refulgent motif holds grief and release.

Soon after, Caland enrolled in art classes at the American University of Beirut, relinquished much of her constricting couture wardrobe, and adopted a uniform of loose, flowing kaftans, which she would later turn into works of art in their own right. Archival photographs show a glamorous Caland arriving at an event in a floor-length garment bearing painted breasts, a belly button and a triangle of curly pubic hair.

Huguette Caland, “Bribes de corps,” 1973

(Huguette Caland Estate)

Caland moved to France in 1970, leaving her children (then 15, 13 and 12) in Beirut with their father, a French-Lebanese lawyer named Paul Caland. In paintings from that decade, Caland’s imagery of bodies swell, split, meld and dissolve. In “Enleve ton doigt” (Remove Your Finger) (1971), lipstick-red lips receive a pale finger reaching out from a crush of fantastical profiles; two years later, in “Self-Portrait” (Bribes de corps), Caland dispersed a sensual body across a pale pink field interrupted at the lower edge by a slight, shadowed cleft — either buxom cleavage or buttocks.

The distance from her children produced another kind of line: text. Philippe recalled receiving illustrated letters almost every week, filled with drawings, doodles and notes of affection. Most of these were later destroyed when the family house was bombed during the Lebanese Civil War of 1975. “I always knew my mother loved me,” Philippe said. “The family was not torn apart. She took a break, and in the end made a home for us in Paris, where we all landed when the war was raging.”

After the death of her lover, Romanian sculptor George Apostu, whose rough-hewn wood sculptures still populate the house’s patio, Caland’s children encouraged yet another departure. Her eldest son, Pierre, a businessman and former Olympic swimmer, paid for a stay at a friend’s Venice bed-and-breakfast, all but forcing his grieving mother out of Paris and to sunny L.A. Her initial reluctance gave way to affection. The light, arid climate and mountains sloping into the sea reminded her of Lebanon. “She liked that California land sounded like Caland,” Brigitte said.

Huguette Caland works at her home and studio in Venice, date unknown.

(Huguette Caland Estate)

After making Venice her primary residence, Caland collaborated with architect Neil Kaufman on the design for her enclosed château. Its towering, mostly unbroken face and narrow swimming pool suggested a rampart and a moat, but behind the concrete exterior, Caland eliminated every door save the guest bathroom. Long vertical windows opened onto a courtyard shaded by a sprawling olive tree. Art crowded the steep stairwell; it accumulated on scattered plywood and Formica tables and unraveled across the kitchen in an intricate mural composed of tessellated marks that recall Byzantine mosaics and tatreez, a form of traditional Palestinian embroidery.

“There was no distinction for her,” Brigitte said, between the home and the studio, art and life. Caland once described her “very, very mixed media” as including “every single exchange, a look, a smile, a brief encounter.”

That original interior survives in “Hollywood Buddha” and archival photographs. Philippe now lives in the house with his family, and although the concrete exterior remains intact, the rooms and the courtyard have been remodeled around their own aesthetics and routines. Along with the technicolor mural, Caland’s singular sensibility persists in scattered drawings, a bouquet of her preferred 30-inch paintbrushes and a pair of stiff-backed pews. Her presence, too, is felt in the people who now inhabit the space, like her granddaughter Charley, 25, whose easy warmth recalls qualities long ascribed to the matriarch.

The former Venice home and studio of the Lebanese-born painter, sculptor and fashion designer Huguette Caland. The home is still occupied by Caland’s family and no longer looks how it did when she was alive, but her spirit lives on in small details.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

When the Hammer selected Caland for “Made in L.A. 2016,” the honor brought some measure of the local attention that had long eluded her. “If you had to pick one critical turning point for her career,” Pierre said, “it was the inclusion of her work in that show.” For the family, the coming survey fulfills one of her long-held ambitions.

“She told me, ‘Live your life day by day and plan it on a thousand years,’” Philippe said. Only later did he understand that the advice described her own life. “Today, her work is here,” he added. “She continues with it.”

Huguette Caland, “Le grand bleu,” 2012.

(Huguette Caland Estate)

The final painting in the exhibition, an oceanic large-format canvas titled “Le Grand Bleu” (The Great Blue) (2012), once hung high above the central hearth in the Venice house. Surrounded by undulating circles, spots and stripes, red-roofed Lebanese abodes and white-masted schooners traverse an unsettled horizon line. From the dining table below, where a young Charley often helped her grandmother fill blank planes with delicate dots, Caland could look up and see how far her line had taken her.

Days before the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art officially opens, protesters from the Fair Games Coalition — wearing Jedi robes and Jar Jar Binks masks and carrying lightsabers — rallied together outside the new museum.

Dozens of people from the group fighting for better worker protections during major sporting events were loudly blowing horns, banging drums and chanting, “Sí se puede,” directly across from Exposition Park’s newest museum. The group was at the museum’s private opening party Saturday night to take a stance against museum co-founder Mellody Hobson‘s recent resignation from the Los Angeles Olympics organizing committee, LA28.

“We launched the campaign with some real, reasonable demands,” said Jessica Durrum, the director of the Fair Games Coalition, for the Los Angeles Alliance for a New Economy. “If the Olympics are coming to town, we want to make sure there are lasting benefits for our communities.”

The Fair Games Coalition, which is made up of over 80 organizations, formed to fight for better labor deals during major events like the Super Bowl and the Olympic and Paralympic Games. Some of the unions in the coalition include United Teachers Los Angeles, National Union of Healthcare Workers, United Food and Commercial Workers Local 770, United Farm Workers and various community groups.

Ahead of these events, the group is asking that employers provide union and living wage jobs, funding for 50,000 units of housing for working families, a moratorium on short-term rentals and protections for immigrant workers.

Gladys Avyla marches in a Fair Games Coalition protest outside the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art.

(Jonathan Alcorn / For The Times)

Gladys Avyla, a member of Unite Here Local 11, has worked as a cleaner at the W Hotel in Hollywood for the last 14 years. Several years ago she had to move to Victorville when her rent in L.A. got too high. Avyla said that with these major sporting events coming through town she’s worried the cost of living will continue to rise as her work gets busier and busier.

“Rent is very high, and everything is expensive. It’s hard living here. We need a wage increase for the Olympics because everything costs so much,” Avyla said in Spanish. “We need help for all workers. We’re human beings, but, honestly, we aren’t treated like human beings.”

Hobson, who co-founded the billion-dollar museum alongside her husband, George Lucas, resigned from LA28 earlier this week. She reportedly stepped down from the position due to the demands of running the Lucas Museum.

But the Fair Games Coalition claims she responded to their requests to meet and discuss their concerns by resigning. The 35-person board led by Casey Wasserman, who was recently under heat for his ties to Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell, is meant to help plan and execute the upcoming Olympic Games.

“That’s how you hide your head in the sand. But we’re not giving up. She still has clout and still has a lot of power in the city of Los Angeles with the Olympic Committee,” said the Rev. Gary Bernard Williams from St. Mark United Methodist Church, a member of the coalition. “There’s going to be a lot of money flowing at the top. Very little money will be trickling down to the workers who need it the most.”

Demonstrators at a Fair Games Coalition protest at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art.

(Jonathan Alcorn / For The Times)

LA28 and the Lucas Museum did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

During this year’s World Cup, where several games were hosted in L.A., Unite Here Local 11, the union which represents workers including dishwashers, concession workers, bartenders and servers and SoFi Stadium’s food-service operator Legends Global, came to a tentative agreement days before the first match. Pastor Bridie Roberts, who works as the community organizing director at Unite Here Local 11, said having the Fair Games Coalition’s support was helpful during the negotiations.

“Our members face serious, critical decisions every single day about how to make ends meet and they work with some of the biggest tourism companies in the world that will profit in the billions of these games,” said Roberts. “We feel that the games have potential to bring real outcomes for working people, but only if we fight for them.”

Comparing the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art to a spaceship has become an internet cliche, but the otherworldly campus really does feel like it exists in a galaxy far, far away. Nestled in Exposition Park beside the Natural History Museum and down the block from the soon-to-open Samuel Oschin Air and Space Center (with its actual spaceship), the Lucas Museum’s Ma Yansong-designed building sticks out like a green thumb.

There are 11 acres of lush public park space to explore, dotted with “Star Wars”-themed statues and a hanging garden, as well as benches and an amphitheater for outdoor events. A waterfall tucked on the north end of the building acts as a cooling mechanism for the 300,000-square-foot structure, but also serves as a gathering spot for jovial seagulls.

If you get peckish, there are two options: A cafe on the ground floor with typical sandwich and salad fare as well as a Starbucks; and a fifth-floor restaurant called Skywalker Grill with a full bar, curved cherry wood walls and lovely views of downtown L.A. (Nab a reservation or you’ll likely never get in.)

There are 100,000 square feet of gallery space, with the art spread mostly across the fourth floor — and in a fifth-floor murals gallery where you’ll find a selection of Banksys hidden in a back corner. More than 30 discrete galleries have something for almost everyone and are curated by broad themes including motherhood, community, romance, sports, science fiction and comics.

And, yes, there is a “Star Wars” exhibit, but it’s just a small part of the overall scene. If you come explicitly for that, your day will be filled with unexpected discovery.

Here’s a useful map to guide your way.

1/3

1. Galleries
2. Galleries
3. Library
4. Sculpture garden 

2/3

5. Education lobby
6. Lucas plaza
7. Oculus
8. Galleries
9. Private event space
10. Main lobby
11. Cafe
12. Gift shop 

3/3

13. Theaters
14. Skywalker Grill
15. Galleries
16. The History of Narrative Art: Heroes, Myths, The Sacred
17. Waterfall 

1/3

4th Floor Galleries 

2/3

4th Floor Galleries 

3/3

4th Floor Galleries 

George Lucas and Mellody Hobson want their massive spaceship of a museum to be an experience. Across 300,000 square feet and 11 acres of park space, there’s a lot to take in. Staring up at the 90-foot-diameter oculus four stories above the entrance plaza makes one feel like a speck in the galaxy.

Instead of trying to conquer everything on a first visit — there are more than 1,300 works — hit our highlights below. If you aim to walk around the striking building to view a mishmash of masterpieces, children’s illustrations, movie memorabilia that’s heavy on “Star Wars” and comic strips, you’ll have a good time. If you’re hoping to learn about what’s on display or how adjacent pieces relate, curb your enthusiasm. It’s almost as if the museum is making a statement: you don’t need some analysis to connect with the works. If you complain about the collection, the co-founders don’t care. “Is it fine art? It’s finer art because it’s actually telling a story,” Lucas said at a museum party last week.

The 90-foot-diameter oculus provides unique viewing from the fourth-floor gallery.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

The gee-whiz elevators at the entrance of the museum.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Whoosh up in the glass-tube elevators to the massive fourth floor to begin. Best to explore the bulk of the galleries when your gas tank is full. Then head up a floor to see the murals. Take a break at the rooftop Skywalker Grill before ambling to the library and grounds. Skip the first floor’s “History of Narrative Art.” The exhibition is mostly screens, projections and reproductions, with a handful of great works from the 16th and 17th centuries and feels superficial at times. If you care about whether something is an original or a copy, check the gallery labels. Hungry for more detail? There’s a $30 exhibition catalog in the gift shop.

Prepare to get your steps in and feel a little turned around once it opens Sept. 22. Admission is $25 for adults, free for kids.

AFTER more than a decade, a huge new museum which is more like the ultimate attraction for Star Wars and Indiana Jones fans is set to open.

The Lucas Museum of Narrative Art, created by filmmaker George Lucas, is set to open on September 22 in Los Angeles, America.

Inside the new 28,000sqm museum, visitors will be able to explore items that Lucas has collected over the past five decades, including art, costumes, movie props and memorabilia.

In fact, the museum will be home to more than 1,300 objects in 30 galleries across five floors.

Of course, there will be plenty for Star Wars fans in the museum including sculptures of Yoda and Grogu as well as vehicles from the films.

Visitors can head to two cinematic theatres as well.

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Away from Lucas’ own creations, there will be art by Frida Kahlo as well as rare comics by Frank Miller and Cowboy Bebop anime.

There are some early sketches by Van Gogh and Picasso too

And Banksy has contributed artwork to the museum as well.

Visitors will also be able to catch an insight into Lucas’ early life too, with his student films on show.

The museum itself also looks like a spaceship, with curved white walls.

Outside the museum, there are large green open spaces, with more than 200 trees and a waterfall-like fountain.

If you get hungry, there’s the Skywalker Grill as well, offering all-day dining including seafood, grilled dishes, pasta and desserts.

The restaurant also has an outdoor terrace.

The museum will be open from 10am to 5pm on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, 10am to 9pm on Fridays, 9am to 9pm on Saturdays, 9am to 5pm on Sundays and is closed on Tuesdays.

Adult tickets cost $25 (£18.50) per person and children’s tickets (up to 17-years-old) are free.

Inside the Universalist Unitarian Church of Riverside, a line of masked people filed into the red-lighted chapel, one by one, to take part in the rite of confession.

The private booth was framed in flowers, and rather than a priest listening inside, it was a microphone recording their confessions, to be played at an upcoming art exhibition. The brick triangle-roofed church that held the booth has stood since opening in 1892; that night, it was the site of a masquerade, or as Riverside artist Perry Picasshoe called it, the “Masqueerade.”

Picasshoe, whose real name is Neveah Marquez, hosted the event, which had an entirely LGBTQ+ guest list and one requirement: Bring a mask, whatever that looks like to you.

Marquez, a 26-year-old transgender woman robed entirely in red, stood at the pews and danced to the experimental electronic DJ sets and drag performances as guests entered in masks that ranged from papier-mâché deer antlers to collaged photos of eyes and lips.

The event came as a celebration ahead of the Riverside native’s first solo exhibition, “SagradX,” which will open Saturday at Riverside Art Museum and remain through Jan. 31.

The recorded confessions, layered over one another until they become an unintelligible cacophony, represent just one piece of the 25 paintings, photographs and interactive displays in the exhibition. The show explores the meaning of “sacred” as Marquez documents her most private places and experiences, and asks viewers to consider what they hold sacred.

The exhibition, she says, began with heartbreak.

Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe), 26, sits inside the Riverside Art Museum.

(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)

“The first time I started thinking about sacredness … was when my ex-partner brought somebody into our bed,” said Marquez.

“I was crying, distraught, and drove over to these hills over Lake Mathews [in Riverside] and I realized: The bedroom was sacred to me. That’s why it hurt so much. And I started thinking, if it wasn’t sacred to them, how do we decide what is sacred to each of us?”

The very headboard of that bed sits in the exhibition; on it, Marquez painted fairy-tale creatures representing the lovers gallivanting across the woods.

While Marquez’s experience with betrayal sparked the idea, the exhibition explores sanctity in many different scenarios: In one, the artist plays with the concept of the digital safe space by inviting guests to look through her phone as she is tied on a handmade iron-wrought cross. Inside the exhibition space, she uses a small painter’s brush to slowly paint the white walls red over the course of the show.

In curating the exhibition, Marquez began to look inward, painting and photographing herself in ways she never had before: through the lens of femininity. She lived the previous 26 years of her life as a man, growing up religious to the point that she once considered becoming a priest. The paintings serve as portals into a part of her that she long held inside.

“I describe it like having blurry vision your whole life and not realizing how clearly you can see, until you put glasses on,” Marquez said. “That’s how painting myself as a woman felt.”

Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe) considers what is sacred.

(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)

Though she initially identified with her male birth name, the more she painted herself in Venus-like, feminine poses and with longer hair, her understanding of her identity shifted. Illuminated by her signature scarlet red clothing and tastefully shrouded in sheets, the soft expression on her face was inspired by Raphael’s “La Fornarina.”

“I wasn’t thinking much of it in the moment, but as I kept painting these portraits, I was thinking a lot about myself and thinking about gender and my identity,” Marquez said. “Through my art process, I realized: ‘Maybe I would be a pretty woman.’ That’s what scared me the most from transitioning, was not feeling like I would be beautiful enough.”

In “SagradX,” Marquez’s body is documented vulnerably; easing into her own identity becoming a painfully honest artistic process, which the audience is now invited to watch.

“I feel like I don’t paint very often because when I do, it’s just so emotionally intense. Like when Olivia Rodrigo wrote that she’s scared of her guitar because she couldn’t lie to it, that’s how I feel about painting,” Marquez said. “I can’t lie to my painting.”

Neveah Marquez (Perry Picasshoe) wears long, flowing red clothes.

(Carlin Stiehl / For De Los)

Aside from her self-portraits, Marquez includes photographs of her ice blocks project, in which she placed 25-pound blocks where immigration enforcement raids took place in the Inland Empire last year. These were once safe places that she says have been “desecrated with fear.”

Marquez’s personal journal, which documented her inner joys and struggles over the last year, is also open on a table in the exhibition for guests to read through, draw over, or tear. For Marquez, “SagradX” was the catalyst to “let everything out.”

“If the show is about vulnerability, I need to practice that for myself as well. Otherwise, you would see in the work that there’s a blockage, you can sense when artists aren’t fully honest,” Marquez said. “I want people to question, ‘What is sacred to you?’ If I give you access to something sacred to me, what will you do with that?”