While abuse can be persistent, the response from athletes is evolving.
Some young athletes are finding ways to withstand the noise, such as Formula E driver Ella Lloyd who says she “just laughs” at negative comments, while Olympic gymnast Ruby Evans, who is competing at this year’s Commonwealth games, is clear in her response: “They can’t do what I do.”
Rather than simply enduring social media, many are shaping their visibility and Dr Mellick believes this shift is partly generational.
“Having grown up with this technology, [younger athletes] are better able to adapt to it. They have a better knowledge and understanding and appreciation for it,” he said.
“They don’t see it as an immediate threat response. It’s something they’re familiar with. They have a better understanding that social media is not fact-based. It’s a form of entertainment.
“They can then also look and use to explore it in more positive ways.”
Cardiff City midfielder Eli King is one such example. During his recovery from an anterior cruciate ligament injury last season, he launched Justaquickconvo, a series of social media podcasts focused on mental health in sport.
King says he hopes he is using his platform in a positive way and though being initially unsure about sharing his experiences, he has said the response has confirmed to him the importance of using visibility positively.
“People reaching out to me explaining their stories and maybe their struggles and why me trying to do something like this is helping them. Once I received that reception, it was worthwhile,” said the 24-year-old.
“Everyone has their problems and struggles. If one person can watch that [his content] and feel encouraged to call their mate the next day, that’s sort of my job done.”
Dr Mellick sees this response as significant.
“From research we know that athletes sharing their struggles online has been a really impactful measure to break down stigma associated with mental health issues,” he said.
“It has increased help-seeking behaviour, particularly in males, and created better and safer conversations around mental health and well-being.”
Exposure is inevitable but with that, increasingly athletes are learning not just to survive and deal with the noise from social media but inspire change through their platforms.
They are helping to reshape what visibility can mean in the hope that even small actions can shift behaviour.
As Cain said: “If I can make people think before they write something, I will.”
Cameron Brink said she’d appreciate some grace. She really would.
Sparks fans should give her some, because where else is she going to get it?
Certainly not from WNBA refs. Not from opponents with more to play for than ever. Certainly not from the game itself; basketball moves fast, and a bummer can become a bust in a blink.
But Brink, 24, is not on the brink of bust territory, no. Block that thought. Technically, it’s Year 3, but after a torn ACL derailed her as a rookie two summers ago, it’s practically like Year 2 for the former Stanford star. And by design, the WNBA is testing her confidence, her decision-making and her patience as she tries to reestablish herself as one of the WNBA’s best young players.
So, grace.
The recognizable 6-foot-4 forward — she’s the long-blond-haired hooper in the New Balance ads — was the No. 2 overall pick in 2024.
Now she’s her team’s No. 3 option in the post. She’s coming off the bench behind Nneka Ogwumike and Dearica Hamby for the Sparks, who are a modest 6-6 after wins this week over the expansion Portland Fire and the struggling Seattle Storm.
Against the Fire, Brink scored two points and picked up four fouls in nine minutes. Then she went to Seattle and had 15 points in 18 minutes but was pulled with more than five minutes left in the fourth quarter after getting her third, fourth and fifth fouls in 86 seconds. (WNBA players get six fouls before being disqualified.)
For the season, Brink has been called for 49 fouls in 208 minutes. A foul about every four minutes!
They’re silly fouls and they’re phantom calls. Egregious and ticky-tack. Costly and common. A real fouled-up buffet. She sets screens that get scrutinized as if by the most vigilant TSA agent. And sometimes, yes, she’s doing the accidental tripping. Other times, the officials are.
Her reputation precedes her, so everyone gets a superstar’s whistle when being defended by Brink. Opponents bake it into their game plans.
That can’t continue.
All that fouling is hindering Brink’s development because it’s robbing her of important in-game reps — which she needs, foremost, to figure out how to stop fouling.
Sparks forward Cameron Brink, left, blocks the shot of the Tempo’s Laura Juskaite during a game last month.
(Jeff Lewis / Associated Press)
“At the pro level,” said Tara VanDerveer, Brink’s coach at Stanford, “every young player always has a lot of work to do. And I saw her make a three. I see her block shots. She rebounds, she can handle the ball, she’s unselfish, she’s a terrific talent. But there’s always things players need to work on.”
We know what Brink’s thing is.
“She has to be disciplined,” VanDerveer said. “And if you want something so badly, if you want to be an All-Star someday or make the Olympic team, you’ve got to be dependable … and I think anyone can change, if it’s behavior they recognize is not in their best interests or not in their team’s best interests. It’s hard, but it’s something I think people can do.
“That’s what Cam is working on.”
And, VanDerveer added, “I’m really so excited that Nneka is there, because she will give her such great guidance and mentorship.”
And grace. Brink is getting that from Ogwumike — also a former Stanford star, the Sparks legend returned to L.A. this season after two seasons in Seattle — and her other teammates.
“I just do my best to lead by example,” Ogwumike, 35, said. “But then also let [Brink] know that she’s very capable, that she’s more than capable, which is exactly why she’s here with us and it’s exactly why we need her on this team.”
Sparks forward Cameron Brink, wearing a facemask, controls the ball while defended by Sun forward Raegan Beers.
(Joe Buglewicz / Getty Images)
But how long will Brink get grace from the Sparks in the what-have-you-done-for-me-lately business of basketball?
The foul trouble tells us why a win-now team wouldn’t trust her, why the Sparks would give meaningful minutes to two veteran post players ahead of her. Why they wouldn’t prioritize Brink’s development alongside winning as they strive to snap a previously unthinkable five-year playoff drought.
And what about fans? How patient will you all be with a player who was drafted immediately after Caitlin Clark and five spots in front of Angel Reese?
These days, that might depend on what the parlay calls for.
Or, preferably, whether you remember Brink’s first 15 WNBA games. All starts, all signs pointing to stardom. She showed up in 2024 throwing lavish block parties. Her 2.3 blocks per game were message-sending spikes, like what Lisa Leslie used to enthrall Sparks crowds with.
From the jump, she had guys coming to games at Crypto.com Arena wearing her No. 22 jersey and little girls arriving in groups with No. 22 painted on their cheeks and “I love Cam Brink” signs in hand.
And then the torn ACL cost her 25 games of her rookie season and another 25 last season, plus her spot on the United States’ Olympic 3×3 women’s basketball team in Paris in 2024.
She had to start over. Lost a lot of ground. But you see that masked woman stuck on the Sparks’ bench for all but 17 minutes per game?
You can’t miss her. She’s looking uncomfortable in protective facial gear that either hinders her breathing or her peripheral vision, her only options to protect the torn septum she suffered in a victory over the Las Vegas Aces last month.
She’s the one with the 6-8 wingspan who’s averaging 9.2 points, 4.3 rebounds and 1.5 blocks while shooting 52.1% from the field in her limited minutes.
She’s still Cameron Brink. Between fouls, she’s fluid and fast and covers more of the court than almost anyone in the WNBA, able to leap from defending guards to centers in a single bound.
“It’s just looking at every day as a new opportunity to learn and grow and not getting too bogged down when things don’t go exactly as you planned,” Brink told me. “Because more times than not, things are not going to go how you want them to. And that’s life. So I just want to be able to put my best effort out there every single night.
She knows what the Sparks need from her: “To perform, just come on the floor and compete.”
It’s not only easy to get lost in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s new David Geffen Galleries, it’s inevitable, intentional — and one of the best things about the place.
The museum has deconstructed the traditional, boxy narrative of art history and rendered the story itself a matter of curves and continuities. Art in the collection is freed from its departmental silos and put into conversation across genre lines, place and time.
The museum has physically invalidated the binaries of center and periphery, major and minor arts. In a startling and largely gratifying way, LACMA has done what the poet Audre Lorde, alluding to a different but not unrelated aspect of patriarchal dominance, deemed impossible: used the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house.
The change goes far beyond a remodel. It’s a reinvention, a recalibration, a revisionist fever dream.
The vision conceived by museum director and Chief Executive Michael Govan and architect Peter Zumthor is not perfect, and brings with it a modest set of frustrations, but as a whole, the installation registers as ravishing and bracingly fresh. It thrusts us midstream into the ageless, ceaseless flow of makers worldwide reckoning with life, earth and being.
It prompts us, as we bob about, to reflect on our own proclivities and preconceptions, our patterns of reception and perception.
It compels us to recognize that what matters is not just what we see in the museum but how we see, what pulls us close and why, what private histories we bring to the occasion, what expectations, what tools.
Over two visits to the new building, getting my physical bearings mattered less and less as I surrendered to the generative sensations of not knowing. The museum has produced a dense guidebook to the new galleries, whose title, “Wander,” doubles as invitation and imperative. Even at 430 pages, the book is only minimally useful as an orientation device. For help with that internal navigation, Rebecca Solnit’s moving 2005 book, “A Field Guide to Getting Lost,” proved a better compass.
LACMA’s guidebook to the David Geffen Galleries, called “Wander,” doubles as invitation and imperative.
(Museum Associates / LACMA)
Solnit, citing the cultural critic Walter Benjamin, writes, “to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery.” She goes on to recall how roaming freely as a child was key to developing self-reliance, which feels apt to the LACMA strategy. We are put in charge of making our own way, through tapestries and tea sets, past ancient jug and contemporary sphinx, without heavy-handed authoritative direction.
The history of art reads here as one long, free verse poem-in-progress, gorgeous and absorbing. Even so, many of the most memorable moments come in the form of cogent micro-essays, smartly curated ensembles of work bearing a legible, lucid premise. Some of these are contained within four (rectilinear) walls; some occupy less demarcated spaces. “Tonal Variations: Photography and Music,” for instance, gathers images by Paul Caponigro, William Eggleston, Lisette Model and others. These artists were also serious pianists, attuned, no matter which instrument they were using, to the qualities of rhythm, pattern and progression.
Lisette Model, “Window at 5th Avenue,” 1940, Los Angeles County Museum of Art
(Museum Associates / LACMA)
In a section headed “The Global Appeal of Blue-and-White Ceramics,” a long display case houses a timeline articulated sculpturally. The sequence advances from a 9th century bowl made in Iraq to a 13th century vessel from China, a 14th century example from Thailand, another from 15th century Syria, up to work by a 20th century German artist who transformed a functional vessel into personal adornment by cutting a string of beads out of the planar surface of the bowl.
Dish, Turkey, Iznik, c. 1530-35, Los Angeles County Museum of Art
(Museum Associates / LACMA)
On the wall facing this display is a huge vitrine containing an 18th century Talavera jar from Mexico, paired with a 2025/26 color photograph by Brooklyn-based Stephanie H. Shih. In the still-life composition, a cheeky visual lesson on the collision and convergence of cultures, the jar holds flowers, cactus and edible Mexican treats influenced by Chinese and Filipino flavors.
Top, Stephanie H. Shih, 梅國 “(Still life with chamoy and Dirty T Tamarindo),” (2025- 26); bottom, Jar (c. 1700-50)
(Museum Associates / LACMA)
Shih is one of a handful of artists commissioned to create new work using the museum’s collection as muse. L.A.-based Lauren Halsey is another. Her formidable, untitled 2026 sphinx regally commands its space among ancient Egyptian and Roman sculpture, a marvel of the cross-temporal and cross-spatial, spiked with specific references to Black self-determination.
Setting recent works among older ones is an effective element of LACMA’s overall plan to shed outworn hierarchies. It recasts every piece of art by every artist throughout the single-story space as equally relevant. The seamless integration of old and new feels stealthy, and a touch subversive, a doubling-down on the museum’s approach to time as nonlinear, sinuous and delightfully slippery.
Lauren Halsey’s untitled 2026 sphinx.
(Museum Associates / LACMA)
That said, a few words readily available would help connect the dots without undermining the provocation. Text — where and how it appears, or doesn’t — is my only major complaint about the installation of the new galleries.
Text panels announce, in one or two paragraphs, the themes of each given section: “Images of the Divine in South Asia”; “The Evolution of Abstract Painting in Modern Korea”; “Textile Conversations: Africa and Black America.” Individual object labels are kept minimal, containing only basic identification about each work, no commentary. When asked about this decision during my first walkthrough, Govan replied that more time reading means less time looking — “and we have the internet.” Every thematic text panel has a QR code that links to the Bloomberg Connects app, an aggregate guide to museums and other cultural sites that offers selected, augmented entries.
Determining how much didactic information is insightful and sufficient, and how much constitutes excessive artsplaining, is a delicate, ongoing challenge for museums. Where LACMA landed on this contested plain strikes me as unfortunate and counterproductive.
A few lines of explanation or context on a wall label can add perspective for even the most informed visitor, and provides crucial support to those with less foundational exposure and access to art.
You can take or leave text on a wall without breaking your stride, but text accessed via QR code is another matter. (Never mind that connectivity is spotty inside a sprawling concrete shell, and several times when I tried to get information from the app, I couldn’t.) Encouraging us to shift our gaze from the wall to our devices — to assume that accursed downward tilt of the neck when splendors abound before our eyes — is simply detrimental. It breaks the spell of being fruitfully lost in the present, and retethers us to the digital distractions that dominate our days.
Wall text beside Francis Bacon’s “Three Studies of Lucian Freud” (1969), at Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
(Museum Associates / LACMA)
Shouldn’t the imaginative minds that created this space, this opportunity to revel in direct sensual experience, want us to keep our attention where our bodies are? Why this fallback to current convention, when the rest of the experience is about radical reinvention? This feels like a missed opportunity. I’m hoping a more experimental, exploratory approach to providing information, context and interpretation, in keeping with the rest of the enterprise, might yet come.
Does the new structure serve the art? Mostly, very well.
The lighting is varied, treated as another texture in the space, palpable and rich. There’s a generous amount of natural sunlight, but some spots are noticeably dim. Some gallery walls are glazed in deep hues (reddish and eggplant), and the intensity of the color is jarring at first. But neutral, white-box viewing spaces (with even, predictable lighting) can be found elsewhere on LACMA’s campus and pretty much anywhere art is shown. Here, the very irregularity of the interior environment, including the concrete surfaces — richer and more textured than I expected — heightened my alertness. And keener senses tend to make for more consequential experiences.
In deciding how to organize roughly 2,000 works of art across 110,000 square feet of exhibition space, LACMA devised a conceptual schema that isn’t apparent in the galleries themselves. The “Wander” guide maps out the division of the space into four regions correlating to bodies of water: the Indian, Atlantic and Pacific oceans, and the Mediterranean Sea. While the zones and their boundaries aren’t indicated by obvious signage, and I caught one laughable categorization (Ansel Adams’ photographs of the Pacific shoreline landing in the Atlantic section), this schema at least doesn’t get in the way.
And what does work about the propositional structure is its comprehensive realignment. It moves to retire art historical frameworks of the past, dependent on borders between places and times.
Throughout this installation, we are repeatedly reminded of the impact of trade and migration, the fluid movement of resources and belief systems. We’re reminded of porousness and simultaneity, and that all art histories are, in the end, propositional structures.
Here’s a new one, the Geffen Galleries say. Try it out. You might get lost. Indeed, you will get lost. And what wonders await you in the uncertainty and mystery.
