Visualizador de Stories do Instagram

Our cover for the April THRESHOLDS issue, a tour of L.A. architecture as it’s actually experienced. 🏙️

Enter Lauren Halsey's much-anticipated sculpture park, "sister dreamer lauren halsey’s architectural ode to tha surge n splurge of south central los angeles" — which is literally etched with the faces and stories of people from South-Central, where the artist grew up and still lives. In the cover photo, Halsey stands in the back, in the shadows, allowing the people who shaped her project to take center stage.

"To see L.A.’s newest architectural monument in effect is to experience people being celebrated," writes Julissa James.

Read the story at the link in bio.

Subjects Cheryl Ward, Margaret Prescod, Autumn Luckey, @summaeverythang, Monique Hatter, Andre “Sketch” Hampton, Monique McWilliams, Kenneth Blackmon, Robin Daniels, Michael Towler, Emmanuel Carter, Dyani Luckey, Dominique Moody, Rosie Lee Hooks, Damien Goodmon, Londyn Garrison and Christopher Blunt.
Words @goodjuju8
Photography @sheekswinsalways
Image flag @annam.lls

@nomadicdivision @see_why_kay @current_____interests @taslimi.construction @g.r.e.e.n.h0use

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

In 1978, after eating LSD-laced garlic butter toast and crouched under a piano during a performance, artists Linda Frye Burnham and Richard Newton decided to start a magazine. Called High Performance, it would become one of a handful of magazines in Los Angeles at the time that documented ephemeral art and functioned as an alternative space for performance artists. The magazine, which printed a total of 76 issues, ran through 1997 and became famous for its radical covers.

For this story, we restaged three of these covers with the original artists — Suzanne Lacy, Richard Newton and Sisters of Survival — in collaboration with the Performance Art Museum, a roving museum devoted to spreading awareness around performance art in L.A. and beyond. In the spirit of connecting this history to the present, we also invited three contemporary artists based in L.A. — Carmen Argote, Kayla Tange and Da Ron Vinson — to create their own covers in response.

Link in bio for the full story.

Artists @jerri_allyn2 @cherigaulke @annegauldin @ric_marin @suzanne.lacy @kayla.tange @daron.vinson @carmen.argote
Words @heyangella
Photography @tmostudio
Styling @dominickbarcelona
Creative Direction @pamuseum_
Hair @hairbytaku
Makeup @claireryanbrooke
Set Designer @FlowerFrolicking
Production @merestudios
Photo Assistant @mitchell_zaic
Styling Assistant Lauren Wathey
Set Design Assistant @Nennaprod.mp4

Where to be, things to see and what to wear this month, c/o @burberry, @hunzag, @hammer_museum, @calartsredcat, @meganmulrooneygallery, @maddy_inez, @supervsn, @summaeverythang.

Words @samnthaleez
Photos Burberry, JSP Art Photography, Harmony Holiday, @sevlasphoto, @russham

Where to be, things to see and what to wear this month, c/o @burberry, @hunzag, @hammer_museum, @calartsredcat, @meganmulrooneygallery, @maddy_inez, @supervsn, @summaeverythang.

Words @samnthaleez
Photos Burberry, JSP Art Photography, Harmony Holiday, @sevlasphoto, @russham

Where to be, things to see and what to wear this month, c/o @burberry, @hunzag, @hammer_museum, @calartsredcat, @meganmulrooneygallery, @maddy_inez, @supervsn, @summaeverythang.

Words @samnthaleez
Photos Burberry, JSP Art Photography, Harmony Holiday, @sevlasphoto, @russham

Where to be, things to see and what to wear this month, c/o @burberry, @hunzag, @hammer_museum, @calartsredcat, @meganmulrooneygallery, @maddy_inez, @supervsn, @summaeverythang.

Words @samnthaleez
Photos Burberry, JSP Art Photography, Harmony Holiday, @sevlasphoto, @russham

Where to be, things to see and what to wear this month, c/o @burberry, @hunzag, @hammer_museum, @calartsredcat, @meganmulrooneygallery, @maddy_inez, @supervsn, @summaeverythang.

Words @samnthaleez
Photos Burberry, JSP Art Photography, Harmony Holiday, @sevlasphoto, @russham

Where to be, things to see and what to wear this month, c/o @burberry, @hunzag, @hammer_museum, @calartsredcat, @meganmulrooneygallery, @maddy_inez, @supervsn, @summaeverythang.

Words @samnthaleez
Photos Burberry, JSP Art Photography, Harmony Holiday, @sevlasphoto, @russham

@edisonchen, founder of Hong Kong style brand @clot, stopped by to chat with Image about his latest capsule with @adidasoriginals at the @mama.feedme in Downtown L.A. Among frying pork belly and fresh fruit, Chen recalls using feelings over PDFs to share his creative vision, how knitting with his daughter influenced the line and pushing for an anime campaign over a traditional advertisement.

Video by @katerinasphoto

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

In our new series, Archive Edit, we ask brands, creative directors and showrooms to tell the stories behind the most special pieces in their collections. For April, designer fashion and furniture showroom Archived (@archived) talks about this architectural speaker from TheSoloist (@takahiromiyashitathesoloist).

Words @samnthaleez
Photo @archived
Photo illustration @neonhoney

Filling the spaces we love with stories, our April THRESHOLDS issue is yours online and in print.

Video @samnthaleez

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

A landmark is a landmark because it tells you that you’re home now — the piece of earth you’ve chosen to inhabit saying, “You’ve made it back, congratulations.” Most cities have landmarks that exist in the world’s popular consciousness. But L.A.’s most cherished landmarks belong to us and us alone, a secret you’re let in on if you live here long enough and pay attention. The Fashion Nova baddie in horizontal sprawl off the Vertigo, for example, is an emblem for those in the know. Our twisted version of a capitalist guardian angel, patron saint of spandex in a cropped matching set. Welcome to El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Ángeles de Fashion Nova.

In Sayre Gomez's (@_sayre_gomez_) solo show at @davidkordanskygallery "Precious Moments," I was stuck on “Vertigo.” On the 12-foot canvas, my eye went to the place out of focus: the thin strip of billboard in the background featuring a young woman with sand-dune hips, patent knee-high boots and long black hair laid up on her side. The sky was the color of cotton candy, but the stale kind that’s been hardening in a plastic bag for days after the fair. In the foreground of the painting was a car encampment with a tattered floral sheet woven through the windows, cloth tarps and couch cushions creating a shield against the elements. Small plastic children’s toys lined the top of the car — dinosaurs and dump trucks and sharks —signaling that young kids likely lived there. It’s less juxtaposition for juxtaposition’s sake and more an accurate reflection of the breakneck duality of living in a place like L.A.

“It’s the city of anti-landmarks,” Gomez says. At the link in bio, the artist breaks down the painting featured in his latest show, “Precious Moments.”

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @sevlasphoto @davidkordanskygallery

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

From a baby pink Brutalist listening station to the perfect cheese knives, every item in your home being beautiful is a flex.

Words @goodjuju8
Photos @mouthwash.studio @__hannahlim__ @hugoharris_art @davidwilliambaum @gambol_studio@maisonalaia @serdarwerk @yontstudio

Our April issue is about the lived experience of the city and its architecture. A postmodernist house in Baldwin Hills becomes a place for a family to dream. A billboard on the drive home becomes a personal landmark. A therapist’s room becomes a container for everything. A museum is held up as much by its walls as the people who work within them. We are part of our built environments, and nothing encompasses this more than our cover story on Lauren Halsey and her much-anticipated sculpture park, “sister dreamer lauren halsey’s architectural ode to tha surge n splurge of south central los angeles,” which is literally etched with the faces and stories of people from South-Central, where the artist grew up and still lives.

Link in bio for the full issue.

Words @elisawoukalmino
Video @rickydorn
Flag @annam.lls

Hit up your local @findyourhilltop for a physical copy and/or visit our store at shoplatimes.com/image-issue-42-thresholds

@archived @csopie @lacma @summaeverythang @sheekswinsalways @felemaye @hoodmidcenturymodern @pictorialreference @savannahsinhal @flaaames @1000000000devwilllll @wendy.c.ortiz @jamesmichaeljuarez @_sayre_gomez_
@gothshakira @elisawoukalmino @goodjuju8 @clairesalinda @neonhoney @fstafford @keylakeylakeyla @jennellefong @tmostudio @samnthaleez @bebiliya @merestudios

In my ideal therapy room, plants live in the room when no one else is in it. Seasonal flowers are brought in, and when they die, composted. The scent of coffee or chai might linger. A client’s fingers might clutch a smooth black onyx, or a jagged rose quartz, or tissues. We are changed, both client and therapist, in the process.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

In my ideal therapy room, plants live in the room when no one else is in it. Seasonal flowers are brought in, and when they die, composted. The scent of coffee or chai might linger. A client’s fingers might clutch a smooth black onyx, or a jagged rose quartz, or tissues. We are changed, both client and therapist, in the process.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

In my ideal therapy room, plants live in the room when no one else is in it. Seasonal flowers are brought in, and when they die, composted. The scent of coffee or chai might linger. A client’s fingers might clutch a smooth black onyx, or a jagged rose quartz, or tissues. We are changed, both client and therapist, in the process.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

In my ideal therapy room, plants live in the room when no one else is in it. Seasonal flowers are brought in, and when they die, composted. The scent of coffee or chai might linger. A client’s fingers might clutch a smooth black onyx, or a jagged rose quartz, or tissues. We are changed, both client and therapist, in the process.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

In my ideal therapy room, plants live in the room when no one else is in it. Seasonal flowers are brought in, and when they die, composted. The scent of coffee or chai might linger. A client’s fingers might clutch a smooth black onyx, or a jagged rose quartz, or tissues. We are changed, both client and therapist, in the process.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Up until the 1980s, there was not as much attention given to the decor of the therapy room where patients/clients met. In the U.S. in the early ’90s, elements such as windows, plants and even aquariums were considered choices that might serve as symbolic material for the client. And with the easing of the concept of the therapist as “a blank slate,” shifts have continued to occur in therapy room decor. Where there was once an insistence on an impersonal space, there is now an acknowledgment that the therapist does not have to cloak their identity in a benign anonymity.

I am not a “neutral” therapist, and so my self-designed therapy room is not a neutral, or beige, space. In 2021, more than a year after I had stopped seeing clients in person in rented offices due to the pandemic, I had the opportunity to furnish and decorate my own home office. I thought about how best to create a container — a place where someone would cross the threshold and feel. Therapy can obviously generate loads of feelings, but the best container allows the client to feel it all, in a safe, comfortable environment.

Link in bio for Wendy C. Ortiz on the journey of designing her therapy room.

Words @wendy.c.ortiz
Photos @jamesmichaeljuarez

Our resident Aquarian Queen of Pentacles @gothshakira will be on hand for free astro readings on Saturday, April 18 from 2:30-3:30 p.m., Booth 412 🖤

Our resident Aquarian Queen of Pentacles @gothshakira will be on hand for free astro readings on Saturday, April 18 from 2:30-3:30 p.m., Booth 412 🖤