Los Angeles Times Image

@latimesimage

Celebrating L.A.’s limitless brilliance, with style
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Rest in peace to L.A. icon, elder, master jeweler and Godfather of Leimert Park @sikadwimfo . “I live a very simple life,” Sika told Image in 2022. “I just try and do right as much as I possibly can.” 🤍👑 📸: @cloudnai
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9 vor Tagen
Care, for the artist Patty Chang, has as much to do with traditional forms of caregiving as it does with a need to care for the environment. It also has to do with fear. Anxieties, exacerbated by parenthood and climate change, punctuate her recent projects. “With all the artworks, I feel like the whole process changes everything that I know and everything that I think about,” says Chang. “And why else would I do this? Because nobody wants you to do it.” ✍️: @cgwagley 📸: @junebugkim
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9 vor Tagen
It’s no wonder that Cancer season brings some of our deepest sentiments to the surface — it is the only astrological sign ruled by the moon, whose gravitational pull is in constant interaction with the 60% of the human body that is made up of water. Not just a water sign, but *the* water sign, some would say, Cancer has liquid depths that serve to remind us that the heart is at once delicate and meant to be felt, not known. Could it be, also, that the heart is meant to be consumed? We see a potent metaphor for the fourth sign of the zodiac in the @monogermany cutlery set — a shiny smattering of tools for that sacred source of comfort: eating. ✍️: @gothshakira 🎨: @bethhoeckel
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12 vor Tagen
Anh Phoong isn’t afraid of heights. She has a vivid memory of herself in college dancing on top of a nightclub speaker. It’s an image that her friends won’t let her live down to this day, telling her, “Anh, all we remember you as is the girl on speakers.” Now, she’s the woman on billboards. If her name doesn’t immediately ring a bell, it will when it’s said in a sentence: “Something wrong? Call Anh Phoong.” I first saw the personal injury attorney’s blue-and-yellow billboards last November. They struck me in a way that no other lawyer billboard has. There was a campiness that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, so I snapped a photo and posted it on my Instagram story. “This is such a serve,” I typed. Immediately, other friends replied, also curious about this Asian woman who was giving Jacoby & Meyers and Shen Yun a run for their money. ✍️: @bokchoybaddie 📸: @kanyaiwana 👗: @humberto Production: @merestudios 💄: @houseofdaphne 💇🏻‍♀️: @hairbyadrian 📸 assist: Jeremy Sinclair 👗 assist: @born_slippie
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13 vor Tagen
I like to compare going to the Hollywood Bowl to a hike or camping trip, with its myriad hazards and environmental concerns. When do we eat? What’s the weather like? Should we pack a blanket? Everyone has their Hollywood Bowl ritual, the tidy little agenda that helps alleviate the chaos of L.A.’s most stunning existential crisis. Besides the obvious, I struggle the most with what to wear. I want to dress up, because I dress up for everything. I dress up to clean out my rain gutters, so I’m naturally going to want to dress up for John Williams night. That’s just how I am. But the Bowl often demands sensible attire. A suit and hard-bottom shoes mean you’d better not walk. This is summer in Los Angeles, so you should wear something that breathes. Linen, perhaps? Just stay away from shorts. This is not Venice Beach or a family barbecue in Reseda, for God’s sake. ✍🏾: @dwschilling
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15 vor Tagen
“Oh there’s a line?” I hear on three separate occasions at the door of the Firmé Atelier show at John Doe Gallery. Inside, the atelier is showcasing a meticulous couture bridal collection in a museum-style exhibition. The line isn’t exactly inconspicuous. It casually flows under scaffolding. 11th Street is lined with sleek lowriders and old friends have reunited as the DJ spins ‘90s and 2000s R&B. It feels like a really well dressed block party. A week earlier, at the Swedish designer Gustaf Westman’s first solo pop-up shop on Sunset Boulevard, hundreds of fans are hoping to score the TikTok-famous cups, plates, mirrors and seats found in the homes of Yung Lean, Emma Chamberlain, Reign Judge, Matilda Djerf and Tyler, the Creator. “If you know, you know, and we definitely know” is definitely the vibe here. “What’s the line for?” a Patagonia-vested tourist asks, and a Miu Miu bag-touting baddie completely ignores him. 🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️More at link in bio🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️ ✍🏾: @astrid.kayembe 📸: @leeban.farah
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26 vor Tagen
People reveal the best and worst parts of themselves while waiting in a queue. For sample sales, for example, I get a little competitive. Surely, no one likes this brand like *I* like the brand. Except, of course they do. Why else would we make ourselves a part of a spectacle to passersby on a sunny Sunday afternoon on Fairfax? Once that fact settles after hours, a sense of community is formed. We’re all eavesdropping on our line neighbors. We all hope that the coveted item from five drops ago is 70% off. We all need our spot saved to refill the parking meter. We’re marveling at how folks have assembled pieces we were either too broke or unsure to buy. It’s inspiring, even comforting. In L.A., lines wield a transcendent power to reveal who we are, our desire to be seen and what we’re willing to do for them. 🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️More at link in bio🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️🚶🏾‍♀️ ✍🏾: @astrid.kayembe 📸: @leeban.farah
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27 vor Tagen
There are 38 walls in my house, including the ceilings. Of those, 14 are fully painted, 10 are in varying stages of completion, seven are covered in paint swatches and two are haphazardly skim-coated. The remaining five are as nature (the previous homeowners) made them, for now. I am now used to living in a kind of aesthetic limbo. I work beside a stack of gallon cans, paint trays and crumpled canvas drop cloths, below a half-painted ceiling. I no longer notice the flashes of lime green tape caressing door frames, encircling bathroom floors and smothering naked outlets. For the last six months, I’ve gone to sleep each night confronted with the same impossible choice swatched on the wall: Should the bedroom be Farrow & Ball’s Breakfast Room Green, Behr’s Roof Top Garden or Backdrop’s Lawn Party? This purgatory is entirely of my own design — there are no professionals involved. Professionals get the job done. They make decisions, they bring their own rollers, they already own ladders. I self-impose and prolong these chaotic experiments because collectively, they form a promise: that one day I’ll be able to live happily in the house I’ve always wanted. 🖌️🖌️🖌️More at link in bio🖌️🖌️🖌️ ✍️: @design.out.of.reach 📸: @img2121.jpeg
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1 vor einem Monat
In this sunny, gloomy town, it’s not just that things are often not as they seem — they are more than. Excess competes with restraint for the same parking spot, and they keep promising each other they’ll get lunch (neither can decide if they want to follow through). Youth and experience attend the same cocktail hour, and both leave early — one, to not miss the last bus to the Eastside; the other, to be well rested for 7 a.m. hot Pilates. To make a home of this metropolitan desert oasis requires a certain cognitive dissonance, a willingness to accept that multiple worlds will nest into each other simultaneously forever and there’s nothing you can do about it (nor would you want to). After all, the dapple of sunlit pool water reflected on the underside of a patio umbrella on a 75-degree day in June is just the mirror image of a grimy, chilly May fog crystallized on the palm trees lining cracked asphalt streets. Thanks to the ever-providential mercurial gods, we have been granted permission to leave either/or in Taurus season. Everybody knows Gemini season is for both/and. Anyone who has ever tried to make a home of a Gemini (another kind of desert oasis) understands, for better or worse, that their beloved is an enigma of contradictions that somehow make all too much sense when looked at as the sum of a kaleidoscopic whole. It is in the spirit of this supple duality that we encounter the @rickowensonline Silver Gemini key chain, aptly and concisely named as such because, well, isn’t it obvious? ✍🏼: @gothshakira 🎨: @bethhoeckel
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1 vor einem Monat
It’s the final week to see “At the Edge of the Sun,” a group show celebrating the places, connections and references that make up a scene of artists and friends in L.A at @jeffreydeitchgallery . Being in the same room with these artists, a comfort and familiarity rises to the surface. Their own little world forms around them, where they all speak the same language and have been for a long time. They knew that if “At the Edge of the Sun” was going to come from them, it had to come from *them.* “They are defining art, creating it for themselves,” says gallerist Jeffrey Deitch. “They’re not fighting to be recognized. They’re articulating the new L.A. aesthetics. That’s the big difference.” 📸: @sami_helou Lighting design and photo assist: @dr.farfetched and @saulebarrera Location: @el_new_jalisco_bar
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1 vor einem Monat
For @thejay305 , smelling good is sanctity. A trail of musks, resinous woods and creamy florals follow him around like an orb of protection. But the real flex, the never-ending quest, is to smell unlike anyone else. At Scent Bar DTLA (@luckyscent ), the niche perfume boutique with locations at The Row, Hollywood and New York City, the South-Central rapper is picking up perfumes and putting them to his nose in short progression, leaving a collection of bulbous and angular bottles in his wake. He is looking for something that stimulates him almost reflexively, the way a fragrance that’s truly meant for you will. Jay came in with a list of possible contenders written on his Notes app, which he does often: Parfum de Marly’s Layton, Initio Parfums Privés’ Oud for Greatness, Nasomatto’s Black Afgano. Beast-mode fragrances with an air of mystery, or spirituality. The kind of perfumes that make an introduction for you. “Scent, it’s like your brand,” Jay says. Jay’s latest EP, called “Don’t Wait Until I Die,” made in collaboration with rapper and producer @hitboy , takes a page from the deep, oily, enveloping scents that have become his signature. The record, which dropped in May, is complex, dealing with themes of legacy and mortality. He’s been wearing ouds as part of his creative process when making the EP, one of the most expensive — and divisive — notes in perfumery known as “wood of the gods.” “It has a darker tone to it, but it’s still spiritual, it’s still healing, which is what ‘Don’t Wait Until I Die’ is,” he says. “Don’t wait until I’m gone to remember my scent.” 📸: @jheydamc ✍🏽: @goodjuju8
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1 vor einem Monat
Hundreds of artists are set to parade through the streets of Skid Row Saturday, a brass band booming behind them, in a biennial celebration known as Walk the Talk, which has taken place in L.A. since 2012. Put on by the @lapovertydepartment — a performance group and arts program founded by director-performer-activist John Malpede in 1985 — the parade honors the neighborhood's artists, activists and community members. Too many people see Skid Row as a transient space, and, in many ways, Walk the Talk is about acknowledging Skid Row as a home, including a home to artists. “Skid Row, it’s a gregarious community,” Malpede says. Along the route Saturday, several people will be holding up smiling portraits of themselves, part of a long-held tradition in which the parade honors people from the neighborhood. This year’s portraits were created by Armenian artist Hayk Makhmuryan, who imagines honorees as landmarks. Ahead of Walk the Talk, a number of the honorees shared what the neighborhood has taught them about home and belonging. 📸: @nichelledailey
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1 vor einem Monat