Latest news with #LosAngelesNomadicDivision
New York Times
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Bronx Museum Picks New Leader
The Bronx Museum of the Arts on Thursday announced the appointment of Shamim Momin as its director and chief curator. Momin, most recently director of curatorial affairs at the Henry Art Gallery in Seattle and co-founder of Los Angeles Nomadic Division, succeeds Klaudio Rodriguez, who left his executive director post last August. Momin will begin the job in early September, amid a $42.9 million expansion and renovation that is underway and which is expected to be unveiled in fall 2026. She was selected from more than 50 candidates in a nationwide search, said the board chair, Joseph Mizzi. 'We were really looking for an impact player, somebody that was ready to hit the ground running,' Mizzi said. 'We believe with Shamim there is zero learning curve. She has the experience and her work has aligned with the work of the museum.' In an interview, Momin acknowledged the tenuousness around support for the arts in the current political climate but said that only made her want this job more. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
New York Times
29-04-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
A Coming-of-Age Party in Los Angeles That Traveled Back in Time
Just east of Downtown Los Angeles, a stylish young crowd lined up on East Olympic Boulevard in Boyle Heights on Saturday night, bathed in the pink glow of the Don Quixote banquet hall. Inside, Anita Herrera, a Los Angeles native who now lives and works as an artist in Mexico City, had curated the event and fund-raiser, El Quince, with a collective of fellow artists. Together, they reimagined and celebrated the look and traditions of early 2000s Southern California quinceañeras, which mark a girl's entry into adulthood at age 15. 'I wanted to push this conversation and push the boundary of this idea that a party is actually art,' Ms. Herrera said. 'It is actually one of the highest forms of contemporary art.' Tickets benefited Los Angeles Nomadic Division (LAND), an organization that supports local artists and their projects throughout the city and is celebrating its 15th anniversary. Quinceañeras have always taken many forms, but in recent years, some have made a turn for the extravagant. There are backyard parties, as well as big-ticket affairs in lavish halls. More recently, teenage boys have also stepped into the spotlight, hosting their own coming-of-age parties. But the heart of the quinceañera — and the feeling of belonging and of being seen and celebrated by the community — endures. Ms. Herrera, who has family ties to the Mexican state of Michoacán, was born and raised in Huntington Park, Calif., a city just southeast of downtown Los Angeles, which she calls the 'quinceañera capital of Los Angeles.' Pacific Boulevard, which runs through the neighborhood, is a cultural hub of dress and suit shops, party supply stores and various other vendors that cater to quinceañeras and similar celebrations. But she didn't have a quinceañera when she was 15. 'I wanted my parents to use the money for something else,' Ms. Herrera said. Still, Los Angeles — specifically Huntington Park — remains a muse. Her recent work has included a series of curated parties, designed to spark conversations around navigating dual identities. The events, called the Diaspora Dialogues, 'are about creating spaces where even if you don't understand the same language, you can still understand the same communal language of celebration, and it's not just about Mexican culture,' Ms. Herrera said. The hall inside Don Quixote, a popular setting for quinceañeras, weddings and baptisms for nearly four decades, was decorated in sky blue and white. In the center of the stage, beneath a blue-and-white balloon arch, there was an extravagant multitiered cake, with small bridge staircases and a glowing fountain. 'I chose the pastel baby blue for the night because it's nostalgic to me, and it was a universally loved color of that time,' Ms. Herrera said. There was a portrait of the quinceañera court, comprising artists affiliated with LAND, and a collage of quinceañera pictures that were submitted by community members and party attendees from their own personal photo albums. A lavish, shimmering periwinkle quinceañera gown, designed by Diego Medel, a dress designer based in Huntington Park, hung on a mannequin. Throughout the banquet hall, attendees were dressed in full glam, with a nod to Y2K style. There were pastel and metallic slip dresses alongside shiny suits and boxy blazers, as well as mini braids, pigtail buns and hair gems. 'I didn't have a quinceañera because I couldn't afford it,' said Ashley Sherengo, a marketing director who was dressed in a short, pastel pink, butterfly-printed dress with matching butterfly clips in her hair. 'That's why I was super excited to go to this event,' she added. 'Now that I'm 32, reliving these moments as an adult feels super special and nostalgic.' The participating artists also wanted to push the cultural boundaries. Quinceañeras can be costly and often as expensive as weddings. The parties have also traditionally leaned into femininity, reinforcing stereotypical gender norms and expectations placed on women. 'This party is not so rooted in tradition,' said Lizette Hernández, 32, a participating artist from Compton, Calif. 'I feel like quinceañeras have a lot of rooted problems with sexism and classism, and this one is inclusive and open to communities that maybe felt excluded in the past,' she said. Attendees took a seat for dinner, while waiters began to serve birria — a traditional meat stew — along with beans and rice. As the lights dimmed, and a fog machine filled the room. It was time for one of the most important parts of any traditional quinceañera — el vals, or the waltz. Ten of LAND's artists were introduced as they walked in pairs onto the dance floor to the sound of the Puerto Rican singer Chayanne's 'Tiempo de Vals.' At the center of the floor, the singer-songwriter San Cha sat on the ground, resting her face against a nearby stool as if asleep in a dream. Suddenly, she awoke and rose to be greeted by the markers of this rite of passage — presented with a doll, sneakers and a crown. She began to sing, performing a cover of Selena's 'Si Una Vez,' with accompaniment by the saxophonist Lu Coy. San Cha then climbed onto the long rectangular quinceañera court table, transitioning into 'Cucurrucucú Paloma,' As she reached the finale, her voice was overtaken by cheers and applause from the audience. Many attendees filled the dance floor and danced to hip-hop from the early 2000s and regional Mexican music, while others had their portraits taken. In a dressing room, Ms. Herrera took a moment for herself. 'All our personal histories go into our collective histories, and the quinceañera is one of those big cultural touchpoints,' Ms. Herrera said, reflecting on the evening, as artists walked through her dressing room. 'Tonight was about making something — maybe not with the traditions of the family you were born with — but with your chosen family.'
Los Angeles Times
22-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Relive a Y2K quinceañera in L.A., in all its nostalgia and tenderness
Los Angeles Nomadic Division is celebrating 15 years of championing the city's artists, and cultural curator Anita Herrera is throwing a true Y2K L.A. quinceañera in its honor on April 26. Titled 'El Quince,' the creative project, fundraiser and celebration is just the latest example of Herrera using parties as an artistic medium, which feels like a fitting way to celebrate the milestone at LAND, an organization known for realizing artists' projects. For 'El Quince,' Herrera is paying homage to the classic quince cornerstones, hosting a sit-down dinner catered by La Birria House and honoring lauded Huntington Park dressmaker Diego Medel with an installation. She's also bringing in her community of artists to add to the tapestry of the night, including a photo booth designed by artist Alfonso Gonzalez Jr. and a performance by singer San Cha. 'El Quince' not only calls back to the early 2000s aesthetically, with a color scheme of baby blue and white, but symbolically, being a kind of family affair where everyone pitches in. 'The quinces of that time were full of imagination, love and community effort,' Herrera says. 'There were so many classic details that marked the era: spiral balloon arches, fog machines, foam plates stacked high with the celebratory dish of birria, the recuerdos with custom ribbons, the fountain castle tower cakes, the airbrush T-shirts for the baile de sorpresa, which became popular in the 2000s. They were more humble back then. They were more about being together, and less about perfection.' For the occasion, Herrera and LAND brought together a group of beloved L.A. artists as the quince court. For the quince photo shoot, they were immortalized by photographer Carlos Jaramillo at Huntington Park City Hall and styled by designer Hoza Rodriguez. 'It's this major milestone,' LAND director Laura Hyatt says about the organization turning 15. 'It got [me and Anita] talking about that moment in people's lives and what it means — all of the kind of complicated colonial, patriarchal associations of a quinceañera. Anita's work is all-inclusive — it is so specific to her diasporic experience and upbringing in Huntington Park, but there's such an invitation there for everyone no matter what your individual background is. Everyone can identify with that moment in time.' We asked the 'El Quince' court to share their first or favorite quinceañera memory, evoking feelings of nostalgia, cringe, reclamation and tenderness. My parents would talk a lot about having debts in this country. With quinces, everyone has to pitch in. One time, my mom was a madrina for a quinceañera and she would take us to Food 4 Less to buy all these sodas — the 2 liters. She would do one Pepsi and one off-brand cola. She was like, 'We're going to be cheap but also present as if we have money.' She told me she was the Madrina de las Sodas. We went to that quince and left, then heard there was a fight and a possible shooting — this was in the Central Valley. My whole life she told me, 'You're not going to have a quince because we're not asking for money.' But I did have a small quince. I used to sing at church. The children's choir was on Saturday nights. What we did was get a dress — and I'm from San Jose — from the little fashion stores there that would be the equivalent of Santee Alley. It was more of a dama dress. They dedicated the mass to me and then we took everyone to my backyard. My tío got us a conjunto and we had norteño music all night. It was the first time I had money in my pocket too. All my uncles gave me cards with money. I grew up in Huntington Park and I was literally the chambelan of so many quinceañeras. I was trained as a little kid to dance. It was kind of a nightmare to be honest because I wanted to do so much as a kid, but instead, after school, I had to go to some tía's backyard to learn [choreography] and it just never stopped. I was like, 'Dude, I hate this.' There were a lot of them — three in one year. It just absorbed my teenage years. I'd have to wear this pachuco suit as a little 14-year-old dude, hanging out in the limo and s—. There's a quince market and some chambelans are in demand. You want that person on your court because they're a good dancer or whatever it is, but it is exhausting on your end. But now I know how to waltz with my eyes closed. I hit the tempo right. The waltz is really traditional and easy, but the baile sorpresa is what you actually spend your hours trying to learn. I remember one [quince] they made us dance to the 'I Like Big Butts' song by Sir Mix-A-Lot. I remember it being so f—ing cringe to do it in front of my mom. [Laughs.] It's almost like going to church: you don't want to go, you have to go. It's your duty. Also, you're celebrating your loved ones' coming of age. It's this traditional thing that's more prideful for the parents. I grew up in a really mixed Long Beach Mexican and Samoan family, so a lot of my cousins were also half Mexican and half Samoan. I remember being really little and having a lot of teenage girl cousins and getting to be in and around their quinceañeras. My mom, who actually is the Samoan one in my family, got really into making quinceañera cakes during the early '90s. She would make them for my cousin's parties and there would be these huge tiered cakes that would have a little water fountain in them and I remember pouring 7Up into these little plastic bubbly water fountains and they'd have all these little figurines on plastic little staircases that went between the tiers. I remember my mom making whipped cream roses, placing them on the cake. Then I remember my godsister's quinceañera. She had this really elaborate party in Long Beach and I remember going to the parks, taking photos. I remember the big curly bangs and the plastic tiaras that they would all wear. The big 2 liters of soda on every table. All the centerpieces and decor. I attended way less [quinces] when I was actually quinceañera-aged — I thought of myself as a little punk rocker and didn't have one or want to have one. Which is why this is so sweet that we get to do this in our art community. When we did the photo shoot, it kind of took me back to that level of preparation and our big family home. There's a great collective effort that comes together for a celebration like a quinceañera to take place — a convergence of many hands and histories. But with that comes complicated feelings and difficult truths. I often sit with the tension of what quinceañeras represent: the way families, often with limited means, stretch themselves thin to honor a tradition rooted in classism, sexism and cultural expectations that don't always serve us. Still, my earliest memory of a quince is tethered not to critique, but to awe. It was in preparing for my older sister's party that I first consciously witnessed my mother in her fullest creative expression. Amid long workdays and raising a family, she carved out space to dream. She pored over magazines, piecing together a mood board of colors, fabrics and florals. She envisioned every detail and sourced every material herself. We took countless trips across Los Angeles — to Pacific Boulevard, Santee Alley and the Flower District downtown. Each stop was a step in her vision's unfolding. Everyone in our family played a role: transforming our multi-unit shared yard in Compton into an imagined ballroom, stringing lights, arranging tables, turning the driveway into a makeshift dance floor. My mother made my sister's lavender dress by hand, sewing late into the night. My siblings and I helped with centerpieces and floral arrangements to match. I remember our home became an artist's studio. Looking back, I still hold my critiques — but I also hold immense tenderness. The magic wasn't in the tradition itself, but in the way my mother poured love and longing into creating something she never got to experience in her own childhood. In many ways, it was healing for my mother and for us, as her children, to witness. I was thinking a lot about my cousin's quince, probably around 2002. My cousin's colors were the classic baby blue, similar to what Anita's trying to do. I was, of course, the little cousin chambelan, and I was the youngest one amongst her homies and homegirls. It was definitely that era of beepers and pagers. I remember all of her friends kind of having them. They were in a party crew as well, they would post on an early website. That was a trip. One thing that I remember was the choreographers for the quince. It was an elderly couple, but they were really serious about their choreography — they would have us stand up straight and practice the steps over and over. They got down. Really OG-like. I remember the baile sorpresa was to 'Big Pimpin'' by Jay-Z. I remember us rolling up in a Yukon to the party. It was at a salon in Huntington Park, of course. I got kicked out of school because I got into a fight with another girl [at a quince], and I just remember it was something that didn't even matter to me. I was not here in the U.S., I was in Guatemala. I got expelled. It was hard for me to get into another school and so I had to go to school on the weekends, and here I am now. Even though it's not a happy memory, to me it's still funny. Back in 2007, whenever I turned 30, the 'Phantom Sightings' exhibition just opened and I was feeling especially good about myself and my career. Me and my friend Brenda Zuniga, a camera person for 'Abbott Elementary,' among others, had our joint treinteañera together because we're both Aries. We had a doble quince at this gallery I was showing at the time called Tropico De Nopal Art Space in Echo Park. We had a band play, and we put Boone's Farm centerpieces on the tables. All my friends who never had quinces got to come and I told everyone to put on their best quince dresses. It was a bunch of 30-year-old women in quince dresses. When I did start going to quinceañeras I was pretty young. All of my older cousins were maybe four years older than me — that would put me at 10, 11 years old. More than anything, I remember having to dress up, putting on a nice outfit, but being excited that I get to see my cousins and we get to play tag and cause a ruckus. The quinceañera that I'm thinking about, they had a separate room just for the kids because they knew we would probably be getting annoying. I can remember hearing the music in the other room going off, obviously cumbias and stuff like that, and then watching the baile between the father and the daughter. Seeing all my uncles and my aunts and everybody coming from out of town that is family, but you don't even know them. That energy of everybody coming together and being really excited to see each other and obviously celebrate the quinceañera. I've been a chambelan before. It was for my cousin. My suit was all white and baby blue inside. It's funny, I think we actually took the photos at the Huntington Park City Hall because she's from that area. At the time, I was a skater, so I was always late to the rehearsal, showing up super sweaty from skateboarding. My other cousins were in it. I was excited for the quince, of course, but all the guy cousins were just excited for the limo. We scooted back the sunroof and chugged as much soda as we could before showing up at the church and waiting for it to be over because it was the most boring part. Then we went to the party, and we were all excited because it was all of my cousin's friends, and you'd try to talk to all the girls and show off whatever dance moves you had. We tried to sneak out a couple beers, drink them in the back. You'd take off your dress shirt in the middle of the party, so that by the end of the night you were just in your white T-shirt and pants. I grew up in Anaheim and our apartment complex that I lived in had a space in the middle of the apartments, and we'd just have parties there — baptisms, a couple of quinceañeras with my cousins. It was also cheaper not to rent a salon, of course, but I just remember everyone from the neighborhood also being invited. My mom was usually the one that would get asked to make the food for some of the quinceañeras. It'd be birria, frijoles … For me, that food would be one of the biggest things of the quinces that I enjoyed growing up. Amazing food, tías talking over beers. I don't have too many quince memories because I didn't have one. My family is born again-Christian, so almost nobody in my family had one — none of my cousins had them, they all had a Sweet 16 instead. We converted from Catholicism when [all of my cousins that lived in Montebello] were about 7, 8, 9 years old. So the quince memories that I have were with my friends in middle school, high school. The one memory that stands out the most is that I had a friend who had this giant quince at Tacos Mexico on Olympic because they have a big banquet hall. It was catered by Tacos Mexico and the colors were sea-foam green and silver. I think this was 2002. It made me really jealous because my cousins and I wanted quinceañeras, and our parents were like, 'No.' That was my first quinceañera — I wasn't on the court or anything, but all my friends were and it was such a cool party, like a mini wedding. [Participating in 'El Quince' now], it feels very nostalgic, like an alternate universe. It's going to be so much fun because I know they're gonna play all of the music from back then and I get to relive my butterfly clip and twisted hair dreams.
Los Angeles Times
18-04-2025
- Science
- Los Angeles Times
A tale of two artworks
Turns out 'Fume' is funded by Los Angeles Nomadic Division (LAND) and is roving around Los Angeles over the next few months collecting air quality data. If you want to see the sculpture IRL, here is a tentative schedule (dates and locations may change) that Carlos shared, check his Instagram (@homeboysdontcry) for more details.
