Mimi Zeiger

Critic, editor, curator and instigator.

“A critic can always change her mind,” I thought to myself as I hunted for parking off Wilshire Boulevard. At a stoplight, the full flank of Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s David Geffen Galleries filled my windshield. Late afternoon sun cut sideways and glinted warmly off the large glass panes, each framed in brass. Floppy palm trees masked the hefty concrete structure as it arced over the street. Despite the hour, the constellation of fairy lights embedded in the cantilevered roof were on, twinkling. I looked up at Swiss architect Peter Zumthor’s 347,500-square-foot structure, completed in collaboration with SOM, and thought, “Hmm, not so bad.”

Many folks have remarked that the museum’s panoramic facade is cinematic and reference auteur directors. But maybe it’s a rom-com? In a Jane Austen novel, this would be the détournement—the plot twist when the protagonist’s object of derision turns to one of affection, if not desire. The Pritzker Prize–winning architect’s scheme has been my Mr. Darcy since its black flower—a tribute to a tar puddle—was first revealed in 2012. Read More …

“Last summer, when LACMA opened the doors of the David Geffen Galleries for a tantalizing sneak peek, reactions swiftly cut across party lines: Those who dig the allure of brutal Swissness seemed pleased; others pointed out lime stains and less-than-meticulous concrete detailing. The new building is appealing in the way a dam or highway is appealing. (It’s impossible to know how it’ll look with artwork banged into those massive walls.) With this bridge to nowhere, Zumthor (and SOM) may have produced infrastructural thrall, but is it a museum—a county museum meant to serve all Angelenos? With a vast, sun-blasted plaza and vertiginous climb to the first floor, it’s a dubious welcome.”
Read More …

Denise Scott Brown would probably hate it if I read Encounters as biography. As the book’s editor Izzy Kornblatt goes to lengths to explain, this collection of the architect’s photography is meant to offer a series of visual lessons in how to see the world from a perspective inflected by the generous teachings of the likes of sociologist Herbert Gans. Yet given such tantalizing archival materials, nearly 400 photographs taken between the 1950s and 1970s, the urge to parse the details of her life through them holds sway.

Our time loves to conflate image and identity. In recent decades, Scott Brown has been embraced in somewhat contradictory ways as a refractory voice for calling out longstanding bias in the field, as she does in lectures and writings such as “Room at the Top? Sexism and the Star System in Architecture” (1989). She’s also become a mumsy avatar of postmodernism. Encounters enforces neither role.

Read More …

I have yet to make a pilgrimage to The Sphere, but I think about it more than I’d like to admit, searching for tickets to see Dead & Company under its dome of high-resolution screens or doling out Instagram likes to friends who road-tripped east on Interstate 15 in search of immersive communion. As Las Vegas’s newest attraction, The Sphere opened in 2023, but the values it embodies were there all along. These are captured in the latest photo book from Iwan Baan, Rome – Las Vegas: Bread and Circuses: desire, spectacle, the “horror” of global tourism, as contributing essayist Ryan Scavnicky puts it after Nikola Tesla. For all the earthly talk of showgirls and slot machines, fear and loathing, ducks and decorated sheds, Sin City is a place of passion and transcendence: a truth closer to godliness than devilish temptation.

Read More …

Victory Boulevard cuts a straight line through the suburban San Fernando Valley. It’s a 20th-century time capsule: a wide swath of asphalt lined by lowrise retail, gas stations, and fast food outlets that sprung up after acres of orange groves were bulldozed. More recently, infill housing has sporadically plugged in the gaps between strip malls and midcentury apartment buildings, but as a place, the Valley’s commercial corridor is bleak and sunbaked, even on a winter day.

Read More …

Is Oceanwide Plaza an object lesson? Stalled for more than five years, the project in Downtown Los Angeles stands half-built, filling an entire block across the street from the Crypto.com arena and the L.A. convention center. Tall grasses grow in the gaps between materials and equipment abandoned when its bankrupt Beijing-based developer, Oceanwide Holdings, pulled the plug in 2019. This $1.2 billion ruin of global capital sat untended all through the pandemic, quietly emblematic of overreaching speculative development.

Read More …

Much has been said about how we live in a time of acceleration. We strive for fast and interconnected. And yet, a considerable body of discourse takes the counter position, arguing for rest, care, and immobility. In her 2019 book How to Do Nothing, Jenny Odell urges us to turn away from the churn, writing, “Our very idea of productivity is premised on the idea of producing something new, whereas we do not tend to see maintenance and care as productive in the same way.”

Architecture, too, is caught in the thrall. Although buildings take time, we’re junkies for novelty. Museumbuildings are particular eye candy. Supposed freedoms of art and culture push desires for formal inventiveness. But what would it mean to construct a museum in slow motion?

Read More …

It didn’t matter that I never had a class with Mike Davis when I was at SCI-Arc: His presence was felt. City of Quartz was on the summer reading list; I remember reading my copy on Santa Monica Beach, my brain recalibrating all my preconceptions. Los Angeles was not as superficial—as “sunshine,” as Davis put it—as I had been indoctrinated growing up in the Bay Area. It was layered and dark like a Raymond Chandler paperback. Forget it, Jake.

The forces that shaped L.A. post-1992 uprising were to be explored and critiqued with architecture as a complicit actor: defensive, militarized, surveilled. After reading Davis, it’s impossible not to look for the all-seeing security cameras in every public space. His books have caught flack for being hyperbolic and making sweeping generalizations, which is probably what made them such cinematic page turners. Looking back now, I see that his work seeped into my subconscious, swirled around with the words of other now-passed writers Dave Hickey, John Chase, Joan Didion, and Eve Babitz, and the resulting brew seeped into my criticism. For this, I’m grateful.

In Frank Gehry’s oeuvre there are the big, career-defining projects—like Walt Disney Hall and the Louis Vuitton Foundation—and there are the minor works: buildings that have smaller footprints and more humble design ambitions but are fortified with good intensions. Gehry Partners has been dabbling in this latter category of late, first with the Beckmen YOLA Center, a community center and youth music conservatory built for the LA Phil’s youth orchestra housed in a retrofitted bank building in Inglewood, and recently, a new 20,000-square-foot campus for Children’s Institute in Watts.

The firm provided architectural services pro bono to the 100-year-old support organization, which addresses poverty and health inequity. It’s an imprimatur that is as much philanthropic as it is architectural—perhaps even more so, as Gehry’s name conveys instant recognition to board members and donors. “The Children’s Institute is about helping families who are victims of trauma and violence,” said Sam Gehry, associate at Gehry Partners and Frank’s son. “[Its mission] is something that we are passionate about.”

Read More …

ADUs will not solve L.A.’s housing crisis. Last February, the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority gathered staff and volunteers for the 2022 Greater Los Angeles Point-in-Time Homeless Count, its first since the start of the pandemic. When the count was last conducted in 2020, close to 67,000 people were reported unhoused in Los Angeles County, a place where the median single-family home price is just over $800,000. Both the number of people who live in tents, in cars, and on the street and the cost of buying a home continue to rise more than 10 percent annually. These figures should leave us aghast and angry, but in California these yearly escalations have a numbing effect, even as the underlying precarity remains real and insistent.

Read More …