Adolfo Guzman-Lopez
Adolfo's been a reporter at NPR affiliate KPCC since 2000. He's reported on three L.A. mayors, four L.A. Unified superintendents, and covered the LAPD batons and rubber bullets flying at the May, 2007 MacArthur Park immigrant march. In 1994 he co-founded the poetry-performance group The Taco Shop Poets. He continues to wander the sidewalks, streets and freeways of Southern California searching for the right words for the sounds he hears.
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Instead of cherubs, or lace fringed pillows and a velvet couch, Carolyn Castaño has painted her narco-beauty queens among bucolic fields of opium poppies, pixilated marihuana leaves, and bursting pink coca-flower blossoms.
The L.A. County Museum of Art curator was aghast that Southland patrons walking through the galleries looking at 18th century colonial Latin American caste paintings were using them as a litmus test for their own skin color and race.
As a teenager growing up in East L.A. in the 1970s Reyes Rodriguez would peek into the Mechicano Art Center and soak in the energy of artists energized by the Chicano civil rights movement.
Through an in-law's invitation I found myself in the Teramoto home in front of traditional Japanese food, a forest of whiskey bottles, and this family's century-long history in LA.
These are the empty days. Their hours are filled with blank stares past cubicle walls and through tinted windows. The end is not over and the beginning is far from started.
Two lines inched forward at LA Live next to the Staples Center several hours before the Mexican Independence Day celebrations tonight. Mostly Spanish overheard, in various accents.
He's an acrobat of words, hard-wired from his infancy in Mexico City to reject a singular definition and instead see each palabra as a fork in the road, with multiple paths to leapfrog, skip, duel with, embrace, kiss, or pass up.
Interstate 10 ties Los Angeles to Phoenix.
The middle aged man, George Ramos of Corona, holds his hand out and bows his head. The tips of his fingers remain six inches from the earthen, long-finger-nailed hand of the Tzitzimitl. Apart from wondering what in the world he was doing, what struck m...
The first stage of World Cup mourning is denial.
Imagine, if you will, Dorothy "Buffy" Chandler dancing in the aisle to Los Tigres del Norte's "Contrabando y traición" at the Disney Concert Hall tonight.