Boyle Heights art spot to end its run
356 Mission founders say protests not a part of decision, ‘it was just time’ after five years.
After five years operating out of an old piano warehouse on the outskirts of Boyle Heights, 356 Mission, the art space founded by Los Angeles painter Laura Owens and Ooga Booga bookstore founder Wendy Yao, will close in May, after shows by installation artist Charlemagne Palestine and painter Alake Shilling come down.
“It was a labor of love, with finite resources, and never intended to last forever,” read a written statement released to The Times on Thursday afternoon. “We still believe that art spaces are vital to the cultural empowerment of all people, and that artists can be allies of vulnerable communities.”
The closing comes in the wake of antigentrification protests that have seized headlines since 2015, when a growing number of art spaces began to establish commercial storefronts in the industrial area that hugs Mission Road, just across the river from the Arts District. 356 Mission, on at least two occasions, was the target of protests from activist coalitions such as Defend Boyle Heights.
Last year, staff at the gallery met with protesters who demanded that art galleries leave Boyle Heights. Owens declined, responding via a statement on the gallery’s website: “Alongside the protesters’ demands to
close, we have also heard the voices of artists, community groups, families, and individuals in the area who want 356 to remain open.”
Owens and Yao say their decision to now close has more to do with the natural life cycle of an artist-run space coming to an end than any protests.
“It was just time,” says Yao.
356 Mission began as Owens’ studio in 2012, where she made a series of large-scale paintings that she displayed in the space in 2013. Other events followed. At one, artist Joe Sola and Michael Webster fed an Owens painting into a wood chipper.
“That was amazing,” says Owens with a laugh.
Over time, 356 Mission grew from an informal studio and gathering spot into a more established artist-run space with a staff of eight. Over five years, they have staged more than 300 events and more than 50 exhibitions — featuring emerging unknowns as well as established figures such as Gary Indiana and appropriation artist Sturtevant in her last U.S. show before her death.
In this lightly edited conversation, Owens and Yao discuss what led them to close the space, the tug-ofwar between art and gentrification and the nature of the 356 Mission program.
What led you to shut down 356 Mission?
Owens: Our lease was ending, and we felt it was the right time. After five years, we felt that for personal and practical reasons that we had had a great experience and this is the right moment to close.
Did the antigentrification protests spur the decision?
Owens: If it was for that, we could have closed a long time ago. We talked about this so many times. If you’re in the neighborhood, you make an effort to engage.
Yao: I felt there was more that we could do there than not being there. While we don’t agree with the demands of the protesters, we really were trying to show up. We have a lot of reasons for why we are leaving. Doing the space was a labor of love and was always really hard on both of us. And the protests added to this weight.
Owens: For Wendy and I, it was like our third jobs. I teach at Art Center. I’m an artist. Wendy has a store in Chinatown [which will remain open]. She also has other jobs. So we would go there and do this after.
What will happen to the space after you move?
Owens: We talked to the landlord and we recommended ideas for a nonprofit. But we have no control over it. The landlord [Vera Campbell] is sensitive to the issues of the neighborhood.
What led you to establish 356 Mission to begin with?
Owens: I’d had shows in my studio. I’d organized shows at the Eagle Rock cultural center in the ’90s. [For the first 356 Mission shows] we had the space, and while my paintings were up, we invited people to do performances. Wendy and I got excited about saying yes to artists’ ideas.
Yao: Laura found this space and invited me to be a part of it. It made it possible for me to continue the kinds of programs I’ve always been doing, but in ways that couldn’t exist within the limitations of my store, which is like 325 square feet.
How did 356 Mission sustain itself financially?
Owens: Mainly I would sell a painting, and my gallery [the New York-based Gavin Brown] was helping by donating money from art I was selling. We did an art fair that helped fund this. If someone put their heart into something, then getting them some money for the work they made was a positive thing. But that wasn’t the motivation.
Yao: And there was never a motivation for us to take home the proceeds. We reinvested everything back in the space.
Owens: We operated at a loss the whole time.
We were trying to challenge the gallery model. We’d have things up for three months, one month, we’d let someone live in the space and make work. We’d try to follow a writer or performer’s ideas, not say “no” as much as possible.
At what point did the antigentrification protests begin, and what did you do to address them?
Yao: That was early last year.
Owens: It had started before. [One of our staff] had been to a community meeting. We had been reaching out to talk about ways we could work together. Then the Hammer [Museum’s] Artist Council, which consists of Andrea Fraser, Charles Gaines and myself, had a meeting about how artists can be better activists. So they protested that meeting. We kept trying to meet with them and did meet with them.
Yao: We feel we have more in common with the protesters than not. Artists can be instrumentalized by a real estate developer, but I think that’s why artists should work with protesters. We are against displacement, but we don’t feel that galleries closing their doors will solve those problems.
What of 356 Mission will remain with you?
Owens: I am just awed by how many different ways people use their body and their mind to create something inventive and unique. We really did have such a wide range of artists, from the young vegan cookbook writer to a 90-year-old artist. I always felt enlightened.
Yao: I grew up sitting on the floors of bookstores and record stores. Those spaces were a big part of my growth as a human. My bookstore is not a library, but it’s still a free place to hang out. You don’t have to buy anything. People can come to exchange ideas and learn. Looking back at this experience, holding space for community, it’s intense, it’s inspiring, it’s rewarding and it’s also really heartbreaking and hard. I’m grateful to have been a part of this.