The Brief

You’ll want to take your time with this exhibition: the work in “Amalia Mesa-Bains: Archaeology of Memory” spans more than 30 years of the pioneering Chicana artist’s career.

Now on view at The Cheech in Riverside, the retrospective features dozens of multimedia pieces, including large-scale installations that teem with small, beautiful details. (One piece, the artist told LAist, has 400 objects in it.) Mirrors are also featured throughout the space. For Mesa-Bains, you, too, are worthy of contemplation.

The show engages with many themes, but, above all, it emphasizes how people of Mexican descent have turned to creativity and community to withstand racism, colonization, xenophobia and exploitation. In examining this lineage, the artist inserts herself — and museum-goers — among a cadre of irrepressible women.

Mesa-Bains was born in Santa Clara in 1943. Her parents were undocumented Mexican immigrants. They and the rest of her family raised other people’s children, worked the fields, tended to strangers’ gardens, fixed cars and built homes for people across the United States. Images of Mesa-Bains’ loved ones also play a key role in her work.

Laura Pérez, an ethnic studies professor and chair of UC Berkeley’s Latinx Research Center, co-curated the exhibition. Mesa-Bains, she said, “honors the people who came before us, [and] the people who are here now . . . And all her memories, they begin with her own flesh and blood.”

An overdue retrospective

Mesa-Bains has been making art for more than a half century. Her pieces are held in major collections, including the Whitney and the Smithsonian. In 1992, she won the prestigious MacArthur Grant. And yet, until recently, there had been no focused survey of her work.

“Retrospectives are really important,” said María Esther Fernández, artistic director at The Cheech. They’re “an opportunity to see the depth and breadth of an artist's work.”

Male artists usually get retrospectives in their 40s and 50s, Pérez said. When she and Fernández managed to get the Mesa-Bains exhibition off the ground, the artist “was on the cusp of 80.”

After earning a bachelor’s degree in painting at San José State University, Mesa-Bains earned two master’s degrees, followed by a doctorate in clinical psychology. On top of being an accomplished visual artist, Mesa-Bains is an educator and cultural critic. In fact, Fernández first encountered Mesa-Bains through her writing. As an undergrad at UCLA, Fernández read “Domesticana,” in which Mesa-Bains responds to Tomás Ybarra-Frausto’s seminal essay on Chicano artistic sensibilities.

Mesa-Bains, in short, is a titan. And for Fernández and Pérez, the fact that she had not had a retrospective was “a scandal.” Together, they set out to right that wrong.

The co-curators launched the Mesa-Bains exhibition at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive in 2022. The show has traveled to New York, Phoenix and San Antonio. The national tour concludes at The Cheech. It runs until Aug. 3.

The show deliberately stops at cities with large Latino populations, Pérez said. “We wanted people to feel that the museum is theirs.” She also believes the retrospective has served to expand the public’s understanding of American art.

Since the show’s launch, Mesa-Bains told LAist, museum-goers of all ages have approached her in person and online. “I have had deep conversations with people about things like grief, family, loss, rage, land, history — everything. And I'm stunned by it sometimes,” she said.

These conversations, Mesa-Bains added, have fortified her belief in “the path I took, which was not popular, and the things I made, which were rarely valued — until quite recently.”

'My goal is to build a counternarrative'

The Mesa-Bains retrospective includes a mixed-media installation titled “What the River Gave to Me.” It’s a sculptural landscape that depicts the U.S.-Mexico border. But in this rendition of the contested geopolitical space, there are no coils of concertina wire. The Rio Grande runs freely through the earth, and hand-blown glass rocks, made by San Francisco-based artist Viviana Paredes, bear the names of families who’ve made the perilous journey to get across. The artwork pays homage to migrants and to the ties that bind families on either side.

Detail from "What the River Gave to Me" (2002).

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Daria Lugina

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Courtesy of The Cheech Marin Center for Chicano Art & Culture

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Mesa-Bains made this installation in 2002, but “it's very timely, unfortunately,” Fernández said. “We're in this very critical moment where our communities are under assault.”

In conversation with LAist, Mesa-Bains reflected on what this work means amid a second Trump administration. In doing so, she talked about former California Gov. Pete Wilson’s efforts to bar undocumented immigrants from accessing health care and public education. She talked about the mass deportation of people of Mexican descent — including tens of thousands of U.S. citizens — in the 1930s. She talked about repeated efforts to force immigrants and their children to sacrifice their mother tongues.

“We've been through this, over and over again,” she said.

Growing up, Mesa-Bains was quiet, prone to turn the other cheek. But her husband, Richard Bains, was part of the Black Civil Rights Movement and taught her to stand up for herself.

“When we would go to restaurants and they wouldn't wait on us, he would make a scene,” she said.

In this political moment, “my goal is to build a counternarrative to what the administration of our country is sharing,” Mesa-Bains said. “I want ways to talk about how our art and our life and our culture contributes to the country.”

What not to miss

As you make your way through the retrospective, be sure to step inside a dark room, where you can sit back and watch a video installation of the documentary Amalia Mesa-Bains: In Her Own Worlds, directed by Ray Telles.

In it, you’ll learn that when Mesa-Bains was a child, her family supported her becoming an artist.

Her father, she told LAist, bought her an easel and set it up on their porch, next to their dog’s bed and the washing machine. And because he worked at a grocery store, he brought home rolls and rolls of pink butcher paper for her to use as a canvas.

“That was my first studio,” she said. “I was very lucky.”

“When you're encouraged and recognized early on, it gives you a kind of boldness in the world, because you believe in yourself,” she added.

In early April, the artist Ignacio Gomez and his wife, Imelda, made the trek to The Cheech from Glendale. They sat quietly watching the video, holding hands. When the credits rolled, Gomez turned to his wife, smiled and said" “I’m glad we came.”

As the cost of living continues to pinch Californians, state lawmakers have a new focus: bringing down the cost of housing construction to get more homes built quickly.

Their solution, so far, is to industrialize the building process by facilitating prefab, modular and manufactured housing. Earlier this year, a group of California lawmakers held a series of hearings as part of the Select Committee on Housing Construction Innovation to understand what barriers stand in the way of scaling up factory-built construction.

It comes after lawmakers last year passed a series of bills that streamlined environmental reviews for housing developments and transformed the way housing is built near transit.

“A key piece of making housing more affordable is bringing down the cost of construction,” Committee Chair and Assemblymember Buffy Wicks (D-Berkeley) said in a statement to KQED. “Factory-built housing is not a silver bullet, but it can be part of the solution to our housing crisis.”

A report, published Monday, from UC Berkeley’s Terner Center for Housing Innovation, found factory-built housing, also known as prefab and manufactured housing, could cut costs by up to 20% and slash building timelines in half — a key innovation needed to ramp up construction and meet the state’s goal of building 2.5 million homes by 2030.

A Factory OS employee work on the assembly process of modular homes at the Vallejo warehouse on August 6, 2020.

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Beth LaBerge

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KQED

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But, these projects face big hurdles in securing financing and overcoming a patchwork of regulatory approvals that can vary by jurisdiction. Following the committee’s Construction Innovation hearings, state lawmakers now plan to introduce their own package of bills aiming to streamline the process.

Those efforts will dovetail with legislation at the federal level, where lawmakers are also trying to solve the nation’s growing housing affordability crisis, caused in part by a construction slump. Federal legislators are currently working on two separate bill packages taking aim at red tape and outdated safety standards which lawmakers on both sides of the aisle argue have prevented factories from churning out housing for decades.

And while there has historically been resistance from unions to factory-built housing, there is a growing recognition of the benefits to workers. Jeremy Smith, deputy legislative director for the State Building and Construction Trades Council of California, said during a committee hearing that while the trades prefer on-site construction methods, modular-built housing “provides a solution to building — to actually building — more housing for people of all income levels.”

He pointed to Fullstack Modular, a construction company with a factory in Carson, Ca., which employs about 200 unionized workers to construct modular homes. He said working in a factory, as opposed to commuting long hours to job sites, benefits employees.

“Because of the consistent work hours and the factory location within the community, trades workers and more crafts people are able to consider the trades and still accommodate childcare and other life needs,” he said. “Workers who have not secured reliable transportation, for example, can more easily get to the stationary location of the Carson factory, making their transition into the building trades easier.”

Factory-built housing is not necessarily new in California. For years, a number of construction firms have offered modular housing or prefabricated units, which can be manufactured miles away and assembled on site. But many of those firms have failed to scale up and have shuttered their factories.

Michelle Boyd, chief strategy officer for Terner Labs, a nonprofit incubator program connected to the Terner Center, said the construction industry hasn’t changed in decades and neither have the laws or financing systems surrounding it.

“The construction industry has worked the way it’s worked for 100 years,” she said. “And there are many different silos. Every player has their own little piece of the puzzle on how you put a house together or an apartment together.”

But industrialized construction consolidates that system into one factory, and that, in turn, runs up against regulatory and financing norms, which makes it difficult for new types of construction to successfully enter — and stay — in the market.

When it comes to regulations, the Terner Center’s report details inconsistencies between local governments’ building codes as one barrier to be removed. Although the state has adopted a set of standards for housing built in factories, local governments still require certain plan reviews and inspections, which can change a standardized product into a bespoke project for each city.

On the finance side, banks and insurance agencies have funded traditional site-built housing for decades, so they understand the risks involved. But factory-built construction has yet to meet mainstream adoption, which means financial institutions have less data and experience to gauge risk. That makes it harder to access capital needed to get projects off the ground.

Boyd said that because developers sometimes have trouble finding financing, it means deals can fall through, resulting in holes in the factories’ production pipeline. When that happens, she said, “They can’t sustain that because they have to pay the wages, and so they close.”

But she argues, the state could work to assume some of the risk of the transaction and stabilize the pipeline so those holes don’t exist.

“One of the main policy areas that we uncovered is a role potentially for the state in helping hold some of that risk, so we’re not really asking these developers to risk losing a lot of money or having the deal go upside down halfway through,” she said.

Taken together, Boyd said, these proposed reforms, if implemented, could have the potential to jumpstart the industry, bringing down the cost of construction for builders, and hopefully, for homeowners too.

L.A. city leaders will discuss on Wednesday whether to pull hundreds of millions of dollars out of the regional homelessness agency and assign different oversight.

L.A. County supervisors voted to withdraw funding for the L.A. Homeless Services Authority last April, citing ongoing problems with the agency's oversight of homelessness funds.

Now 10 months later, City Council members are planning to talk about whether to pull the city’s funds from LAHSA — which amount to just under $300 million this fiscal year.

It’s one of the most consequential decisions on homelessness city officials have faced in years. In deciding the future of LAHSA, the City Council will be deciding who will be entrusted with taxpayer funds meant to address the nation’s largest unsheltered homeless population.

What the council will discuss

On Wednesday, the council’s Housing and Homelessness Committee is scheduled to discuss a range of options that include:

• not changing anything major
• keeping the city money at LAHSA, but beefing up city oversight
• shifting the funding from LAHSA to direct city control
• shifting the city’s funding from LAHSA to the county homelessness department to administer it

The committee also is scheduled to discuss whether to pursue shifting the city’s federal homelessness funding from LAHSA to more direct city control.

The options were first laid out in a staff report to delivered last April, two years after it was requested by Councilmember Monica Rodriguez.

At a City Council meeting in January, Rodriguez criticized housing and homelessness committee chair Nithya Raman for not scheduling a committee discussion on the options.

“It's been sitting [for] 280 days, a report in your committee that you won't hear,” Rodriguez said at the January meeting. “So let's stop playing this false notion of the arsonists showing up as the firefighters.”

Asked for a response Monday, Raman’s spokesperson Stella Stahl told LAist the item is on Wednesday's agenda.

In a statement, Raman said she expects to hold two meetings to discuss all the city’s options before the council makes a decision.

Raman and Mayor Karen Bass urged the county not to pull funding from LAHSA last spring, saying the agency was making progress on homelessness.

The supervisors went ahead last April with their decision to withdraw the more than $300 million in annual county funding from the agency.

The vast majority of county funds will be shifted from LAHSA starting July 1.

Raman recently announced she’s running in the June primary against Bass, whom she previously endorsed for re-election.

LAHSA is in ‘crisis,’ its CEO says

LAHSA was created by the city and county in 1993 to oversee homeless services. It’s governed by a CEO who reports to a commission of 10 members. Half of the members are appointed by the L.A. mayor, and the other half by each of the five county supervisors. Bass also serves on the commission, having appointed herself in fall 2023.

While it’s long faced criticism, it’s been under particularly close scrutiny for more than a year.

An audit and court-ordered review found it failed to properly track its spending and whether services were being provided.

LAHSA also has been facing criticism more recently for months-long delays in paying tens of millions of dollars to reimburse service providers — a problem officials vowed to fix nearly two years ago. Several providers recently told LAist they've had had to dip into reserves or take on debt.

While addressing the commission that oversees the organization on Friday, CEO O’Neill said LAHSA was “in crisis. And I say this not as a criticism to any of our really hardworking staff. They've built what they were asked to build.”

LAHSA’s staff report to “essentially 21 elected bosses, all of whom have different, sometimes conflicting agendas,” O’Neill said. “This creates a structure that is unstable.”

“LAHSA has been structured for decades as the entity that takes the blame,” she added. “Political incentive…has been to point at LAHSA rather than to address structural issues.”

“Morale is very low,” O’Neill said of LAHSA staff.

Fifteen years ago, when modern electric vehicles were just hitting the road, no one knew exactly what to expect from their giant, expensive lithium-ion batteries.

As batteries age, they hold less and less energy. Anyone who's ever had a dying smartphone, or had to replace a vehicle's 12-volt starter battery, knows this painfully well.

EV batteries were intended to last longer than those smaller, cheaper batteries. But how much longer?

The predictions were not soothing. In 2010, the New York Times wrote that "estimates of [EV] battery packs' lifespan — no one knows for sure — range upward from seven years." The average car on the road is more than 12 years old. And that discrepancy made some would-be EV buyers nervous.

Batteries come with warranties, but they don't last as long as the car. If a high-voltage battery chokes out midway through a car's life, it needs replacing — at a price tag that can run in the ballpark of $5,000 to $20,000.

But there's good news.

As the fleet of EVs on the road ages, new data pooled from tens of thousands of vehicles is showing those batteries are lasting longer than expected.

How a battery ages 

Lithium-ion batteries undergo two kinds of aging. First, there's calendar aging: They degrade as time goes on, holding less juice, even if they just sit in storage.

Then there's cyclical aging, which is how much a battery degrades based on its use — being charged and discharged, over and over again.

That means there's no way to dodge degradation. Whether you use a vehicle a lot or a little, eventually, the battery will hold less energy.

But the trajectory of aging isn't a straight line. Recurrent, a research firm that pulls in data from over 30,000 EV drivers, describes it as an "S curve." There's a rapid decline at the beginning, a long leveling off, and then a more rapid decline at the end.

"It's very much like breaking in a pair of shoes," says Liz Najman, the director of market insights at Recurrent. The shoes start out stiff, but quickly get a little more give. "And then your shoes just last you," she says, until at some point, "It's all over, it's a rapid decline."

And when it comes to EV batteries, two things are becoming clear. The initial drop-off is not as severe as some people had worried. And the sharp end-of-life decline is taking a long, long time to materialize.

At auto auctions, a lot of healthy batteries

Adam George is a vehicle services director at Cox Automotive, which runs used car auctions around the country. In recent years, the number of used EVs for sale has increased enormously — reflecting the sharp rise in production a few years ago.

That's given Cox Automotive a growing pool of used EVs to evaluate before they're re-sold.

"We were expecting battery health to be experiencing mass degradation over the first one to three years of owning a vehicle," George says. "What we have seen, though, is that these 2, 3, 4-year-old off-lease cars that are coming back have battery health scores well upwards of 95%."

Recurrent's data also shows that cars from most major brands retain 95% or more of their expected range after 3 years, thanks in part to software and battery management systems that are designed to correct for the battery's early degradation, and give drivers consistent range.

So the initial drop-off in that S curve is in the range of 5% or so, give or take. After that? Well, Cox Automotive has tested nearly 80,000 EVs, and found an average battery health of 92%.

Decade-old EVs are overwhelmingly on their original batteries 

That data set is naturally skewed toward younger vehicles, because the vast majority of EVs on the road today are fairly new. There were only a million EVs sold between 2010 and 2018, and now there are more than a million sold each year.

So what about the oldest EVs, specifically?

Recurrent's data can help answer this question. Najman, a data scientist, notes a few caveats: It's a fairly small dataset, just because there weren't many EVs built more than a decade ago. And some of the oldest EVs use technology that can't connect to Recurrent's opt-in network.

But based on their community, among EVs that are 10 years old or older, only 8.5% have ever had a battery replacement. More than 90% of them are still on their original battery.

"EV batteries are holding up phenomenally well," Najman says.  

Recurrent has also looked at EVs of any age that have more than 150,000 miles on them, which provides a closer look at the effects of that cyclical aging. There, too, the batteries outperformed expectations.

"Cars with 150,000 miles or more, and that have not had battery replacements, are getting at least 83% of their original range," Najman says.

Now, there is one common reason why EV batteries will be replaced very early on: a defect. There have been multiple large-scale battery recalls, and any individual battery might have a flaw that requires replacement. But because all new EVs come with warranties, that kind of replacement isn't a financial blow to owners.

"That would be something that would be synonymous with, like, your engine or a transmission going bad," says Adam George, of Cox Automotive. "That's what warranties are for."

EV battery warranties typically cover at least 8 years and 100,000 miles, and automakers will replace the battery in the case of catastrophic failure, or a reduction in capacity (usually to 70% of the original or less).

A robotic arm displays the dual engine chassis of a Model S electric sedan at the Hawthorne Airport in Los Angeles on October 9, 2014.

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MARK RALSTON/AFP via Getty Images

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AFP

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The tale of one Model S 

What do all these stats look like in real life? Consider Norman Hajjar's Model S.

Hajjar was an early adopter of electric vehicles. He kind of had to be: In 2013 he became an executive at the electric vehicle drivers' app Plugshare.

His 2012 Model S is one of the first that Tesla ever built. When he got it, he was well aware of the question mark about battery lifespan. "There was really no way of knowing what the future held for it because there was zero track record," Hajjar says.

In his case, the future held a battery defect: a loud noise followed by his car coming to an abrupt stop. He recalls Tesla replacing the battery — free of charge and under warranty — in 2014.

Since then, he's spent 12 years on that second battery. He's put around 200,000 miles on the car overall. And it's driving great, thank you very much.

"This vehicle still is a monster," Hajjar says, affectionately. "It is extremely fast, quick off the line."

The vehicle was originally rated to have 265 miles of range. Now it has about 220. Do the math, and it's at 83% of its original capacity. "The amount of degradation is pretty minor," Hajjar says.

Hajjar has moved on to a newer vehicle for his daily driver, mostly to enjoy higher-tech features. (His newer Model Y has Tesla's advanced driver-assistance software.) His son uses the Model S these days for his commute to college. "It's just sort of a backup vehicle now," Hajjar says. But he plans to hang on to it. He's sentimental about it, he says.

Why are batteries outlasting expectations? 

The engineers who developed modern EVs knew that prolonging battery life would be crucial. They designed systems to actively manage temperatures to improve battery lifespan, and software to constantly check battery health. Years have shown those efforts paid off.

But there's another reason EV batteries have out-performed expectations. It turns out that testing batteries is harder on them than the real world. Their lifespan was underestimated.

Simona Onori's lab at Stanford University has done research into the longevity of lithium-ion batteries, including a 2024 paper in Nature Energy showing that traditional methods for testing battery life are very stressful, and don't match the way batteries are actually used.

In most lab tests, researchers repeatedly cycle them from a very high state of charge to a very low one.

Real-world driving is gentler, with stops and starts — each start draws a bit of the battery's energy down, while each stop gives it a little time to recharge. A driver would never slam the accelerator to the floor and keep it there until the battery is dead.

"We accelerate, we decelerate," Onori says. "The battery will be charged, and discharged, some rest if you're at a traffic light."

Her lab's findings suggest that the traditional tests for battery life were unrealistically challenging, and Onori says ongoing work with real-world data is now confirming that. When they're actually driven, she says, EV batteries "age gracefully. Very gracefully."

Just like humans, she notes: "When we live a life with less stress, we live longer."

A decade plus … and counting 

So how long do EV batteries last? It's still too soon to put a precise number on it, because — as a group — the cars already on the road haven't yet reached the end of the S-curve, the point when they will start to show massive performance declines. In other words, they're not dead yet.

Meanwhile, battery technology keeps improving. The oldest EVs, like Hajjar's Model S, may not be the best indicator of how long newer EVs will last. Software systems to manage batteries have gotten more sophisticated. A lot of new EVs use a different battery chemistry — lithium iron phosphate or LFP — which lasts even longer than other lithium-ion batteries.

As Stephanie Valdez-Streaty, who follows EV trends for Cox Automotive, puts it: "These batteries are built to outlast the cars."

And there's one more wrinkle when it comes to figuring out the end of life for a normally-aging EV battery. They don't die abruptly, like an old engine cutting out. It's more that their range shrinks; they can only hold enough energy for shorter and shorter trips. Instead of shelling out for an expensive battery replacement, some EV owners might just put up with that limitation.

Thomas McVeigh, of Ontario, Canada, drives a 2014 BMW i3. That vehicle didn't have an impressive range even when it was new, and now it can only manage about 55 miles on a single charge in the winter. But it still looks great. It's pleasant to drive. It saves him on gas. Maintenance is wildly cheap for a 12-year-old vehicle, and especially for a BMW; his only real cost is new tires.

He's fine with its diminished range. And he's not inclined to put what he estimates would be a $6,000 battery into an aging car. Instead, maybe he'll pass it on to his kid. "Teenagers generally aren't going for long drives," he says.

Or maybe he'll keep it for himself, after all. "I mean," he says, "I love that car."

Copyright 2026 NPR

This week the Getty Villa Museum will begin offering a rare look at scrolls from its ancient Egyptian “Book of the Dead” collection.

The collection of 19 manuscripts written on scrolls of papyrus and linen fragments are fragile, with one of them dating back nearly 3,500 years. Because of that, the materials are not usually on display to the public and the gallery will be carefully lit, temperature and humidity-controlled.

Sara Cole, associate curator of antiquities, told LAist that a lot of the language in the spells is written in first person speech for the deceased spirit to say while navigating the afterlife.

“One of my favorite phrases that I have on a wall of the gallery is ‘May I join with the stars that call out to me in the night boat,’” Cole said.

Cole explained that the manuscripts have been in the Getty’s collection since 1983, when they were donated by a bookseller in New York, who got them from the private collection of a British rare manuscript collector.

Egyptian mummy wrapping of Petosiris, Son of Tetosiris, from around 332–100 BCE.

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A years-long project is underway to translate the spells and rituals immortalized in the Getty's “Book of the Dead” scrolls and fragments, with a “large publication” in the works, Cole said.

The exhibition will feature four papyri belonging to women named Webennesre, Ankhesenaset, and Aset. Cole said “Book of the Dead” materials belonging to women are rare, because most were reserved for men.

Twelve of the manuscripts in the exhibition are written on fragments of linen that were used to wrap the mummified remains of the people they belonged to. Cole said she hopes visitors will understand that the material was very intimately associated with peoples’ burials.

Cole said her goal is to foreground the identities of the people who owned the scrolls, including two women who were ritual singers for the god Amun in the ancient city of Thebes.

“We see in these manuscripts the ancient Egyptians really grappling with this question and thinking about what might happen when we die... And I think that’s something we can all connect with and understand,” she said.

Cole recommends visiting the Getty’s website for a calendar of curator tours and special events related to the exhibition, including an upcoming talk by an Egyptologist.

The “The Egyptian Book of the Dead” at the Getty Villa runs from March 4 to Nov. 30.