By day, youโd be forgiven for walking past the newest theater in downtown L.A.
It isnโt hidden in an alley or obscured via a nameless door. No, this performance space is essentially a theater in disguise, as itโs designed to look like an electrical box โ a fabrication so real that when artist S.C. Mero was installing it in the Arts District, police stopped her, concerned she was ripping out its copper wire. (There is no copper wire inside this wooden nook.)
Open the door to the theater, and discover a place of urban enchantment, where a red velvet door and crimson wallpaper beckon guests to come closer and sit inside. That is, if they can fit.
With a mirror on its side and a clock in its back, Meroโs creation, about 6 feet tall and 3 feet deep yet smaller on its interior, looks something akin to an intimate, private boudoir โ the sort of dressing room that wouldnโt be out of place in one of Broadwayโs historic downtown theaters. Thatโs by design, says Mero, who cites the ornately romanticized vibe and color palette of the Los Angeles Theatre as prime inspiration. Mero, a longtime street artist whose guerrilla art regularly dots the downtown landscape, likes to inject whimsy into her work: a drainage pipe that gives birth, a ball pit for rats or the transformation of a dilapidated building into a โcastle.โ But thereโs just as often some hidden social commentary.
With her Electrical Box Theatre, situated across from the historic American Hotel and sausage restaurant and bar Wurstkรผche, Mero set out to create an impromptu performance space for the sort of experimental artists who no longer have an outlet in downtownโs galleries or more refined stages. The American Hotel, for instance, subject of 2018 documentary โTales of the Americanโ and once home to the anything-goes punk rock ethos of Alโs Bar, still stands, but it isnโt lost on Mero that most of the neighborhoodโs artist platforms today are softer around the edges.
Ethan Marks inside S.C. Meroโs theater inside a fake electrical box. The guerrilla art piece is near the American Hotel.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
โA lot of galleries are for what can sell,โ Mero says. โUsually thatโs paintings and wall art.โ
She dreamed, however, of an anti-establishment place that could feel inviting and erase boundaries between audience and perfomer. โPeople may be intimidated to get up on a stage or at a coffee shop, but here itโs right on street level.โ
Itโs already working as intended, says Mero. I visited the box early last week when Mero invited a pair of experimental musicians to perform. Shortly after trumpeter Ethan Marks took to the sidewalk, one of the American Hotelโs current residents leaned out his window and began vocally and jovially mimicking the fragmented and angular notes coming from the instrument. In this moment, โthe box,โ as Mero casually refers to it, became a true communal stage, a participatory call-and-response pulpit for the neighborhood.
Clown Lars Adams, 38, peers out of S.C. Meroโs theater inside a fake electrical box. Mero modeled the space off of Broadwayโs historic theaters.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
A few days prior, a rideshare driver noticed a crowd and pulled over to read his poetry. He told Mero it was his first time. The unscripted occurrence, she says, was โone of the best moments Iโve ever experienced in making art.โ
โThatโs literally what this space is,โ Mero says. โItโs for people to try something new or to experiment.โ
Marks jumped at the chance to perform for free inside the theater, his brassy freewheeling equally complementing and contrasting the sounds of the intersection. โI was delighted,โ he says, when Mero told him about the stage. โThereโs so much unexpectedness to it that as an improviser, it really keeps you in the moment.โ
A downtown resident for more than a decade, Mero has become something of an advocate for the neighborhood. The area arguably hasnโt returned to its pre-pandemic heights, as many office floors sit empty and a string of high-profile restaurant closures struck the community. Meroโs own gallery at the corner of Spring and Seventh streets shuttered in 2024. Downtown also saw its perception take a hit last year when ICE descended on the city center and national media incorrectly portrayed the hood as a hub of chaos.
Artist S.C. Mero looks into her latest project, a fake electrical box in the Arts District. Mero has long been associated with street art in the neighborhood.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
โA lot has changed in the 13 years when I first got down here,โ Mero says. โEverybody felt like it was magic, like we were going to be part of this renaissance and L.A. was going to have this epicenter again. Then it descended. A lot of my friends left. But I still see the same beauty in it. The architecture. The history. Downtown is the most populous neighborhood in all of L.A. because it belongs to everybody. Itโs everybodyโs downtown, whether they love it or not. And I feel we are part of history.โ
Art today in downtown ranges from high-end galleries such as Hauser & Wirth to the graffiti-covered towers of Oceanwide Plaza. Gritty spaces, such as Superchief Gallery, have been vocal about struggles to stay afloat. Meroโs art, meanwhile, remains a source of optimism throughout downtownโs streets.
At Pershing Square, for instance, sits her โSpike Cafe,โ a mini tropical hideaway atop a parking garage sign where umbrellas and finger food props have become a prettier nesting spot for pigeons. Seen potentially as a vision for beautification, a contrast, for instance, from the nature intrusive barbs that aim to deter wildlife, โSpike Cafeโ has become a statement of harmony.
Elsewhere, on the corner of Broadway and Fourth streets, Mero has commandeered a once historic building thatโs been burned and left to rot. Mero, in collaboration with fellow street artist Wild Life, has turned the blighted space into a fantastical haven with a knight, a dragon and more โ a decaying castle from a bygone era.
โA lot of times people are like, โI canโt believe you get away with that!โ But most people havenโt tried to do it, you know?โ Mero says. โIt can be moved easily. Itโs not impeding on anyone. I donโt feel I do anything bad. Not having a permit is just a technicality. I believe what Iโm doing is right.โ
Musician Jeonghyeon Joo, 31, plays the haegeum outside of S.C. Meroโs latest art project, a theater in a faux electrical box.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
After initially posting her electrical box on her social media, Mero says she almost instantly received more than 20 requests to perform at the venue. Two combination locks keep it closed, and Mero will give out the code to those she trusts. โSome people want to come and play their accordion. Another is a tour guide,โ Mero says.
Ultimately, itโs an idea, she says, that sheโs had for about a decade. โEverything has to come together, right? You have to have enough funds to buy the supplies, and then the skills to to have it come together.โ
And while it isnโt designed to be forever, it is bolted to the sidewalk. As for why now was the right time to unleash it, Mero is direct: โI needed the space,โ she says.
There are concerns. Perhaps, Mero speculates, someone will change the lock combination, knocking her out of her own creation. And the more attention brought to the box via media interviews means more scrutiny may be placed on it, risking its confiscation by city authorities.
As a street artist, however, Mero has had to embrace impermanence, although she acknowledges it can be a bummer when a piece disappears in a day or two. And unlike a gallerist, she feels an obligation to tweak her work once itโs out in the world. Though her โSpike Cafeโ is about a year old, she says she has to โcontinue to babysit it,โ as pigeons arenโt exactly known for their tidiness.
But Mero hopes the box has a life of its own, and considers it a conversation between her, local artists and downtown itself. โI still think weโre part of something special,โ Mero says of living and working downtown.
And, at least for now, itโs the neighborhood with arguably the cityโs most unique performance venue.