Michelle Groskopf’s vivacious photographs tell a story of Los Angeles that counters the stereotype of its denizens living in their cars and only emerging into the outside world camera-ready.
can’t be the only L.A. resident who, when leaving home for a walk—to the grocery store, to the dry cleaner, to Runyon Canyon—finds herself recalling the chorus of the Missing Persons song ”Walking in L.A.,” from 1982. Its key lyric—“Nobody walks in L.A.”—is not exactly true (although, when I first moved here, I was seized by panic and unable to cross the four lanes of traffic at the intersection of La Cienega and Sunset Boulevards, despite the glowing pedestrian man signalling my right of way). Tourists stroll down Hollywood Boulevard, squatting for photos with the Walk of Fame; selfie-stick wielders step staccato past the shiny storefronts of Rodeo Drive, attempting to get their designer bags in the same frame as the designer’s sign. One of the best ways to experience the rapidly changing area of downtown Los Angeles is to walk a mile-long stretch of South Broadway, from the “We Buy Gold” shops to the Ace Hotel. The city’s expanding metro-rail system—more than a hundred million people rode L.A.’s trains last year—means that people are finding new places to hang out and ways to get around that do not mandate time on the freeway.
