DTLA Face to Face: When the Arts District Was Still a Secret

Meet the Makers of the Early Arts District

I remember the first time I drove down Industrial Street in downtown LA’s Arts District. Midway through the short block, I stopped the car and said aloud, this is where we will build. And we did.

I took a big chunk of my savings and poured it into our space. Blood, sweat, and long days of belief turned an open space into a home and everything I envisioned: one-of-a-kind footwear collections, limited-edition furniture pieces, handcrafted leather satchels, and bomber jackets. For the first time, we even rolled our Harley Sportster into the studio, letting it rest beneath the soaring twenty-foot ceilings of our 2,500+ square-foot space. Seeing it there every day inspired us to design made-to-order leather-covered helmets, something no one in Los Angeles was offering at the time. Inspiration moved freely in that space. Objects, ideas, and craftsmanship fed one another.

But my heart was also split across the country, anchored in a family dream my sister had spent years championing. She was the one who gave my brother-in-law, Chef Bill Kim, the courage to believe in himself, and I was the brand builder dedicated to telling his story—"feeding the belly from the heart." This was our third project together, but the first with the backing of The Cornerstone Restaurant Group. David Zadikoff was amazing to work with; he gave me immense room to move and fully entrusted me with the vision. When given that level of support, I will always over-deliver.

While I was anchoring myself in LA, I was providing the creative direction and designing Bill’s new 10,000-square-foot restaurant, from the website and photography to the custom furniture, handcrafted leather staff aprons, and luxurious check holders. I was wearing every hat imaginable, discovering in real-time what I was truly made of and how successfully I could blend all of my passions.

Back in the DTLA Arts District, we were in good company. A woman with a name nearly identical to my own, Yassmin, had already claimed the corner with her French bistro, Church & State. Around the same time we moved in, Sarkis was building Daily Dose just down the street. Other designers began opening the doors to their world during occasional open-studio days. The energy was unmistakable.

We all knew we were a rare group of risk-takers. Each of us had chosen this quiet industrial pocket because we sensed its potential. In many ways, we were all hidden gems ourselves.

Still, the outside world wasn’t paying attention. We each tried in our own way to draw the local press to the neighborhood, but few took what was happening here seriously.

So I decided to do what I could using my skills.

I designed and built a website for our community myself. I visited each studio and business, photographed their beautiful faces, their work, and documented the spaces they had shaped with their own hands. I told their stories and highlighted the local developers who were quietly supporting the artists and makers willing to take the first leap.

The project became DTLA Face to Face.

It was about the people more than what we all made. I wanted to help inspire others to realize their dreams too.

It was a great deal of work, but I loved every moment of it. The process brought me closer to everyone in the neighborhood.

What had started as individual studios slowly felt more like a true community. I also launched an intimate event called Meet the Makers, which finally attracted the attention of local writers and curious visitors.

One of the most meaningful moments came when we were contacted by representatives from Louis Vuitton in France. They invited us to be featured in their curated, invitation-only City Guide series. Our collection was one of only three female-made handcrafted footwear lines in Los Angeles at that time so it was a significant milestone.

Not long after, the district began to change quickly. More designers arrived. Studios filled. Restaurants opened. The neighborhood we had quietly believed in began to draw attention from far beyond our small circle.

New designers started seeking us out for advice on how and where to begin. It was deeply gratifying to see others step forward, building upon the foundation that a small group of us had laid through work, faith, and persistence.

Looking back now, what stays with me most is the reminder of how much can begin with just a few people willing to believe. In those early days, none of us were trying to start a movement. We were simply following the quiet pull of our work and trusting what we sensed was possible in that overlooked stretch of downtown Los Angeles.

Somehow, a handful of visionaries helped bridge a gap. Our individual pursuits formed a community.

Most of a seed’s life is spent in the dark, requiring steady water and blind faith before it ever sees the sun. It’s breathtaking to see those quiet, individual efforts finally blossom, evolving from a few lonely sprouts into the vibrant, flourishing community we see today.

Experiences like that stay with you. They reveal how powerful even small steps can be when they are taken with intention. Over time, that realization has widened my perspective. If a small circle of people can help reshape a neighborhood simply by believing in what they feel called to create, it makes me wonder what becomes possible when we bring that same focus to something deeper than place or craft.

Today, as I look at the unrest in the world—from the heartbreaking conflict in Iran to the divisions we see closer to home—the lessons of that neighborhood feel more vital than ever. What might happen if we turned our attention less toward the things that make us comfortable, and more toward the connection we share with the depths of our spirit and with one another?

Perhaps the communities we build next will not only be shaped by creativity and vision, but by a deeper inner-standing of who we are and what we have always been.

Not separate.
Not divided.

One.