Los Angeles is a driving city, built to get us where we’re going as quickly as possible. Even on surface streets, what do we actually see when we’re driving? We scan other cars, look for pedestrians, watch for a sudden stop. It’s almost impossible to catch the glimpse of the Hollywood sign in the distance, unexpectedly between two buildings, or to notice the grandeur of downtown while driving east on Pico in the middle of the day. Because we’re driving, and whatever we see is gone before we even notice. And if we don’t see it, LA is hidden from us, and how can we possibly know it, remember it? But when we stop at a red light, if we really look we can see the city—the streets, the architecture, the people—Los Angeles itself.

For the seven years I lived in LA, I tried to come to terms with this city. I've always photographed places, architectural details—trying to define a sense of place. These pictures capture our communal Los Angeles, the streets we share, the parts we all can see. I photograph these streets, these corners, these red lights. The hidden city, out there in plain sight. The real Los Angeles. The one we all see through the windows of our cars.