See the Rare Art Deco Oviatt Penthouse Exhibit Before It’s Gone

Exhibitors from around the globe showcased how beauty and function could finally hold hands, creating everything from lacquered furniture to glass skyscraper models. This was where Art Deco was truly born and the ripple effects traveled everywhere, including straight to Los Angeles, where architects and designers raced to bring this dazzling new style home.

The exhibition is pure time travel. “Art Deco Tous Les Jours” focuses on how Deco wasn’t just a style reserved for skyscrapers and ocean liners. It touched everyday life. From sleek radios to sculptural clocks to gleaming housewares, the display reminds us that Deco was baked into people’s daily rituals, from brewing coffee to catching a train.

Vintage fashion also had its moment. A delicate 1930s Who’s Who in Movieland bridge set and a 1939 World’s Fair Bingo board game rounded out a playful nod to how the Deco ethos permeated leisure time too. Every item wasn’t just decorative — it had purpose.

Stepping into the Oviatt Penthouse doesn’t just feel like entering a different time. It feels like entering a different universe. The first thing that hits you is the hush. The buzz of modern Los Angeles fades behind the heavy doors, replaced by a kind of charged silence, thick and expectant.

Beneath your feet, a lush red carpet patterned in bold black and gold zigzags guides you forward, an unapologetic Deco arrow pulling you deeper into the dream. Low, warm lighting bounces off dark paneled walls and nickel accents, and even the air feels different — cooler, stiller, like the penthouse itself is holding its breath, waiting to reveal its secrets one step at a time.

The moment you step into the Oviatt Penthouse bedroom, it’s impossible not to feel a shift. The hallway’s dark mystery gives way to a softer, more intimate kind of opulence. It’s a space that whispers instead of shouts. Every detail here feels intentional, designed to cradle you in luxury without ever tipping into excess.

The centerpiece is the rounded, built-in bed frame, its rich walnut wood curving like a protective shell around the mattress. It’s not just a bed but a sanctuary, tucked under a gold-embossed ceiling that catches the light in subtle, almost hypnotic patterns. The room is small by modern standards, but it feels enormous emotionally, as if its very scale demands your attention, your respect, your awe.

The wood-paneled walls, inset with subtle Deco motifs, wrap the room in warmth. The light is low, flattering, and soft, casting a golden haze across the room. It’s the kind of light that makes everyone look a little more glamorous. It’s impossible to stand here and not imagine yourself back in the 1920s, part of a very private, very privileged world hidden high above Los Angeles.

No photo can fully prepare you for the shock of standing inside the Oviatt Penthouse bathroom. It’s not just beautiful. It’s audacious. It’s a reminder that in the right hands, even a place meant for mundane daily rituals can be transformed into pure art.

The walls are wrapped in rich, rust-red terracotta tiles, each one meticulously etched with bas-relief scenes of tropical birds, palm trees, and abstracted sunbursts. It’s not flashy. It’s sensual. Earthy. The room seems to hum with an ancient, vibrant energy that no amount of time has managed to dim.

There’s a mannequin here too — reclining languidly in the tub, draped in a vintage bathing suit and cap, not posed stiffly like a display but relaxed, almost mischievous, like she knows something you don’t.

Tucked just beyond the bathroom, the Oviatt Penthouse closet feels like stepping onto a private luxury railcar bound for Paris. It’s not a closet in the modern sense. It’s a destination unto itself, designed with the same reverence usually reserved for libraries or lounges.

Warm, polished wood paneling lines every surface, curving seamlessly into built-in drawers, mirrors, and shelving. The cabinetry isn’t just functional. It’s crafted. The iron hinges and original hardware gleam under the low, amber lighting, as if they’ve been lovingly polished every day for a century. Every tiny detail feels like a promise: that getting dressed in the morning wasn’t just preparation… it was an event.

Vintage hosiery, gloves, and accessories sit carefully displayed in glass-fronted cabinets, offering tiny glimpses into a world where personal style wasn’t just important. It was expected. Even the laundry bag, casually perched in one corner, feels like a time capsule This was a perfect reminder that luxury and daily life were never separate concepts for someone like James Oviatt.

There’s a cozy narrowness to the space too, almost like the corridor of a train car, you brush past the walls gently as you walk through, and for a second, you swear you can hear the soft rumble of wheels against tracks and it gives you the perfect view of the Lalique chandelier in the bedroom. Although not original, this was found and restored to replace the one that had disappeared so many years ago.

If the inside of the Oviatt Penthouse feels like a glamorous dream, the rooftop patio feels like a secret whispered into the Los Angeles sky.

Stepping onto the terrace, you’re immediately surrounded by details so exquisite, they almost feel imagined. Winding mosaic-tiled staircases beckon you upward, the bold colors of the Spanish Revival tiles flashing underfoot like jewels scattered across the stone. The sun hits the coral stone archway just right, making it glow a soft pink against the crisp blue sky, a portal, it seems, to somewhere far more magical than downtown LA.

Everywhere you turn, there’s another gasp-worthy detail. A wrought iron spiral staircase curls tightly around one of the stucco turrets, looking both fragile and fierce as it slices upward toward the heavens. Overhead, delicate iron crowns perch on the turret tops, like Deco tiaras stubbornly refusing to be dulled by time.

At the heart of the patio, a small green-tiled fountain trickles softly, its lion’s head spout frozen mid-roar. You can hear the faint splash of water over the low hum of the city below, a soundtrack that feels oddly calming, like a heartbeat reminding you this place is alive.

Tucked away behind a discreet wooden door, the Oviatt Penthouse library feels like stepping into the still heart of the home. It’s a space where time has not just slowed, but stopped entirely. The moment you enter, the world narrows down to the soft scent of old wood, the low gleam of polished shelves, and the faint hush that only rooms full of secrets seem to carry.

The walls are lined with built-in bookcases, crafted from warm, dark woods that absorb the light and make the small space feel impossibly cozy. Each shelf is tucked into the architecture itself, staggered like a Deco puzzle box designed to hold not just books, but hidden stories.

Above it all, an original art glass glass fixture embedded in wood diffuses the light into soft amber, washing the room in a permanent late-afternoon glow. The Deco crown molding framing the ceiling feels almost overbuilt for such an intimate space, but here it works, making you feel like you’ve stumbled into a private treasure chest rather than just another room.

There’s a profound stillness here, a dignity, that feels increasingly rare in a world always rushing forward. Standing there, you don’t just admire the room. You exhale into it and it holds you.

This penthouse isn’t just a beautiful place. It’s a critical piece of Los Angeles’ history. James Oviatt, the man behind it all, helped bring European modernism into the heart of American culture. His legendary Oviatt store wasn’t just a shopping experience but a full on fashion destination for Hollywood royalty and the well-heeled elite men.

Today, thanks to passionate preservationists like Marc Chevalier, the Oviatt Penthouse and its priceless Lalique glasswork, rare interiors, and architectural integrity have been protected and restored. Without this kind of stewardship, spaces like this would have been erased from our skyline a long time ago, bulldozed to make way for another generic high rise.

Here’s to 100 years of the Paris Exposition… and to making damn sure Los Angeles keeps honoring that magic for the next 100 too.