The artist openly revealed their houseless status, which began in 2020 and coincided with the most severe phase of the pandemic; they also chose as their performance site tourist-saturated Hollywood Boulevard, on the sidewalk in front of LACE’s temporarily closed storefront gallery. Because its exhibition space was closed for renovations, LACE offered Nguyen a six-month artistic “un-residency,” culminating in a weekend program of Nguyen’s installation performance, in which they would interact with audience members—and curious passersby—through what LACE’s press release described as “a tea ceremony where visitors can join the artist for a conversation about the objects in the installation and their experience as an unhoused artist.” A table, neatly stacked with a hot water container, plates of cookies, tea bags, and paper cups, stood on one side; the other side was a blue tent, with its flaps open to reveal a clean and largely empty interior. Yet, in Hobollywood, the politics of art manifests its power not so much in its activist demands but in the subdued poignancy of an artist exposing their existential precarity while persisting in seeking meaning out of mundane interpersonal exchanges.