A week after the devastating Eaton Fire swept through Altadena, leaving 17 people dead, 24 missing and more than 7,000 structures destroyed as of this writing, outside the Know How Shop in Highland Park. The car was double parked. People from all over Los Angeles gathered in the rain, their faces hidden behind masks and carrying bags of toys and clothing, to raise money for the displaced Altadena children of Altadena Kindred. donated to.
Just a month ago, one of the event organizers, Linda Hsiao, an Altadena potter and industrial designer, was helping organize a similar community-oriented event in a foothill town. At the Holiday Craft Fair held at Plant Materials, local artists sold handmade pottery, knives, jewelry, hot sauce, embroidery and tie-dyed textiles. Adding to the family-friendly atmosphere, the St. Rita Cub Scout Pack showed up selling mistletoe foraged from nearby trails.
Bianca D’Amico, an artist who helped organize the December event (her son attended the kindergarten on Christmas Tree Lane that burned down), built a second car at a surprisingly surviving former gas station on Lincoln Avenue. We are proud of the ultra-local market that we have created with people. “There’s something very personal about my fellow vendors who put so much effort into their work and embody the spirit of Altadena,” D’Amico said, calling them “creative, plant-based.” We are a collection of makers, artists, and designers that we call “a dog-friendly, child-fighting community.” ”
In December, Altadena artists gathered at Plant Materials on Lincoln Avenue to sell handmade products for the holidays. Many of them lost their homes.
(Lisa Boone/Los Angeles Times)
Today, almost all of the vendors, including Hsiao and her husband, architect Kagan Taylor. And their two children are homeless. “Our house is still standing, but it’s not safe to go back,” she said of the smoke, water damage and looting. “All I can think about right now is how we lost our friends, our school, and our entire community.”
Mr. Xiao’s shock was obvious as he welcomed his friend and accepted the donation to Altadena Kindred. “This is where we should grow old,” she said, pausing. “This is where my son was planning to ride his bike to school.”
Now that the neighborhood school is gone, Hsiao is determined to find a way to create a place where all the children in the area can gather.
But how can you create something like that when all your neighbors are gone?
“This has always been a very accepting community of all types of eccentric people,” said Evan Chambers, pictured at his Pasadena studio.
(Courtesy of Evan Chambers)
The unincorporated community of more than 42,000 people in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains has been a haven for artists for years, said Evan Chambers, a glass and metal artist who was born and raised in Altadena, where his parents and grandparents lived. It has become a place.
“This has always been a very accepting community for all types of eccentric people,” said Chambers, who bought her home from the estate of infamous compost czar Tim Dundon (also known as Sheikh the Sheikh). said.
He credits gallery owner Ben McGinty with creating space for all the artists at Gallery at the End of the World, which survived the fire. “He embraced all of us,” Chambers said of the gallery, which has been around for more than 20 years. “We had our first show there.”
Chambers, 44, grew up surrounded by river rock walls and Arts and Crafts homes, which influenced his aesthetic as a glassblower. He lost his home, including the pottery studio he built for his wife Caitlin, but is determined to rebuild. “We’re going to make a big deal out of this,” said the father of two. “With climate change, no place is safe. All that matters is that you suffer with the people you want to help and be helped. If you’re going to burn, burn with your friends.”
Born and raised in Los Angeles, potter Victoria Morris has lived in many areas of the city. But when he bought a small midcentury house in Altadena 10 years ago, the artist felt like he had found a home both personally and professionally. “I thought, ‘This is my last stop,'” Morris said.
The potter worked out of a studio on Lake Avenue, three miles from his home, and kept his photos and hard drives in his basement. Just a month ago, Morris hosted a holiday sale where people flocked to her showroom to buy her midcentury-inspired lamps and vases.
Today, that’s all gone.
Morris feels lucky to have a second home in Ojai. Still, she grapples with the nightmare of the Jan. 7 evacuation and what she lost. “My husband, Morgan. [Bateman]said, “Please bring your wedding ring, passport, and animals, and wear a jacket and sturdy shoes.” She had this beautiful vintage Japanese print that I didn’t even have to pay for, and I really liked her. And as I was leaving, I thought to myself, “Should I get her?” Something in my brain said no. I have a notebook where I write down the formulas for all my work. It has been my bible for the past 20 years. Did I grab it? No. Hard drive? Gone. ”
When Bateman was finally able to access their property, he found their home and beloved garden smoldering. “All the neighbors are gone,” he told her rattlingly.
Brendan Sowersby and Annabelle Ingani’s Altadena home was gutted and filled with custom furniture and accessories designed by the couple. Their son Bird stands outside Café de Leche on Lake Avenue, which is also long gone. (Courtesy of Annabelle Inghani)
On Wednesday, Wolfam textile designer Annabel Inghani thought about her 14-year-old son as she waited in her Monrovia living space to receive a free mattress and box spring.
“He’s an eighth grader, and about 67 families are affected at his school in Pasadena,” she said. “They’re a very supportive community, but I’ve buried my grief just to get Bird back to school. And I know it’s not just us. It’s the whole town.”
Ms Ingani lived in the Rubio Plateau area with her husband Brendan Sowersby, a furniture designer for 100xbtr, two dogs and three cats (all of which were safely evacuated). Their home was filled with custom furniture designed by the couple. Now everything is gone. Many of her neighbors lived in her childhood home. She describes the community as “heaven on earth.”
“Altadena is the most special, innovative, diverse, accepting and core-valued city I have ever lived in,” she added. “There’s a strong sense of community. Now we don’t even have a post office. I lost my house, my studio, and all the archives I’ve ever done. There’s a lot.”
Chris Maddox and Thomas Renaud lost their Altadena home in the Eaton Fire. (Courtesy of Thomas Renaud)
Thomas Renaud, who temporarily took shelter in Moorpark last Tuesday, returned to Altadena after learning his neighbor’s house was still standing.
“They wanted to go back and pick something up, so I offered to drive them,” he said. Ms Renaud had hoped that the home she shared with her partner Chris Maddox and their dog Van, who both escaped unharmed, would also remain intact. But as I drove down Altadena Avenue after dropping off neighbors Wednesday, all I saw was ash and fire. “When I turned the corner on the street where I live, I saw the whole neighborhood gone, and I just got lost,” he said.
When the LGS Studio potters and Maddox bought their home about five years ago, they immediately fell in love with Altadena’s creative community.
“A lot of artists, musicians and writers live here, and we felt like we got a piece of that,” he said. “We put a lot of love into that house. It was a place for all of our friends and family. We didn’t just lose a home, we lost a home.”
Renaud returned to work at his Glassell Park studio this week but said he was still in shock. “I don’t think I’ve slept more than one night this past week,” he said. “Everything feels so overwhelming right now. We are humbled by all the support, but where do we start?”
Like many others without a home, he said finding semi-permanent housing is a good start.
Ceramic artist Linda Hsiao and her children, 3-year-old Wawona and 5-year-old Saben, at their home studio in Altadena in November. Their home still stands, but the family cannot live there.
(Robert Hanashiro/For the Times)
As artists, it’s only natural that many of us are troubled by our legacy. For Morris, it’s a set of mugs made by Los Angeles potters Kat and Roger, a quilt she made with her mother, and a pencil drawing of her grandmother made by her grandfather.
Mr. Chambers mentions Pasadena artist Ashok Chhabra’s lamps and his great-uncle Charles Dokum’s mobile color projector, and Dokkum’s correspondence with architect Frank Lloyd Wright.
Inganni’s diary, which she had been writing since she was six years old, and her family’s irreplaceable memories were destroyed. “Brendan’s father passed away two years ago. We had his ashes and photos, but they’re all gone,” she said. “That’s what attracts him the most.”
When it was time to evacuate, Renault grabbed a bag of clothes, his dog, a dog bed and his great-grandfather’s watch. “I didn’t think the fire would spread this far,” he said. “My grandmother was a painter and I had her original artwork. Those are the things I grieve the most. I thought, ‘Here we go again.’ But family history cannot be recovered. ”
“Everyone at the hardware store knew my name and always gave my dog treats,” said artist Victoria Morris.
(Colleen Shalby/Los Angeles Times)
During the COVID-19 pandemic, Morris sheltered in his studio. But now the stores near her studio are gone, including Altadena Hardware Store on Mariposa Boulevard, Grocery Outlet Bargain Market, Café de Leche and Steve’s Pez. Morris added: “Everyone at the hardware store knew my name and always gave my dog treats.”
Despite their losses, the artists acknowledge moments of grace. Friends have set up a GoFundMe account to help with short-term needs. Chambers’ friends from kindergarten and elementary school made beds for him and his family. Morris received a tearful note.
“Two people sent me pictures of the vase and bowl and told me they had survived,” she said. “And it brought them so much happiness. They offered it to me, but I told them no. I want them to protect it.”
Shaio received a photo from a tequila manufacturer in Altadena and said one of the tiki tumblers was found intact among the rubble. “These people weren’t just my customers,” she said. “They were my community.”
Still, some people are anxious about what will happen next.
Renaud and Taylor received a text message from a stranger offering to buy their damaged home. “It’s still smoldering,” Renaud said in disbelief.
“It’s going to be the Wild West,” Ingani said. “Everyone I’ve talked to is working on rebuilding. It’s trickling down into the community. But people are very nervous about land grabbing and their financial ability to cover themselves. I think I’m worried about people who don’t have it.”
In the meantime, Morris wants to get back to work. “I don’t want to miss out on being a part of rebuilding Altadena,” she said. “Maybe it’s a collective thing. Maybe it’s a store. You can’t just cut out a place that’s so special and use it up.”
Mr Ingani said Soursby was looking at building desks for the community and developing a fire-resistant housing system.
Renaud, who is temporarily living in a friend’s attached unit (ADU) on Mount Washington, also wants to help.
“I needed to go see them at home because I needed to grieve,” he said. “When you don’t know what you’ve lost, there’s always a question mark in your head. But now I want to be part of the recovery. I have a truck. I’m ready.”
