Altadena artists, devastated by Eaton fire, vow to rebuild

A week after the devastating Eaton Fire that swept through Altadena, killing 17 people, 24 people missing as of this writing, and destroying more than 7,000 structures, cars were double-parked outside the Knowhow Shop in Highland Park. People from all over Los Angeles, their faces hidden by masks due to falling ash, carried bags of toys and clothing to donate to Altadena Kindred, a fundraiser for displaced Altadena children.

Just a month ago, one of the event's organizers, Linda Hsiao, a ceramist and industrial designer from Altadena, had helped organize a similar community-minded event in the foothills city. At the holiday craft fair at Plant Material, local artists shared handmade ceramics, knives, jewelry, hot sauce, embroidery and dyed textiles. To add to the family atmosphere, the St. Rita Cub Scout group showed up to sell mistletoe collected from nearby trails.

Bianca D'Amico, an artist who helped organize the December event (her son attended preschool on Christmas Tree Lane that burned down) is proud of the hyperlocal market they created together in the surprisingly surviving old gas station on Lincoln Avenue. “There is something deeply personal about our fellow vendors who put so much of themselves into their work and are the spirit of Altadena,” D'Amico said, calling them a “creative, plant-loving, dog-friendly, bickering community.” the children.” of creators, artists and designers.”

Nowadays, almost all sellers, including Hsiao; her husband, architect Kagan Taylor; and his two children, are homeless. “Our house is still standing, but it's not safe for us to return,” he said of the smoke damage. “Right now, all I can think about is how we've lost our friends, our schools, our entire community.”

Hsiao's shock was evident as he welcomed friends and accepted donations for Altadena Kindred. “This is where we were supposed to grow old,” he said breathlessly. “This is where my son had to ride his bike to school.”

With the loss of neighborhood schools, Hsiao is determined to find a way to create a place where all the children in the community can gather.

But how do you create something like that when all your neighbors are gone?

Located in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, the unincorporated community of more than 42,000 people has long been a haven for artists, according to glass and metal artist Evan Chambers, who was born and raised in Altadena, as were his parents and grandparents.

“It's always been a very tolerant community of eccentric people of all kinds,” said Evan Chambers, photographed in his Pasadena studio.

(Evan Chambers)

“It's always been a very tolerant community of eccentric people of all kinds,” said Chambers, who bought his house on the estate of infamous compost czar Tim Dundon, also known as Zeke the Sheikh.

He credits gallerist Ben McGinty for creating a space for all artists in his End of the World Gallery, which survived the fire. “He accepted all of us,” Chambers said of the gallery, which has been around for more than two decades. “I had my first show there.”

Chambers, 44, grew up surrounded by river rock walls and Arts and Crafts houses that have informed his aesthetic as a glassblower. He lost his house, including the pottery studio he built for his wife, Caitlin, but he's convinced he'll rebuild it. “We're going to make it,” the father of two said. “With climate change, there is no safe place to go. The only thing that matters is that you suffer with the people you want to help and be helped by. If you are going to burn, burn with your people.”

Born and raised in Los Angeles, ceramicist Victoria Morris has lived in many neighborhoods of the city. But when she bought a small mid-century house in Altadena a decade ago, the artist felt she had found a home, personally and professionally. “I thought, 'This is my last stop,'” Morris said.

The ceramist worked in a studio on Lake Avenue, two miles from her home, where she kept photographs and hard drives in the basement. Just a month ago, Morris hosted a holiday sale and people packed the showroom to purchase her mid-century-inspired lamps and vases.

Today everything is gone.

Morris feels lucky to have a second home in Ojai. Still, he deals with the nightmare of the evacuation on January 7 and what he has lost. “My husband, Morgan [Bateman]He said, “Grab your wedding ring, your passport, the animals, and get a sturdy jacket and shoes.” There was a beautiful vintage Japanese print that cost nothing, but I loved it so much. And as I was leaving, I thought, 'Should I grab her?' Something in my brain said no. I have a notebook where I write the formulas for all my work. It has been my bible for the last 20 years. Did I grab that? No. Our hard drives? Missing.”

When Bateman finally gained access to his property, he found his house and beloved garden burning. “All our neighbors are gone,” he told her, nervous.

Brendan Sowersby and Annabel Inganni's Altadena home, which burned down, was filled with custom furniture and accessories designed by the couple. His son Bird stands outside the Lake Avenue Café de Leche, which also disappeared. (Annabel Inganni)

On Wednesday, Wolfum textile designer Annabel Inganni was thinking about her 14-year-old son as she waited to pick up a free mattress and box spring at Living Spaces in Monrovia.

“He's in eighth grade and his school in Pasadena has about 67 families that have been affected,” she said. “They are a very supportive community, but I have been burying my sadness just to get Bird back to school. And I know it's not just us. “It's the whole town.”

Inganni lived in the Rubio Highlands neighborhood with her husband, furniture designer Brendan Sowersby of 100xbtr, their two dogs and three cats (all were safely evacuated). Their home was filled with custom furniture that the couple designed. Now everything is gone. Many of his neighbors lived in his childhood homes. She describes the community as “heaven on earth.”

“Altadena is the most special, innovative, diverse, tolerant city with fundamental values ​​in which I have lived,” he added. “The sense of community is strong. Now we don't even have a post office. I lost my house, my studio and the files of everything I had done. “It's a lot.”

Chris Maddox and Thomas Renaud lost their Altadena home in the Eaton fire. (Thomas Renaud)

After temporarily evacuating to Moorpark last Tuesday, Thomas Renaud returned to Altadena after learning his neighbors’ home was still standing.

“They wanted to go back and get some things, and I offered to drive them,” he said. Renaud was hopeful that the home he shared with his partner, Chris Maddox, and their dog, Van — who both got out safely — would also be left unscathed. But as he drove down Altadena Drive after dropping off his neighbors on Wednesday, all he could see was ash and fire. “When I rounded the corner to my street, I saw that the entire neighborhood was gone,” he said, “and I just lost it.”

When the LGS Studio ceramist and Maddox purchased their house about five years ago, they immediately fell in love with Altadena’s creative community.

“Many artists, musicians and writers live here, and we felt like we had our slice of that,” he said. “We put so much love into that house; it was a place for all our friends and family. It wasn’t just that we lost a house but a home.”

Although Renaud returned to work at his studio in Glassell Park this week, he said he is still in shock. “I don’t think I’ve slept more than one night in the past week,” he said. “Everything right now feels so overwhelming. All the support humbles us, but where do we begin?”

He said that, like many others without homes, finding semipermanent housing is a good start.

Ceramist Linda Hsiao with her children, Wawona, 3, and Saben, 5, in her Altadena home studio in November. Their home is still standing, but the family is unable to live there.

(Robert Hanashiro / For The Times)

As artists, it’s unsurprising that many are haunted by the things they left behind. For Morris, it’s a set of mugs by Los Angeles ceramists Kat and Roger, a quilt she made with her mother, a pencil drawing of her grandmother by her grandfather.

Chambers mentions a lamp by Pasadena artist Ashoke Chhabra and his great-uncle Charles Dockum’s mobile color projector, as well as Dockum’s correspondence with architect Frank Lloyd Wright.

The journals that Inganni had been keeping since she was 6, along with irreplaceable family mementos, are destroyed. “Brendan’s father passed away two years ago, and we had his ashes and photos, and they’re all gone,” she said. “That’s what gets him the most.”

When it came time to evacuate, Renaud grabbed one bag of clothes, the dog, the dog bed and his great-grandfather’s watch. “I didn’t think the fire would come this far,” he said. “My grandmother was a painter, and I had her original artwork. Those are the things I’m grieving for the most. I was thinking, ‘We’ll come back.’ But it’s family history that we can’t get back.”

“Everyone at the hardware store knew my name and would always offer my dog treats,” said artist Victoria Morris.

(Colleen Shalby / Los Angeles Times)

During the COVID-19 pandemic, Morris sought refuge in her studio. But now the businesses near her studio are gone, like Altadena Hardware on Mariposa Street, Grocery Outlet Bargain Market, Café de Leche and Steve’s Pets. Added Morris: “Everyone at the hardware store knew my name and would always offer my dog treats.”

Despite all they have lost, the artists acknowledge moments of grace. Friends have set up GoFundMe accounts to help them with their short-term needs. Chambers’ friends from preschool and elementary school built beds for him and his family. Morris has received notes that have brought her to tears.

“Two people sent me pictures of one of my vases and a bowl and told me they survived,” she said. “And it has brought them so much happiness. They offered them to me, and I told them no. I want them to keep them.”

Hsaio received a photo from a tequila maker in Altadena who went through his rubble and found one of her Tiki tumblers intact. “These people weren’t just my customers,” she said. “They were my community.”

Still, some are filled with trepidation about what comes next.

Renaud and Taylor have received text messages from strangers offering to purchase their damaged homes. “It’s still smoldering,” Renaud said in disbelief.

“It’s going to be the Wild West,” Inganni said. “Everyone I’ve spoken to is rebuilding. That’s what is percolating in the community. But I think people are very nervous about land grabs and worried about people who don’t have the financial capability to cover themselves.”

In the meantime, Morris just wants to get back to work. “I don’t want to miss being a part of rebuilding Altadena,” she said. “It may be a collective. It may be a store. There’s no way I can cut and run out of a place that’s so special.”

Inganni said Sowersby is considering building desks for the community and developing a fireproof home system.

Renaud, temporarily living in a friend’s accessory dwelling unit, or ADU, in Mount Washington, also wants to help.

“I needed to go and see our house because I needed to grieve,” he said. “If you don’t see what you’ve lost, it’s always a question mark in your mind. But now, I want to be a part of the rebuilding. I have a truck. I’m ready.”