Many who lost their homes, archives, personal collections, and instruments of trade in January’s fires share what gives them hope in these hardest of times

Photography by KURT ISWARIENKO
Words by CHRISTINE LENNON

People who don’t understand Los Angeles perceive it to be an isolating place. They grouse about a disconnected city linked by crowded but lonely freeways, and never quite manage to crack the surface to find its heart. True Angelenos, the people who love this flawed but beautiful place, see things differently. They recognize that there are close-knit, authentic communities to be found in every corner of the sprawl. These come in the form of physical neighborhoods, places like the Pacific Palisades and Altadena, charming hamlets where generations have cared for modest bungalows and architectural treasures hidden among the trees. They know that broader communities also exist among groups of like-minded people drawn together by common interests, like conservation, or a shared cultural heritage, or a love for the arts — especially a love for the arts.

Where else in the United States is there a higher concentration of working artists who are not just subsisting but thriving? An army of composers, painters, milliners, musicians, hair and makeup artists, ceramicists, graphic designers, production designers, interior designers, costume designers, floral designers, clothing designers, writers, furniture makers, healers, and performers of all kinds call this city home. Their work, and the sunshine, is what makes the whole place sparkle. Tragically, the fires hit the creative community extremely hard, and the stories of their loss are profound.

A spreadsheet of more than 100 working musicians who lost their homes, studios, and instruments — many of them teachers and performers for the Los Angeles Philharmonic — has circulated widely online. Many of them, like legendary saxophonist Dale Fielder, had a lifetime of sheet music and archives, as well as rare instruments, that vanished overnight.

The visual art and design community has been equally devastated. Interior designer David John Dick of Disc Interiors had to flee his historic, recently renovated home in Altadena. He and his husband had little more than the clothes on their backs and escaped in a neighbor’s car. Then they welcomed a newborn son, their first child, just days later. One of the items he wished he’d been able to save was a 14th-century Chinese painting he purchased at auction. “It’s so devastating to think that future generations won’t be able to enjoy it, too,” he says.

When you ask residents of Altadena and the Palisades who had time to load their cars before they fled what they reached for first, they’ll tell you about their art. After family photos and important documents, they took rare drawings and prints off the walls, or grabbed armloads from a carefully curated vinyl collection. Second to the people and animals that perished, it’s the lost art that haunts people most.

Painter Kim McCarty lost her home and her painting studio in Malibu — for the second time. She has lived in Los Angeles since 1976, and she and her husband, Michael, have owned Michael’s restaurant in Santa Monica for 45 years.

“Our home and studio burned in 1993, but it was nothing like this,” she says. Their home in Malibu was a beloved spot for frequent gatherings for their vast circle of friends. “This time, we lost everything in our home and the studio was trashed, but I feel so much luckier than others. I feel so bad for young families in the Palisades and Altadena. I feel so bad for L.A. It got hit hard.” McCarty is trying to find solace in the groundswell of support she has received from fellow artists and Los Angeles at large. Ceramicist Victoria Morris has expressed a similar mix of gratitude and disbelief about being on the receiving end of so much kindness.

“For now, I’m relying on the generosity of the community, from people like Heather Levine and Adam Silverman, to help me fire some pieces and use their glazes while I wait for my new kilns to arrive, and I get settled in a new rented space,” Morris says. “The outpouring of the L.A. community at large has been incredible. I have to admit that I’ve had to work really hard to receive it. It’s uncomfortable for me, but I’m so grateful, and I’m trying to help others when I can.”

Borrowed studio space, new supplies, and the belief that art is what lifts people up during challenging times are what keeps everyone moving forward. “I left with nothing when we evacuated. I was more worried about being stuck on PCH than anything,” says McCarty. “But I have a commission I was working on for a gallery in Detroit, so I just had to get back to work. It’s a bummer to lose stuff, but as an artist, it’s what’s in your head at the time that matters. Just to be connected to that process, and to have a place to do it, has been a lifeline. Having been through this before, I know I have to keep going. What else do you do?”

The message that the artistic community returns to time and again, and that emerges in each of the interviews for this portfolio shot by Kurt Iswarienko, is one of frustration and sadness over what was lost countered by tenuous optimism and hope. The smoke has cleared. The cleanup has begun. And the work continues.

“We just want L.A. to come back,” says McCarty. “It’s so quirky here, but it works. For some odd reason we all love this place.”

VICTORIA MORRIS, 50

L.A. native, ceramics artist, and Altadena resident who lost both her home and her business in the Eaton fire 

In early January, I had a huge amount of orders in various stages of production, from wet clay to two full kilns that were cooling. We had a monster day on Tuesday. We threw in the morning from 8 to 12. We set up new shelves. We mixed new glazes. I remember leaving around 6:30. I knew the power was off at the house, so I said to my husband, Morgan, “Let’s make sure the cats are inside.” I had to walk backward because there was so much debris in the air. As I’m getting into the car, I hear a woman on the street scream, “It’s on fire!” I was trying to be calm, but I know in hindsight I was panicking. We went to the studio and I covered all the work in plastic thinking I wouldn’t be back for a few days to trim it. I left my computers. We drove to Ojai.

“There are wild peacocks that visit our yard. I heard one up in a tree, and I thought, ‘Are you OK? How did you survive?’ ”

We knew the next day that everything was gone. We were watching the news, and it all became really clear. You feel like a five-year-old when you talk about missing your stuff. But it’s so much deeper and weirder than that. Blocks and blocks of houses in West Altadena are just gone. It’s violent, what you see. Walking through my garden is what made me weep. There are wild peacocks that visit our yard. I heard one up in a tree, and I thought, “Are you OK? How did you survive?”

I rented a studio in Ventura and we’re getting settled in. I ordered kilns and they’re on their way. And the outpouring of support from the L.A. community at large has been incredible. It’s uncomfortable for me, but I’m so grateful, and I’m trying to help others when I can. We’ve got to keep going. I know I’m being incredibly optimistic. But there’s nothing left. Why not create a little utopia for people to return to? @victoriamorrispottery

KRISTINA ADAM, 34

Yoga teacher, energy healer, and founder of Aether Healing, a well-being studio for women, who lost her home and business in the Palisades fire 

My husband and I lived with our two-year-old daughter in the Palisades village, about a four-minute walk to my studio on Via La Paz. My daughter was born at home, so she’s a native Palisidian, which is rare because there were no hospitals there. It was heaven, and we got to experience a little slice of it for a few years. Every day since she was an infant, we’d walk through the neighborhood, to the library, or down Temescal to the beach. We ended up there quite by accident when we moved into our condo and feel so lucky that we did.

“My daughter asked to go home; she misses her scooter. We explained to her that there was a fire. I think she understands.”

In 2023, I found a studio space that I renovated and made my own. It was the perfect place for treatments and sessions, or just to have tea to connect with people. The wellness community has been so generous. People have reached out and offered acupuncture, or herbs, and it’s really kind. It’s a very L.A. thing that feels really special. I have a retreat that I organized coming up in Mallorca and I’m trying to focus on that and shift back into planning mode. But I lost all of my equipment in the fire, and I am thinking about how to rebuild. It’s an opportunity for a fresh start and I don’t know where we’ll end up. We’re staying in Ojai for the moment.

My daughter will ask to go home, and we explained to her that there was a fire, and that we can’t go home. Her communication skills are just developing, but I think she understands. She misses her scooter, but she’ll be OK. I’m a self-employed wellness practitioner and business owner, so it’s a very unsettling time, not knowing what to do. Looking at everything going on around us, it’s hard to know what to do. @aetherhealing 

CODY WELLEMA, 32

Hat maker, shop owner, and father of three who lost his store, his studio, and his tools in the Eaton fire

I started making hats about 11 years ago in Santa Barbara. I collected vintage clothing and the hats came with that. The hats stuck with me as a symbol of the American West. I started making them in the kitchen when my wife and I were first married there. Then we got our first little studio downtown. We moved to Altadena nine years ago.

We were thinking about going back to Orange County where I grew up, but my wife had a music degree and wanted to go back to school for music, and there was an option for her in Pasadena. We were at a flea market in town talking to a dealer there and he was telling us about his store in his little pocket on Lake in Altadena. We went to see it and it was so nostalgic and romantic, kind of love at first sight. It was a humble space, but it felt like home. We rolled the dice and took a risk, hoping it worked out. But we grew with the community and loved it.

“I built my business one hat at a time. Some of my tools were 100 years old. I don’t know if I’ll ever find them again.”

By 10 p.m. on that Tuesday night, we knew it was getting closer, so my wife and I went to the shop and grabbed a few things like my grandfather’s art, a collection of Navajo rugs, and some rare hats. The next morning, we woke up at 7 to evacuation orders. We were in the car with the kids when an employee called and said, “Cody, it’s gone. The whole block is gone.” We lost it in the car for a few minutes, in front of the kids, which was awful.

I didn’t make a lot of money doing what I did. I make hats in a world that doesn’t really wear them anymore. I built my business making one hat at a time. But I lost my tools. Some of them were 100 years old and I don’t know if I’ll ever find them again. I’d like to think the hats will stay with me, and the people we met along the way, but right now, I don’t know. @wellemahatco

DALE FIELDER, 68

Composer, band leader, and multi-instrumentalist (he plays all four saxophones — soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone) who lost his home and studio in the Eaton fire

I came out to L.A. from New York in 1988. I got into the scene here playing at 5th Street Dick’s and founded the Clarion Jazz label in 1993. I met my wife, who lived in Pasadena, and we decided to try living together nearby in Altadena. That was 16 years ago. Most Black folks know about Altadena, but I’ll never forget the first time I went out there. I couldn’t believe how much I liked it. We were sitting on the patio one night and my wife asked me, “Can you see yourself here in five years?” And I said, “You could bury me in that backyard.” We rented the house, but we treated it like our own. We grew tangerines, kumquats, and avocados. I turned the garage into my studio, and I would sit in the lush backyard and express my gratitude.

The night of the fire I was performing at The Baked Potato with one of the top five drummers in jazz, Marvin “Smitty” Smith. My wife and I were heading home at about 1 a.m. and from the 134 we could see all the hillside on fire. Both of us were so quiet.

“I could see the flames from the yard and I thought, ‘Maybe I should put my saxophones in the car?’ ”

At home, I could see the flames from the yard and I thought, “Maybe I should put my saxophones in the car?” I was so tired after this gig that I just wanted to rest. Then the phones went off telling us to evacuate.

We ended up at the convention center in Pasadena. I managed to sleep for about an hour. Then I went on Facebook and I saw a neighbor, Louis Van Taylor from Kool and the Gang, said his house was gone. So I went out to see it for myself. When I got to my block, it was gone. I sat in the car and bellowed.

Now everybody knows what we always knew about Altadena. It felt like the best-kept secret. Neighbors respected each other. Especially for African-Americans, that history went back to the 1930s. Even if they rebuild, it’s never going to be the same. @dvfielder

KATE MARTINDALE, 54

Vintage collector, stylist, interior designer, and costar of the Discovery Channel’s Capturing Home who lost her home and most of her inventory in the Palisades fire

I was based in the Palisades, that neighborhood you’ve seen on the news that’s just completely gone. We were renting a beautiful little 1937 Sears kit house. I’m a decorator and a stylist and my home was where I could really be me. It was like a laboratory. My house was my “kit” with all the props I use. I’m always late when I leave the house for a shoot because I scan my living room and grab 10 more things to load in the car. My garage was filled with art, pillows, ceramics, and books. That’s all gone.

“After the fire, I swore off buying vintage. I only wanted new things that can be replaced.”

I’ll be honest: Right after the fire, I swore off buying vintage. I only wanted new things that can be replaced, not the one-of-a-kind stuff that I had, but those feelings lasted for about a week. I had a bowl from the 1800s that survived without a single chip, and then it’s just gone in a fire in the Palisades? Now that everything is gone, I’m thinking I’m going to do it differently this time and start over on the East Coast.

I was in New York shooting when they fire happened, and my husband and my daughter, who was in town for the holidays, called me when they had to evacuate. I told them to take four pieces of art that are worth money, and then they left. My husband says that there was a reason I wasn’t home that day, because if I had been, I would have tried to save everything, and we may have gotten trapped. I left the day before and I remember thinking what a beautiful day it was, and how lucky we were. The next day, it was gone. @katemartindalestylist

TAYLOR JACOBSON, 49, JOHN KNUTH, 46, AND MATEO, 5

Interior designer (Jacobson), painter and community college professor (Knuth), and their son who lost their home in the Eaton fire 

We lived in Echo Park for years [says Jacobson], but when we were finally ready to buy a house, nine years ago, Altadena was what we could afford. We felt lucky to find such a special place. It was a diverse community with people who lived there their whole life mixed with young artists. Mateo had just started at a local elementary school and was playing tee ball and soccer, and we were feeling entrenched in the community.

The night of the fire was windy as hell, but in our minds, the wind was blowing in the opposite direction. I went to bed, and then woke up at 2 a.m. I could see the fire from the window. I knew we needed to leave. The thought was, “They’re going to take care of this. We’ll be back.” We packed three days’ worth of clothes, calmly woke up Mateo, and left for our friends’ house in Los Feliz.

“We packed three days’ worth of clothes. The thought was, ‘They’re going to take care of this. We’ll be back.’ ”

The next afternoon, we connected with our neighbor whose son works for the county. He told us our block was on fire. An hour later our house was gone. One of our neighbors stayed behind and saved two houses, but we’re glad ours is gone. I am so worried about the toxicity of the environment. Mateo’s school is open, but I didn’t want to send him back. I’m on a Facebook group for Altadena, and about 90 percent of the community has said they want to rebuild. We don’t. As a designer, I know the cost, the time, and the headache of building a house. I’m just not in the headspace to deal with that. Maybe it’s because those people don’t work in my industry, they have a more hopeful picture? It’s a horrible mess that will take 10 years to come back. I don’t want to live like that, but we’ll hold on to our land in case we change our minds.

In the meantime, John is back to teaching and his art studio survived, but I have had to pause work to deal with insurance. Luckily, my clients have been really terrific. They have all said, “We can wait for our throw pillows, just do what you need to do.” @tayliljay

ALEC EGAN, 41

Painter, lifelong resident of the Pacific Palisades, and father of two who lost his home and his studio in the Palisades fire

I grew up splitting time between my parents’ houses. My dad lived in the Palisades. I loved being from there and I wanted to raise my kids there. Then when my wife, writer Harper Dill, was pregnant with our first child, we took over the house. That’s one of the saddest things. There were old pockets of the neighborhood where generational families still lived. Now they couldn’t afford to live there anymore.

The morning the fire started, we saw a single plume of smoke from our bedroom. Within an hour, the sky was black. Our nanny took our baby and went to pick up our daughter at preschool, so they got out before they had to see the harrowing scene of people evacuating. Families were running from St. Matthews. Cars were melted to the ground.

“We saw a single plume of smoke from our bedroom. Within an hour, the sky was black.”

My studio was in my home, and it’s all gone. I have a couple of shows coming up, Frieze and Hong Kong Basel, and I have to start from scratch. We were able to mount one exhibition with some work that was in inventory that went to the San Francisco Fog Art Fair. Now I’m working in one of gallerist Anat Egbi’s spaces on Fountain Avenue, and we’re renting a house in Melrose Hill. The generosity of the community has been hard to feel. I’ve been experiencing intense confusion for a long time with adrenaline involved. The great thing about being an artist is it’s not only a great form of catharsis, but also a great distraction. Being in an empty studio is really helpful. I was so stressed, but those four white walls were a refuge.

When you drive through the Palisades now, it’s bizarre to see what looks like an atomic bomb hit. For young families like us that aren’t billionaires, rebuilding is going to be a long haul. We hope to find the plans for our house through the city and build again. Maybe it won’t be terrible? Maybe every house won’t look the same? But I am not living in an optimistic space right now. It’ll take a minute. @alec.egan

KENNETH BROWN, 79

Retired auto body worker, former Stanford hospital facilities worker, skilled woodworker, father of producer Naomi Scott, and father-in-law of actor Adam Scott who lost his home and work in the Eaton fire

We’ve been living in Altadena for about two-and-a-half years. We moved down from the San Mateo area where our kids grew up. During the pandemic, we came down to be closer to the kids and the grandkids. Before we moved, we looked for a good six months before we found this great two-bedroom house. It had really nice mahogany paneling in the front room, and so many nice nooks. We had to downsize quite a bit when we moved and kept only the furniture we loved, a lot of which I made myself. My wife, Mary, got me a saw 40 years ago, and making furniture is what I love to do. We’d been working on the house for a while and finally got it to the place where we wanted it. Then the fire came.

“We lost everything I made in the fire, and I’m too old now to remake it.”

We love the community in Altadena, which is really diverse and very close. Everyone talked to each other and went out of their way to help. We were at a birthday party when we got a call that a fire was coming down the hill. By the time we got home, the wind was blowing trees down. It was 7:30 p.m. and we had no power. A neighbor came over and said, “We’re not leaving until you get out of here.” Mary was able to grab some jewelry and other important things. We went to Naomi and Adam’s house and spent the night there. The next morning, a neighbor called to let us know that our house was burning. Then we had to evacuate Naomi’s house in the hills, so we went to a hotel in Long Beach.

We’re in an apartment now, but boy, is it expensive. One of our neighbors is a retired lawyer and a great negotiator, and he’s been helping us navigate FEMA. We’re grateful for people who can help us, because we are feeling so overwhelmed. We have plans to rebuild, but it will take a while. We lost everything I made in the fire, and I’m too old now to remake it. But I’ll always have the memories.

RENATA ORTEGA, 32

Florist, owner of Orla Floral, and native Angeleno who lost her home and her studio in the Eaton fire 

My partner, Andrew, and I have lived in Altadena for three years with our three dogs. It was perfect for us. We were surrounded by nature and quiet, and I was able to work out of the garage that we converted into my studio. We loved taking our dogs on hikes every day to places like Echo Mountain so they could play in the creek.

We had this perfect little midcentury house with a pool, a mango tree, and a guava tree. There is a swing on a tree in the front yard that survived the fire. So that’s a little sliver of hope.

We didn’t evacuate until about 3 or 4 a.m., until the fire was right at our doorstep. We tried to stay as long as possible, but all we had was a garden hose and it was just too dangerous. We loaded the dogs and their food first, and some important paperwork. But even then we always thought we’d be back. Andrew went to check on a neighbor before we left, and he was asleep. He had to wake him up to get him out to safety.

“We didn’t evacuate until the fire was at our doorstep. We tried to stay, but all we had was a garden hose and it was just too dangerous.”

Right now we’re staying with my sister in Glassell Park and my team is with me working out of a temporary studio space across from the flower market downtown. We need each other, and the generosity of the floral community has been truly incredible.

We’re willing to wait as long as it takes, but we are 100 percent going to rebuild. The community is so worth it, and there is nowhere we’d rather be. @orlafloralstudio

This story originally appeared in the Spring 2025 issue of C Magazine.

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