Cars were parked side by side outside the Knowhow Shop in Highland Park a week after the devastating Eaton Fire ripped through Altadena, killing 17 people, leaving 24 missing and destroying more than 7,000 structures. People from across Los Angeles, their faces obscured by gray rain, carried bags of toys and clothes to donate to Altadena Kindred, a fundraiser for displaced Altadena children.

Just a month ago, one of the event's organizers, Altadena ceramicist and industrial designer Linda Hsiao, helped organize a similar community event in the foothill town. At Plant Material’s holiday craft fair, local artists share handmade ceramics, knives, jewelry, hot sauce, embroidery and tie-dye textiles. The St. Rita Cub Scout Pack showed up to sell mistletoe foraged from nearby trails, adding to the family-friendly atmosphere.

Artist Bianca D'Amico, who helped organize the December event — her son attends kindergarten on Burnt Christmas Tree Lane — responded to the former gas station they co-founded on Lincoln Avenue is proud of its hyperlocal market, which surprisingly has survived. "There is a very personal quality to our supplier colleagues who put so much effort into their work and embody the spirit of Altadena," D'Amico said, calling them a "creative, A community of plant-loving, dog-friendly, kid-wrangling” makers, artists and designers. "

Today, nearly all of the vendors, including Hsiao; her husband, architect Kagan Taylor; and their two children, are homeless. "Our houses are still standing, but it's not safe for us to return," she said of the smoke, water damage and looting. "Right now, all I can think about is how we lost our friends, our school, our entire community."

Xiao's shock was palpable as she welcomed friends and accepted donations to relatives in Altadena. "This is where we're supposed to grow old," she stammered. "This is where my son should be riding his bike to school."

With nearby schools disappearing, Xiao was determined to find a way to create a place where all the children in the community could come together.

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

Glass and metal artist Evan Chambers, who, like his parents and grandparents, was born and raised in Altadena, an unincorporated community of more than 42,000 people nestled in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains , has long been a refuge for artists.

“This has always been a very accepting community of weirdos,” said Chambers, who purchased his home from the estate of notorious compost czar Tim Dundon, also known as Chief Zeke.

He praised gallery owner Ben McGinty for creating a space for all artists at his World's End 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 stone walls and Arts and Crafts houses, which influenced his aesthetic as a glassblower. He lost his home, including the ceramics studio he built for his wife, Caitlin, but was confident he would rebuild. "We're going to rock this," the father of two said. "With climate change, there is no safe place to go. It is important that you suffer alongside those you want to help or be helped. If you are going to burn, you burn with your people."

Ceramicist Victoria Morris was born and raised in Los Angeles and has lived in many neighborhoods in the city. But a decade ago, when she purchased a small mid-century house in Altadena, the artist felt she had found a home, both personally and professionally. "I thought, 'This is my last stop,'" Morris said.

The ceramicist works out of a studio on Lake Avenue two miles from her home, where she stores photos and hard drives in the basement. Just a month ago, Morris held a holiday sale and people packed the showroom to buy her mid-century-style lamps and vases.

Today, everything is gone.

Morris is fortunate to have a second home in Ojai. Still, she's grappling with the nightmare of the Jan. 7 evacuation and all she's lost. "My husband Morgan (Bateman) said, 'Bring your wedding ring, your passport, your animal, and put on a jacket and some sturdy shoes.'" There's a beautiful vintage Japanese print that costs no money, but I'm very Like her. As I left, I thought, "Should I catch her?" A voice in my head 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 catch it? No, our hard drive? Gone. "

When Bateman finally managed to gain access to their property, he found their home and beloved garden smoldering. "All our neighbors are gone," he told her in panic.

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

"He was in eighth grade and there were about 67 families affected at his school in Pasadena," she said. "They're a very supportive community, but I've been burying my grief just to have Bird back in school. I know it's not just us. It's the whole town."

Inganni lives in the Rubio Heights neighborhood with her husband, furniture designer Brendan Sowersby of 100xbtr, and their two dogs and three cats (all safely evacuated). Their home is filled with custom furniture designed by the couple. Now, everything is gone. Many of her neighbors live in their childhood homes. She described the community as "heaven on earth."

“Altadena is the most special, innovative, diverse, inclusive, core values ​​town 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 home, my studio and my archive of everything I'd ever done. A lot."

After temporarily evacuating to Moorpark last Tuesday, Thomas Raynor returned to Altadena after learning his neighbor's house was still intact.

"They wanted to go back and get some stuff and I offered to drive them," he said. Leno hopes the home he shares with partner Chris Maddox and their dog Van, who both made it out safely, is also unscathed. But as he drove down Altadena Boulevard on Wednesday after dropping his neighbor off, all he could see was ash and flames. “When I turned the corner and I saw the whole neighborhood was gone,” he said, “I just lost it.”

When LGS Studio potters and Maddox purchased 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 could get a piece of that,” he said. "We put a lot of love into that house; it was where all our friends and family were. We lost not just a house, but a home."

Although Leno is back at work at his studio in Glassell Park this week, he said he's still in shock. "I don't think I've slept more than one night in the past week," he said. "Everything feels overwhelming right now. We are humbled by all the support, but where do we start?"

Like many others without housing, he said finding semi-permanent housing is a good start.

As artists, it's no surprise that many are haunted by what they leave behind. For Morris, it was a set of mugs made by Los Angeles potters Kate and Roger, quilts she made with her mother, pencil drawings of her grandmother made by her grandfather.

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

The diary Ingani had kept since she was 6 years old was destroyed, along with irreplaceable family mementos. "Brendan's father died two years ago and we had his ashes and photos but they are gone," she said. “That’s what touched him the most.”

When it came time to evacuate, Reno grabbed a bag of clothes, the dog, the dog bed and his great-grandfather's watch. "I didn't expect the fire to reach this far," he said. "My grandmother was a painter and I have original works of hers. These are the saddest things to me. I'm thinking, 'We'll be back.' "But this is family history that we can't undo."

Morris has sought refuge in her studio during the COVID-19 pandemic. But now the stores near her studio are gone, like the Altadena Hardware Store on Mariposa Street, the Grocery Outlet Market, Café Milk and Steve’s Pet Shop. "Everyone in the hardware store knows my name and always has treats for my dog," Morris added.

Despite the loss, artists acknowledge moments of grace. Friends have set up a GoFundMe account to help with their short-term needs. Chambers' friends from kindergarten and elementary school built beds for him and his family. The messages Morris received brought tears to her eyes.

"Two people sent me pictures of a vase and a bowl and told me they survived," she said. "It brings them a lot of joy. They offer them to me and I tell them no. I want them to keep them."

Hsaio received a photo from an Altadena tequila maker who found one of her Tiki glasses intact in the rubble. “These people are not just my customers,” she said. “They are my community.”

Still, some are filled with fear about what happens next.

Reynolds and Taylor received text messages from strangers offering to buy their damaged home. "It's still smoldering," Reno said in disbelief.

“It’s going to be the Wild West,” Ingani said. "Everyone I talk to is rebuilding. That's what permeates the community. But I think people are very nervous about land grabs and worried about people who don't have the financial means to support themselves."

Morris, meanwhile, just wants to get back to work. “I didn’t want to miss being a part of Altadena’s rebuilding process,” she said. "It could have been a collective. It could have been a store. There was no way I was leaving such a special place."

Ingani said Thorsby is considering building desks for the community and developing fire-resistant home systems.

Reynolds, who is temporarily staying in a friend's accessory dwelling unit (ADU) in Mount Washington, also wants to help.

"I needed to go see our house because I needed to grieve," he said. "If you can't see what you've lost, you're always going to have a question mark in the back of your mind. But now, I want to be part of the rebuild. I have a truck. I'm ready."