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Why Did It Take a Fire for the World to Learn of Altadena's Black Arts Legacy?
Why Did It Take a Fire for the World to Learn of Altadena’s Black Arts Legacy?
As Frieze Los Angeles shines a spotlight on art in the city, one community, long facing institutional apathy, calls for marking its memories in the public mind.
Altadena, Calif., has been a haven for Black artists for decades. Betye Saar, in patterned dress, and Charles White, in sunglasses, at Art in the Afternoon, an exhibition at the home of Jeffalyn and Alvin Johnson, June 1962. Betye Saar and Roberts Projects
By Sam Lubell
Reporting from Los Angeles
Feb. 20, 2025
Updated 11:33 a.m. ET
Before the Eaton fire raced across Altadena, destroying more than 9,000 of its buildings, many, even in nearby Los Angeles, barely knew of the place’s existence. This sleepy 42,000-person hamlet hugging the glowing foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains is not part of that city but an unincorporated community of Los Angeles County, and just far enough off the beaten track to blissfully avoid notice.
Once typified by its bucolic quirkiness, tight-knit neighborhoods and generations-old churches and businesses, Altadena now consists of row after row of twisted, charred building remains, scorched car chassis, blinking or broken stoplights and the occasional khaki National Guard Humvee. The future, for now, is filled with toxic cleanup, insurance adjustments and conflicting visions for rebuilding.
Yet the past has gained newfound prominence. With so much gone, Altadena’s histories are being unearthed, by residents, scholars and preservationists who say they may hold a key to making this a special place once again, and provide anchors for those weighing whether to stay.
One of the most profound of Altadena’s legacies — its spectacular story of Black creative culture — had been buried not only under its seclusion, but also under layers of racial and institutional apathy, the loose accounting of informal memory, and the absence of formal plaques and other preservation markers. The fire has spurred calls for a more rigorous approach to remembrance. ... “Sometimes it takes a tragedy for people to mark history,” said Brandon Lamar, president of the N.A.A.C.P.’s Pasadena branch, whose own home was destroyed, as was his school, his grandparents’ home and their church. But that destruction, he noted, “does not mean that we can’t create public memories in spaces now, so that people can remember this information for generations to come.”
Burned surroundings across the street from Charles White Park, scorched by the Eaton fire. Magdalena Wosinska for The New York Times
{snip}
As Frieze Los Angeles shines a spotlight on art in the city, one community, long facing institutional apathy, calls for marking its memories in the public mind.
Altadena, Calif., has been a haven for Black artists for decades. Betye Saar, in patterned dress, and Charles White, in sunglasses, at Art in the Afternoon, an exhibition at the home of Jeffalyn and Alvin Johnson, June 1962. Betye Saar and Roberts Projects
By Sam Lubell
Reporting from Los Angeles
Feb. 20, 2025
Updated 11:33 a.m. ET
Before the Eaton fire raced across Altadena, destroying more than 9,000 of its buildings, many, even in nearby Los Angeles, barely knew of the place’s existence. This sleepy 42,000-person hamlet hugging the glowing foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains is not part of that city but an unincorporated community of Los Angeles County, and just far enough off the beaten track to blissfully avoid notice.
Once typified by its bucolic quirkiness, tight-knit neighborhoods and generations-old churches and businesses, Altadena now consists of row after row of twisted, charred building remains, scorched car chassis, blinking or broken stoplights and the occasional khaki National Guard Humvee. The future, for now, is filled with toxic cleanup, insurance adjustments and conflicting visions for rebuilding.
Yet the past has gained newfound prominence. With so much gone, Altadena’s histories are being unearthed, by residents, scholars and preservationists who say they may hold a key to making this a special place once again, and provide anchors for those weighing whether to stay.
One of the most profound of Altadena’s legacies — its spectacular story of Black creative culture — had been buried not only under its seclusion, but also under layers of racial and institutional apathy, the loose accounting of informal memory, and the absence of formal plaques and other preservation markers. The fire has spurred calls for a more rigorous approach to remembrance. ... “Sometimes it takes a tragedy for people to mark history,” said Brandon Lamar, president of the N.A.A.C.P.’s Pasadena branch, whose own home was destroyed, as was his school, his grandparents’ home and their church. But that destruction, he noted, “does not mean that we can’t create public memories in spaces now, so that people can remember this information for generations to come.”
Burned surroundings across the street from Charles White Park, scorched by the Eaton fire. Magdalena Wosinska for The New York Times
{snip}
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