This massive map helps Altadena fire victims feel seen

Los Angeles Times

02-04-2025

In the hours, weeks and months since the Eaton fire, pictures of Altadena's destruction have been almost unavoidable. Tens of thousands of photos and videos of burned homes have found their way online, a relentless stream of devastation for weary eyes. And yet, the scale of what happened in Altadena is hard to fully comprehend, no matter how many images you've seen.
In Altadena, where more than 9,000 total structures burned and most residents are still dealing with the fire's effects on a daily basis, a massive new physical map is helping some come to terms with the destruction — or at least start to mourn the community they've lost.
Created by Highland Park resident Noel McCarthy and set up in the parking lot of West Altadena Wine and Spirits, the 8-by-13.5-foot map is a stylized update of L.A. County's Eaton fire damage map, which uses field damage reports to visualize the number of structures affected on a web-based map. McCarthy's map, which has been attached to plywood pieces and mounted on what amounts to a faux wall, sits amid blocked-off parking spaces just steps from burned-out lots.
McCarthy, a production designer by trade, says he's been working in Austin, Texas, lately and has found that, while people ask him about the fires, they don't really understand the scale. 'I would literally pull out my phone, pull up the [official L.A. County] map and zoom in on a neighborhood,' he says. 'I'd scroll around, and peoples' faces would drop, like their whole demeanor would change.' Seeing the map, he said, was the only thing that effectively showed the devastation, but it was hard to get a sense of just how much of the town the fire took on a phone screen or a laptop.
A large-scale map that people could stand in front of and ponder in person, he thought, would help people absorb the tragedy in its totality. As a visual person, he also felt a map would help deliver a 'quick read,' meaning it would convey maximum information and impact at a single glance.
And it certainly does. The size of a small billboard, positioned to get views from customers and passersby of Altadena Wine and Spirits (where McCarthy — who has been friends with store owner Randy Clement for years — got permission to display his work), the map has attracted quite a bit of social media attention from Altadenans scattered to the winds, as well as those either back in or visiting town. People have been posting pics of it on Instagram, writing about how the map helped them bear witness to the devastation and posting remembrances of the town they love. As one Instagram user wrote, '[The map] will make you grateful for what you do have and remind you that it can all be taken away within minutes.'
McCarthy is loath to say what he wants people to feel looking at the map, but, like all good works of art, it's meant to not only convey a message but also to draw something out of those who see it. It's beautiful and sad, horrifying and tragic, all-encompassing but also supremely lonely. You can look at it and point out your house, or you can view it and mourn those who died in the fire, taking in the black-and-white circles that mark the spots where their bodies were found.
'Until the map, I don't really think I saw [the damage] in totality,' said Clement. 'It's like the Grand Canyon. You haven't really seen it until you've seen it.'
Catherine Schuler, an Altadena resident who visited the map, called the image 'unmooring,' saying, 'When you look at it like this, it's such an erasure … it puts me in a place of thinking about a future that I am not ready to think about yet.' Julianne Vordtriede, an Altadenan who lost her home in the fire, agreed, saying, 'It's one thing to drive down the streets and see empty lots, but it's another when you see the individual dots, because they represent all the lives that were totally changed forever because of what happened.'
McCarthy knew it would be a conversation piece almost from the moment he built it. He enlisted the help of a friend at a set company and the two put the map together at the friend's set design shop. With bad weather on the horizon, the pair decided to leave the map in the shop for a few days, where it could be seen by clients and visitors. 'My friend kept calling me, like, 'Dude, this map is affecting people,'' McCarthy said. 'Stories were pouring out of people visiting his shop, and a couple people who grew up in Altadena actually ended up standing in front of the map and weeping.'
When McCarthy and his friend finally loaded the map onto a trailer and took it to Altadena, it drew a crowd before they could even put it on the ground. 'We stood there for an hour and a half with it still on the trailer,' he said. 'People were pointing to their houses and telling stories, and I knew immediately that it was going to be a good thing.'
Now, people can stop by and visit the map any time of the day or night. It's become a de facto gathering point for locals who are no longer able to chat up a neighbor at Altadena Hardware, Rancho Bar, Side Pie or any number of other local businesses and hangouts lost to the fire. While they might have come together over a cup of coffee or a slice of pizza before, now they're meeting to mourn together.
McCarthy says it's been fascinating to watch, from afar, how people receive the map. Most visitors, he says, seem to want to spend time taking it all in. 'It's funny,' he said. 'When they first get there, they sort of reenact the fire, like you can see them gesturing, 'The wind came in this way, this is where we were …' and that goes on for a while, and then you see them starting to point to different places, like where they live, where they go to school, where they walk. … It seems like it's been important for people to walk through that process, and I'm very happy about that.'
Clement, who lives in Altadena, says he's seen a whole range of emotions from his vantage point inside the store. 'A lot of people get very, very upset, but I've also seen people experiencing this kind of profound realness about what happened,' he explained. When people come alone, he says, they'll often end up standing silently alongside others who have also come to pay their respects, something he likens to nodding to a neighboring stranger while finding your seat at a funeral.
These days, Clement says with a sigh, it's rare to have a chance to show your emotions in public, or to have a place where you can really vent your anger. 'But in our parking lot,' he said, 'in front of that map, they're happening all the time.'