Wildfires have become an integral part of the project There is a place. I document the profound impact wildfires have on Southern California and in particular on Los Angeles County. The work not only captures the devastation and aftermath of wildfires but also the eerie beauty left in the wake of these fires. My approach presents a broader reflection on the climate crisis, the fragility of life and the cyclical nature of destruction and renewal in the face of environmental calamities, highlighting the vulnerability of California’s landscapes to wildfires and the impact of these devastating events on communities.

This project chronicles each larger wildfire around Los Angeles County since 2017. I spent particular time investigating the historic Woolsey Fire of 2018 in Southern California that burned with the speed of 80 football fields a minute through the Santa Monica Mountains while nearly 300,000 people were evacuating. I recorded the disaster’s strange aftermath of debris fields with memories in ashes and the black nudity of a landscape rich and verdant before. Flash floods followed as spring rains fell onto the denuded terrain creating destruction in their path leaving piles of mud and rocks to be cleared from properties and roadways. Then with a beautiful turn of growth and an explosive abundance of wildflowers the process of ecological succession brought the hillsides of the Santa Monica Mountains back to vibrant life. As the images show us what has been lost, we are reminded of just how fragile life really is, perhaps only a borrowed time before a lifetime is returned to dust.

In 2025, the Eaton Fire and the Palisades Fire inflicted traumatic, life-altering losses on their communities. Both disasters were rooted not only in extreme weather but in human failure - neglected infrastructure, mismanagement, and an inability to contain what might once have been preventable. In Eaton Canyon, a dormant transmission line is believed to have been re-energized by high winds, causing to spark the fire; in the Palisades, a small arson-related fire, left insufficiently extinguished, reignited a week later and tore through a community established nearly a century ago.

As I move through these neighborhoods, recovery remains minimal. Rebuilding becomes faintly visible by December 2025 as most areas exist in a state of suspension. RVs punctuate empty lots and exposed foundations. Winter rains coax weeds into bushes. In Altadena, a mountain lion crosses vacant parcels in the afternoon; in the Palisades, nights are dark and hushed, where owls and coyotes share the hunt. Malibu properties remain largely unchanged after debris removal, and along PCH the ocean presses up against the ruins. At that year’s end, standing before my own empty lot, I contemplate the fragile silver lining threaded through loss, endurance, and life's quiet, unyielding insistence.