Part of Los Angeles’ Architectural Heritage Reduced To Ashes

Ten days ago, from the windows of my home in Los Feliz, in the hills of Los Angeles at the eastern edge of the city, I saw a cloud of smoke rising in the distance. From these windows, one can see the ocean, the hills of Pacific Palisades, and in between, the sprawling expanse of America's most extensive city.

Like all "transplants"—I moved here thirteen years ago—Los Angeles is the city of dreams, a place of endless possibilities. Its palm trees, climate, beaches, film sets, and architect-designed houses create its mythical backdrop. As a journalist covering architecture, I’ve loved exploring the city of Case Study Houses. I’ve worn out my gaze admiring Lautner's extravagant houses, peering through hedges to catch a glimpse of a "Neutra" or a "Schindler," and countless times, I’ve made pilgrimages to see the Eames House in Pacific Palisades. Ten days ago, from my house, I watched the city burn. The cloud grew larger and denser at a terrifying speed as sirens blared. By nightfall, we watched the flames race along the ridge of the hill, frozen like spectators facing a scene from Dante's Inferno. That evening, in Altadena, east of LA and opposite Pacific Palisades, flames were consuming as well. In just a few hours, devastation became the new reality.

Eight days later, what became the costliest disaster in the country's history had claimed 27 lives, displaced more than 170,000 people, and destroyed over 12,000 buildings. The immeasurable loss of thousands of homes for residents who lost everything is only the beginning. Schools, places of worship and civic life, businesses, and restaurants also fell victim. And so did numerous historic sites.

While the flames consumed both affluent and modest neighborhoods indiscriminately—celebrity homes in the Palisades or generations-old worker homes in Altadena—and as thousands of firefighters battled the inferno, concerns for the city's rich architectural heritage began to emerge.

When the fire neared the Getty Villa, perched atop a cliff overlooking the ocean, the sense of the threat became more acute. According to the Los Angeles Times, employees had less than two hours between the fire being reported and its arrival at the property. However, they were prepared. The museum works year-round to eliminate vegetation that could burn, and the sprinkler system is designed to act as a fire barrier. As a result, not a single flame touched the villa.

While many iconic structures—such as the Eames House and Case Study Houses by Eames and Craig Ellwood in Malibu—were spared, others were reduced to ashes, taking with them pieces of Los Angeles' soul. The Hollywood Sign, despite AI-generated images falsely depicting it on fire, still looms over the city.

From one end of the city to the other, the scale of these losses tragically reveals the incredible diversity of the region’s architecture: modernist, Beaux-Arts, Spanish Revival, Craftsman, Art Deco, Victorian, postmodern, and contemporary. "What made the Palisades and Altadena so special," said Adrian Scott Fine, president and chief executive of the Los Angeles Conservancy, "was their eclecticism. It's what made them so interesting and original, and why people loved them."

The list is extensive. In Pacific Palisades, the Bridges House, a brutalist masterpiece by architect Robert Bridges built in the 1980s, perched above Sunset Boulevard, was destroyed in the January 8 fire. The Keeler House, a structure nestled on a wooded hillside by modernist architect Ray Kappe and remodeled in 1990, was considered one of Kappe's masterpieces and a key example of Californian modernist design. Further away, the Culbert House in Malibu, also designed by Ray Kappe and completed in 2001, was likewise consumed by flames. Gone too is the Mortensen House in the Palisades. This Spanish Colonial Revival-style home from 1929 was a rare example of such residential architecture. The Benedict and Nancy Freedman House, built by Richard Neutra in 1949, was also lost to the flames.

A true monument of Los Angeles, the Will Rogers Ranch was entirely destroyed. The 359-acre property of the actor and humanitarian included a 31-room home overlooking the Pacific Ocean, guest accommodations, stables, corrals, a golf course, and equestrian trails. The fire not only destroyed this historic property but also parts of Topanga State Park.

In Altadena, the Lowe House by Harwell H. Harris, built in 1934 by the modernist architect trained by Richard Neutra and Rudolph Schindler, has vanished. The Lowe House combined Japanese design and classic ranch style. Burned too is the Zane Grey Estate, an immense Mediterranean-style property built in 1907 by architects Myron Hunt and Elmer Grey. It was known as Altadena's first fireproof structure. Also lost is the Andrew McNally House, a Queen Anne-style mansion designed in 1887 by architect Frederick L. Roehrig for publisher Andrew McNally, located in an area later called Millionaire’s Row.

Still in Altadena, the Gregory Ain Houses in Park Planned were destroyed. Designed in 1948 by Ain with help from modernist landscape architect Garrett Eckbo, these 28 Midcentury Modern homes were part of a planned community focused on affordable prefab design. Further away, the Village Janes in Altadena was partially destroyed. This group of historic English cottages, built between 1924 and 1926 by architect Elisha P. Janes, was designed to be affordable for the middle class. Lastly, Scripps Hall, later transformed into Pasadena's Waldorf School, was also lost. This Craftsman-style structure was built in 1904 by William Armiger Scripps and was another testimony to Millionaire’s Row.

Beyond the human tragedy, this is an artistic and cultural catastrophe. The disappearance of dozens of sites that shaped the history of the city of cinema forever changes its face. From the Will Rogers Ranch, seen in countless films, to the Topanga Ranch Motel built in 1929 by William Randolph Hearst, also burned, the loss is staggering. Historic spots along the Pacific Coast Highway, such as the beloved Moonshadows restaurant and Reel Inn, the Jewish Temple of Pasadena, the Altadena Historical Library, and countless others have been lost.

This list, while incomplete, barely begins to describe the heritage that has been reduced to ash alongside these buildings—artworks, collections of all kinds, archives. For instance, the entire library of the Theosophical Society is now gone. This collection encompassed visionary ideas that shaped Californian spirituality, much like the exceptional book collection of the late artist Gary Indiana, which he had donated to a foundation intended to become an artist residence. It had arrived there on the morning of Tuesday, January 7…