Burn Line

*upcoming exhibition: Kyoto 4/18

Burn Line is a meditation on loss, resilience, and transformation in the wake of California’s wildfires.

Using a process I call Pyrotype, photographic images are CNC-engraved into wood and then transformed through controlled burning into solid charcoal. Each piece becomes both image and relic—a fusion of photography, sculpture, and memory—objects literally forged by fire, embodying how trauma alters what remains.

I created these pieces in collaboration with fire survivors. Together we looked at photographs of objects they lost in the fires. Then we worked together to tell a story about what was meaningful and what was lost.

Alongside these collaborations, I also include my own black-and-white photographs of the fire’s aftermath, reflecting on destruction and renewal through my own lens.

Lost Shoes

“I bought these at a thrift store in Seaside. They were vintage tap shoes—I had a cobbler cover the suede soles with rubber. I wanted a street shoe inspired by the jazz shoes I loved in ballet school. When I evacuated, they were left behind and later found covered in ash and smoke residue, contaminated with toxic metals. I photographed them for insurance, a record of something too damaged to keep.” – Emi Takahara

Changed by the Eaton Fire, Altadena, January 2025

Lost Menorah

“This large menorah stood proudly at the edge of our parking lot, facing the busy street—a symbol of light shared with the public. When the fire swept through, the menorah was singed and several of our buildings were lost. Many in our community also lost their homes. The next day, we saw video of the menorah lying in the ashes. In time, we restored it and look forward to lighting it again as a sign of resilience and faith.” – Chabad of Pacific Palisades

Changed by the Palisades Fire, Pacific Palisades, January, 2025

Lost Terra-Cotta Bust

“My parents ran an art school in our home in the hills. When I was young, my father sculpted a terra-cotta bust of me and another of my brother. They hung on a wooden wall in the ceramics studio—the heart of our house. When the wall disappeared, they kind of fell together. The clay survived the fire—scarred but whole.” – Robin Wallace

Changed by the Mountain Fire, Camarillo, November 2024

Lost Art

“My parents’ house in the hills of Camarillo was a hub for an extended artist community. The woodblock print on the right came from Mendocino—my parents loved attending summer workshops at the Mendocino Art Center after my father retired, mostly in printmaking and ceramics. At the bottom of the image, a TV shows two power-line workers—an eerie foreshadowing, since so many fires are sparked that way. The large painting on the left, by Roxie Ray, survived only because it had been moved before the fire.” – Robin Wallace

Changed by the Mountain Fire, Camarillo, November 2024

Lost Vase

“My artist cousin Carol Collier bought this for me in 2019. It was from a pottery studio in Sausalito called Heath Ceramics, a green color I wasn’t sure of at first. Muted, matte. She loved it so I looked at it a lot, filling it with different colored flowers from my yard to see how the colors changed the green. I learned to love the green too. Then it all burned down, all the things I thought mattered. They now live in my soul.” – Susannah Mills

Changed by the Eaton Fire, Altadena, January 2025

Lost Landscapes