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I’m a freelance photojournalist and have contributed to The New York Times since 2016. Over the last decade I have documented many scenes for The Times, including homeless encampments in Los Angeles and the people trying to help those who live there; a ghost town near the California-Nevada border in need of revitalization; and the unexpected union between a “kitten lady” and a cat photographer, a “meow” made in heaven.
I developed a passion for photography because of my father, a former war correspondent for The San Diego Union who covered war-torn regions of Central America in the late 1970s. When I was young, he introduced me to the work of photographers such as Robert Capa and Gordon Parks, as well as former colleagues of his like Don Bartletti, a Pulitzer Prize winner, Robert Nickelsberg, of Time magazine, and the war photographer Susan Meiselas.
Like those photographers, I wanted to capture images that told a story, one that could not be expressed in words but would be conveyed through the nuanced emotions on subjects’ faces.
On Jan. 7, 2025, the day the Pacific Palisades and Eaton fires in Los Angeles started, I was packing up for a move in San Diego. While reading about the fires online, I was struck by the apocalyptic images of flames engulfing homes, and the firefighters attempting to extinguish them.
The following morning, I texted Heather Casey and Jennifer Mosbrucker, photo editors at The Times, to see if they needed anyone to cover the fires. Two days later, I drove to Los Angeles, which can take about four hours from San Diego during peak traffic, with a pair of firefighting boots, protective goggles, a reusable respirator mask and a brush helmet, as well as my Sony a7R III camera, batteries and lenses.
Even with all my gear, I still wasn’t prepared for the scenes of devastation that surrounded me. As I drove through Malibu, Altadena and the Palisades during my five-day trip, and the fires raged on, I saw many people driving with their belongings in their vehicles, and several fireplaces where homes, now reduced to rubble, once stood.
One morning I decided to walk along the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu just before sunrise. I wanted to capture images of cars, homes and the other things that remained near the waterfront.
At one point I noticed smoke rising from a small patch of ground, and swaying metal beams hovering above; what appeared to be the remains of a three-story home. Attached to the bare beams was an intact spiral staircase.
It was surreal to see the stairs, positioned for picturesque views of the Pacific, amid so much destruction. As the sun rose, giving the sky tints of light blues and pinks, I snapped photos, hoping to capture the shocking scene; one as tragic as it was beautiful.
I sent the images to Heather and Jennifer and rushed to my next location.
The next day, the image of the staircase appeared on the front page of The Times. I was elated to see my photo there, if only to offer readers a small glimpse of what I witnessed in Los Angeles. It’s easy to detach oneself from the news when the news becomes overwhelmingly distressful or disheartening, but I hoped that the image might jolt readers out of their malaise.
The next morning, still in Los Angeles, I opened Instagram to see a message from a woman named Debbie Bernstein. She said she had seen the front page and the image of the home with the staircase, a house that belonged to her 85-year-old parents, Arnold and Elinor Bernstein.
Originally from New York, the couple had moved to Los Angeles in 1964 and built the home that I had photographed. Debbie mentioned that her parents hope to rebuild it one day. She also asked if she might be able to obtain a print of the image, for her parents. “Thank you for your work and recognizing the beauty in the house’s remains,” she said. I teared up after reading her message.
When I’m on assignment, I often become so focused that I don’t have the opportunity to consider how my images might resonate with readers. Before I have a moment to decompress, I’m usually on to my next assignment.
But Debbie’s message and my time in Los Angeles forced me to sit still with my emotions, for the first time in many years. My goal has always been for viewers to see an image of mine and feel the same emotions I did when I photographed it. In this case, those emotions included profound sadness, shock and hope — hope that one day, homeowners affected by the fires might rebuild and move forward with their lives.
For now, I’m on to my next assignment. But the scenes I witnessed will remain with me for a lifetime.
