Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Heather Morrow. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Heather, thanks for taking the time to share your stories with us today We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you.

Over the years in Los Angeles, wildfire evacuations have become a haunting ritual—a sudden scramble, a heart-racing departure, knowing that the fire will be battled along the edge of civilization. On January 7, 2025, when my sister-in-law texted, offering refuge at her home in Riverside, I didn’t yet know that flames had erupted in Eaton Canyon just two hours earlier.

There was no warning, no urgent directive to flee. The silence of my mobile device was unnerving as I saw flames licking the horizon above my home. I knew the drill: gather my dogs, grab whatever I could in the moment, and leave. My cameras, conveniently packed, and a few pieces of clothing found their way into the car. Then, with my overly anxious dogs, I drove away from my Altadena home of 17 years, believing I’d return in a matter of days.

By dawn on January 8, 2025, everything had changed. My beloved home and community were gone. From the safety of Riverside County, I sat helpless, watching the devastation continue to unfold through heart-wrenching social media updates and cold news broadcasts. It seemed like the world around me burned while I remained intact, a witness to loss on a scale that felt unfathomable.

When I could finally return, I stood amidst the ruins, trying to make sense of what had been stolen by fire. That’s when I knew I had to document it—not just for myself, but for all who had lived and loved in this place. My photo project, “Bearing Witness: Fragments of Humanity,” is more than a record—it’s a tribute to what once was. To the lives shaped here, to the memories that refuse to be erased, to the resilience of a community that, though physically reduced to ashes, still exists in fragments of what remains.

Heather, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

I am, at heart, a “Creative Soul.” For 22 years, my hands shaped clay, bringing form and beauty to earth and fire. But in 2025, the Eaton Fire reduced both my Altadena home and pottery studio to ash. I left with only my cameras—now, my focus (pun intended) is entirely on photography.

My love for photography began in the early 1970s with a small Kodak Instamax, capturing the vibrant festivals of Japan. Inspired by my parents—both Nikon devotees—I developed an instinct for composition at a young age.

High school deepened that passion. A formal photography class introduced me to the meticulous craft of film development, and with my father’s guidance, I built a darkroom. Soon, I became the official photographer for school plays, preserving theatrical moments with care and precision. Those negatives, once filled with youthful creativity, were lost in the fire.

Through the years, I have explored many artistic mediums—oil painting, ceramics, and more. While I first embraced digital photography in 2003, it wasn’t until the pandemic that I truly reignited my vision behind the lens, transforming fleeting moments into lasting works of art. Now, photography is more than a creative pursuit—it’s a way to reclaim, preserve, and bear witness to the beauty of our magnificent world.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

For me, the most fulfilling part of being an artist is witnessing someone connect with my vision—even if it’s as simple as a thumbs-up emoji on Instagram or Facebook. That small gesture holds meaning; it’s a moment of recognition, an unspoken understanding between creator and viewer.

When I create, I do it with love—for myself, for the joy of shaping something from nothing. But sharing that art with others is its own kind of magic. I believe that each piece carries the energy of that love, radiating outward to those who see it, who feel it, who let it speak to them.

Whether it touches one person or many, each connection strengthens the invisible thread between creator and viewer, deepening the bond that art so effortlessly forges.

And when a piece finds its home—when someone chooses to make it part of their world—it’s more than just a transaction. A piece of my heart goes with what I created to share.

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

In 2003, I lost my first husband to an inoperable brain tumor. Our time together was heartbreakingly brief—less than two years—but the weight of that loss was immeasurable. In the depths of grief, creativity became my refuge. Oil painting, at the time, was more than an artistic pursuit; it was a lifeline, pulling me from despair and giving me a way to express the pain I couldn’t put into words.

That journey led me to ceramics, where I found solace in shaping clay, in molding something tangible from raw material. Eventually, that path brought me back to photography—an art form that allowed me to see the world through a new lens, capturing its beauty even in moments of sorrow.

Loss is inevitable. Pain is unavoidable. We cannot dictate the tragedies life will bring, but we “can” choose how we respond. Through art, I have learned that we can transform grief into something meaningful—something lasting. What we create in our darkest moments has the power not only to heal our own souls but to endure beyond the pain, becoming a testament to resilience, love, and the beauty that remains.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.heathercmorrowphotography.com
• Instagram: @ascapturedbyheather
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090656709800
• Youtube: @potterydaily

Image Credits

(c) Heather C. Morrow Photography