The key to art in Eaton fire recovery used to fit front doors

Kate Sullivan, left, and Nancy Larrew at Sullivan’s home in Altadena that the Eaton fire destroyed. Sullivan and Larrew are coordinating a project to memorialize victims and survivors of the Eaton fire by collecting keys to homes lost in the fire and turning them into a community art project titled Keychain Project. Hans Gutknecht — Staff Photographer

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That sentimental tradition of leaving locks locked to romantic places around the world doesn’t work for me. It makes everything heavy and metallic.

The grillwork beneath the handrails on the Pont des Artes across the Seine, for instance, used to be burdened by thousands of tiny padlocks with initials scrawled on them left by lovers who wanted to leave their hearts or some version of them in Paris.

I understand that Paris is a romantic city. But a little ritual that once probably seemed cute was soon about as kawai as gang graffiti when every square centimeter of the bridge was covered by padlocks. And they really weighed the pedestrian-only bridge down, structurally.

A few years ago Paris officials had to resort to removing the grilles and replacing them with glass panels so that little locks can’t be locked to the bridge anymore. And, in classic French fashion, made it illegal to leave a lock on the span, to boot.

Anyway, I always thought it was cheesy in the first place.

Here’s what’s not cheesy: The two Altadenans who are gathering up the house keys of fellow victims of the Eaton fire for whom there are no longer front doors to open.

Those Schlages and Baldwins are no good to anyone anymore. They’re just brass, in pocket. Useless — except, that is, as individual components of an art project that can mean something to the community, collectively.

I really enjoyed the opening lines — poetic as you’re going to find in the daily paper — to our story April 21 by Lisa Jacobs about the plan so far: “Imagine, years from now, driving north on Lake Avenue. As you near the town resprouting from the Eaton fire, you are greeted by the branch of a large overhanging oak tree. The majestic bough is shaped from impenetrable iron. Its signage beckons you to the new Altadena. And dangling, shimmering, gently tinkling in the wind are thousands of keys. These are the keys that once opened doors to thousands of keepsakes. That signified a return to hearth, to home, to safety.”

I can imagine that. And it’s really cool. It’s not Pont des Artes cheesy.

Altadenans Kate Sullivan and Nancy Larrew didn’t know each other before the Eaton fire. They connected through social media after their town was destroyed. Now they run the Eaton Fire Keychain Project — keychainproject.org — together. And all they need, as Jacobs wrote, are keys.

“Everybody is throwing away their front door key,” as Sullivan said. “But each key symbolizes our loss.”

Drop off your keys at the Altadena Library or they many other locations they have up on their lovely website. After so much loss — 18 lives, 7,000 homes — art is the only response that makes any sense.

Wednesday at random

Since the fire, my dear Pasadena cousin Pam McNeely has become what she terms the “ringleader” for a group of people holding healing sound baths at several locations, including the Langham Huntington Hotel and the Lineage Performing Arts Center at Mountain and Lake. Teacher Linda Lau wrote: “The response at the end of our initial sound bath in the Georgian Room was simply powerful and amazing! If you were there, you’d have seen the 60+ folks resting on the circular mat formation gently rise and open their eyes to rejoin the group. What they saw in each other were gentle serene smiles and feelings of comfort and peace. A sense of community and support seemed to echo in the room.” I sent a note to county Supervisor Kathryn Barger to ask her to help publicize the sound baths and she replied, “Consider it done. I may try it!” I’ll find out if there are future sound baths planned and note them in this space ... I know that moving the traditional start time of a college football time by one hour doesn’t sound like a very big deal. After all, during the regular season, the start times are often completely unknown at the beginning of the season, to be scheduled later entirely at the capricious whims of network TV. However. The Rose Bowl Game kickoff has been New Year’s Day at 2 p.m. since God was in short pants. For all I know, it was at 2 in 1917 when Pam’s and my grandfather Elmer arrived in Pasadena from East McKeesport to see the Penn-Oregon game in Tournament Park, and never left. It made for the perfect amount of time for lunch after the parade and before the game. And now, at 1 p.m., it doesn’t. Thanks to providing a “perfect viewing window” ... for network TV.

Write the public editor at lwilson@scng.com.