Lifestyle
This L.A. ceramist's vessels offer joy in uncertain times. Thank her 'weird imagination'
Linda Hsiao was standing at a weathered work table inside her ceramics studio in Altadena. It was the day after Halloween, and her two children, Saben Taylor, 5, and Wawona Hsiao, 3, worked alongside her, hand-sculpting clay vessels as wild as a child’s imagination. Like Saben’s handprints in the concrete patio outside the studio, Hsiao’s own wildly creative imprint is clear in the whimsical vessels that line the shelves of the former two-car garage: from long-beaked toucan pitchers and owl juicers to Japanese daruma wishing dolls and Venus of Willendorf lady tiki cups.
“I’ve always had a weird imagination,” Hsiao said as she continued to work on an emerging large-scale vase. “I like the idea of creating mythical creatures that are a hybrid. They are ambiguous and not quite what you would assume. I wish they existed.”
“Are we going to school today?” Saben asked.
“Yes,” Hsiao replied, to his disappointment.
Ceramist Linda Hsiao and her children Wawona Hsiao, 3, and Saben Taylor, 5, get to work in the studio behind their home in Altadena.
“They know I enjoy what I do,” Hsiao said of her children and working from home.
“Many of my vessels are inspired by my kids,” Hsiao said after Saben and Wawona left for school with their father, architect Kagan Taylor. “I feel like I’m constantly being filled … and emptied.”
Hsiao grew up in Laguna Hills, where her parents, Taiwanese immigrants, ran a farm specializing in Chinese fruits and vegetables such as bok choy and bamboo shoots. Her proximity to the ocean and their farm inspired her love of nature, which she describes as “a leading force” in her life. Looking back, she laughs as she recalls explaining to her elementary school teacher that “watermelons were not just red, but yellow too.” This love for nature is evident in her ceramics, which often feature elements of the natural world.
From a young age, Hsiao, now 42, was drawn to working with her hands and taking art and sculpting classes. Her parents wanted to support her and sent her to a summer program at Parsons School of Design in New York City as a teenager. “My parents thought, ‘That’ll get New York out of her system,’” she said with a chuckle. But it only fueled her passion further.
Hsiao takes holiday ornaments out of her kiln in her studio.
Whimsical ceramic creatures are designed to hold birthday candles.
After high school, Hsiao attended Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where she studied industrial design. Following her graduation in 2004, she dedicated nearly a decade to designing eyewear, often spending 12 hours a day in front of a computer. This intense focus left her feeling “dizzy” and craving a more hands-on creative outlet.
So she joined a few community studios in Brooklyn and started doing ceramics. However, living in New York was hard, and she missed gardening and the easy access to nature in California.
After nine years, she moved back to California, where she took ceramics classes at Saddleback College and Glendale Community College at night while freelancing — designing everything from eyewear to jewelry for big brands to snowboarding gear — during the day.
A hand-building class with ceramics artist and teacher Biliana Popova at Glendale Community College changed her career path. “I didn’t take to wheel throwing because I didn’t want things to be perfectly symmetrical,” Hsiao said. “I always wanted to manipulate my forms and change them. My hands always wanted to sculpt. After I took a hand-building class, I never looked back.”
“I always wanted to manipulate my forms and change them,” Hsiao said. “My hands always wanted to sculpt.”
Hsiao’s ceramics are sweet and quirky — tiki cups, Japanese daruma wishing dolls, tiny creatures and bird pitchers and creamers.
Later, after she met her husband — and before they had children — the couple collaborated on a series of handmade wooden baby rattles they sold as part of Knotwork LA, and she began to do ceramics out of their home in Highland Park. (They have temporarily stopped making the rattles but hope to re-stock them again as the kids get older.)
“Knotwork LA was created as an outlet to identify the work we do in our spare time,” she said. “Precious pieces of wood saved from other projects or found while hiking, ideas that came to us in the middle of the night and a desire to create beautiful, useful things.” After juggling freelance work and producing ceramics in the evenings and on weekends for 10 years, she decided to take a leap of faith and do ceramics full-time in 2016.
She started with an order of more than 800 plates and dishes for Curtis Stone’s restaurant, Gwen, in Hollywood.
Since then, her studio has evolved as her work has become more sculptural, and her inventory has become more broad.
Ceramic bird pitchers are inspired by nature.
A completed ceramic bird pitcher in blue.
Hsiao’s handmade ceramics and figurines, many of which she cuts out using a cardboard template after rolling the clay flat with a slab roller, exhibit a playful style that is thoroughly her own. “It’s kind of like sewing,” she said of using patterns. “I cut them out with a knife and mold and sculpt them afterward.”
Her works are filled with whimsy and joy, including a collection of platters and plates featuring inlaid porcelain flowers, vaguely defined creatures that hold birthday candles, penguin pitchers and buddhas. Although she has made lamps, she prefers to focus on affordable goods that can go straight into someone’s home for them to enjoy. “I like having a price point that is somewhat attainable for most people,” she said. “Lamps are expensive.”
Her dream was always to have a studio at home, invest in a kiln and save money on studio expenses. After purchasing their first home in 2020, the couple spent eight months redoing the garage, which had a collapsed roof, last year. The studio is now an artist’s dream, with two kilns, ample space to work, storage and a dedicated area where Hsiao can pack her orders.
“I was using our bedroom as our showroom before,” she said. “It was rough.”
Sketches of empty vessels hang on the wall of Hsiao’s studio.
“The first thing my mom bought me for my studio was a slab roller,” Hsiao said. “She said, ‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself. This is my gift for your studio.’”
But even though Hsiao is working from home most days, meeting people in person has always been a highlight of having a small business. In order to do even more of that, she, Heather Praun of Plant Material and designer Bianca D’Amico of Chaparral Studio launched a semi-annual craft show at Plant Material’s Altadena location. They’ve held “about five” of them so far; the next takes place Dec. 14 and 15. “The whole community shows up,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been lucky enough to participate in some of the most vibrant collections of makers throughout the years and made friends with many. It was a delight after moving to Altadena to find that so many of the makers have found themselves here raising families, going to the same schools and parks.”
“How she prioritizes creativity in all aspects of her life has always inspired me,” D’Amico said. “There is endless thought and time poured into her work, but she exercises that part of herself in every aspect of her life. Even dinner [at] home has a crafty element: food tossed colorfully into various homemade bowls, the kids always helping make the food and nothing needs to match; it’s all about the time spent together. There is a sense that life is happening NOW, and she is engrossed in the moment.”
“People can see that my work is hand built,” Hsiao said.
Hsiao said that balancing a small business in the backyard can be challenging while raising two young children, but she appreciates that she can return to the studio after she has put the kids to bed. “I’ve learned to love the quiet of working in the evenings, [and I ] try to take breaks on the weekends and fully spend time with the kids,” she said. “The balance is tough, but my kids see me trying to sneak in work since my studio is at home and always ask to help. They know I enjoy what I do, and I have no doubt they will spend more time with me in my studio as they get older.”
Despite feeling like an empty vessel sometimes — “much of it feels like there are never enough hours in the day,” she said — Hsiao knows time spent with her kids is fleeting. As she figures out what work/life balance means for her family, she often goes back to something artist and mother Megan Whitmarsh shared with her: “You will never regret all the work you didn’t make while your children were little because you decided to be a present and loving parent.”
In this series, we highlight independent makers and artists, from glassblowers to fiber artists, who are creating and producing original products in Los Angeles.
Lifestyle
Mundane, magic, maybe both — a new book explores ‘The Writer’s Room’
There’s a three-story house in Baltimore that looks a bit imposing. You walk up the stone steps before even getting up to the porch, and then you enter the door and you’re greeted with a glass case of literary awards. It’s The Clifton House, formerly home of Lucille Clifton.
The National Book Award-winning poet lived there with her husband, Fred, starting in 1967 until the bank foreclosed on the house in 1980. Clifton’s daughter, Sidney Clifton, has since revived the house and turned it into a cultural hub, hosting artists, readings, workshops and more. But even during a February visit, in the mid-afternoon with no organized events on, the house feels full.
The corner of Lucille Clifton’s bedroom, where she would wake up and write in the mornings
Andrew Limbong/NPR
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Andrew Limbong/NPR
“There’s a presence here,” Clifton House Executive Director Joël Díaz told me. “There’s a presence here that sits at attention.”
Sometimes, rooms where famous writers worked can be places of ineffable magic. Other times, they can just be rooms.
Princeton University Press
Katie da Cunha Lewin is the author of the new book, The Writer’s Room: The Hidden Worlds That Shape the Books We Love, which explores the appeal of these rooms. Lewin is a big Virginia Woolf fan, and the very first place Lewin visited working on the book was Monk’s House — Woolf’s summer home in Sussex, England. On the way there, there were dreams of seeing Woolf’s desk, of retracing Woolf’s steps and imagining what her creative process would feel like. It turned out to be a bit of a disappointment for Lewin — everything interesting was behind glass, she said. Still, in the book Lewin writes about how she took a picture of the room and saved it on her phone, going back to check it and re-check it, “in the hope it would allow me some of its magic.”
Let’s be real, writing is a little boring. Unlike a band on fire in the recording studio, or a painter possessed in their studio, the visual image of a writer sitting at a desk click-clacking away at a keyboard or scribbling on a piece of paper isn’t particularly exciting. And yet, the myth of the writer’s room continues to enrapture us. You can head to Massachusetts to see where Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women. Or go down to Florida to visit the home of Zora Neale Hurston. Or book a stay at the Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald Museum in Alabama, where the famous couple lived for a time. But what, exactly, is the draw?

Lewin said in an interview that whenever she was at a book event or an author reading, an audience question about the writer’s writing space came up. And yes, some of this is basic fan-driven curiosity. But also “it started to occur to me that it was a central mystery about writing, as if writing is a magic thing that just happens rather than actually labor,” she said.
In a lot of ways, the book is a debunking of the myths we’re presented about writers in their rooms. She writes about the types of writers who couldn’t lock themselves in an office for hours on end, and instead had to find moments in-between to work on their art. She covers the writers who make a big show of their rooms, as a way to seem more writerly. She writes about writers who have had their homes and rooms preserved, versus the ones whose rooms have been lost to time and new real estate developments. The central argument of the book is that there is no magic formula to writing — that there is no daily to-do list to follow, no just-right office chair to buy in order to become a writer. You just have to write.
Lifestyle
Bruce Johnston Retiring From The Beach Boys After 61 Years
Bruce Johnston
I’m Riding My Last Wave With The Beach Boys
Published
Bruce Johnston is riding off into the California sunset … at least for now.
The Beach Boys legend announced Wednesday he’s stepping away from touring after six decades with the iconic band. The 83-year-old revealed in a statement to Rolling Stone he’s hanging up his touring hat to focus on what he calls part three of his long music career.
“It’s time for Part Three of my lengthy musical career!” Johnston said. “I can write songs forever, and wait until you hear what’s coming!!! As my major talent beyond singing is songwriting, now is the time to get serious again.”
Johnston famously stepped in for co-founder Brian Wilson in 1965 for live performances, becoming a staple of the Beach Boys’ touring lineup ever since. Now, he says he’s shifting gears toward songwriting and even some speaking engagements … with occasional touring member John Stamos helping him craft what he’ll talk about onstage.
“I might even sing ‘Disney Girls’ & ‘I Write The Songs!!’” he teased.
But don’t call it a full-on farewell tour just yet. Johnston made it clear he’s not shutting the door completely, saying he’s excited to reunite with the band for special occasions, including their upcoming July 2-4 shows at the Hollywood Bowl as part of the Beach Boys’ 2026 tour. The run celebrates both the 60th anniversary of “Pet Sounds” and America’s 250th birthday.
“This isn’t goodbye, it’s see you soon,” he wrote. “I am forever grateful to be a part of the Beach Boys musical legacy.”
Lifestyle
On the brink of death, a woman is saved by a stranger and his family
In 1982, Jean Muenchrath was injured in a mountaineering accident and on the brink of death when a stranger and his family went out of their way to save her life.
Jean Muenchrath
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Jean Muenchrath
In early May 1982, Jean Muenchrath and her boyfriend set out on a mountaineering trip in the Sierra Nevada, a mountain range in California. They had done many backcountry trips in the area before, so the terrain was somewhat familiar to both of them. But after they reached one of the summits, a violent storm swept in. It began to snow heavily, and soon the pair was engulfed in a blizzard, with thunder and lightning reverberating around them.
“Getting struck and killed by lightning was a real possibility since we were the highest thing around for miles and lightning was striking all around us,” Muenchrath said.
To reach safer ground, they decided to abandon their plan of taking a trail back. Instead, using their ice axes, they climbed down the face of the mountain through steep and icy snow chutes.
They were both skilled at this type of descent, but at one particularly difficult part of the route, Muenchrath slipped and tumbled over 100 feet down the rocky mountain face. She barely survived the fall and suffered life-threatening injuries.

This was before cellular or satellite phones, so calling for help wasn’t an option. The couple was forced to hike through deep snow back to the trailhead. Once they arrived, Muenchrath collapsed in the parking lot. It had been five days since she’d fallen.
”My clothes were bloody. I had multiple fractures in my spine and pelvis, a head injury and gangrene from a deep wound,” Muenchrath said.
Not long after they reached the trailhead parking lot, a car pulled in. A man was driving, with his wife in the passenger seat and their baby in the back. As soon as the man saw Muenchrath’s condition, he ran over to help.
”He gently stroked my head, and he held my face [and] reassured me by saying something like, ‘You’re going to be OK now. I’ll be right back to get you,’” Muenchrath remembered.
For the first time in days, her panic began to lift.
“My unsung hero gave me hope that I’d reach a hospital and I’d survive. He took away my fears.”
Within a few minutes, the man had unpacked his car. His wife agreed to stay back in the parking lot with their baby in order to make room for Muenchrath, her boyfriend and their backpacks.
The man drove them to a nearby town so that the couple could get medical treatment.
“I remember looking into the eyes of my unsung hero as he carried me into the emergency room in Lone Pine, California. I was so weak, I couldn’t find the words to express the gratitude I felt in my heart.”

The gratitude she felt that day only grew. Now, nearly 45 years later, she still thinks about the man and his family.
”He gave me the gift of allowing me to live my life and my dreams,” Muenchrath said.
At some point along the way, the man gave Muenchrath his contact information. But in the chaos of the day, she lost it and has never been able to find him.
”If I knew where my unsung hero was today, I would fly across the country to meet him again. I’d hug him, buy him a meal and tell him how much he continues to mean to me by saving my life. Wherever you are, I say thank you from the depths of my being.”
My Unsung Hero is also a podcast — new episodes are released every Tuesday. To share the story of your unsung hero with the Hidden Brain team, record a voice memo on your phone and send it to myunsunghero@hiddenbrain.org.
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