Preserving the recent past: Lessons from the Getty’s International Course on Modern Heritage

Battles over style, shifting notions of taste, perceptions of failure, and architectural determinism have all shaped the now more general acceptance that the post-war years represented a high watermark for British architecture.

Despite more than a thousand buildings from the period now enjoying statutory heritage protection, there remains some way to go in recognising the full range and quality of work produced between 1945 and 1975 – and beyond. As our appreciation for this era grows, and the buildings themselves become rarer, their importance will only increase, whether or not they achieve listed status.

Post-war architecture was often experimental; it explored new techniques and materials, some more successful than others, yet all historically significant. These buildings symbolise the period, physically representing the social and economic changes of the time in the same manner architecture has always done. The need to record, research, and preserve them is therefore fundamental. As we continue to learn how best to maintain modern materials and structures, valuable case studies are emerging worldwide as conservation efforts on buildings from the period gather pace.

Concrete, metal, glass, and plastics: these are the materials that built modernism, and if we are to conserve the architecture of our recent past, we must understand them better.

Initiatives that advance knowledge of this period of recent history are rare, with few offering a comprehensive, global approach that could serve as a template for preservation worldwide. This is where the Getty Conservation Institute (GCI) initiative distinguishes itself.

Now only in its second iteration, the International Course on the Conservation of Modern Heritage (MAC25) is unique in its scope, and was truly a ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ experience.

Collaboration, critical thinking, and reciprocity of learning

Twenty-six professionals from across the globe met online once a week for twelve weeks before finally gathering in Los Angeles. The online phase quickly settled into a steady rhythm: watching the pre-recorded lectures, preparing the weekly assignments, attending the live sessions, and then offering feedback. This routine became almost ritualistic, yet it never felt repetitive. Each week introduced new perspectives, encouraging us to think critically about our own contexts and to compare them with those of our colleagues.

What made this stage particularly engaging was the reciprocity of learning. Lecturers brought a wealth of knowledge and case studies, but the participants’ contributions often proved equally illuminating. Sharing experiences from such diverse cultural, political, and economic settings created fertile ground for debate. We discovered that there is rarely a single ‘correct’ approach to conservation; rather, solutions must respond to context. A method effective in one country might not translate directly to another, yet by examining these differences we found common principles that could inform practice everywhere.

Still, the format had its limits. Despite the regularity of our meetings, interaction remained somewhat constrained. Names, faces, and countries blurred together, and it was often difficult to form strong personal connections through a screen. The curriculum ranged widely: from the role of conservation institutions and tools for assessing significance, to the challenges of upgrading and adapting buildings, ensuring sustainability, dealing with modern materials, and the power of advocacy. Each topic nudged us to think more deeply about the future of our own built environments and how our work could contribute to their protection.

And then came the much-anticipated in-person component. For many of us, it was our very first time in California, and the excitement of finally meeting one another in person was mixed with the natural apprehension some felt about travelling to the United States in the current climate. Those first few days were intense: suddenly, the people we had only known as names on a screen were there in front of us, and the shared experience of living, working, and eating together quickly forged bonds. From breakfast through to dinner – and sometimes beyond, depending on how much energy was left at the end of the day – we coexisted as a group, learning not just through lectures and site visits but also through the informal conversations that filled the spaces in between.

The Getty team ran the programme with clockwork precision, guiding us through a carefully curated timetable that rarely strayed from its structure. Each participant carried a printed schedule everywhere, like a map charting the terrain of our two weeks, showing exactly where we needed to be and when. This discipline gave a reassuring rhythm to the days, allowing us to focus on absorbing the content rather than worrying about logistics. Yet, despite the tight planning, the experience never felt rigid; instead, it offered a balance of structured learning and opportunities for spontaneous exchange.

Our common ground throughout was the Getty Centre, perched high on a hill at the edge of the Santa Monica Mountains, overlooking the vast sprawl of Los Angeles and, on clear days, the shimmer of the Pacific Ocean stretching into the haze. Richard Meier’s striking buildings – clad in pale Italian travertine and white aluminium panels – became our base. Most days we gathered there for lectures, group work, and eventually our final presentations, the bright Californian light flooding into the rooms where we debated and reflected. On other days, the programme led us out into the city, with site visits carefully tied to the themes of the lectures. Local conservancy groups and practitioners welcomed us with remarkable openness, speaking candidly about their struggles, their achievements, and the difficult compromises sometimes required in preservation work. These encounters anchored our theoretical discussions in real-world practice, showing us both the possibilities and the fragility of heritage conservation today.

Exploring Los Angeles' architectural icons

Los Angeles proved a strikingly different place, defying the European concept of a city. Built around the car, it has little regard for pedestrians and limited public transport. Yet for two weeks it was our host, a backdrop to our intense days and full of unexpected discoveries. The scars of recent wildfires, which devastated entire neighbourhoods, were ever present, though conversations had already shifted to resilience and strategies for rebuilding more sustainably.

At times it felt almost unreal to be there – privileged observers invited into remarkable spaces and into the lives of those who care for them. Highlights included our curated visits to Richard Neutra’s residences and studio in Silverlake, Louis Kahn’s Salk Institute in La Jolla, and the Eames House in the Pacific Palisades.

Each site offered a different lesson in modern living, materiality and conservation: Neutra’s houses, with their delicate glass walls and precise siting, revealed an intimate dialogue between architecture and landscape; Kahn’s Salk, monumental and austere, demonstrated how exposed concrete and monumental form can generate both spiritual and practical challenges for preservation; the Eames House, by contrast, felt domestic and experimental: a lived laboratory of furniture, textiles and objects that carried layers of personal history. At the Eames House we were fortunate to meet three grandchildren of Charles and Ray Eames, who generously shared vivid memories of family life in the house, stories that brought the place to life in ways that technical reports never could. These encounters reminded us that modern heritage is as much about human stories and stewardship as it is about materials and design.

Reflecting on learning

Our field project focused on a lesser-known Santa Monica landmark: a building currently vacant and facing an uncertain future. Guided by the local authority and a conservancy group, each team used the available resources and stakeholder interactions to piece together the site’s history and significance. Each group produced a Conservation Management Plan Summary setting out a significance statement, policies for repair and reuse, proposals for maintenance regimes and strategies for community engagement and advocacy. On the final day we presented these plans to our peers and to external stakeholders, a fitting practical test of the course’s teachings, and then joined the closing ceremony, where tutors, presenters and participants converged for one last evening at the Getty.

It is hard to capture the entire experience in words. While the formal lectures and site visits formed the spine of the course, much of the learning happened around the edges: conversations, impromptu debates between sessions, and the generous sharing of expertise and challenges. The dedication and openness of every participant turned a programme of study into a collaborative exchange, and stepping outside our individual contexts broadened our perspectives on conservation practice worldwide. Above all, the course reinforced that protecting modern heritage is a collective endeavour – one that depends on technical knowledge, sensitive interpretation, sustained advocacy and, perhaps most importantly, the enduring relationships forged between people who care for these places.