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1960s architecture: L.A. and the paradox of preservation

Modernism wiped out many historic buildings. Now the newer landmarks are targeted by wrecking balls. Oddly, the green movement could come to the rescue.

October 11, 2009|CHRISTOPHER HAWTHORNE | ARCHITECTURE CRITIC

Modern architecture is growing old. The groundbreaking designers at Germany's Bauhaus began building nearly a century ago. Many landmarks of midcentury Modernism, while somewhat younger, are also showing their age, their curtain walls taking on water, their cantilevers askew. And now the most recent examples of the style, late-modern buildings from the 1960s, are nearing the half-century mark.

That advancing age, in the simplest terms, means the most significant modern landmarks increasingly need protection from demolition, and even from benign disregard. But as "The Sixties Turn 50," a new Los Angeles Conservancy campaign meant to bring attention to threatened 1960s architecture, makes clear, the effort to round up support for postwar buildings is often far from straightforward -- and can easily prove a minefield of contradiction and irony.

To begin with, modern architecture in nearly all its many guises was marked -- even propelled -- by an active disdain for architectural history. And it was during the 1960s that Modernism, fat with success, entered its Imperial phase, using urban renewal schemes and other tactics to remake cities -- often in the most inelegant, big-footed of ways. Bunker Hill, anyone?

Those massive projects, in fact, were precisely the ones that galvanized defenders of historic architecture and, in many cities, spurred the creation of the preservation movement. Now, this same generation of buildings increasingly finds itself at risk from new development.

For The Record
Los Angeles Times Thursday, October 15, 2009 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 4 National Desk 1 inches; 42 words Type of Material: Correction
1960s architecture: In an article in Sunday's Arts and Books section about 1960s architecture in Los Angeles, a caption with a photo of the Department of Water and Power's John Ferraro Building said the building opened in 1961. It opened in 1965.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Sunday, October 18, 2009 Home Edition Sunday Calendar Part D Page 2 Calendar Desk 1 inches; 39 words Type of Material: Correction
1960s architecture: A caption under a photo of the Department of Water and Power's John Ferraro Building, part of an article last Sunday about 1960s architecture in Los Angeles, said the building opened in 1961. It opened in 1965.

At the same time, the 1960s was also the decade that saw Modernism -- to the degree that it was ever a single, coherent force -- splinter and break apart. It was the period in which doubt and memory crept in -- and also, significantly, the moment that consensus broke down within the architecture profession about which new buildings were most important and why. Robert Venturi's "Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture" was published in 1966; the book, which Venturi called a "gentle manifesto," was a shrewd, humane, minutely detailed challenge to corporate Modernism's dominance and aloof stance toward cities' history.

Architects such as Minoru Yamasaki, who designed the World Trade Center towers as well as Century City's Century Plaza Hotel; Edward Durell Stone, and others, meanwhile, began adding curves, ornament and moments of humor to their work. The first stirrings of earth-friendly, back-to-the-land architecture could be glimpsed as the decade wore on as could those of the aggressively unconventional work of the L.A. School. Frank Gehry's Danziger House and Studio on Melrose Avenue in West Hollywood, one of the architect's early breakthroughs, dates from 1965; seen from the sidewalk, it is mostly a blank (or graffiti-covered) stucco wall.

There are practical problems too with any effort to preserve postwar architecture. Particularly in California, late-modern architects were experimenting with new materials, many of them lightweight and flexible -- or even meant to be temporary -- and therefore particularly susceptible to the ravages of time and wear.

In Los Angeles, where the 1950s and '60s were periods of infrastructural investment, optimism and intense growth, we are literally surrounded with architecture from the era, much of it executed at a high level. That means both that we may be lulled into a false sense of security about preserving its best buildings -- because we have so many in reserve -- and also that battles over their fate are emerging fast and furiously.

The Conservancy is fighting a three-front war, with the Century Plaza, Gerald Bense's 1961 Commonwealth Bank on Lankershim Boulevard and Irving Shapiro's Columbia Savings on Wilshire Boulevard, from 1965, all threatened by new development. In that sense, the Conservancy's new campaign, which kicked off with a panel discussion and symposium earlier this month, seems noticeably sluggish.

The National Trust for Historic Preservation is leading a similar nationwide effort, but its reach is broader, covering not just the 1960s but "Modernism and the recent past." That wider focus makes sense: For the most part, the public is sold on 1960s architecture -- or as sold as it is ever going to be, as recent reactions to the death of architectural photographer Julius Shulman and the rise of the sleek series "Mad Men" have made clear.

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