Platform 2019–2020

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Preservation in the Americas Finding Our Shared History


Preservation in the Americas Finding Our Shared History




Dean's Message

Digging Ditches Michael Holleran

The National Park Service and the UT Austin School of Architecture: Partnerships for Preservation Innovation Julie McGilvray

4 Contributors

6 Editor’s Introduction

8 Before West Campus: Rediscovery and Preservation of Wheatville’s African American Heritage Tara Dudley

18 Reading the Buildings: Challenges for the Reconstruction of Latin America’s History Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla

22 Decolonizing Preservation for the Future of the Americas Fernando Lara



The White House Restored: Reconsidering the Role of the AIA in Preservation History Anna Nau

Turning Power Upside Down: Historic Preservation and Grassroots Organizations in Valparaíso, Chile Magdalena Novoa



Mexican Hinterland: A Snapshot of Nuevo Laredo’s Turn-of-theNineteenth-Century Railroad Stations Sarah Lopez

Changing Narratives on Brazilian Heritage Barbara Aguiar

35 Alumni Profiles Izabella Nuckels Rebecca Kennedy Vishal Joshi

38 Endowments

40 Philanthropy

44 Advisory Council

PLATFORM is the annual magazine of The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture. It serves as a “platform” for the school to investigate the intersections of its research, practice, and pedagogical approaches with a broader audience. Each issue of PLATFORM features articles of topical interest in the disciplines of architecture, architectural history, community and regional planning, historic preservation, interior design, landscape architecture, sustainable design, and urban design. Editors selected from the school’s faculty develop a new theme or prompt for the publication each year and drive its conceptual direction. This issue, titled Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History, edited by Associate Professor Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, focuses on how we define and interpret cultural heritage in the Americas and beyond, and looks at historic preservation as a live and dynamic field of investigation and professional work related to the built environment. The issue aims to use the lens of this discipline to find common ground in the intrinsic differences that make the history of the Americas richer, and to present the multiple voices that emerge from this multidisciplinary community. 2

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History


Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla MANAGING EDITOR

Leora Visotzky


Carly Choi Christine Johnson


Hailey Algoe DESIGN

Whitebox CONTACT

The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture 310 Inner Campus Drive, B7500 Austin, TX 78712-1009 512.471.1922 TO OUR READERS

We welcome ideas, questions, and comments. Please feel free to share your thoughts with us. ON THE COVER

Frontpage image by Fernando Aceves-Humana. Fernando is a graphic artist living in Oaxaca, Mexico. His work looks at themes of Mexican heritage, immigration, and the environmental impact of modern living. One of his series, developed as an artistin-residence at the Cité Internationale des Arts in Paris, looks at the intersection of extinct animals and the US-Mexico border. The work is charged with industrial atmospheres that remember our disrespect for the environment. The print used for this Platform issue is part of a series created for the commemoration of the twentieth anniversary of Monte Alban as a World Heritage Site. More on Fernando’s work can be found at

© 2019 The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture


D. Michelle Addington

A Nolli map is mounted on the north wall of my office in Goldsmith Hall. It was printed from the original engraved plates—currently held in the Vatican museums—produced by Giambattista Nolli in 1748. The map was a gift to me from the descendants of Giorgio Romanini, who was one of the architects responsible for designing and building EUR: Mussolini’s model district of Italy located about ten kilometers south of the Roman Forum. I have had the map for thirty years, and it continues to give me pause every time I stop to look at it, which often occurs multiple times per day. The Nolli map is seminal in architectural and urban planning history. The dimensional accuracy of the map in plan was unprecedented in the Renaissance; as such, the map is a true tour de force in the development of cartography. But there are two other aspects that render the map so central in the teaching of history. The first is its depiction of public space. Similar to many maps today, the Nolli map depends on figure/ ground to differentiate between buildings and the spaces between them. But, the map is unique in that it also charts the spaces inside of buildings that were accessible to the public. Bernini’s monumental Piazza San Pietro seamlessly opens into the Basilica of St. Peter’s, rendering the two spaces—interior and exterior— as a single place of public gathering. As such, it is a map of the stage for public action, thereby presaging Hannah Arendt’s theory arguing the human condition of plurality developed nearly two hundred years later.

today. Our pedagogy continues to derive from classical origins in the Mediterranean—indeed we still teach from Vitruvius’ first-century-BC treatise De Architectura—and modern city planning hews closely to Western European precedents—every student is familiar with the urban decisions that structured Barcelona and Paris, but few can trace the lineage of those that shaped Tokyo and Mexico City. This narrow circumscription of what constitutes the canon has limited our purview and our strategies, and has most severely delimited our engagement of the roles that both history and historic preservation should play within the way that we conceive, design, build, and maintain our built environment.

The second aspect of this extraordinary map resides in its inclusion of landscape, infrastructure, and ruins. We see the shadowy imprint of the Circus Maximus, the extents of the Aurelian Walls, the fields and orchards filling in where buildings once stood, and the city planning interventions of Pope Sixtus V. One only need stand in front of this map to read two thousand years of Rome’s history through the fabric that remains. There is no greater primary source available to historians for studying a culture than to examine the palimpsest of urban form, buildings, and landscapes. To walk the paths depicted by this map in Rome today is not just to see the remnants of the past as if in a museum, but to participate in a collective public experience that continues to live.

Historic preservation as a degree program at the University of Texas at Austin is relatively young—the MS in Historic Preservation was just established fifteen years ago—but its study has been an integral part of the school for over one hundred years. With its roots in the doucmentation of Texas’ historic buildings, the Historic Preservation program has charted a different cartography than that depicted by the Nolli map, as evidenced by the essays contained within this issue of Platform. Each essay opens the borders of the canon, and each essay de-centers the Western European narrative of origins. From the use of advanced laser scanning technologies to document the contributions of indigenous builders and masons in sixteenth-century Mesoamerican construction, to the tracing of city planning strictures that defined where African-Americans could live, study, and work in Austin, to the foregrounding of how water was channeled and corralled in American cities, this issue’s essays represent domains, scales, and disciplines far beyond what the lay public would imagine as the scope of historic preservation. Drones and other advanced technologies have joined archival examinations and measured drawings in the methods of historic preservation, and the impact of our research goes far beyond the preservation of a building or a site toward a comprehensive understanding of a culture and its lived, and living, experience. More than preserving an object or element of the past, historic preservation reveals and supports that which is enduring, and it is this enduring aspect that is as much about the future as it is about the past.

As seminal as this remarkable map is, we must also recognize that the Nolli map is representative of a culture and of an urban evolution that has an outsize role in how we think about and teach architecture and urban design

If the Nolli map catalogued two thousand years of the history of Rome’s built environment, what map would serve as our cipher today for our ever-changing, ever-evolving cities?



Barbara Aguiar is a third-year PhD student in Architecture and Architectural History, and a preservation architect at the Fundação Oswaldo Cruz, a century-old foundation that focuses on studying, researching, and developing planning policies for public health in Brazil. She was a student in the first Latin American course on the Conservation of Modern Architecture (MARC-AL), held as a joint initiative between the Centro de Estudos Avançados da Conservação Integrada (CECI) and the International Center for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of the Cultural Property (ICCROM). Barbara was also a student in the first Introduction to Conserving Modern Architecture course from the Getty Conservation Institute. Her areas of interest are history of architecture and urbanism, historic preservation, integrated urban conservation, nationalism and identity, and modern architecture in Latin America.

Tara Dudley, PhD is an independent historic preservation consultant and a Lecturer at The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture. Her research focuses on nineteenth- and early twentieth-century American architecture and design, specifically the undertold/untold contributions of African Americans. Her research methodology includes creative utilization of archival resources and conducting oral histories. Notably, she has applied this approach to her study of the architectural activities of New Orleans’ gens de couleur libres (free people of color); their influence on the physical growth of New Orleans; and the historical, cultural, and economic implications of their contributions to New Orleans’ built environment and to nineteenth-century American architecture. She has collaborated on interdepartmental preservation work with the Anthropology Department as well as the African American Studies and American Studies programs. Dr. Dudley obtained her doctorate and master’s degree in from UT Austin and holds a bachelor’s degree from Princeton University.


PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Michael Holleran, PhD directed the UT School of Architecture’s Graduate Program in Historic Preservation from 2006 through spring 2019. Before that he was the Historic Preservation program director and Associate Dean of Research at the University of Colorado College of Architecture and Planning. His first book traced the origins of preservation and planning in Boston. His next book is on the cultural landscapes of irrigation canals in cities of the U.S. West, which is supported by the James Marston Fitch Charitable Foundation, the Charles Redd Center at Brigham Young University, and by a UT faculty research leave in spring 2020.

Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla is an Associate Professor of Architecture and Historic Preservation. His expertise involves case studies of ancient masonry techniques, stereotomy, descriptive geometry, and architectural geometry informed by form-resistant structures. His most recent research focuses on the transmission of building technology from Europe to the Americas through constructive and geometric analyses of sixteenth-century ribbed vaults in Mexico. His book and exhibition, both titled Mixtec Stonecutting Artistry, have received numerous architecture biennale awards in Mexico and Latin America, the University Coop Creative Research Excellence Award, and the 2017 Phillip Johnson Exhibition Catalogue Award from the Society of Architectural Historians. Professor Ibarra teaches contemporary and historic building technology courses, adaptive-reuse-focused design studios, and documentation of historic structures.

Fernando Luiz Lara, PhD is Professor of Architecture and Urban Planning at The University of Texas at Austin where he currently serves as Chair of the PhD Program in Architectural History and Fellow of the Potter-Rose Professorship in Urban Planning. Lara is the author of Excepcionalidad del Modernismo Brasileño (2019); Modern Architecture in Latin America (with Luis Carranza, 2015); and The Rise of Popular Modernist Architecture in Brazil (2009). He is also the editor of the series Latin America: Thoughts with Romano Guerra Editora, with five volumes published since 2017, in addition to Arquitectura Y Explotacion Forzada en El Golfo de Mexico (with Reina Loredo, 2019); Border Without Wall (with Diana Maldonado, 2017); Quid Novi (2015, winner of the best book by ANPARQ); and Latitudes II (with Kevin Alter, 2014).

Sarah Lopez, PhD, a built environment historian and migration scholar, is an Associate Professor at The University of Texas at Austin. Lopez’ book entitled, The Remittance Landscape: The Spaces of Migration in Rural Mexico and Urban USA was published by the University of Chicago Press in 2015 and won the 2017 Spiro Kostof Book Award from the Society of Architectural Historians. Her current research on the architectural history of immigrant detention facilities contributed to the Humanities Action Lab’s States of Incarceration national exhibit, on view from 2016 to 2019. Lopez was a Princeton Mellon fellow in 2016-2017, a Hampton K. and Margaret Frye Snell Fellow in 2017-2018, and is a faculty affiliate with American Studies, the Amos Rapoport Center for Human Rights and Justice, the Latin American Institute, and the Center for Mexican American Studies. She researches and teaches at the intersections of migration, ordinary landscapes, urbanism, and spatial justice.

Anna Nau is a doctoral candidate in Architecture and Historic Preservation at The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture. Her research interests include preservation history and theory, cultural heritage, and nineteenth-century architectural history. Her dissertation re-evaluates the role of the architecture profession in the early history of the preservation movement in the United States. Anna earned an MS in Architectural Conservation from the University of Edinburgh and an MA in Architectural History from the University of Virginia. She has practiced as a preservationist for over a decade with Ford, Powell & Carson Architects and Planners in San Antonio, contributing to award-winning preservation and rehabilitation projects, including several for the eighteenth-century San Antonio Mission churches. She was a contributing author to the World Heritage nomination document for the San Antonio Missions, which were inscribed to the UNESCO World Heritage List in 2015.

Julie McGilvray is an archaeologist and landscape architect in the Resource Stewardship and Science division at Guadalupe Mountains National Park (GUMO) in West Texas. She teaches in the Historic Preservation and Regionalism program at the University of New Mexico. At GUMO she manages the ethnography, archaeology, historic structures, cultural landscapes, and museum collections programs. Before joining GUMO, McGilvray led the National Park Service (NPS) Intermountain Region Cultural Landscapes Program based in Santa Fe, NM. Partnering with NPS ecologists and biologists, her research is focused on creating an integrated framework for the management and treatment of park landscapes with significant historical and natural value. Through her position at the University of New Mexico, and with support of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe, McGilvray is working to document and preserve the cultural landscape of Georgia O’Keeffe in New Mexico. She holds a BA from The University of Texas at Austin, an MLA from the University of New Mexico, and an MSHP from The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture.

Magdalena Novoa is a Ph.D. candidate in the Historic Preservation track at The University of Texas at Austin. Her research interests include heritage as a socio-cultural process, community-based heritage and planning, and the politics of inclusion and memory in Latin America. Previously, Magdalena worked in public institutions and NGOs, facilitating education initiatives and participatory action research in planning, design, and historic preservation in Chile and the U.K. Her current research focuses on how power relations, social action, and alternative narratives about the past influence the production and definition of heritage in Chile. She is especially interested in documenting the discourses and strategies that local groups are deploying to participate in heritage decision-making processes, upending the traditional boundaries in the field. She is a founding member of Aldea, a non-profit organization that works at the intersection of architecture, learning, and social participation in Chile and the U.K.


Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla

According to Unesco’s World Heritage “region” designations, the Americas are divided into two halves. Canada and the United States fall within the designated “Europe and North America” region, and Central and South America fall within the designated “Latin America and the Caribbean” region. Despite the criteria used by Unesco to divide the two continents, there are many shared historical, cultural, geographical, and economic aspects that unify them. When looking at historic urban landscapes and cultural landscapes, the Americas have much more in common with each other than with other parts of the world. This issue of Platform includes a number of contributions that look at the disciplines of historic preservation and architectural history as dynamic fields of investigation and professional work. This issue aims to use the lenses of these multidisciplinary fields as means to find common ground and the intrinsic differences that make the discourse about the Americas’ history more productive. By using historic urban landscapes and cultural landscapes as the framework, we aim to find the ingredients that help us identify what unifies the Americas, what we share, and what makes us unique. With all this in mind, the overarching idea for this issue of Platform is to present the voices that emerge from our multidisciplinary community at the School of Architecture, searching for questions and answers that help us solve the main challenges that our cultural heritages face in the twenty-first century. 6

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Under the new leadership of Dean Michelle Addington, we have created the organization BELLA, a research group focused on the Built Environments and Landscapes of Las Americas, which promotes discussions around our heritage and supports students researching these topics. In addition to the synergy happening within the School of Architecture, we are in proximity and collaboration with internationally known institutions such as the Lozano Long Institute of Latin American Studies (LLILAS), the Briscoe Center for American History, the Jack S. Blanton Museum of Art, and the Harry Ransom Center. All these components together create a distinctive mix that places our school in a formidable position to lead in our fields of study. As stated by Dean Addington, “The University of Texas at Austin is in a unique place to lead historical research on the Americas,” and the School of Architecture embraces that through its BELLA initiative. We are poised to be at the vanguard of the scholarly conversations related to the urban, cultural, and natural landscapes of the Americas, regardless of whether they are historical or contemporary. The essays and interviews in this magazine respond to this premise and reflect the dialogues that we are having in classrooms and within doctoral dissertations, which all form a single discourse. This very special set of texts has been crafted to expand the notion of the Americas’ shared history, expanding both the message and our conversations. Tara Dudley brings seminal research that sheds light on the history of African American communities in Austin. The text gives us insight into the history of Wheatville, which is now the West Campus neighborhood. By revealing the historical incidents that transformed Wheatville’s community, Dr. Dudley provides the context to reflect on its legacy in our city while opening questions regarding its interpretation, the recognition of its significance, and how we as a university community reconcile with that gray part of our history. Anna Nau, a doctoral student, takes us through a fascinating moment in history between the 1890s and the beginning of the twentieth century that was decisive for the disciplines of architecture and historic preservation in the United States. Nau’s essay reveals how a critical project, the restoration of the White House, was crucial for the rise of the historic preservation movement and the professionalization of architectural practice. Nau’s essay also prompts us to reflect on how preservation helped architects to leverage their professional expertise and authority at the national level.

Sarah Lopez brings us her research on Mexican Hinterlands, which is a documentation project that Dr. Lopez has been recently developing with students. The essay presents a unique set of railway buildings in the state of Nuevo León in Mexico through a series of beautiful images. The text takes us through a culturally and historically enriching journey discovering these buildings and how these modest structures that are distant from each other can reveal the history and the lasting connections between places. Michael Holleran’s research digs (and this word works aptly in this context) into one of the oldest hydraulic engineering systems used in the history of humankind: ditches or zanjas (as they were called when the southern territory of the United States belonged to Mexico). Dr. Holleran helps us to understand what these complex urban and rural artifacts are, revealing their role in the development of the urban and cultural landscapes that we inhabit, and why they are important. My own article sheds light on the use of digital technologies for the interpretation and visualization of Gothic churches in Mexico. The text looks at how the architect’s skills can help to unfold the history written on the buildings through the interpretation of digital information obtained with LiDAR technology. The text claims that architects can immerse themselves in the minds of old master builders and are capable of revealing the secrets of these amazing, massive-stone-based structures while studying the intense geometric operations that took place for the building’s design and construction. Fernando Lara’s text challenges the conventional notions of how history has been written and proposes that the traditional history of Latin America as we know it now must be forgotten. Dr. Lara’s invitation to forget does not emerge from neglect or disdain, but from a charge to reshape the way in which events have been collected, organized, and narrated. The question about whose history is the one that we have been told is particularly consequential in the Americas, primarily as our history has been dominated by colonialism, and Lara invites us to challenge common assumptions.

Barbara Aguiar, one of our doctoral students, illustrates and provides insights about the history of the preservation institutions in Brazil. Aguiar’s text tells the fascinating story of how the role of historic preservation in Brazil goes hand in hand with the construction of a national identity, recognizing the challenges faced by the field of historic preservation, and how those challenges have unfolded as new paradigms shaping the national discourse. Aguiar’s work is framed within her groundbreaking research on how three significant countries of the Americas built their preservation institutions, and how they contribute to defining their national images. Finally, Julie McGilvray looks at the robust relationship that exists between our school’s historic preservation program and the National Park Service. McGilvray explains the shared goals of both institutions and how they have led to a partnership that has benefited both the parks and our students. With this reflection, McGilvray helps us understand where we are situated as a school, revealing the relevance of our preservation and history programs, while inviting us to think about the potential and the positive energy that this collaboration brings to the student experience and education. In summary, the collection of texts for this issue of Platform reflects all this energy, inviting the reader to join the different conversations proposed for the various topics and regions. The issue covers themes that enclose the extension of the continents from Chile to Washington D.C., passing through Brazil, Mexico, and the Mexico-U.S. border. Within this diverse set of essays, similarly to a Julio Cortazar book, the reader of this Platform will have the opportunity to create contrasting threads that might begin or end in different places. The underlying string holding together these various threads will be precisely the synergies that are emerging from our School of Architecture concerning the study and reflection of our history and heritage.

The work of Magdalena Novoa is an excellent example of how the traditional boundaries of preservation scholarship can be challenged. By bringing participant observations and ethnographic methods to the understanding of how disenfranchised communities use their heritages to improve their lives, Novoa invites us to reshape our understanding of how history is commonly written. From the de-industrialized city of Lota to the touristic gentrification of Valparaíso, to the complex memory of Colonia Dignidad, Novoa asks how people of the Americas can grasp their heritages and shape their own narratives. 7

Before West Campus Rediscovery and Preservation of Wheatville’s African American Heritage Tara Dudley

For many affiliated with The University of Texas at Austin (UT), the name “Wheatsville” sparks knowledge or memory of an organic food market. Much of West Campus (or West University)—the area bound by West Martin Luther King, Jr. Street; Lamar Boulevard; West 29th Street; and Guadalupe Street—is heavily populated with condominiums, other housing, and institutions inhabited primarily by UT students (fig.1). Few know, however, that at the core of West Campus lies the true origin of “Wheatville”—a community founded in 1869 by former slave James Wheat. Aside from one lone structure, the Wheatville community has ceased to exist. At present, architectural historians and historic preservationists are increasingly challenged with difficult questions and decisions regarding the legacy of slavery and Reconstruction as well as the memorialization of these institutions. Similar struggles and lessons on what

it means to preserve history and buildings (and for whom we are preserving them) are relevant in remembering the historic Wheatville neighborhood. A reassessment of not only the extant built environment but also the primary source material available offers the opportunity to highlight Wheatville’s importance not only as the foundation of the West Campus area but also in the history of Austin and African American history in the city.

The Development of Outlot D

The story of Wheatville begins well before the neighborhood was established in the late 1860s. Within the 7,735-acre government tract set aside for the development of the capital of the Republic of Texas in 1839, Edwin Waller, L. J. Pilié, and Charles Scholfield planned a 640-acre town tract framed by the present-day Colorado River, Shoal Creek, and Waller Creek. The central town tract was surrounded by larger “divisions” of land further partitioned into smaller parcels or “outlots.” North and east of the original Austin town site was “Division D” divided into eighty-three outlots.1 Included in “Division D” was College Hill—the original “40 Acres” of the future University of Texas. Many newcomers to Austin took advantage of the availability of property including Samuel D. Haynie, a native Tennessean who had emigrated to Texas in 1837. Settling in Austin at the city’s founding in 1839, Haynie practiced medicine. In the 1840s, he acquired at least twenty lots in Division D as well as numerous lots within the boundaries of the original town site. Several other individuals such as Adam Maag, Burchard Miller, Samuel Watkins, Morgan Calvin Hamilton, William Hotchkiss, and Louis Horst owned significant amounts of property in Division D west of College Hill (fig. 2). One of the first clues regarding the development of Wheatville may lie in these white landowners’ ties to slavery and, later, to freedmen living in Austin—history that previous scholarship has not assessed. A brief examination of the 1850 and 1860 U.S. Federal Census Slave Schedules indicates that at least Samuel Haynie and Louis Horst enslaved African Americans in Austin.2 Just west of Shoal Creek, Texas Governor Elijah Pease was another large property owner; men and women who worked on his plantation are known to have lived in Clarksville, another freedmen’s community in Austin, and may also have lived in Wheatville. The Washington and Mary Hill House (the present-day Neill-Cochran House Museum) is the one extant pre-Civil War building that can be studied in context with slavery in Austin and the development of Wheatville. In 1855, the Hills commissioned Austin builder Abner Cook to construct a Greek-revival-style home for them on four outlots that had once belonged to Samuel Haynie. The

outbuilding that was erected to house the Hills’ slaves (and possibly Abner Cook’s enslaved laborers who assisted with the house’s construction) likely pre-dates the primary dwelling. It is thought to be the only extant slave quarters building in Austin (fig. 3). Deed and other records indicate that the Hills extended themselves financially in the construction of their home. They sold five slaves and took out a mortgage in an attempt to finance the work to no avail. The Hills sold the house and property having never resided there. Over the course of the next decade, the home was leased to several occupants including the Texas Asylum for the Blind and Lieutenant Governor Fletcher Stockdale. The superintendent of the asylum hired several enslaved women and girls as servants following a trend in Austin and other urban sites of slavery.3 While still bound to their masters and forced to labor, working in Texas cities allowed enslaved people a more autonomous lifestyle. Texas State Gazette reported that “nearly half the Negroes in town hire their own time,” with some even allowed to keep a small portion of their earnings and congregate in the evenings.4 Living in towns like Austin allowed enslaved people to meet a more diverse population. This laid the groundwork for the culture that grew in post-Civil War freedmen’s communities, which expanded rapidly as freed slaves arrived in cities, including Austin, after emancipation. If not those enslaved by the Hills or whose labor was hired at the Army hospital, it is extremely likely that other individuals already living in the area separate from or in their enslavers’ households formed the future population of Wheatville.


At the north edge of the former Haynie and Hill property, former Arkansas slave James Wheat arrived with his family in the Austin area in 1867 and founded the community that would be named after him in corn fields on “Colonel Thomas’” place. Wheat purchased the first lot of land to formally establish Wheatville at 2409 San Gabriel Street from J. M. Thomas on July 16, 1869. Here, on a bluff from the east bank of Shoal Creek to Rio Grande Street, additional freedmen purchased property and created an enclave at the city’s northwest outskirts (fig. 4). A number of African Americans acquired small lots in the area between East 24th and East 26th Streets to get “away from the dust and filth of the city so their children would have more room to play, and...Here they [got] enough sunlight and more fresh air.”5 Among them was carpenter George Franklin who built a two-story stone building on his property at 2402 San Gabriel Street (fig. 5). Around 1875, Jacob Fontaine settled in Wheatville with his family.

Above left: Fig. 1. City of Austin Neighborhood Planning Areas. 2018, City of Austin Planning and Zoning Department. department/neighborhood-planning. Left: Fig. 2. W.H. Sandusky, City of Austin and Vicinity Detail. 1839, Texas General Land Office. Map no. 3149.


PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Above: Fig. 3. Tara Dudley, Slave quarters at the Washington Hill House (present-day Neill-Cochran Museum). ca. 1855. Right: Fig. 4. Approximate boundary of the Wheatville community as overlaid on 1891 Map of Austin. Austin History Center, Austin Public Library.

Fontaine, a prominent Baptist minister, was formerly enslaved by Edward Fontaine, personal secretary of Texas President Mirabeau B. Lamar; his wife Melvina Fontaine was a housekeeper at Woodlawn Plantation, the nearby home of Elisha M. Pease. In Wheatville, the Fontaine family moved into the Franklin house. While in residence at the northwest corner of West 24th and San Gabriel Streets, Jacob Fontaine founded several Baptist churches. From his home, he also operated Gold Dollar, one of the first African American newspapers west of the Mississippi River. Through his enterprise and dedication to Austin’s growing population of freedmen, Fontaine’s residence and Wheatville became home to First Colored Baptist Church, New Hope Baptist Church, and a community laundry and grocery store. The neighborhood was the site of “churches, barns, houses, plowed fields, small farms, and gardens.”6 Starting in 1881, youth were educated at the Wheatville School on Grandview Street; their parents were domestics, 9

merchants, and skilled and semi-skilled laborers. A bird’s-eye view of Austin from 1887 shows notable buildings such as Fontaine’s Gold Dollar building and the nearby Washington Hill house (by that time occupied by the family of Colonel Andrew Neill) (fig. 6). Jacob Fontaine and members of his family are documented as residents of Wheatville until the late 1890s. The former Franklin-Fontaine home changed ownership several times at the turn of the twentieth century until it was acquired by a couple of Italian American merchant families: the Perrones and the Franzettis. By this time, Austin had grown well outside of its original limits.7 Property values and density in Wheatville increased, and rural activities such as raising livestock were no longer permitted within the city limits. Throughout the 1910s, Wheatville had no city sanitation service, and city garbage wagons intentionally dumped their loads in the neighborhood on their way to the local dump.8 Despite these deterrents, African American families

remained in Wheatville as indicated by the density of single-family houses and presence of the Wheatville School and several African American Baptist churches on the 1921 Sanborn Fire Insurance Company Map (fig. 7). Demographic and socio-economic change in Wheatville was exacerbated by the institutional racism written into the City of Austin’s 1928 city plan. Following the trend of Jim Crow laws nationwide, Dallas firm Koch and Fowler codified racist development in its City Plan for Austin by recommending a “negro district” east of East Avenue. In order to encourage Wheatville residents (as well as African American residents living in other parts of the city) to relocate to east Austin, Koch and Fowler presented strategies and policies that denied city-provided amenities and services, such as sewage lines, schools, and recreational facilities, outside of the proposed “negro district.”9 Wheatville School closed in 1932; ultimately, Wheatville’s African American

families left the neighborhood after E. H. Anderson High School located east of East Avenue (present-day IH 35) remained Austin’s only secondary school for “colored” children, thus requiring students living in Wheatville to take a “good long walk.”10 Some families remained even as redlining maps such as those produced in 1934 by the Home Owners’ Loan Corporation labeled the Wheatville neighborhood as “hazardous” in order to have grounds for denying African American homeowners access to home mortgage loans based on the location and implied condition of their properties (fig. 8). Signaling the decline of Wheatville’s African American community, New Hope Baptist Church relocated to east Austin in the late 1930s; Pilgrim Home Baptist Church moved by 1952.11 Meanwhile, white families continued to prosper and older housing stock buildings became the site of student housing and fraternity and sorority houses. Although the Franzetti store ceased operations in the late 1950s, the family still owned the building well into the 1970s.

Above left: Fig. 5. Craig Kennedy, The George Franklin house, 2402 San Gabriel Street. April 23, 1974, Texas Historical Commission. metapth673413/. Top: Fig. 6. The Wheatville community in 1887, showing the locations of the Hill house (encircled in blue) and the Franklin-Fontaine store house (encircled in red). Amon Carter Museum. Above: Fig. 7. Detail showing the Wheatville neighborhood as depicted on the 1921 Sanborn Fire Insurance Company Map of Texas. Perry-Casteñeda Map Collection, The University of Texas at Austin. Left: Fig. 8. Robert K. Nelson, LaDale Winling, Richard Marciano, Nathan Connolly, et al., Mapping Inequality. July, 1934, American Panorama. Accessed July 18, 2018. TX/Austin/19xx/hole-scan.jpg


PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

What’s in a name?

In 1976, a significant portion of Clarksville—another freedmen’s community in West Austin—was demolished with construction of the MoPac Expressway. The founders of a new food co-op on Guadalupe Street named their business “Wheatsville” in support of Clarksville and the historic Wheatville neighborhood near their location. In recognition of the only historic resource remaining in Wheatville, the City of Austin designated the former Franklin-Fontaine home with landmark status. However, due to the lengthy tenure of its longest owners that were still inhabitants, the building was formally dubbed the “Franzetti Building,” effectively, if not intentionally, erasing its African American history. Physical erasure of Wheatville continued over the ensuing decades. As a result of the housing development boom throughout Austin, in 1977 Orange Tree Condos became the first condominium complex constructed in the West Campus area.12 The City of Austin completed a University Neighborhood Overlay Plan in 2004; the related future land-use map indicated mixed-use and high-density mixed-use for the historic Wheatville neighborhood (fig. 9). This and similar zoning changes were enacted to accommodate an increased number of students in new, large apartment and condominium complexes. From 2004 to 2009, 2,400 apartment and condominium units were constructed in West Campus.13 The expanded housing was accompanied by amenities such as restaurants and convenience stores. One such establishment, Freedmen’s, opened in the Franzetti Building in 2012. As opposed to replacing a historic structure, the owners renovated the building to house a barbeque restaurant and bar and attempted to recapture the building’s and community’s hidden African American history.

to reinterpret the space and honor the labor and lives of the people who built the original structures and who initially lived and worked there and in Wheatville. HHM and Associates, Inc. (formerly Hardy·Heck·Moore, Inc.), City of Austin Historic Resources Survey – Volume I, prepared for the City of Austin, October 2016, I-7. 1

Another freedmen’s community, Horst’s Pasture, developed east of The University of Texas campus on property formerly owned by Louis Horst. Frances Jane Densmore was a former slave on Horst’s farm. She had four children whose father was Charles Horst, a brother of Louis. Before she moved to Oklahoma, she lived at several addresses on the former Horst property. See Michelle Mears, And Grace Will Lead Me Home: African American Freedmen Communities of Austin, Texas, 1865-1928 (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2009), 76. 2

George Meyer, “The establishment and Superintendency of the Texas Blind Asylum,” accessed June 27, 2019, Superintendency.docx. 3

Jeffrey Stuart Kerr, Seat of Empire (Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 2013), 70. 4

Austin Public Library, “Wheatville,” accessed June 13, 2019, https://www. 5


Mears, 36.

Wheatsville Food Co-op, “How did Wheatsville get its name,” accessed June 27, 2019, how-did-wheatsville-get-its-name 7

Nolan Thompson, “Wheatville, TX (Travis County),” Handbook of Texas Online, accessed July 20, 2019, hpw01, uploaded on June 15, 2010, published by the Texas State Historical Association. 8

Koch and Fowler, A City Plan for Austin (Austin: City of Austin, 1928); HHM & Associates, I-53. 9

10 James

Pinkerton, “Struggle of Blacks traced in Austin History,” Austin American-Statesman, October 7, 1984: A12. 11

Thompson, “Wheatville, TX.”

The End of Austin, “End of Austin: West Campus,” accessed June 27, 2019, 12

Chuck Lindell, “Area west of UT relatively safe, officials say,” Austin American-Statesman, July 26, 2009.


Ibid; Calily Bien and Alyssa Goard, “Freedmen’s, Tap 24 could be transformed into an apartment complex,” June 28, 2018, June 28, 2018, updated June 29, 2018, accessed June 13, 2019, freedmens-tap-24-could-be-transformed-into-an-apartment-complex/. 14

Calily Bien, “Freedmen’s BBQ to close at the end of August,” August 16, 2018, accessed June 13, 2019, freedmens-bbq-to-close-at-the-end-of-august/. 15

Austin City Council, Resolution no., 20181115-024, executed November 15, 2018, accessed July 15, 2019, cfm?id=311135; Alyx Wilson, “Historic building could be renamed after freed slave Rev. Jacob Fontaine,” October 25, 2018, accessed June 13, 2019, 16

Currently, the former Franklin home is again at the forefront of preservation issues in Austin. In September 2017, the City of Austin Historic Landmark Commission approved a proposal for Hilltop Development to construct a 134-unit, multi-family housing complex in a U-shape around the building.14 The owners of Freedmen’s considered continuing operations but elected to close for business on August 16, 2018.15 As gentrification throughout the city especially affects historic African American neighborhoods and buildings—and embattled arguments take place regarding insensitive naming conventions for historic resources— Austin City Council recognized the renaming of the Wheatville community’s only remaining building from “The Franzetti Store of Wheatville” to “The Reverend Jacob Fontaine Gold Dollar Building” in November 2018.16 The story of Wheatville and West Campus is a cyclical one of community building, gentrification, loss, and, lately, of remembrance. This fall, students in the School of Architecture course “The African American Experience in Architecture” are exploring many of the issues present in the architectural and socio-economic history of Wheatville and African American communities across the country. In collaboration with the NeillCochran House Museum and Dr. Daina Ramey Berry’s “Research and African American History” course, students in the UTSOA course are conducting a major research project on the slave quarters of the former Washington Hill House, exploring the relationship to the adjacent Wheatville community. The goal of the project is to conduct archival research and examine previous architectural and archaeological research to prepare historic contexts that will be used in the future

Above: Fig. 9. Detail of ‘Central Austin Combined Neighborhood Planning Area: Future Land Use Map.’ April 20, 2018, City of Austin Planning and Development Review Department.


The White House Restored Reconsidering the Role of The American Institute of Architects in Preservation History Anna Nau

The second half of the nineteenth century witnessed both the rise of the historic preservation movement and the professionalization of architectural practice. In the United States, architects have generally been understood as peripheral figures in the preservation movement until the 1920s and 1930s. While the work of voluntary organizations such as the Mount Vernon Ladies Association inarguably paved the path for preservation in this country, my dissertation research reveals that the architecture profession played a crucial leadership role in the preservation and restoration of several significant public buildings in the decades surrounding the turn of the twentieth century. In 1902, the prominent architecture firm McKim, Mead & White began a restoration of the White House in Washington, D.C. The project was largely the result of the American Institute of Architects’ efforts to prevent a proposed significant expansion of the historic presidential mansion. What motivated AIA’s preservation advocacy for the White House? And what might it tell us about the relationship between the architecture profession and preservation in these years? In December 1899, American Architect and Building News alerted its readers to a proposed addition of large wings to the White House. Originally designed by James Hoban in 1800, the building strained under the demands of an increasingly large executive office, which had encroached on the residential quarters.

Although supportive of the need for more space, the journal’s editors warned against hasty alteration of the building’s “simple and elegant Classicism.” They were particularly concerned that the man credited with the design—Colonel Theodore A. Bingham, the White House superintendent of buildings and grounds—was an army engineer, not a trained architect. “There has already been too much amateur tinkering with the White House,” they warned, and any change must be made with “competent assistance.”1 Over the next year and a half, AIA launched an organized campaign for professional architectural guidance in the matter, initiated and propelled by Glenn Brown, a respected Washington architect and historian who had recently been elected the institute’s secretary. He placed the question of the future of the White House as a key issue at AIA’s 1900 convention in Washington. With Robert S. Peabody, then AIA president, Brown organized the convention to coincide with the centennial celebration of the establishment of Washington as the federal capital, and organized speakers and discussions around ideas for the future development of the city’s civic core.2 The 1900 centennial celebration also provided Bingham an opportunity to lobby for executive and congressional support for his plan. In November, he published an illustrated article in Ladies’ Home Journal, in which he asserted the original structure would be fully preserved

Above: Fig. 1. Frederick D. Owen’s renderings of the proposed additions to the White House. November, 1900, Ladies’ Home Journal, vol. 17.


PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

and stressed that the proposed alterations would “not change its character.” He credited the design to Frederick Owens, claiming he was an architect. Bingham must have hoped this would forestall further criticism from the architecture profession (fig. 1).3 Despite these assurances, the architects were anything but mollified. Brown alerted the speakers for the convention and sent them copies of the article. American Architect and Building News offered sharp criticism of the large, multistory wings, faulting the scale, improper use of classical cornices, and “artistically ridiculous” composition that “bristles all over with the marks of an ignorant amateur.”4 They pointedly disagreed with the characterization of Owens as an architect (he was in fact an experienced civil engineer), highlighting his lack of professional architectural training. Modifications to such a significant national building, they argued, demanded professional design skills. During these years, Brown and AIA sought to challenge the dominance of the Army Corps of Engineers, which had long maintained oversight of federal building construction in the capital.5 The architectural establishment’s criticism of Bingham’s proposal, therefore, should be understood as a key strategy in securing national professional standing and defining a bigger role for the professional architect in federal projects. This is not to say that they sought only to discredit Bingham. They valued the architectural significance of the White House and worried about the negative effects of the proposed additions from an aesthetic and preservation-minded standpoint. Bingham may have held traditional oversight of the building, but the architects could claim something he could not: the weight of professional architectural training. In challenging Bingham so publicly, they garnered support from the wider artistic community and, more importantly, from key members of Congress in their campaign to assert more influence in the capital. At the 1900 convention, AIA formed a special committee to craft a resolution to Congress urging professional architectural involvement at the White House. The national press, in town for the centennial event, took note, particularly after Brown gave them copies of protests against Bingham’s proposal from some three-dozen local and national art, architectural, and historical groups.6 At the following year’s convention, AIA leadership reported with pleasure two triumphs in Washington. First, as a direct result of their last convention, Senator James McMillian sponsored the creation of the Senate Park Commission to consider the future growth of the city. The commission consisted of two of the most respected architects in the country, Daniel Burnham and Charles F. McKim, as well as the landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr. and sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens, who had all been instrumental in the architectural triumph of the 1893 Chicago World’s Columbian Exposition. Second, they reported the success of their protest to

Top left: Fig. 2. The White House after restoration and reconstruction of the east and west wings, with new office building in the foreground. c. 1910, Library of Congress. Above: Fig. 4. The Blue Room after restoration. c. 1904, Library of Congress. Left: Fig. 3. The Blue Room during the restoration work in July 1902. Restoration of the White House. (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1903).

“prevent the disfigurement” of the White House following the failure of a congressional appropriations bill to fund Bingham’s project. President Peabody commended the efforts of the AIA special committee that stopped “unstudied and undesirable alterations to the White House which would have completely changed the character of that public monument” as “an unselfish and useful undertaking,” part of their public duty as architects.7 By leveraging their professional authority on the architectural significance of the building, AIA successfully influenced wider opinion on how it should be treated. Charles McKim became the next AIA president at the convention that year. As one of the Senate Park Commissioners and an acknowledged authority on U.S. colonial- and federal-era architecture, McKim seemed the natural choice for the new U.S. President, Theodore Roosevelt, and his wife Edith, to turn to for help solving the White House dilemma—how to both preserve the building and accommodate their large family and the official needs of the modern presidency. McKim asked Brown to serve as his local superintendent and the two worked closely together on the project. The resulting restoration, which unfolded over just seven months, returned the house to its primary function as a residence and moved the executive offices into a new, separate building to the west. New low-profile east and west wings, based on originals that had been partially demolished and obscured by greenhouses, provided additional space (fig. 2). In the interior, McKim sought to

retain the historic layout as closely as possible. However, the Victorian finishes were removed and replaced with new federal-style features, including marble fireplaces, wood wainscoting, and decorative plasterwork, inspired by late-eighteenth-century precedent (figs. 3–4). Some scholars have argued that McKim’s work should not be classified as a restoration.8 Indeed, he removed much of the interior of the house and replaced it with a modern, beaux-arts approximation of a late-eighteenth century mansion. The project certainly fell short of today’s definitions of careful documentary investigation and material authenticity. Yet to judge it according to modern preservation standards risks obscuring the architects’ intentions. McKim and Brown understood their work as a sensitive restoration and consciously used that term when others referred to it as a “remodeling.” In McKim’s view, they avoided significant change to the “original structure of the house, nor any interference with the architectural features of the exterior,” thus preserving what was most important architecturally about the building. Brown later recalled that they “strove to reproduce the dignity and refinement of the Georgian architecture of the period when the White House was built.”9 Once complete, the restoration garnered substantial professional recognition. Citing the White House project as an example of the caliber of his work, the Royal Institute of British Architects awarded McKim their

Gold Medal in 1903. In personal correspondence and project records, he showed a keen awareness that the restoration would elevate the building’s significance as an architectural symbol of the country and help strengthen the profession’s public standing. In a 1903 speech, McKim underscored his belief that professional architects were best equipped to understand the architectural value of the building and therefore guide its restoration. He claimed that “among no class of people was the feeling for the historic White House stronger than among the members of the profession of architecture.”10 The project placed preservation and restoration at the center of the profession’s efforts to guide development of Washington and helped convince Roosevelt and other government officials of the desirability of implementing the Senate Park Commission plan of 1901, aimed at restoring the original 1791 L’Enfant plan for the city. The AIA campaign to preserve the White House and its subsequent restoration offer a fascinating illustration of how architects leveraged preservation as a means to assert their professional expertise and authority. “The Suggested Remodelling of the White House,” American Architect and Building News 66 (December 2, 1899): 73. 1

William B. Bushong, “Glenn Brown, the White House, and the Urban Renaissance of Washington, D.C.,” White House History: Journal of the White House Historical Association 11 (Summer 2002): 18-21; Glenn Brown, 1860-1930, Memories: A Winning Crusade to Revive George Washington’s Vision of a Capital City (Washington, D.C.: W.F. Roberts company, 1931), 106-7. Tony P. Wrenn, “The American Institute of Architect Convention of 1900: Its Influence on the Senate Park Commission Plan,” in Designing the Nation’s Capital: The 1900 Plan for Washington, D.C., ed. Sue Kohler and Pamela Scott (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Commission on the Fine Arts, 2006), 56-60. 2

Colonel Theodore A. Bingham, “The Future of the White House,” Ladies’ Home Journal 17 (November 1900): 9-10. 3

Wrenn, 58-59; “A Protest against the Scheme proposed for altering the White House,” AABN 70 (November 3, 1900): 33. 4


Wrenn, 59; Bushong, 17-18.

Bushong, 21; Proceedings of the Thirty-Fourth Annual Convention of the American Institute of Architects (Washington, D.C.: Gibson Bros., 1900), 3, 87-91, 112-13, 120; “A Protest and Recommendation,” American Architect and Building News 71 (January 5, 1901): 6.


Proceedings of the Thirty-Fifth Annual Convention of the American Institute of Architects (Washington, D.C.: Gibson Bros., 1901), 17. 7

Ibid., 26; William Seale, The President’s House: A History Vol. 1 (Washington, D.C.: The White House Historical Association, 1986), 662. 8

“Repairs to the White House,” undated report (typed copy), Box 3, Charles Moore Papers, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.; Brown, “Letter from Washington: The Restoration of the White House,” American Architect and Building News 79 (Feb. 28, 1903); Brown, “Roosevelt and the Fine Arts, Part II,” The American Architect 116 (December 17, 1919). 9

Charles F. McKim, “Report of Messrs. McKim, Mead & White, Architects,” in Restoration of the White House; Message of the President of the United States transmitting the report of the architects (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1903), 9. 10


Mexican Hinterland A Snapshot of Nuevo Laredo’s Turn-of-the-Nineteenth-Century Railroad Stations Sarah Lopez

“Mexican Hinterlands” is a term that describes Northern Mexico—the Mexican states of Nuevo León, Coahuila, Chihuahua, Sonora, and Baja California—from the point of view of Mexico City. It is also a term that reframes the American Southwest as a part of the Mexican hinterland, where the spatial and architectural patterns and elements found in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California must be revisited in relation to the history of Northern Mexico and the places and people in it. “Mexican Hinterlands” is an ongoing research and documentation collaboration between Sarah Lopez and graduate students at The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture (UTSOA) whose investigation cuts “la linea,” or the east-west U.S.-Mexico boundary, northsouth by focusing on the cultural landscapes of historic railroad routes that connected Mexico City with Nogales, Arizona; El Paso, Texas; and Laredo, Texas; at the turn of the nineteenth century. Railways are a necessary conduit for understanding Mexican modernity and, more specifically, how the transportation of materials, architectural expertise, labor, and ideas about architecture and urban form shaped the development of places. A broad range of places at the turn of the nineteenth century and into the twentieth were shaped directly and indirectly by railways: roads, highways, old agricultural fields, industrial sites, factories, company towns, quarries, reservoirs, Mexican revolutionary staging grounds, prisons, markets, bullrings, horse tracks, casinos, churches, and railroad stations. This photo essay provides a snapshot of a series of critical railway buildings: secondary Mexican railroad stations in the state of Nuevo León. These small railroad stations serviced both passenger and commercial trains from Mexico City to the U.S.-Mexico boundary for the better part of a century. Built with materials sourced in both Texas (“Laredo” is stamped on bricks fired in Texas) and Mexico, an intentional formal language that borrowed from a range of historicized European attributes created a coherent series of buildings that announced a new century for U.S.-Mexico relations more than one hundred years ago. Rusticated keystones mark arched doorways, curving parapets mask gable roofs, and castle-like walls are crenellated. Greatly understudied by scholars and preservationists, and poorly managed by railroad companies and governments, most stations are either abandoned or receiving the bare minimum in maintenance to keep them erect. I traveled with students to Nuevo León to document these stations inspired by what Paula Lupkin calls a “rethinking of region” in relation to the history of architecture: studying discrete buildings and material innovations in multiple locations as a means of understanding lasting connections between places.1 In preparation for our journey, students analyzed historic 14

Above: Estación Golfo, Monterrey. Fully restored, this urban train station is the main terminal for the state of Nuevo León. Designed by Saint Louisbased architect Isaac S. Taylor in 1891 and U.S. contractor JR WW Price, the building is now a cultural center and archive. Photo by Josh Conrad.

maps overlaid with satellite imagery and hunted for obscure references to train stations in primary railroad archives and paraphernalia to create a field-research road map. Driving along the historic railway route from Monterrey toward Laredo, our team passed uncultivated rangeland, productive agricultural sites, and abandoned industrial sites and their newly emerging replacements. Using our maps and clues to railroad stops and stations in the built environment (such as abandoned water towers), we found old stations that were often hidden by overgrown brush or down dirt roads that rendered them invisible from the main road altogether.

An in-depth political, material, and social history of these stations would bring to life the intimate relationships that U.S. architects and capitalists had with Mexican places and resources at the end of the nineteenth century. Although the relationship between U.S. capitalists and the Mexican economy dramatically changed with the Mexican Revolution in the early twentieth century, initial investment in infrastructure such as railways continues to define the trajectory and growth of Mexico’s hinterland today. Unearthing a full history of these stations and other railway-related buildings will require

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

collaboration between academic institutions, scholars, and students in both Mexico and the U.S. A concerted effort to both document and better understand these extant landscapes before they are fully dismantled is necessary for developing a historical narrative of the region that includes both sides of the boundary. Paula Lupkin, “Rethinking Region along the Railroads: Architecture and Cultural Economy in the Industrial Southwest, 1890-1930,” Buildings & Landscapes: Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum, vol. 16. 2 (Fall 2009): 16-47. 1

Top: Estación Stevenson, Nuevo León. Completely abandoned, off a dirt road, this one-story linear structure stands roofless, exposed to harsh sun and wind. Piles of “Laredo” brick fill the old station rooms and elegant window and door finishings evoke a stately past. Above: Estación Villaldama, Nuevo León. Recently renovated, this station serves as a cultural and community center for the village of Villaldama. Top right: Estación Lampazos de Naranjo, Nuevo León. A modest cruciform plan and curving parapets define this respectable stop along the railway. Right: Estación Golondrinas, Nuevo León. Stripped of its protective roof and walls, the building is quickly eroding toward collapse. Photos by Josh Conrad.

Above and above right: Estación Morales, Nuevo León. At the fringe of the city of Monterrey, the turn-of-the-nineteenth-century train station is now in the shadow of an industrial landscape. Opposite: Estación Morales, Nuevo León. At the fringe of the city of Monterrey, the turn-of-the-nineteenth-century train station is now in the shadow of an industrial landscape. Photos by Josh Conrad.


Digging Ditches Michael Holleran

A small stream of clear water once ran next to the sidewalk in a concrete channel across the street from the University of Colorado. I saw it from the window of a bus within my first ten minutes in Boulder. Then the traffic light changed and we continued down the hill into downtown. This was interesting. Where I came from, water ran at the bottom of hills. The little channel was Anderson Ditch, dug in 1860 to carry water in the new town that was settled by European-Americans just the year before. The University of Colorado is located there because of water rights donated from Anderson Ditch (land by itself was not a compelling inducement). The ditch can no longer be seen in this location; it still waters the campus, now in a concrete pipe, undergrounded as part of an elaborate intersection redesign for fine goals of pedestrian and bicycle connectivity. Why wasn’t visible water an urban design value, alongside pedestrians and bicycles? Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr., another “easterner unaccustomed to the irrigating ditch,” thought it should be. He came from Harvard to Colorado in 1910 and catalogued the qualities of these particular channels: “First, the water of the ditches is relatively clean and sparkling; and second, it is elevated close to the level of the adjacent ground, or even above it, thus catching the sunlight and holding the eye,” giving 16

an “intimacy of relation between the surface of the water and that of the ground.”1 By the time I left Colorado for Texas fifteen years later, I’d worked to make myself something of a ditch expert within the world of preservation.2 I advocated ditches as heritage. This put me in touch with “water people”—not only historians but also irrigators. Sometimes I found myself arguing their side against preservationists whose well-intentioned actions risked making it harder to keep the ditch running. Some things continue to work despite our efforts to improve them. Many more things save themselves than are saved by preservationists. As an urban historian, I recognize that ditches (or acequias or zanjas) were integral, not incidental, to urban development. The historiography of water in the western United States, however, has emphasized agriculture and big engineering. Earlier technologies are often treated as prologue, and their persistence as an afterthought. Thus, my current book project: a history of urban ditches in the landscape and development of American cities from their origins to the present day.3 I’m looking at five Western cities in order of their European settlement: San Antonio, Los Angeles, Salt Lake City, Denver, and Phoenix. Climate change is making most of this region drier and hotter. The snowmelt that feeds Anderson Ditch will be gone before the summer heat. As I pondered the

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

sustainability of my subject, my book project stayed on the shelf. Some apostles of sustainability argue that ditches are inefficient, and therefore as water becomes scarcer, how responsible is it to argue their preservation for mere heritage or amenity? At best, it seemed my book might be an elegy for a lost landscape, and perhaps it will be. Calling ditches inefficient implies that water can be reduced to a simple equation. Efficiency measures the fit of means to ends. When the end is defined narrowly— delivering to a destination the greatest possible proportion of water—ditches may not score so well. In this accounting, anything the water accomplishes along the way is a bug, not a virtue. Ditches do accomplish things along the way. They recharge groundwater and streamflow and sustain wetlands. They serve as riparian corridors, sustaining ecologies that may have been disrupted in the original stream.4 Ditches sustain communities that center on the rituals of operating and maintaining these labor-intensive networks. They sustain our understanding of those communities, and of the ecology and seasons and flows of the water. Sometimes they create Olmsted’s “landscapes of delight.” In a cramped accounting, these are water losses. In each of my case-study cities today, as in most urban water utilities, much if not most of the

water goes to outdoor uses—to our cultural landscapes. A ditch—historic, delightful, life-sustaining, and leaky—is one kind of cultural landscape. Another kind is a leak-proof pipe to a golf course simulating Scotland in the desert. Tell me again why the ditch is inefficient? We ruthlessly apply rationality to our means of delivering water, but its ends are subject to no such discipline. For all these virtues of ditches, as I study their history, another one comes to the foreground: ditches persist. Anderson Ditch is from 1860! That pre-dates almost every other tangible trace of American settlement in the region (the one exception, Smith-Goss Ditch, 1859, is also still flowing). It pre-dates even the abstract survey grid of section lines. The first wires no longer carry telegraphs; the first trails gave way to rails, most of which in turn have given way. The first ditches often still carry water. Ditches must be (how shall we say this?) very efficient in their inefficiency. Ditches have been incorporated into present-day water networks, moving water for drinking and for other purposes.5 They have become links in non-water infrastructure systems as rights-of-way for road and rail, and for recreational trails in Denver, Salt Lake City, and Phoenix. Adaptation for distinctly urban purposes began early. Ditch water kept the dust down on unpaved streets and watered the first street trees. A ditch provided the water, and the water power, for LA’s first carwash— carriage wash, that is—in 1859.6 Ditches provided water power and process water for industrial uses. In some places they provided the steam and cooling water for electrical generators, in others the ditch flow itself turned turbines. Of my five cases, Los Angeles is the only city where no ditch flows today. But LA’s zanjas grew to their greatest extent not before but after the introduction of a modern, piped water supply in 1864. The zanja network continued expanding in mileage and capacity. It expanded within the service area of the new piped system, as well as beyond it. It served new territory and new kinds of users. The two systems operated side-by-side for four decades until William Mulholland shut off LA’s original zanjas, on May 31, 1904, to divert all the flow of the Los Angeles River into the single system of pressurized mains during the nine years it would take to complete the Los Angeles Aqueduct. As soon as Owens River water flowed through

the aqueduct, Mulholland began creating another network of zanjas that flowed for years in the newly-annexed San Fernando Valley. 7 Ditches offered urban resiliency through infrastructure redundancy. The Los Angeles fire department, after building hydrants on the pressurized water mains, established a parallel system of zanja take-outs in order to have two independent sources for firefighting. Mains and ditches constituted parallel, differentiated networks: one treated and one raw; one pressurized and available (in theory) regardless of elevation or location in the city, the other gravity-fed to specific territories; one delivering water with instantaneous fine control at the point of use, the other delivering in bulk for blocks of time. Ditches provided alternative supplies, and water users explored these differentials to best satisfy their purposes. This flexibility was lost when LA’s single-minded devotion to growth required brutally one-dimensional efficiency, at least for a time. As soon as Mulholland could, he replicated useful redundancy. There is a sustainability lesson here, that resiliency (ditches persist) is different from efficiency. Intentionally creating redundant systems is often not feasible; efficiency, as interpreted at particular times and places, stifles the possibility. But redundancy may often be available through legacy systems, if we can check our determination to stamp them out. The architectural equivalents are the adaptively used buildings that work so well for new purposes, if they managed to survive their unsuitability for some other purpose.8

most important for reasons that we can’t yet anticipate. Monocultures are no more sustainable in cultural landscapes than in ecology, and the right number of ditches is not zero. Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr., The Improvement of Boulder, Colorado. Report to the City Improvement Association (1910). 1

Michael Holleran, Historic Context for Irrigation and Water Supply Ditches and Canals in Colorado (Denver, 2005). 2

Other historians have begun writing some excellent books on ditches in cities. See for example Blake Gumprecht, The Los Angeles River: Its Life, Death, and Possible Rebirth (Baltimore, 1999); Patricia Nelson Limerick, A Ditch in Time: The City, the West, and Water (Golden, CO, 2012); I. Wayne Cox, The Spanish Acequias of San Antonio (San Antonio, 2005); Charles R. Porter Jr., Spanish Water, Anglo Water: Early Development in San Antonio (College Station, TX, 2009); Robert R. Crifasi, A Land Made from Water: Appropriation and the Evolution of Colorado’s Landscape, Ditches, and Water Institutions (Boulder, 2016); Douglas E. Kupel, Fuel for Growth: Water and Arizona’s Urban Environment (Tucson, 2006). Most are single-city studies; most focus on water supply not cultural landscape. Many accept conventional accounts of ditches’ obsolescence and decline. 3

Yes, streams are disrupted by diversion of water to the ditch, but also by flood-control engineering and riverfront development and by their use as an environmental sink for pollutants. 4

Anderson Ditch, in addition to irrigating the CU campus and other urban land, also carries water to the municipal system in Lafayette, Colorado. 5

LA City Council minutes, May 30, 1859, James Edwards petition “to place in the water canal ... a Water Wheel, 14 feet in diameter, for the purpose of raising water to wash horses and carriages.” 6

Digging deeper into ditch history, we find another lesson about resiliency—the importance of what technology theorists call affordance: the legibility of a technology, how it can be used and adapted. Unlike pressurized water mains, a surface water system is legible as to location, condition, and operation, and is thus readily available for DIY hacking by its users. Visible water— Olmsted’s aesthetic value—turns out to have practical value as well. It enables a complex network with distributed agency. This is not to flip the sustainability argument and claim that every ditch must be saved. Rather, the argument is to think about socio-technical systems the way we think about genetic diversity: maintaining a variety is

The story of Owens Valley, the aqueduct and the San Fernando Valley is now most often understood as an epic environmental crime, as depicted in Roman Polanski’s movie Chinatown (1974) and Marc Reisner’s book Cadillac Desert: The American West and Its Disappearing Water (New York, 1986). I will say a little more about that at another time; my point here is narrowly technological: when the water arrived, Mulholland delivered much of it in ditches not pipes. 7

And while we’re exploring the analogy, new buildings are not always as efficient as advertised, and the performance of old ones can be improved; pipes are not always as leak-proof as purported, and ditch performance can be improved. 8

Opposite: Los Angeles: Zanja 8-R, Figueroa Street. c. 1890, C.C. Pierce Collection, Huntington Library. Above left: Michael Holleran, Boulder: Anderson Ditch on University Hill. 1993. Top: D.I.Y. technology: Thomas Leahy’s water wheel on Alameda Street, Los Angeles. c. 1875, Seaver Center for Western History Research, Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History. Above: Michael Holleran, Boulder County: Speed limit sign as lateral control gate. 1994.


Reading Buildings Challenges for the Reconstruction of Latin America’s History Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla

Buildings as Written History

If buildings testify to their own history and the technology used at the time, then this intertwining of historic moments and technology has been the engine for the evolution of architecture. Thus, studying buildings from the building-technology point of view has become crucial to unfolding the past. The digital tools that have evolved in the twenty-first century have helped answer some questions and of course, have opened new inquiries, which is good for the field and for those interested in learning how Latin America’s history is written in buildings. The amalgamation of Europeans and those who were native to Mesoamerica proposes intriguing questions regarding the impact and influence that indigenous people had on key design decisions, manufacturing of building components, and implementation of construction techniques.

Above left: Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, Capilla Abierta Teposcolula.

Buildings are history written in stone. We all may have heard or read this statement somewhere. If buildings are a testimony of history, how can we interpret them? Are architects equipped to read what history says through buildings? Architects can look at buildings in a unique way; their eyes are trained to identify particulars about structure, material assemblies, and how the two combine to form space. As I usually mention in my technology classes, architects have the ability to see through walls. In this context, digital technologies such LiDAR (Light Detection and Ranging) and photogrammetry have opened new forms of interpreting the information provided by buildings. With the information provided by these technologies, architects acquire not only the ability to discern structure and materials, but also to interpret those aspects of history that may have been forgotten over time. The testimony embedded in the walls of buildings emerges to the surface. The precision of the tools helps to formulate more assertive hypotheses and to present more accurate results. 18

When reconstructing early Latin American history, buildings can become the documents, the primary sources that need to be read and analyzed in order to find the details. While the general ideas about early colonial structures in Mesoamerica1 are understood, many of the specifics are still to be unveiled. To place this in context, one should understand that the algid periods of the sixteenth century have formed a void in the conservation of primary sources. This scarcity of documented sources for pre-colonial and early-colonial structures has influenced the way in which buildings have been observed and commonly depicted. Most studies have focused on style and other features aiming to shape containers that organize buildings and their elements in a cohesive manner. These studies have focused on the typologies and ornaments that emerged from the first contact between natives and Spaniards in sometimes vivid descriptions, but the particulars of construction and the transfer of building technology need much more study.

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Millions of people visit the colonial cities of Mexico every year, and can find indigenous influences in decorative elements of their colonial buildings. The specialists call these native decorative elements tequitqui art. In addition to what is visible on the surface, architects and other specialists can identify these native influences in the layout and design of entire buildings. For example, the so called capilla abierta (open chapel) is just one way of expressing this influence over Spanish methods of conceiving space. The layout of capillas abiertas was generally designed to merge the traditional Catholic ceremony with indigenous ritual customs, which mostly happened under the open sky, to view celestial objects such as the sun, the moon, and Venus. A handful of capillas abiertas still stand, and reveal to those who visit the refreshing and innovative designs that have no precedent in the repertoire of forms of architecture. Architects who study building-technology transfer during the early colonial period in Mesoamerica should pay special attention to arched and vaulted structures. The compression-based structural arch and the structures derived from it were fully introduced by the Spaniards to the Americas. The implementation of the arch as a new building component presented challenges for both the indigenous masons and the Spanish master builders; while the first had to learn it, the second had to teach it.

Arches of all families—complex or simple, flat or curved, straight or skewed—and vaulted structures such as barrel vaults, groin vaults, and the more complex ribbed vaults were implemented everywhere in monumental and residential architecture. While there are very few traces of how the stone carving techniques were transferred to the Indigenous people, the arches in buildings can help us understand the nuances involved in this process of adaptation to new technologies. Twenty-first century digital technologies played an important role in the work to unveil the transference of building technology of sixteenth-century Gothic vaults built in Oaxaca, Mexico. The data collected for the development of this research relied on LiDAR scanning documentation and its proper interpretation. This scanning yielded a point cloud that was processed in the computer for analysis. The information provided by these point clouds then yielded an accurate delineation of arcs and other geometric figures governing the design of the structures. By performing this analysis, we were able to recreate the design processes that the master builders of these Mexican vaults would have followed. But, how do architects do that? The secret is going back to the basics, the origins of the methods of depiction of objects in space, which evolved naturally from those who designed arch-based structures and were later organized as a method of depiction and spatial organization by Gaspard Monge (1746-1818) at the École Polytechnique in Paris. Point clouds were visualized on the vertical and horizontal projections, with multiple sections (one for each arc) to find the geometry of arches on different vertical projections. This process helped find the geometry of each of the vaults and all their peculiarities, and provided precise digital models capable of interpreting the design steps followed by the original architects.

Stereotomy, or the “science of cutting solids,” is most simply known as stonecutting. How the solid pieces are cut in arches determines the structure’s behavior and the precise shape of pieces is crucial for the creation of a self-supporting structural component that functions purely in compression. Once again, digital tools offered us the opportunity to interpret the information and identify how pieces of stone were cut. This exercise of stone cutting is where the transference of building technology can be found at its finest because it was the indigenous people who carved the pieces by hand, one by one, in order to form a three-dimensional, self-supporting puzzle. This study of stereotomy reveals the level of sophistication of the carving solutions for each piece of the vault in order to guarantee its structural stability, and allows us to understand the skills that the indigenous people of Mexico had to learn. All this information together opens doors for us to compare these vaults with those built in Europe and the rest of the world. Finally, the same stereotomy studies help to create hypotheses regarding the carving procedures that masons had to follow in order to shape each one of these complex pieces of stone. Through carving simulations, we can account for the size of the pieces that were obtained from the quarry and therefore the amount of material necessary to build each structure. The analysis, also performed by multiple sections and orthogonal projections applied to the point-clouds, relied on digital animations that helped to visualize these solutions. Generally speaking, the process of carving starts by regularizing the stone from the quarry. Once a piece is regular and has a flat surface, the template of the piece in horizontal position is placed on that flat surface and drawn on the stone. Once the bed-joints are carved, a template with the molding of the ribs is placed on each arm of the piece. This molding silhouette of the rib serves to carve out the arms until they converge with the drum

of the keystone. If the keystone has a seal, then it is carved separately either before or after the piece has been placed on the vault. Architects make models either physically or digitally in order to translate their ideas into graphic expression and visualize the results of the design process. In order to fully depict the construction of sixteenth-century vaults in Mexico, this project took advantage of technologies such as digital modeling and 3D printing. We know that practices of the sixteenth-century master masons included model making; similarly, these models helped them to understand the constructive implications and the structural behavior of the vaults. The keystone, bosses, and tas-de-charges were undoubtedly the most complex pieces within the ribbed vaults because they posed a geometric challenge for the master builders who designed the vaults, and required complex and meticulous carving processes of the masons of that time. 3D printing offered us the possibility to physically test the stereotomic implications of the vaults and it allowed us to assemble a series of models that helped provide a tangible experience to the viewer, accomplishing some of the educational goals embedded in this body of work. The models are small replicas of the actual vaults made of stone; each individual piece or voussoir was 3D printed. The voussoirs form arches; therefore, each of the pieces is assembled as part of an arch. Once each arch is put together, they can be placed on the tas-de-charge and connected with the bosses and keystone to form the ribbed vaults.

New Doors for Interpretation

In architecture, we understand that giving the proper shape to a number of pieces of stone in order to create structural components is not an easy task, and it requires a rigorous process to guarantee the proper assembly and stability of the structure. It is intriguing

Above, left to right: Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, Ribbed vaults of Teposcolula’s chapel, Yanhuitlan’s church, and Coixtlahuaca’s church.


to picture how the European master builders organized the natives who spoke a different language and had different cognitive structures shaping their understanding of the world. On the other hand, the meaning that arched structures conveyed to pre-Columbian communities could have played an important role in the early adoption of these elements. In hybrid buildings,2 such as Casa de la Cacica in Teposcolula, Mexico, the layout resembles a pre-Columbian arrangement of buildings. While the building is indigenous in its layout, arches of different kinds play a relevant role as structural elements and form the composition of the façades. This inclusion of new technology can be interpreted as a symbol of the adoption of the new order by the local ruler whose new palace sent a message to the entire indigenous community. The role that building technology played to lay a common ground and to be a universal language where both worlds coincide is a theme that still needs explanation and goes beyond what buildings can tell us. The dynamics, energies, and synergies of the construction site are especially arduous to interpret. The potential confusion that would have resulted from the semantics involved in the intense exchange of information between Spanish and indigenous masons is one of the questions that still needs to be fully resolved. Additionally, the application and development of building solutions for different components, labor organizations, and construction management as they related to the materialization of the complex structures built during this time—such as ribbed vaults, aqueducts, and Mudéjar wooden ceilings—adds another layer of complexity. We as architects have an important role in providing a more comprehensive view of history by reading what is written on buildings and parsing out what they can teach us. This object-based research, in conjunction with other disciplines and fields of study, can provide a holistic view. We will never replace the words of lost documents, and will never make up for those that were never written, but we have the ability to help complete the phrases. Now, more than ever, the tools at our disposal, if wielded properly, are a pertinent insertion to the processes that will help us with the challenges of reconstructing Latin American history. Mesoamerica is identified as a region and cultural area in the Americas, extending approximately from central Mexico to Belize, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and northern Costa Rica, within which pre-Columbian societies flourished before the Spanish colonization of the Americas in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 1

By “hybrid” I mean the buildings that were built during the early colonial time but were designed for use of indigenous people, therefore their layout contains a strong indigenous influence. 2

Top: Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, Point-cloud data from LiDAR survey. Middle: Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, Point-cloud data analysis. Right: Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, Stonecutting process for a keystone. Opposite: Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla, Printing modeling.


PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Decolonizing Preservation for the Future of the Americas Fernando Luiz Lara

America was, if it was anything, geography, pure space, open to human action. Since it lacked historical substance—ancient social classes, established institutions, religions, and hereditary laws—reality presented no obstacles other than natural ones. Men struggled not against history but against nature. And wherever there was an historical obstacle—indigenous societies, say—it was erased from history, reduced to a mere natural fact, and dispensed with accordingly.1 -Octavio Paz, El Arco y la Lira

It may sound pretentious to start this essay by disagreeing with a great Mexican scholar, but Octavio Paz contradicted himself in the previous paragraph, so I guess I am absolved. The Americas were never lacking institutions, religions, laws, or social classes. They had it all, in a variety of forms. Our continent was home to over twenty-five million people in 1492: people who had lived here for thousands of years; people who built great cities such as Tenochtitlan and Cusco, to use the European concept of urbanism; people who also built thousands of other settlements, mostly low-density and in deep synergy with nature. It was a nature transformed and modified by human hands but still very much revered and respected. Octavio Paz was dead wrong in the first sentence quoted, and he knew it. The fourth sentence says it all: “…wherever there was an historical obstacle, it was erased.” Allow me to edit Octavio Paz’ paragraph and check how it would read if the order of the sentences were reversed:


America was the place where indigenous societies were erased from history, reduced to a mere natural fact, and dispensed with accordingly. In their quest to tame nature, men [of European descent] struggled against history. History was an inconvenient reality and an obstacle to the full domination of nature. In order to reduce America to pure space open to [white men’s] actions, it was tantamount to erase any historical substance: ancient social classes, established institutions, religions, and hereditary laws.

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

How different the meaning of Octavio Paz’ sentences in reverse order is. How striking the violence of this erasure, a process of historical destruction that was indeed quite successful. Generations upon generations all over the Americas learned that our continent had no history prior to the arrival of the Spanish flotilla in October of 1492. As we learned from Edmundo O’Gorman, another giant of Mexican scholarship, the order of the factors does change the historical meaning. O’Gorman demonstrated that it was the encounter with the Americas that triggered European modernization, and not the other way around.2 If the encounter jump-started modernization on the north-eastern shores of the Atlantic, on the western shores there was destruction upon destruction. The Amerindian population plummeted from twenty-five million in 1500 to three million in 1600, a loss of 90 percent over one century, which was unheard of in human history. Not even devastating wars such as World War I or cruel regimes such as the Khmer Rouge have reached such percentages. After what we now call Amerindian Holocaust, the land was indeed empty. But empty lands are not profitable, so the same forces that exterminated native societies then enslaved ten million Africans and brought them here to “tame” nature to produce as much wealth as possible. Our continent was built on the Amerindian Holocaust, slavery, and a long, violent, and immoral process of land grabbing that transferred space to white hands only. This process has been going on for 527 years and was only made possible because histories were erased and violence swept under the rug. Historic preservation is tasked with the challenge of bringing this destruction back to light. All over the Americas, we witness an awakening, a deliberate effort to write our own history. After too many decades celebrating only buildings of European “descent,” historic preservation has the urgent task of memorializing spaces, events, and resistances that define who we (all) are.

One central question of our task is the ways and means by which we address the role of memory in architectural education. Indeed, a simple bibliographic search reveals that the topic is still understudied. Apart from monographs on museums and memorials, two books theorize memory and architecture: one by Bloomer and Moore from 1977, and one edited by Eleni Bastea in 2004. I went to architecture school in Brazil in the late 1980s, and at the time Body, Memory, and Architecture by Kent Bloomer and Charles Moore was a major reference. I had no idea that one day I would be a Professor at the school where Charles Moore was teaching then, but their understanding of memory had a significant impact in my formative years—the idea that feelings are social and so is the emotional spatiality of the human body. Our memory is the result of our bodies moving through space and, as Bloomer and Moore warn us, “one of the hazardous consequences of suppressing bodily experiences and themes is a diminished ability to remember who we are.”3 How does this apply to the history of the Americas? Our original inhabitants lost almost all their territory in a few generations, dying in droves as the result of violence. How could they remember who they were? Meanwhile, millions of Africans were removed from their homelands and forcibly brought to the Americas as slaves. How could they mentally survive? Yet, people endured, organized, resisted, and got back many of their rights. Space speaks volumes about privilege. In the 1980s, phenomenology took over architectural education and reminded us that memory, dreams, and sensorial experiences of spaces are important. Nevertheless, it is not hard to see the hegemonic Western blanket covering it all. Read Gaston Bachelard again and you will be shocked that he barely mentions gender inequalities in the experience of domestic space. Read Bloomer and Moore today and you can hear a deafening silence on how any non-white-male-hetero-normative persons experience space.

We have come a long way since Octavio Paz’ writings of the 1950s and Charles Moore’s writings of the 1970s. We know that both authors had ethnic and sexual identities that pushed themselves towards the margins, yet they could not name whatever discomfort they felt. Another few decades would pass before Eleni Bastea organized an ACSA Conference at Washington University in Saint Louis that I was fortunate to attend and contribute a paper to. In the introduction of the book edited by Bastea, she reminded us that architecture provides the storage on which we can enact our lives. Memory, however, creates a social relationship with space, holding on to the essence of it, the best and the worse, letting the rest of the details fade into gray.4 We have taken for granted too many details of our spatial history, and as a result we built a distorted memory. Historic preservation today faces the challenge of preserving everyone’s spaces, contributing to the construction of a much more inclusive collective memory. Together, our research efforts are creating new concepts and new approaches to address the breadth and the complexity of our American heritage. As summarized by Brazilian scholar Alexandre Barbosa, western civilization is fundamental, but is insufficient.5 By working on the many parts missing, we aspire to an understanding of the history of the Americas that is not based on exclusion and erasure any longer. Octavio Paz, El arco y la lira, (Ciudad de México: Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1956), 279. 1

Edmundo O’Gorman, La invencion de America/The Invention of America: Investigacion acerca de la estructura historica del Nuevo Mundo y del sentido de su devenir. México: Fondo De Cultura Economica USA, 2006, (first edition, 1966). 2

Kent C. Bloomer and Charles Moore, Body, Memory, and Architecture, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), 44. 3

Eleni Bastea (org.), Memory and Architecture, (University of New Mexico Press, 2004), 1. 4

Alexandre de Freitas Barbosa, Introduction to my seminar at Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros, Universidade de São Paulo, June 28, 2017. 5


Turning Power Upside Down Historic Preservation and Grassroots Organizations in Valparaíso, Chile Magdalena Novoa

Above: Fig. 1. Pablo Alarcón Fernández, Pacto Urbano La Matriz protest during the Chilean National Heritage Day. 2017, PULM.

During the 2017 Chilean National Heritage Day a group of residents of Valparaíso, the second largest city in Chile, stood in front of the barbed wire that separates the coastal border and the sea from the historic center of the city holding a fabric banner that read, “On the other side of the barbed wire is Heritage Day—waterfront open for all” (fig 1). Members of the grassroots organization Pacto Urbano La Matriz (PULM) were protesting against the planned port developments that would permanently block citizens’ access to the sea from Valparaíso’s historic center and would greatly increase the environmental pollution and affect the local population’s health, among other negative impacts. PULM is one of several social movements that have arisen in Chile since the 2000s in response to social exclusion in public decision-making, with citizens 24

expressing discontent and lack of credence in the governments that ruled after Chile’s return to democracy in 1990 (Garcés 2012). Among traditional demands for better housing, health, and education, informal groups like PULM have also begun to demand formal social inclusion in decision-making related to historic urban areas. Analyzing the preservation policies and strategies implemented in Chile sheds light on the different efforts that Chilean governments have made. Since the 1990s, the cultural and heritage scene in Chile has been driven by the development of a series of positive public financing initiatives to improve the protection and preservation of historic sites (Andueza 2008). Yet despite these financing initiatives, which are mainly focused on the material aspects of heritage, the legal and managerial frameworks remain fragmented and uncoordinated between

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

discrete public and private agencies. For instance, urban and heritage regulations and instruments are strongly centralized and do not consider citizen engagement, and the institutions involved in administering them have not established coordinated processes to oversee the protection of urban heritage sites or address the social inequities and exclusions embedded in the configuration of these spaces. Consequently, a number of cases have emerged in recent years as a result of the absence of community participation in the processes of approval and construction of urban projects in historic sites. In the last decades, planning and historic preservation scholarship and practice have increasingly focused on how local people engage in decision-making in the urban field (see for example Arnstein 1969; Friedmann 1987; Sandercock 1998; Beard 2012; Smith 2006; Robertson

2 and 3). UNESCO registered the city’s historic center on the World Heritage (WH) list in 2003, but since then Valparaíso has been the focus of much controversy in the country, serving as a paradigm of the abandonment and deterioration of its environment and population. Furthermore, the status of the city as a WH site has meant an exponential increase in investments in tourism, real estate development, and commercial development at the expense of local entrepreneurs and citizens’ more informal initiatives (Rojas and Bustos 2015). These interventions modified the urban landscape in strong contrast with the original vision formulated when Valparaíso was conceived as a WH site. They display both the fragility of the Chilean State’s legal procedures for interventions and urban planning, and the incapability of the local government to achieve positive measures. As one heritage activist puts it, the WH status: has only benefited some external company owners that have seen in Valparaíso an opportunity for business and tourism and the preservation of the physical appearance of only two hills. But the cultural traditions, the social interactions that were so important for the heritage of those areas, are gone because of gentrification…Porteños [residents of the port city] were never involved in the UNESCO nomination and there has been no master plan or policy to encourage Valparaíso’s citizens to make a future out of its cultural heritage (Author interview with heritage activist, March 2016). All these issues led to one of the country’s most contentious conflicts related to heritage in the last decade: the interventions planned along the coastline in front of the historic quarter of Valparaíso, including the expansion of the port, which would result in a 2,372-foot-high wall of containers and the erection of a shopping center called Mall Puerto Barón. 2008; Byrne 2008; García-Canclini 1999; Cartera 2009). This literature represents varying degrees of citizen involvement, local power, and social and political awareness. Scholarship examines how local residents are incorporated into established decision-making processes and how they self-empower to plan and define cultural heritage on their own within, alongside, outside of, and even in opposition to established planning, societal, and cultural frameworks (Beard 2012). These approaches have expanded the notions of planning and historic preservation while illuminating communities’ agency in social transformation. In this article I focus on how people self-organize and collectively strategize to challenge socio-spatial exclusions in Valparaíso, creating new spaces of participation and political power—both within and outside of the official

processes. Participation in this sense constitutes a creative, imaginative, and collective political action, both formally and informally, in order to change dominant structures of governance and envision social transformation (Andueza 2011; Friedmann 1993; Miraftab 2009). In the following sections, I will examine the conflicts surrounding the World Heritage (WH) site of Valparaíso and how decisions have become controversial in part due to the lack of formal spaces for community engagement, triggering a citizens’ “quiet revolution against politics-as-usual” to borrow from a Guardian article covering Valparaíso’s 2016 mayoral elections.1

Valparaíso’s World Heritage Site

Valparaíso is best known for its steep hills covered with brightly colored houses above the Pacific Ocean (figs

In 2012, twenty-four local academic institutions, social organizations, and trade unions and 1,000 citizens sent a letter to UNESCO using the WH status as a strategy to denounce the planned developments (UNESCO 2013). An ICOMOS Advisory Mission visited Valparaíso to assess the current state of conservation of the WH site and its management. The mission reported that the developments would negatively impact the attributes for which Valparaíso had been listed as WH, in particular the city’s amphitheater-like layout and the vitality of the seaport (UNESCO 2015). Most importantly, it reported that the developments would deeply affect the community’s needs and feelings with regard to their memories of the city and their use of public space in preventing both the people of Valparaíso and its visitors from accessing the most important remains of the old port or accessing the sea from the historic center. 25

In the first place, there are no community development programs or policies related to the preservation of Valparaíso. Citizens were exposed only partially to the project development plans in 2005, before construction started, and since then this has become a country-wide debate (UNESCO 2013). Also, the city’s government demonstrated social and institutional fractures due to the lack of dialogue. Moreover, the conservation measures provided by the state to UNESCO did not include any community involvement strategy related to either of the questioned projects (UNESCO 2014; 2015), and although citizen groups demanded their input be considered, national and local authorities continuously resisted including them in an active role. Consequently, the outcome is an urban area that has tried very hard to represent locally and globally something that is not congruent to reality, leading to a community that experiences its central and local government and the international institutions as patronizing its local identity.

Pacto Urbano La Matriz And The Citizens’ Mayoral Primaries

As a result of the controversies over the port expansion and the WH designation, residents of Valparaíso self-organized to demand the right to be involved in the decisions that affect them. Outside of official spaces of governance, these groups created a social dialogue and political awareness about the values of the city and the threats due to the expansions planned in the port. They opposed the privatization of the coast, which would enable investors to decide the future of the city. Although many criticize the very designation of the city’s historic quarter as a WH site, they have skillfully managed to turn this designation to their advantage using the WH status as an important part of their political discourse. After several years of grassroots mobilization that managed to stop the construction projects temporarily on several occasions, a number of resident groups and social organizations came together in 2015 to form PULM, which is a city-wide group of discontented residents, civic organizers, social leaders, academics, fishermen, port workers, union activists, merchants, designers, and artists. They do not align with any political party and defend their independence from either side of the “political duopoly” (UDI or Nueva Mayoría) that ruled Valparaíso in the almost-thirty years since the democratic transition in the 1990s (Interview of PULM member, July 2018). An important symbol of their struggle is the barbed wire that segregates the city from the sea (fig 4). Top: Fig. 2. Magdalena Novoa, View of Valparaíso Bay where developments for Mall Puerto Barón and Terminal 2 were planned. 2019. Above: Fig. 3. Magdalena Novoa, Cerro Alegre Hill part of the WH site that has been focus gentrification in the last decades. 2018.

The conflicts that emerged from these new developments, which were realized without citizen engagement, revealed two important considerations. First, they illuminated the lack of urban planning and the city’s difficulty articulating protective regulations and integrated management to provide the WH site with the proper instruments to manage the preservation of the city and its port as a whole (ICOMOS 2014). Second, at a local level, they have raised questions as to whether including Valparaíso on the UNESCO WH list may have itself caused damage to its cultural heritage, since at the time of its inscription in 2003, no comprehensive conservation management plan was submitted (UNESCO 2013). 26

Indeed, Valparaíso’s WH designation poses a contradiction. On one hand, the official discourse emphasizes the seaport’s glorious past and the key role that it played in the globalization process during the nineteenth century (UNESCO 2003). On the other hand, the designation is tied to deep, undemocratic forms of development and a narrative that is not reflected in the reality of porteños’ everyday life. As a result, there were no opportunities to think about a development model enabling the city to grow while engaging with the needs and ideas of all social actors. This, of course, led to a third great problem: community participation.

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

PULM organized an innovative strategy for the mayoral elections of December 2016 with the aim of changing the political status quo. They envisioned a “citizens’ mayoral office” that would advocate for an integrated and inclusive development of Valparaíso, respecting its uses as a port but also its historical and social values. The movement created its own participatory “citizens’ mayoral primaries” to generate independent candidates to run for mayor and municipal office from among Valparaíso’s citizens and a collaborative mayoral program for their future candidates. The elected candidates, all with a strong history of social mobilization, ran together and constituted the voting options of the political movement that they created for the elections called Movimiento Valparaíso Ciudadano (Valparaíso Citizens’

Movement). Their political campaign was outstanding in incorporating creative practices, such as involving local street artists to promote the “citizens’ mayoral office” in the streets of Valparaíso (fig 5). In December 2016, the three candidates from the “citizens’ primaries” won the elections, defeating all official political predictions and establishing a precedent in the country’s political arena.


The case of Valparaíso illustrates how, through incremental actions and by appropriating the WH status, citizens have turned the official government upside down, using it as a political and cultural trigger to envision change in their city. Since the election of the “citizens’ mayoral office” in 2016 the evolution of PULM and the new local leadership is complex and has not been exempt from disagreements. However, despite the ongoing contested panorama, at the time of this writing, the shopping center development has been permanently stopped due to legal actions undertaken by a group of citizens. The government has reformulated the plans, proposing a public park that the municipality will administer. After the actions of PULM that involved reporting the high levels of environmental pollution that Terminal 2 would cause to the Environmental Evaluation System, the port development has also been paused after the concessionaire company claimed that it was economically unsustainable. The challenges and outcomes of Valparaíso’s empowered citizens must be measured over an extended period of time, but PULM and the “citizens’ primaries” represent a sophisticated first step in a long journey toward social transformation that has exposed the inability of international, national, and local official institutions to negotiate citizens’ interests, memories, and identities in the development of their city. Jonathan Franklin, “Chile’s young independents lead quiet revolution against politics-as-usual.” The Guardian. October 21, 2016. Accessed on June 15, 2019 chile-young-independents-citizens-primary-valparaiso-jorge-sharp 1

Top: Fig. 4. Pablo Alarcón Fernández, Pacto Urbano La Matriz intervention in the barbed wires that separate Valparaíso coastline with the city during the Chilean National Heritage Day celebration. 2017, PULM. Above: Fig. 5. Pablo Alarcón Fernández, Mimo Tuga, a street artist from Valparaíso, was an important campaigner for the 2016 elections. PULM. Andueza, Pablo. 2011. ¿Qué Puede Significar Participación en la Gestión del Patrimonio Cultural?. Trabajo presentado en el II Seminario de la Sociedad Chile de Políticas Públicas. Santiago, Chile. Andueza, Pablo. 2008. El Patrimonio Cultural como Factor de Desarrollo en Chile. Valparaíso: Universidad de Playa Ancha Ediciones. Arnstein, Sherry R. 1969. “A Ladder Of Citizen Participation.” Journal of the American Planning Association 35 (4): 216–24. Beard, Victoria. 2012. “Citizens Planner: From Self-Help to Political Transformation.” In The Oxford Handbook of Urban Planning, edited by Rachel Weber and Randal Crane, 706–21. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Byrne, Denis. 2008. “Heritage as Social Action.” In The Heritage Reader, edited by G. J. Fairclough, Rodney Harrison, John H. Jameson, and J. Schofield, 149–70. New York and Oxon: Routledge. Cartera, Carolina. 2009. “Patrimonio Participativo.” In Primer Congreso Iberoamericano y VIII Jornada “Técnicas de Restauración y Conservación Del Patrimonio.” Buenos Aires, Argentina: Comisión de Investigaciones Científicas de la Provincia de Buenos Aires. Friedmann, John. 1987. Planning in the Public Domain : From Knowledge to Action. Princeton University Press.

Garcés, Mario. 2012. El Despertar de La Sociedad : Los Movimientos Sociales En América Latina y Chile. SANTIAGO: LOM Ediciones. García-Canclini, Néstor. 1999. “Los Usos Sociales Del Patrimonio Cultural.” In Patrimonio Etnológico: Nuevas Perspectivas de Estudio, edited by Encarnación Aguilar, 16–33. Andalucia: Instituto Andaluz del Patrimonio Historico. Miraftab, Faranak. 2009. “Insurgent Planning: Situating Radical Planning in the Global South.” Readings in Planning Theory 8 (1): 32–50. Robertson, Iain J. M. 2008. Heritage from Below: Class, Social Protest and Resistance. Routledge Handbooks Online. https://doi. org/10.4324/9781315613031.ch8. Rojas, Mauricio, and Victoria Bustos. 2015. “Valparaíso : El Derecho Al Patrimonio.” Revista Antropologías Del Sur 3 (2015): 155–73. Salazar, Gabriel. 2012. “Movimientos Sociales En Chile: Trayectoria Histórica y Proyección Política.” Santiago, Chile: Uqbar. Sandercock, Leonie. 1998. Towards Cosmopolies : Planning for Multicultural Cities. Chichester ; New York: Wiley. Smith, Laurajane. 2006. Uses of Heritage. Oxon and New York: Routledge.

Friedmann, John. 1993. “Toward a Non-Euclidian Mode of Planning.” Journal of the American Planning Association 59 (4): 482–85.


Changing Narratives on Brazilian Heritage Barbara Cortizo de Aguiar

By the end of the nineteenth century, Europe was discussing its national heritage and the preservation of its monuments. This was the result of discussions between collectors and antiquarians, and culminated in definitions for national historical monuments and the first preservation initiatives. These ideas of heritage and preservation crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and around that same time the Americas began to discuss their histories, national identities, and values. At the beginning of the twentieth century, American countries began creating their own national heritage advocacy and preservation agencies. In Brazil, the debate involved intellectuals, scholars, and politicians over fifteen years of study, discussion, and legislation. It was only in 1934 that the Serviço do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional (SPHAN, the Service for the National Historic and Artistic Heritage) was founded.1 The Brazilian government created a national narrative of


a modern country with deep roots in its past—as long as that past was baroque and colonial. The catalogue of the first national landmarks—mainly of colonial art, architecture, and history—perpetuated denial of the country’s most recent history and was also a way of officially ignoring the architecture of the nineteenth century and the beginning of a new chapter. In this essay, I present the background landscape for the creation of SPHAN, how SPHAN invented Brazil’s past, and how it introduced such a change in narrative.

Museums and Buildings: Two Projects of Memorialization

Modernization and development have been two prevalent notions in Brazil’s history since the nineteenth century. In the early 1800s, this meant “civilizing” the land, transforming it based on European standards. The presence of the Portuguese (1808–1822) and Imperial (1822–1889) courts allowed for the importation of

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cultural institutions to Brazil, as well as the creation of the first colleges2 and other institutions such as the Museu Real (Royal Museum, now the National Museum) in 1818 and the Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro (IHGB, Brazilian Historical and Geographical Institute) in 1838. During the first few decades of Brazil’s independence, Emperor Pedro I turned to European classicism to civilize the country, distancing himself and the deeds of the new monarchy from the clergy and Catholic symbols of power. Architectonically, this meant avoiding references to the baroque and rococo styles associated with the late colonial period, and adopting the neoclassical style for new buildings.3 The nineteenth century saw the emergence of historical and geographical institutes with the mission of building the past and systematizing an official history. The IHGB was an intellectual bureau that focused on the

production of symbolic representations, with relative autonomy from the emperor.4 The Institute’s project was to reconstruct Brazilian history based on a modern perspective by recreating the past and solidifying Brazilian myths of origin.5 By the end of the nineteenth century, the then-empire had abolished slavery (in 1888), was declared a republic (in 1889), and started encouraging people from other nations to immigrate to the country to work on the plantations. It came time for Brazil to reinvent itself, to create a new myth of foundation; as a republic, the country needed to redefine its values and identity.

It was only in the early twentieth century that people started utilizing architecture for memorialization. In the first quarter of the twentieth century, central areas of major Brazilian cities underwent urban reformation processes based on infrastructural modernization and city beautification plans. At that time, many engineers and architects used those interventions to dictate the aesthetics of the cities by demolishing old buildings and building new structures.

Opposite: Barbara Aguiar, Franciscan convent of Nossa Senhora das Neves, Olinda (Pernambuco). Listed as a national heritage site in 1938. 2009. Above left: Barbara Aguiar, Main altar, 1783-1786, gold leaf over carved cedar wood. São Bento Monastery, Olinda (Pernambuco), listed as national heritage in 1938. 2009. Above Right: Barbara Aguiar, Historic center of Igarassu (Pernambuco), listed as an architectural and landscape landmark in 1972. In the background, the Franciscan Covent of Santo Antônio, 1588, listed in 1938. 2018.

In the 1920s, many intellectuals worried about the irreparable loss of colonial buildings and historical monuments, defending a protection policy for the built environment. This resulted in the creation of national monuments offices, initially in three states: Minas Gerais (1926), Bahia (1927), and Pernambuco (1928).6 The federal Inspetoria Nacional de Monumentos Históricos (National Historic Monuments Inspectorate) was created in 1934 by President Getulio Vargas, but was soon extinguished due to political reasons and power disputes. Poet and novelist Mario de Andrade wrote the draft for a national heritage decree, which was commissioned by President Getulio Vargas in 1936. Andrade had a broad and bold approach to art, which included all cultural expressions, high and low. Andrade believed that both high art and popular art should be dealt with in the same way and with the same respect as Brazilian heritage. Andrade also proposed the creation of four national museums as spaces for study and reflection. His vision ended up being set aside as the preservation institution in Brazil became elitist. In the end, SPHAN was created following the project of Rodrigo Melo Franco de Andrade.7 This new model resulted in the separation of the memorialization processes in Brazil—with museums displaying historical objects, and architecture discretely representing national heritage.

First Tales of Brazilian Past

The Serviço do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional was created by the Decreto-Lei nº 25/1937, which defined Brazilian historical and artistic heritage, established the national patrimonial policy, and determined ways to protect it. In its initial years, SPHAN focused on cataloging Brazilian patrimony. In a way, it followed the old architectural tradition of the states that had already identified, cataloged, and protected a series of historical structures in the 1920s through the works of their agencies for national monuments. In terms of protection and listing, there are four registry books, also known as Livros do Tombo: 1. Archaeology,

Heritage Classification – 1938 Cultural object (movable and fixed) Collections Natural heritage Architectural ensemble

Total 8 13 2 15

Rural ensemble


Urban ensemble


Building Building and [its] collections Urban equipment or infrastructure

91 167 13

Historic garden




Breakdown of national listings in Brazil in 1938 by classification category (type of legal protection). Source: Brasil, Iphan, 2015.

Ethnography, and Landscape; 2. History; 3. Fine Arts; 4. Decorative and Applied Arts. The first listings ocurred in 1938 when 329 cultural assets were tombados, 306 of which were buildings, buildings ensembles, historic gardens, or ruins.8 The vast majority of the first-recognized Brazilian landmarks were colonial buildings from the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries. The history of preservation in Brazil can be narrated through a “rhetoric of loss,” of legally protecting buildings, monuments, and collections to avoid losing them.9 Historic preservation institutions in Brazil were created due to the fear of losing objects from the past. Brazilian heritage was defined through travel reports and listing proposals. Initially, there was not a clear definition of the listing criteria, and listing decisions were based on aesthetic taste. During the 1930s, modernist architects had an essential role in creating the Brazilian image for its people and international audiences. For decades, everyone involved with SPHAN was a modernist—be they architect, artist, or writer. This group saw—and subsequently shaped the 29

narrative of—baroque religious and colonial architecture as the first genuine Brazilian cultural manifestation. By cataloging cultural objects and determining what should be protected, the modernists (re)shaped and recolonized Brazil’s past. Architecturally, this meant something other than copying older styles, or reproducing the aesthetic vernacular from the late nineteenth century. The modernist architects managed to demote eclectic and neocolonial architecture, leaving them out of the national heritage pantheon in the years that followed the creation of SPHAN.10

Narratives of Brazil’s Past

National heritage can be defined as a set of objects selected to represent a country’s identity, allowing for the continuity of the past, but also rupturing it. National heritage is related to the history of a nation and its legacies; it uses patrimony as a historic element and as an object of memorialization. The Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro’s charge was to define foundational moments in the country’s history, create heroes, and establish myths of origin. The creation of the SPHAN was the result of preoccupations about the loss of colonial buildings and monuments, the need to legally protect them, and the urge to create a narrative for the country’s national image and identity. SPHAN was also the result of a decade of internal debate over what ought to be considered Brazilian heritage: 30

Brazilian history or the exceptional national value of archaeological, ethnographic, bibliographic, or artistic representations. The decision to omit the establishment of a national system of museums made room for the historic preservation office in Brazil to focus mainly on architecture and the built environment. The early years of SPHAN in Brazil are known as “the heroic years.” To this day, scholars write about how SPHAN’s brave men traveled the country to discover its roots, looking for what was genuinely Brazilian. Even with a narrative of a modern country, and with site analyses and heritage listings held by modernist architects and artists, the stories told are of a small, privileged group of people. Mario de Andrade’s heritage project intended to address popular art and ethnographic objects, but these wound up in museums as mementos from a distant group of people, memorialized but not celebrated. After SPHAN was finally established, heritage preservation and policy-making became synonymous with building and site preservation. It took decades for the national heritage institute to acknowledge other cultural manifestations. Created in 1975, the Centro Nacional de Referência Cultural (CNRC, the National Center for Cultural Reference) was an initiative to advocate for craftsmanship, ethnomusicology,

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and other cultural practices. Only in the year 2000 did CNRC begin registering intangible cultural assets such as music and food. The institute recently celebrated its eightieth anniversary—understaffed, and amidst difficult times. Registry and listing requests pile up, and so does the need for patrimonial advocacy. Even with a more comprehensive notion of national heritage, there are still underrepresented groups. Let us not look for heroes; let us make room for diverse groups to speak up and be heard. This is the original name of the Brazilian heritage institution. Currently, it is called Instituto do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional (IPHAN, Institute for the National Historical and Artistic Heritage). 1


Namely, the School of Medicine in Rio de Janeiro and Salvador (both founded in 1808), and the Law School of São Paulo and Olinda (both from 1827). Garraffoni, Renata, and Pedro Funari “The Uses of Roman Heritage in Brazil.” Heritage & Society, 2012, 5:1, 53-76. 3

Wehling, Arno. Origens do Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro. Ideias filosóficas e estruturas de poder no Segundo Reinado. Rio de Janeiro: Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro, 1989.


Lilia K. Moritz Schwarcz. Os Guardiões da Nossa História Oficial: Os Institutos Históricos e Geográficos Brasileiros. São Paulo: IDESP, 1989, p. 4. 5

Gonçalves, Cristiane Souza. Restauração Arquitetônica: A experiência do SPHAN em São Paulo, 1937-1975. São Paulo: Annablume Editora, 2007, 26-27. 6

Art critic and historian Rodrigo Melo Franco de Andrade (1898-1969) served as director of preservation of artistic patrimony of Brazil at the Ministry of Education during the President Getulio Vargas era. 7

Brasil, Instituto do Patrimônio e Artístico Nacional. Bens Tombados e Processos de Tombamento em Andamento, updated in December, 9th, 2015.


Gonçalves, José Reginaldo Santos. A retórica da perda: os discursos do patrimônio cultural no Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Editora UFRJ: MinC-IPHAN, 1996. 9


The name used in Brazil for its colonial revival style.

Opposite and above: Rodrigo Cantarelli, Bumba Meu Boi in São Luís (Maranhão). Celebration registered as national intangible heritage in 2011. 2019. Right: Rodrigo Cantarelli, Rehearsal of Maracatu Rural Cambinda Brasileira, Engenho Cumbe, Nazaré da Mata (Pernambuco). Caboclo de Lança on a presentation in Recife (Pernambuco). The Maracatu de Baque Solto was registered as intangible heritage in 2014. 2019.


The National Park Service and The UT Austin School of Architecture Partnerships for Preservation Innovation Julie McGilvray

The National Park Service’s (NPS) mission is to preserve unimpaired the natural and cultural resources and values of the National Park System for the enjoyment, education, and inspiration of this and future generations. In order to accomplish this mission, the NPS must partner with universities and other scientific organizations to increase innovation and collaborate across disciplines. Thus, this mission pushes the NPS beyond the boundaries of its 400-plus park units, extending the agency into working partnerships to ensure that iconic park landscapes, buildings, archaeological sites, flora, and fauna are actively managed and protected well into the future. Since 2014, The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture (UTSOA) has engaged with the NPS through the Historic Preservation program, the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, and the Center for Sustainable Development. Through a series of preservation projects—design studios, documentation, preservation technology workshops, and student employment—the UTSOA/ NPS partnership continues to grow, offering students and faculty access to real-world design and preservation problems while pushing the practice forward. Work between the NPS and UTSOA began with an interdisciplinary studio based at Badlands National Park in South Dakota. Since UTSOA has a master’s-level

historic preservation program and a robust ecological research program through the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, the school was selected as the NPS partner due to the scale and complexity of the project. Park and regional design staff focused student work on a neglected cultural landscape called Cedar Pass, comprising the park visitor center, housing, camp grounds, and a concession operation outfitted with a restaurant, store, and cabins. Cedar Pass, constructed primarily in the 1930s and 1950s, was aging poorly with issues ranging from damage to and removal of historic buildings, to flooding, to the potential for any new interventions to harm key geological features and native plant communities. The NPS struggled with site systems and how to move forward to protect key resources while implementing much-needed changes, including an expansion to the visitor center. The UTSOA student team, led by historic preservation faculty and experts from the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center, participated in an interdisciplinary studio set up to address integrated historic preservation and ecological questions. Student work was innovative and pushed the NPS to better understand both how the cultural landscape functioned historically and how it had changed over time. Student design concepts sparked conversations within the park and regional office staff, reinvigorating key decision-makers with new ideas, goals, and ways of

Figure 1


PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

seeing resources (figs. 1-3). Student designs—research, phased work showing process, and final products—were packaged in a booklet for the park. In addition to this resource, NPS staff and two UTSOA graduate research assistants took aspects of student work coupled with The Secretary of the Interior’s Standards for Treatment of Historic Properties (official guidance for treatment through preservation, rehabilitation, restoration, and/or reconstruction), and created a set of design guidelines for Cedar Pass to be used for future planning. The design guidelines were completed the semester following the design studio and acted as a practical handbook for the park. The guidelines were used by park designers and planners to inform new design of buildings and landscape features at Cedar Pass. The guidelines have also been picked up by other parks, design staff, and other university partners across the country to act as a template and framework for creating a similar product for their cultural landscapes and historic districts. Carlsbad Caverns National Park in New Mexico plans to engage the UTSOA for their own set of design guidelines for their historic district in 2020. Student work that stems from university-led design studios adds a needed type of thinking for the NPS. Dominated by law, policy, and regulations, parks are typically not able to enact substantial change to

Figure 2

Opposite and above: Figs. 1, 2. Xiaoming Ma, Final design focusing on site erosion at Badlands National Park. The innovative design shows how to showcase the natural processes of the site. 2015. Right: Fig. 3. Kathleen Conti, Badlands National Park visitor center research. Kathleen’s work traced how visitors use spaces within the building to better inform new additions. 2015.

Figure 3

cultural landscapes such as Cedar Pass. Actual design implementation is often undertaken by experienced preservation architects and landscape architects who understand the nuance needed to take park design forward while adhering to federal law and policy requirements. Through these requirements, NPS designers must maintain the overall integrity of these places so they are consistently recognizable to the visiting public. Park design then is in essence focused on managing incremental change. The UTSOA design studio’s role in this partnership serves to show possibilities that, if done well, create opportunities for broader paradigm shifts. While the semester-long design studio offers the NPS a set of creative solutions, often pushing boundaries

and concepts further for park staff, there are other important ways to engage students. UTSOA has been working with the NPS since 2016 on the documentation of park historic buildings. These projects are focused on creating a set of as-built drawings; large-format, black-and-white photographs, and a brief historical context following the Historic American Building Survey (HABS) standards. When completed, the set will be reviewed by NPS architects, landscape architects, and engineers and then will be accessioned into the Library of Congress. The HABS sets are part of a nationwide inventory of the history of the built environment in the United States, which began during the Great Depression to employ out-of-work architects. Projects range

from private to public properties. The HABS program is housed within the NPS and based in Washington, D.C. HABS’ sister programs are the Historic American Landscape Survey (HALS) and the Historic American Engineering Record (HAER), established to document historic designed landscapes and engineering features (such as bridges, roads, and the surrounding built environment), respectively. The benefits are far-reaching as working on a set of HABS drawings engages students not only to learn the basics of how to document a historic building but also to understand historic assemblies and construction techniques that are critical for historic preservation as both structure and craft. To date, UTSOA has documented two 1920s 33

masonry buildings at Carlsbad Caverns National Park and is in the process of documenting a third. UTSOA also documented Ship on the Desert, an early modernist building located in Guadalupe Mountains National Park (GUMO)(figs. 4-5). Ship on the Desert is considered threatened and the UTSOA HABS set has been used for restoration planning and fundraising efforts. As stated above, student participation in the creation of a HABS set for a historic building allows for a deeper understanding of the craftsmanship and construction techniques used to build a structure. This information is anthropological in nature, revealing how specific groups of people responded to their regions, local environments, and access to materials as they constructed places. Further, construction techniques and craft reveal larger stylistic influences that mark time periods and common thought in architecture. When taken together, revealed building information is specific to a particular time, group of people, and place. This intangible and tangible information is not only critical to understanding the history of the built environment, but important for current preservation issues, including engaging specific and often underrepresented communities. Technical preservation workshops build on the type of descriptive learning found in the creation of HABS documentation and push students to engage with the prescriptive aspects of the field. UTSOA, GUMO, and the University of New Mexico (UNM) will partner in 2020 with the NPS Vanishing Treasures Program (VT) for a week-long workshop focusing on the documentation and treatment of historic masonry structures within Guadalupe Mountains National Park in west Texas. VT supports the preservation of traditionally built architecture in the western United States through architectural conditions assessments, documentation, and preservation maintenance. In doing so, VT facilitates the perpetuation of traditional skills and promotes connections between culturally associated communities and places of their heritage. The workshop will partner students, park staff, and UTSOA and UNM faculty to repoint the Pinery Station ruin (a historic stage-coach stop along the Butterfield Overland Mail Route) and develop and apply a new mortar mix and lime wash for the Frijole Ranch House, both constructed in the nineteenth century. Descendent communities that built and used both structures historically still live in the area and are actively engaged with the park and the preservation of these resources. The workshop will conclude with a trip to Marfa, Texas to see and better understand the how the destruction and taxation of local adobe structures is affecting specific populations. This type of technical preservation workshop teaches students hands-on preservation skills, exposes them to regionally specific preservation problems and solutions, and increases dialogues that juxtapose how we build with how and for whom we preserve and construct our future environments. In conclusion, the UTSOA and NPS partnership has a dual goal of educating students in real-world preservation projects while offering the NPS access to fresh thinking and innovation. Results often inspire design solutions and insight that push the 103-year-old agency forward. Since national parks belong to all of us, this type of collaborative effort follows the spirit of the NPS mission and engages a new generation of designers in the protection of their public lands.


Figure 4

Figure 5

Above: Figs. 4, 5. Historic American Buildings Survey—Ship on the Desert. Guadalupe Mountains National Park, TX. 2017.

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History


Izabella Z. Nuckels

Why preservation? Why historic buildings? Why should we care?

Preservation matters because historic buildings and landscapes physically connect us to our past and to the people and stories that came before us. We are continuously learning from our historic environment. As we move towards inclusivity and a more comprehensive interpretation of the past, historic buildings and landscapes give us a foundation to evolve the narrative of our history. We are able to ask questions about the past and understand how we can learn for the future. We are able to face questions that have not yet been approached and spaces that are not yet understood. In many cases, buildings may be the only remnants left of individuals and communities who tirelessly worked to found the spaces we inhabit today. History can be as much a reflection of the present as it is of the past, and preservation of our built and natural environments allows us to continue telling of the past through the eyes of the future. Additionally, and practically, historic buildings are important sustainable, economic, and creative resources. Preserving existing structures and buildings conserves precious resources by not utilizing new materials or filling landfills. Preservation creates jobs for skilled labor. Often, historic buildings are constructed of materials and building technologies that will far outlast many new, “high performance” products on the market today. Heritage tourism helps energize small towns and depressed urban centers. It lets businesses and communities embrace and tell the stories of their pasts. Adapting historic structures allows architects to play with forms and express relationships between past, present, and future through shape and materials. It allows architects and designers to creatively display scars from natural and manmade disasters such as fires, earthquakes, and wars. Historic preservation does not intend to create static monuments but rather dynamic conversations between our past and present communities.

Tell us about your career path.

Both of my parents are objects conservators and I spent my childhood immersed in their world, traveling to museums and experimenting with restoration supplies in the lab while they worked. During my undergraduate studies at Barnard College, I became enamored with the architecture of New York City and fascinated by Robert Moses, Jane Jacobs, and the growth of American cities. I began college on the architecture track, but soon switched to urban studies to more intensely study the complexities of the built environment. My undergraduate thesis centered around the controversy of removing Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc from Manhattan’s Foley Federal Plaza. It initiated a professional focus on the ethics and practicality of preserving “inconvenient” historic resources and materials. After college, I apprenticed under my parents in sculpture conservation and

prepared to apply for a fine art conservation program. A conservation internship with Historic New England pivoted my interest to historic preservation and I chose to attend the UTSOA MSHP program. While at UTSOA, I had the opportunity to study under Fran Gale and to work on some incredibly rewarding projects, including a materials analysis of the Battle Hall Architecture Library and a historic finish analysis of Eileen Gray’s E.1027 in France. Upon graduation, I moved into the private sector and worked as a private architectural conservator at a preservation architecture firm and with an environmental consulting firm. I was then offered a position with the City of Austin to develop and implement a conservation program to preserve the city’s historic municipal cemeteries. Most recently, I have had the opportunity to share my professional experiences as a Lecturer at UTSOA, teaching the Materials Conservation Lab Methods course to MSHP students.

Can you describe a pivotal moment in your career or educational experience that transformed the way you view historic preservation or historic buildings?

Before graduate school, I was putting together a portfolio to apply to a fine art conservation program, and I had an internship with the conservation lab at Historic New England. One summer afternoon, we visited the Walter Gropius house in Lincoln, Massachusetts. I was immediately drawn to the completeness and intimacy of the house and its site. For me, it was the first building I had visited that really captured a moment in time. One of the most wonderful aspects of the Gropius house is that, for the most part, the family’s furniture is still in place and the landscape is designed around the house. The experience feels neither grand nor monumental, but rather personal and special. In addition to being enthralled by the space as I walked through the site with the conservators, I was immediately excited by all of the preservation challenges I saw and by the complexity required to approach them. The preservation of an entire site—furnished building and landscape—with an array of materials, artifacts, and natural elements not intended to last in perpetuity leads to a range of conservation and ethical problems. Coupled with my admiration for historic architecture, it was then that I knew I wanted to focus on architectural conservation.

What are the main issues that the discipline and practice of historic preservation should focus on in order to have a future? The future of historic preservation will face challenges including interpreting and preserving historic landscapes, facing difficult pasts, and conserving modern materials. As twentieth-century buildings and landscapes age into historic designations, we will begin working to restore (or possibly let deteriorate) new, manmade, and mass-produced materials. We will begin

to preserve construction that was completed in the pursuit of quantity over quality, and we will begin to face decisions over what is “worthy” of preserving in a sea of physically ordinary, but possibly culturally extraordinary, resources. Modernism, brutalism, suburban architecture, and “mcmansions,” to name a few, will require new approaches to interpretation, evaluation, and conservation. Even approaches to previous projects may benefit from a fresh perspective. When preservationists return to maintain and restore resources from the nineteenth century and before, they may have the opportunity to expand histories and areas of significance to more widely represent complete stories of buildings or landscapes. A future preservationist will benefit from a diverse toolkit, a wide network to approach new and uncharted territories, and a clear, passionate voice to communicate preservation’s importance.

How can students prepare for this future?

Future preservationists should prepare to work collaboratively with a variety of partners and to align with the sustainability industry. Engaging with peers of different backgrounds, staying connected to professional groups, and taking advantage of educational opportunities can all help to develop a set of diverse skills and a network of engaged peers. For students, it is important to take advantage of new experiences, to challenge ideas, and to see as many new buildings, landscapes, and cultures as possible. This small field grows with the support of specialized, passionate individuals who can clearly express why we should care. Students should also begin thinking about the future of the present. How will the world that we live in now look in fifty or seventy-five years? Architects designing new buildings should think about how their materials will age and how they will be maintained. Preservation students can begin to learn how to partner with architects to strike a balance between new and old in order to achieve a dynamic, sustainable, and responsible built environment. Historic preservation deserves new ideas and fresh approaches. It deserves to be an active part of the sustainability conversation rather than just an argument against demolition. Students are a key way to keep the field energized and to innovate bright approaches to complex questions. 35


Rebecca Kennedy

Why the history of construction? Why historic or traditional buildings? Why should we care?

Traditional buildings and their construction history have important and often-overlooked stories to tell. Buildings tell the truth in a way that words or pictures can evade; the differences between their exterior and interior, the sizes of their rooms and passages, their stance towards light all tell us about a particular place, people, and time. Building construction can tell a more incisive story—a wall section peeling apart to explain practices of production, materials, economy, and social practice. These stories often have as much to tell about the design of a building as about the creative vision of any one architect. Traditional buildings are unique because they have embedded in them some of the last remaining stories of indigenous or everyday autonomy and cooperative labor practices. In Mexico, where my research is focused, as well as in other developing nations, the narrative of “progress,” meaning concrete, is so pervasive that traditional buildings are now on the verge of extinction. While many traditional homeowners would like nothing more than to knock their homes down and replace them with concrete ones (and for this they cannot be blamed), the centuries-old craft and design latent in these homes has many potential applications today and in the future. Traditional buildings provide solutions for construction and design that bring neighbors together, enhance connection to a place, are economically and ecologically resilient, and beautiful beyond description. Systems such as these are a testament to human ingenuity and remind us of the strength and creativity of everyday people.

Tell us about your career path.

While I have always been obsessed with buildings, I didn’t formally come to architecture until well after my undergraduate degree. I studied printmaking as an undergrad, and my prints all ended up addressing buildings and the lives they lead in our memories and minds. After college I worked at the American Institute of Architects San Franciso while working part time as a “natural builder’s apprentice,” learning how to build with earth. Working on earthen homes sparked my excitement for traditional construction techniques, and I later worked as a natural builder, carpenter, and handywoman. These interests spurred me to visit Latin America in 2012, where I spent seven months learning about earthen construction techniques where they were still practiced. While it was a naïve assumption to think that these techniques were still functioning today (only a few elders still remembered how to build with them), the dearth of living examples inspired me to learn more about what does remain before it disappears. I came to the UTSOA with a desire to further this research.


Can you describe a pivotal moment in your career or educational experience that transformed the way you view historic preservation or historic buildings?

When I was nineteen, I spent two months volunteering on a farm in Italy. Instead of farming, I helped the owner rebuild a centuries-old, rural stone farmhouse. That experience taught me a lasting lesson about my preservation values. We were rebuilding the farmhouse in all the “wrong” ways from a purist’s perspective—replacing old techniques and materials with new ones that might even be detrimental to the original structure—yet we were continuing a lineage of connection to a place, and of resourcefulness and care. That experience has shaped my view of preservation not only from a technical standpoint (although I would classify myself as a “purist”) but from a standpoint of human labor, connection, and social life. If someone is carrying out a restoration out of love for and connection to a place, it goes a long way in convincing me that they are doing the right thing. Without this side of the equation, preservation runs the risk of losing relevance and meaning.

What are the main issues that an architect who cares for traditional building construction should focus on in order to have a future? Some urgent and important issues are the lack of documentation of these techniques globally, the imminent disappearance of a generation of elders who still remember their craft, and even government programs to demolish these buildings. Yet, given what an uphill battle it is to care for traditional buildings, the main “issue” I have encountered is convincing people why what you are interested in is important, and that it is still relevant today. For as long as architectural theory has existed, traditional building has been seen as “rude and barbarous,” as described in Vitruvius’ Ten Books on Architecture. Still today, there is a persistent stigma to contend with in the narrative of progress;

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

most people believe that traditional buildings fall apart, perform poorly in earthquakes, and require no craft or skill to construct. Thus, if you are interested in these buildings’ construction (or any of their other attributes), it is valuable to think of traditional buildings as part of a web of knowledge that can be applied to problems today with the same utility as in the past. For instance, when I think about how traditional construction could be useful now, I might not necessarily be thinking about the exact materials or processes that were used historically. I might tease out more fundamental elements of the process, such as techniques that provide labor opportunities for even unskilled homeowners to play a role in their home’s construction, or adaptations to seismic activity that take advantage of what is readily available in creative ways. While there is still a lot of misinformation about traditional construction today, traditional practices of craft, agriculture, cuisine, etc. are enjoying a renaissance, and more people are interested in traditional buildings as a consequence. Having a future in traditional construction is looking more viable than ever, but the main hurdle is still convincing people that these techniques are valuable and relevant.

How can students prepare for this future?

As a student, all you can do is focus on gaining technical skills and find ways to apply them to what you care about. We all have reasons we came to school that can easily get lost in the daily grind. Fight for what interests you, even if it means working that much harder to produce something outside of what is technically offered to you by the school. The hurdles you come up against will prepare you for fighting for these issues in your future work. Being a student can give you the space to create demonstrable proof (drawings, finished products) of interests that may otherwise be hard to build into your resume or portfolio, helping you gain traction for your future goals. When you are done you will have something you are truly proud of because it came from you.


Vishal Joshi

Why preservation? Why historic buildings? Why should we care?

This is a challenging question that I face every single day of my working life. I have had public agencies, clients, project managers, and even contractors ask the question. As I always do, I just counter-question: Can you imagine New York without its brownstones and art deco skyline, San Antonio without the missions, Mumbai without its colonial ensemble, or Beijing without the Forbidden City? I believe the answer lies somewhere within these questions. Historic buildings are a testimony to the people and the times gone by. These buildings overall have a significant role to play in the concept of “placemaking.� Placemaking gives us necessary context and subsequently becomes our identity. Further, if these historic buildings have to survive, they can only do so with the scientific art of preservation. If we do not care for them, we run the risk of destroying our own identities.

Tell us about your career path.

I have had the privilege of working on numerous architecture and preservation projects across the globe. My career began with a design firm in Mumbai, working on numerous private developments in India and Africa. I soon realized that there was something more I could do with my obsessive fascination with historic buildings. Intrigued by heritage conservation, as they call it back in India, it became a full-blown career move. After a short stint in the preservation field in Mumbai, I hopped halfway across the world to UT Austin. My thesis at the UTSOA opened doors to the subcontinent and I soon found myself at the center of the post-earthquake rehabilitation and reconstruction of UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the Kathmandu Valley. The research, inquiry, and spreading of awareness for these sites also took me to the historic avenues and streets of New York City. Today I still work in the city on various private and public preservation projects spanning primarily the tri-state area.

Can you describe a pivotal moment in your career or educational experience that transformed the way you view historic preservation or historic buildings?

The pivotal moment came during my thesis research and volunteer work in Kathmandu in the aftermath of the 2015 earthquake. As the saying goes: it is only when it is lost that you realize it has gone. During my work in Nepal the grief at the loss of these historic buildings was palpable throughout various people and sections of society. However, I saw hope. Numerous carpenters, metalsmiths, and masons who were unemployed

before the earthquake were now helping with the rebuilding efforts. There was a shortage of workers in the traditional craft, so many more were hired to train in it. Intangible heritage of Newari vernacular construction was seeing an unexpected revival because of the earthquake. To me, as an architect, the disaster also revealed various joineries and details of the buildings that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. I saw how preservation was intertwined with the lives of people and how it functioned in a calamitous situation.

What are the main issues that the discipline and practice of historic preservation should focus on in order to have a future? Rem Koolhaas’ 2016 AIA Conference speech emphasised that preservation is the way forward. I am also an advocate of his philosophy that preservation is our future. With globalization and growing awareness of sustainability as well as climate change, it is becoming imperative that historic buildings are an asset and need to be kept that way. However, hard-core preservation is slowly and steadily being dismantled (except in the cases of important landmarks and monuments). By hard-core, I mean keeping the building exactly the same in all its aspects. I believe historic preservation is a dialogue between the preservation architect, the client,

and various city agencies. When this dialogue occurs, preservation surely progresses. Adding to that, it is also time for a second degree of reforms at the political level in order to keep preservation economically feasible and historically viable for the community.

How can students prepare for this future?

Students have to be flexible with the idea of preservation. This idea will change as a subtle metamorphosis occurs with each and every project or building survey. I am primarily a preservation architect; however, we need more of us in advocacy groups, non-profits, media, government agencies, and elected posts. When preservation architects take effective steps in various branches that implement and exercise construction, the future of historic buildings will be guaranteed.




These 149 permanent endowments have an approximate market value of $43.6 million and account for $1.9 million in annual, renewable funding that directly supports students, faculty, programs, travel, lectures, exhibitions, prizes, research, and other initiatives for perpetuity. Endowments grow in value over time and provide a reliable funding stream to advance the mission of the School of Architecture.


AIA Austin Charles Moore Endowed Scholarship Brooke and Frank Aldridge Endowed Faculty Excellence Fund Blake Alexander Traveling Student Fellowship in Architecture Architexas Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Historic Preservation Francisco “Paco” Arumi-Noe Memorial Fellowship in Sustainable Design Yvette Atkinson Memorial Scholarship in Architecture Marvin E. and Anne Price Beck Endowed Scholarship Wayne Bell Excellence Fund for Historic Preservation Edwin E. Beran Centennial Lectureship in Architecture Carl O. Bergquist Endowed Scholarship Sinclair Black Endowed Chair in the Architecture of Urban Design Sinclair Black Endowed Excellence Fund for Urban Design Myron Geer Blalock Endowed Presidential Scholarship Jean and Bill Booziotis Endowed Annual Lecture in Architecture Jean and Bill Booziotis Excellence Endowment in Honor of the Texas Rangers Jean and Bill Booziotis Endowed Excellence Fund Jean and Bill Booziotis Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Architectural History Hal Box Endowed Chair in Urbanism Hal Box Endowed Scholarship in Architecture George W. Brackenridge Scholarship Fund Brightman/York Endowed Lecture Series in Interior Design Brochstein Excellence Fund C. William Brubaker/Perkins+Will Endowed Presidential Scholarship David Bruton, Jr. Centennial Professorship in Urban Design John Buck Company and First Chicago Investment Advisors for Fund F Endowed Scholarship in Architecture Kent S. Butler Memorial Excellence Fund in Community & Regional Planning Edwin W. and Alyce O. Carroll Centennial Lectureship in Architecture Matt Casey Memorial Scholarship in Architecture Center for American Architecture and Design Endowed Excellence Fund Center for the Study of American Architecture Endowment John S. Chase Endowed Presidential Scholarship Dick Clark, III, Endowed Chair in Architecture Dick Clark Student Travel Fund


Fred W. and Laura Weir Clarke Endowed Presidential Scholarship in Architecture honoring Carl Bergquist Fred W. Clarke Endowed Presidential Scholarship in Architecture honoring Alan Y. Taniguchi Bartlett Cocke Regents Professorship in Architecture Bartlett Cocke Scholarships Cogburn Family Foundation Architecture and Urbanism Prize Peter O. Coltman Book Prize in Architecture and Planning Bluford Walter Crain Centennial Endowed Lectureship Roberta P. Crenshaw Centennial Professorship in Urban Design and Environmental Planning The Paul Philippe Cret Centennial Teaching Fellowship in Architecture Fred Winfield Day, Jr. Endowed Scholarship in Architecture Isabelle Thomason Decherd Endowment for Preservation Technology Jorge Luis Divino Centennial Scholarship in Architecture Larry Alan Doll Endowment for Architecture Student Travel Amy Dryden Endowed Scholarship Professor Buford and Ruth Duke Endowed Excellence Fund in Architecture Raquel Elizondo Staff Excellence Fund William H. Emis III Traveling Scholarship in Architecture Excellence Fund for Topics in Sustainable Development O’Neil Ford Centennial Chair in Architecture Ford, Powell & Carson Endowed Scholarship Terry Norman Forrester & Nancy Hoppess Forrester Dean’s Excellence Fund Ted Freedman Endowed Scholarship Suzie Friedkin Endowed Scholarship in Interior Design Gensler Exhibitions Endowment The Cass Gilbert Centennial Teaching Fellowship in Architecture Golemon & Rolfe Centennial Lectureship in Architecture Herbert M. Greene Centennial Lectureship in Architecture Adam Conrad Grote Memorial Scholarship in Architecture Harwell Hamilton Harris Regents Professorship in Architecture HDR Architecture Endowed Scholarship Mike Hogg Professorship in Community and Regional Planning Lily Rush Walker and Coulter Hoppess Endowed Presidential Scholarship in Architecture Humphreys & Partners Endowed Scholarship in Architecture Interior Design Endowed Excellence Fund

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Janet C. and Wolf E. Jessen Endowed Presidential Scholarship The Wolf and Janet Jessen Centennial Lectureship in Architecture Wolf E. Jessen Endowment Fund Journeyman Construction Faculty Excellence Fund in Architecture Professor Terry Kahn Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Community and Regional Planning Karl Kamrath Lectureship in Architecture Martin S. and Evelyn S. Kermacy Collection Endowment Martin S. Kermacy Centennial Professorship in Architecture Henrietta M. King Endowed Excellence Fund for Historic Preservation Henrietta Chamberlain King Endowed Scholarship Matthew F. Kreisle, III/Page Southerland Page Graduate Fellowship in Architecture Dr. Nancy Panak Kwallek Endowed Chair in Design & Planning William E. Lake, Jr. Excellence Fund for Architecture Lake/Flato Endowed Scholarship Karen and Jerry Lea Family Endowed Excellence Fund Leipziger Travel Fellowship Fund Hugo Leipziger-Pearce Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Planning LPA Endowed Scholarship for Sustainable Design Lynne Brundrett Maddox Scholarship in Interior Design Harvey V. Marmon, Jr. FAIA/Marmon Mok Scholarship in Architecture Sue and Frank McBee Fellowship in Historic Preservation McCall Endowed Excellence Fund Eugene and Margaret McDermott Excellence Fund for the Study of American Architecture Eugene McDermott Centennial Visiting Professorship Margaret McDermott Centennial Teaching Fellowship in Architecture Meadows Foundation Centennial Fellowship in Architecture Meadows Foundation Centennial Professorship in Architecture Mike and Maxine K. Mebane Endowed Traveling Scholarship in Architecture Alice Kleberg Reynolds Meyer Foundation Centennial Lectureship in Architecture Gene Edward Mikeska Endowed Chair for Interior Design The W. L. Moody, Jr. Centennial Professorship in Architecture Jack Morgan Endowed Scholarship Charles M. Nettles Endowed Presidential Scholarship Oglesby Prize Endowment Overland Partners Endowed Presidential Scholarship George M. Page Endowed Graduate Fellowship Page Southerland Page Fellowship in Architecture Jane Marie Tacquard Patillo Centennial Lectureship Barbara & Donald Pender Endowed Scholarship Claude M. Pendley, Jr. Memorial Scholarship Fund (for Graduate Fellowships) Edward J. Perrault Endowed Presidential Scholarship in Interior Design

Alma Piner Scholarship in Architecture John William Potter Endowed Fund for the Encouragement of Risk Taking Potter Rose Graduate Fellowship Potter Rose Professorship in Urban Planning Boone Powell Family Prize in Urban Design Paul C. Ragsdale Excellence Fund for Historic Preservation The Sid W. Richardson Centennial Professorship in Architecture Debbie Ann Rock Scholarship in Interior Design Henry M. Rockwell Chair in Architecture Roland Gommel Roessner Centennial Professorship in Architecture Edwin A. Schneider Centennial Lectureship in Architecture School of Architecture Advisory Council Endowed Excellence Fund School of Architecture Faculty Fund for Student Domestic Travel School of Architecture Scholarship and Fellowship Awards Endowment Joy & Morin Scott/Sally & John Byram Graduate Fellowship Brandon Shaw Memorial Endowed Scholarship Overton Shelmire Scholarship in Architecture Sixth River Architects Endowed Fellowship Snøhetta Endowed Scholarship in Architecture Established by Craig Dykers and Elaine Molinar Louis F. Southerland Endowed Scholarship Lawrence W. Speck Excellence Fund Lawrence W. Speck Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Architecture Lawrence W. Speck/PageSoutherlandPage Graduate Fellowship in Architecture Frederick Steiner Endowed Excellence Fund in Landscape Architecture Ruth Carter Stevenson Regents Chair in the Art of Architecture Emily Summers Excellence Fund for the History of Interior Design Lance Tatum Endowed Scholarship John Greene Taylor Endowment for Collections Enhancement John Greene Taylor Family Graduate Fellowship in Architectural History Texas Chapter American Society of Landscape Architects Endowed Graduate Fellowship Jack Rice Turner Endowed Scholarship in Architecture Urban Edge Developers Dean’s Excellence Fund The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture’s Advisory Council Women’s Endowed Scholarship Wilmont “Vic” Vickrey, FAIA, Endowed Excellence Fund for Architecture of the Americas Wilmont “Vic” Vickrey Endowed Scholarship J. M. West Texas Corporation Fellowship in Architecture Robert Leon White Memorial Fund Wilkinson Family Travel Fund for the School of Architecture Roxanne Williamson Endowed Scholarship Wilsonart Endowed Lecture Series in Interior Design ENDOWMENTS ARE FOREVER

To create a new endowment or make a gift to support an existing endowment, please contact Luke Dunlap, Executive Director for Development at or 512.471.6114.

The Texas Challenge Double Your Gift for New Undergraduate Scholarships

to all eligible first-year, continuing, and transfer students. UT Austin President Gregory Fenves remarked, “College affordability is one of the most critical issues affecting all Texans. This new endowment will go a long way toward making our university affordable for talented Texas students from every background and region.”

Photo by Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla

In its effort to make undergraduate education more accessible to high-achieving Texas students from middle- and low-income families, The University of Texas at Austin has announced two important initiatives. First, in July, the UT System Board of Regents allocated funds to support UT Austin’s Texas Advance Commitment, a program that will cover full tuition for students from households that earn less than $65,000 per year and provide supplemental support to families with incomes up to $125,000. The program begins in Fall 2020 and will be made available

Second, recognizing that tuition is only part of the cost incurred obtaining a degree at UT, the university also announced the Texas Challenge, a 1:1 gift-matching program for donors interested in helping students make ends meet while attending UT. This unprecedented opportunity is also made possible with funds allocated by the UT System Board of Regents. Donors who establish new undergraduate scholarships of $100,000 or more will have their gifts matched to double the amount of their permanent endowments. Gifts can be pledged over five years, and donors will have the option to specify School of Architecture students as their preferred recipients of scholarship funds. It is estimated that each UT student spends over $17,000 per year on room and board, books, supplies, and transportation. New scholarships established through the Texas Challenge will supplement the Texas Advance Commitment in order to offset these financial hurdles. For more information on how to double your impact through a new endowed scholarship, please contact the School of Architecture development office at 512.471.6114 or



Friends of Architecture

We extend our thanks to all of our donors, including those who wish to remain anonymous.


Kathryn Louise Cahir [MArch ’11] Alfred L. Conrad, Jr. Beth and Daniel Grote James R. Lee




B. Walter Crain, III [MBA ’75]


Laura Powell [MSCRP ’95] and John A. Hartman Boone Powell [BArch ’56] BRANDON SHAW MEMORIAL ENDOWED SCHOLARSHIP

The Boeing Company William A. Larsen [BS ’72] Margaret and Joseph Maycock, Jr. Kathleen and Brewster H. Shaw, Jr. Edythe Tonnesen BRR ARCHITECTURE SCHOLARSHIP

BRR Architecture, Inc.


Barley|Pfeiffer Architecture




LPA Inc.


Terry N. Evers


Gregory G. Faulkner [BArch ’80] Humphreys & Partners Architects



Margaret B. Allison Janice Arrott Dale E. & Sharon L. Miller Rev. Trust Janet Kutner George J. McLaughlin Anne B. Noss Joanne H. Pratt Robert Prejean Joel Sanders [BArch ’53] Donald Stone [BBA ’49] Marguerite Trapp Jane A. Wetzel-Sole JEAN AND BILL BOOZIOTIS ENDOWED ANNUAL LECTURE IN ARCHITECTURE

G. Kent Collins [BArch ’81]


Emily L. Butler O. Christene Moore [BA ’88, MA ’90] Jeffrey S. Wood [BA ’03, MSCRP ’05] LARRY DOLL MEMORIAL FUND FOR STUDENT TRAVEL

Austin Lux Ablon [BA ’17] Lexa M. Acker [BArch ’63] Michelle Addington Kevin S. Alter Paul B. Ballard [MBA ’79] Evan L. Beattie [BArch ’04] Susan R. Benz [BArch ’84] Kory Bieg Judith C. Birdsong [BA ’85] Thomas E. Bottorff Natalie Susan Boverman [BSID ’18] Eleanor Louise Brauchle John Carnochan Diane T. Cheatham Sara A. Cherry Coleman Coker James Michael Dodson Laura R. Doll [MPAFF ’78] Robert Dunay Suzanne B. Dungan Luke W. Dunlap [BA ’01] ExxonMobil Foundation Taylor Ferring [BArch ’07, BA ’07] Debra D. Floyd [MBA ’94] S. David Freeman Michael L. Garrison Caroline S. Hadley [BSN ’78] DeAnn Hapner Michael Holleran Dorotha Littleton Garrett Loontjer [BA ’01] Sandra D. Lucas [BSID ’78] Lucifer Lighting Company Christine W. Marcin Tamarah A. Mata-Lasky [BArch ’16] Gilbert Lang Mathews Melanie McLeroy Elaine Molinar [BArch ’88] Michael R. Peevey J. Douglas Phelan [BBA ’68] Lynn Read Lauren A. Richter [BArch ’13] Scott and Cooner Lloyd Scott Donald F. Shafer Allan W. Shearer Polly L. Sparrow Lawrence W. Speck Frederick R. Steiner

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Allan J. Stern [BSArchE ’91, BArch ’91] Jane W. Verma [BArch ’90] Nichole Wiedemann Angela C. Woodbury [JD ’84] MATT CASEY MEMORIAL SCHOLARSHIP IN ARCHITECTURE

Joe E. Casey, Jr. [BS ’76] Kent McNeil [BBA ’98] Thomas B. Walsh [BA ’96]


Frank M. Aldridge, III Bonnie S. Alexander Margaret B. Allison Beth Andrews Beverly B. Arnold [BBA ’54] Charles M. Best Elizabeth M. Boeckman Kate Orgill Boone Gary A. Brooks [BS ’80] Ruth M. Buckley Stephen R. Butter [BBA ’58] John W. Carpenter, III [MBA ’77] Diane H. Collier Barbara Hunt Crow [BA ’76] William A. Custard Michael W. Fairchild William D. Farmer Douglas Folk Laura E. Goodwin Bill Gribble Andrew L. Guinn [BBA ’82] Marjorie L. Hopkins Bertha G. Jamison Barron U. Kidd [BA ’58] Dorothy Lipscomb Ellen W. Loar Cary M. Maguire Medley & Brown William D. Northcutt, III F. Elaine Notestine [BA ’53] Wade T. Nowlin [BBA ’52] Nancy M. O’Neil Carolina J. Pace James S. Robertson, Jr. [BA ’72] Stephen J. Rogers [BBA ’84] Catherine Ross James A. and Mayme H. Rowland Foundation Jan S. Sanders [BA ’52] Mary R. S. Shelmire Suzette D. Shelmire [BA ’55] Frank H. Sherwood [BS ’48] Nancy P. Shutt [BS ’56] Camille Sowden Ben Sparkman Sallie B. Tarride [BBA ’55] Gifford Touchstone & Co. Harry C. Webb, Jr. [BBA ’52] Sara J. White Barbara Wiggins Cheryl Williams Marietta Wynne PETER O. COLTMAN BOOK PRIZE IN ARCHITECTURE AND PLANNING

Heather J. Coltman [PhD ’90] Felicity Coltman


Pamela [BS ’84, MSCRP ’89] and Terry Cole [MSCRP ’89] HRI Resources Inc. James Rice [MSCRP ’85] Bruce R. Uphaus [MSCRP ’94] PROFESSOR BUFORD AND RUTH DUKE ENDOWED EXCELLENCE FUND

Ruth S. Duke Living Trust


The Ragsdale Foundation


Randall Ackerman [BArch ’73] Allen Boone Humphries Robinson LLP Allied/CMS, Inc. Charles H. Armstrong [BArch ’81] Phillip Arnold David B. Barrow, Jr. [BBA ’53, BArch ’55] Marvin E. Beck [BArch ’60] Susan R. Benz [BArch ’84] Rebecca L. Birdwell [BA ’96] Myron G. Blalock, III [BArch ’78] David C. Bodenman [BA ’72, MSCRP ’76] Melissa M. Bogusch [MArch ’95] Nestor R. Bottino [MArch ’83] Laura V. Britt [MArch ’00] Gabriel Durand-Hollis, Jr. [BArch ’81] Bibiana B. Dykema [BArch ’79] Charles B. Fulton [BArch ’99] Gensler The Ginkgo Group John J. Grable [BArch ’76] Gromatzky Dupree and Associates Charles E. Gromatzky Jesse Cameron Hager [MArch ’06] Tony L. Horton Michael H. Hsu [BArch ’93] Impact Outdoor Advertising Company Journeyman Construction JCI Residential Terry B. Kafka Anne E. Kniffen [BArch ’79] Sam Kumar [MS ’92] Lake/Flato Architects Inc. David Lake [BSArchStds ’77] Laura Britt Design Kevin J. Lorenz [MArch ’84] Sandra D. Lucas [BSID ’78] Graham B. Luhn [BArch ’60] Kate Anne Mraw Dana Nearburg [BA ’73, MArch ’76] John V. Nyfeler [BArch ’58] Donald W. Pender [BFA ’78, MArch ’81] Judith R. Pesek [BSID ’78] Roland G. Roessner, Jr. [BArch ’76] Deedie Potter Rose Samantha W. Schwarze [MArch ’13] James W. Shepherd [MArch ’94] Dan S. Shipley [BArch ’79] Emily R. Summers James C. Susman [MArch ’79] Jerry S. Sutton Evan K. Taniguchi Ten Eyck Landscape Architects, Inc. Christine E. Ten Eyck Helen L. Thompson [BA ’71, MA ’73] Melba D. Whatley Gordon L. White Allison Lee Wicks [BArch ’09]


J. Sinclair Black [BArch ’62]


J. Sinclair Black [BArch ’62]



Wilkinson Family Foundation


Simon D. Atkinson


Michelle Addington Frederick C. Bosserman [MArch ’79] Pearlene Cinnie Cheah [BArch ’16] Dee and Robert Jackson [BArch ’70] Susanna Y. Kartye [BA ’96, MArch ’02] Phillip G. Mead [MArch ’91] Amber Lea Kinslow [MArch ’14] Daniel Randle [MArch ’79] Andrew M. Torres [MArch ’07] ARCHITECTURAL HISTORY PROGRAM

Christopher S. Kopech [BS ’05] R. Kelly Mathews [MPA ’91, BBA ’91] CENTER FOR AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN

Elizabeth P. Barnes [MArch ’89] Erik A. Josowitz [BArch ’91] Mark D. Rose CENTER FOR SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT

Hsin-Yi Hsieh [MArch ’09]


Michelle Addington Daniel Joseph Alvarado [MSCRP ’18] Richard L. Bilbie [MSCRP ’74] Paula B. Burns [MSCRP ’95] Cheryl Larissa Cioffari [MSCRP ’06] Mary S. French [MSCRP ’90] Andy L. Helms [BA ’64, MSCRP ’70] L. Ashley McLain [MSCRP ’97] Elizabeth J. Mueller Judy L. Ramsey [BA ’71, MSCRP ’76] Rachel Newman Stark [MA ’18] Floyd T. Watson, Jr. [MSCRP ’79] HISTORIC PRESERVATION PROGRAM

Larry W. Gooch [BArch ’72] Michael Holleran Stacey Ingram Kaleh [BS ’09] The 1772 Foundation Mr. F. Scott Woodard [BArch ’76] INTERIOR DESIGN PROGRAM

Michelle Addington The Ginkgo Group Ltd. Emily R. Summers Laurie O. Tyler [BSID ’82]


Michelle Addington Michael Wayne Averitt [BS ’03, MLA ’08] Adam Barbe Miroslava M. Benes Tian Bian [MLA ’18] Elaine F. Calip [BS ’07] Cameron Campbell Tom Cox Xiaole Cui [MLA ’06] Daniel Woodroffe Group Mark E. Dennis [BA ’01] Travis Armstrong Glenn [MLA ’13] Catherine Gowan [MLA ’08] Hope Hasbrouck Kevin Scott Jeffery [MLA ’19] Elaine Kearney Haoyang Li [MLA ’17] Yinrui Li [MLA ’14] Phoebe Lickwar Garrett Loontjer [BA ’01] R. Kelly Mathews [MPA ’91, BBA ’91] Jon Michael Mautz [MLA ’13] Jason Dean Melling [MLA ’17] Gabriel Diaz Montemayor Christopher C. Murton [MLA ’13] Matthew L. Nicolette [PHD ’08, MLA ’11] Darcy Lee Nuffer [MLA ’06] Michael D. Pecen [MLA ’07] Emily Anne Scarfe [MArch ’11, MLA ’11] Stuart M. Scott [MLA ’19] Allan W. Shearer Christina Louise Sohn [MLA ’11] Michael Henry Steinlage [MLA ’14] Surroundings Studio TBG Partners Ten Eyck Landscape Architects, Inc. Christine E. Ten Eyck Mary M. Vavra [MLA ’06] Yiqing Wang [MLA ’17] Michael I. Wheeler [BBA ’74] James White Yan Yau [MLA ’10] Bei Zhang [MLA ’16] PUBLICATIONS

American Planning Association SUSTAINABLE DESIGN PROGRAM

David B. Bourland [BS ’86] David Bronson Hincher [MArch ’05] URBAN DESIGN

Aparajita A. Bhatt [MArch ’17] Tatum Lau [MSCRP ’17, MSUD ’17] Samantha W. Schwarze [MArch ’13] OTHER GIFTS SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE DEAN’S FUND

Lexa M. Acker [BArch ’63] Killis P. Almond, Jr. [BSArchStds ’71, BArch ’72] Shawn C. Alshut [MArch ’84] Anand M. Anbalagan Anonymous Travis Martin Avery [MArch ’12] Bernie E. Babendure [BArch ’73] Virginia C. Ballard Alexander T. Barclay [BArch ’05] Anna Bargas Burns

Craig A. Beneke [BSArchStds ’89] Ken Bentley John P. Blood [BArch ’81] John Martin Bodkin [BArch ’15] Peter J. Boes [MArch ’93] Melissa M. Bogusch [MArch ’95] Gerard Bolsega [MArch ’95] Jeremy L. Boon-Bordenave [BArch ’00] Farzad Boroumand [BArch ’87] Gayle E. Borst [MArch ’83] Frederick C. Bosserman [MArch ’79] Oza Bouchard [BArch ’75] William E. Bowerman [BSArchStds ’84] Laura M. Bowman [BA ’03, MA ’08] Ernest R. Breig [BArch ’66] Sara C. Bronin [BA ’01, BArch ’01] Jay M. Brotman [BArch ’79] John R. Brown [BSArchStds ’71, BArch ’72] Heidi F. Buchberger [MArch ’16] R. Brian Burnett [BArch ’08] Caffe Medici Adrienne V. Campbell [MSHP ’04] Margaret W. Campbell [MArch ’02] Thomas R. Campbell [BArch ’59] Nicholas R. Cervenka [BArch ’81] Elizabeth Chai-Chang Tamara K. Chambless [BArch ’79] Seth Chandler Pearlene Cinnie Cheah [BArch ’16] Diane T. Cheatham John D. Cheetham [BArch ’90] Chien-Yu Chen Stephen D. Chen [BBA ’91, MBA ’01] D. Sherman Clarke Richard L. Cleary Coleman Coker Felicity A. Coltman Sean S. Coney [MArch ’86] Michael N. Conrad [BArch ’78] David M. Cooperstein [MArch ’98] Mario Coppola Garcia O. Neal Corbett [BArch ’86] Hilary F. Crady [BSID ’83] Corey O. Credeur [BSArchStds ’97] Jack S. Crier [BArch ’60] Sylvia M. Crook [BA ’79, MArch ’85] Dennis G. Crow [BA ’75, PhD ’81, MSCRP ’84] Thomas B. Daly [BArch ’65] Bang D. Dang [BArch ’98] Leopold P. Danze [BArch ’55] H. Roscoe Davis [BArch ’58] Patrick B. Davis, Jr. [BArch ’74] Leah K. Dean [BA ’89, MArch ’95] Lisa C. DeLosso [MA ’10] Charles H. Di Piazza [BA ’91, MArch ’96] Charles C. Dickson [BArch ’77] Erin K. Donatelli Tara T. Dudley [MSHP ’03, PhD Arch ’12] Caleb Duncan [BSArchE ’97, BArch ’98] Charles W. Duncan, Jr. John H. Duncan [BBA ’49] Frank E. Dunckel [BArch ’78] Jonathan D. Ellis [BSArchStds ’90] Miyeko E. Endy [MArch ’00] Jeffrey S. Evelyn [BA ’92] Linmor B. Feiner [BSArchStds ’64] Terry N. Forrester [BArch ’59] Jennifer E. Foster [BSID ’95] Ron W. Foster [BArch ’70] Norman K. Friedman [BSArchE ’85, MArch ’92] Friends of the University Michael T. Fries [MArch ’84] Frank Genzer, Jr. [BSArchStds ’67, BArch ’68] Sandra E. George Frank A. Gomillion [BArch ’92]

John J. Grable [BArch ’76] Nonya S. Grenader [BArch ’76] Ranjit Balakrishna Gupta [BArch ’96] Joannes A. Haakman [BS ’83, BArch ’84] Sarah Y. Hafley [MArch ’11] David Harrison [BArch ’79] Kate Almond Harrison Druanna N. Helms [BSID ’77] Claire W. Hempel [MSCRP ’12] William James Hermann [BArch ’13] Gilbert P. Hickox [BArch ’80] Hector O. Hinojosa [BArch ’74] Mary Marjorie Hohlt [MArch ’16] Larce M. Holder, III [BArch ’68] Morris W. Hoover [BSArchStds ’74, BArch ’77] D. Hopkins Leland C. Horstmann [BArch ’80] Nathan J. Howe [MArch ’02] Ford Hubbard, III [BA ’82] Linda M. Jackson [MA ’87, MSCRP ’87] Robert T. Jackson [BArch ’70] Harold David Jarvis [BArch ’73] Richard W. Jennings Jose G. Jimenez [BArch ’63] John Watson Architects Lizamma Kappukattil Virginia W. Kelsey [BArch ’83] David R. H. King [BArch ’75] Elizabeth H. Klingler Orion Knox, Jr. [BArch ’68] Poyy H.Y. Kwan [BArch ’73] Heather L. Lamboy [BA ’92, MSCRP ’98, MA ’98] H. Hall Lamme [BArch ’81] Shirley Lazenby John A. LeBlanc [BA ’92, MArch ’96] Emma Florence Leonard [MArch ’12] George M. Lewis [BArch ’82] Paula A. Lewis [BArch ’99] Yaqi Li [MID ’18] Emily B. Little [BA ’73, MArch ’79] Katherine L. Livingston [BArch ’75] Dana Mahony John Ewing Martin-Rutherfor [MArch ’88] Scott H. Martin [MArch ’90] William R. Massingill [BArch ’84] Megan Patricia McCall [MArch ’11] Roy J. McCarroll [BArch ’62] Michael McCauslin [MArch ’89] Andrew R. McFarland [MArch ’97] Patrick Scott McGovern [BArch ’17] Laura M. McGuire [MAArchHis ’08, PhD Arch ’14] Michael E. McGuire [MArch ’77] Brianna L. McKinney [BA ’13] Mason A. Miller [BA ’06, BArch ’06] Juan Miró David Moos [MArch ’97] Catherine Morgan Linda R. Moriarty [BArch ’70] Meeta A. Morrison [MArch ’07] Jonathan David Mosteiro [MSCRP ’15] Stephanie F. Motal [BArch ’04] Charles L. Nelson [BArch ’78] Jim R. Nix [BArch ’71] Frank E. Ordia, Jr. [MSHP ’16] Armando Ornelas, Jr. [BA ’85, MSCRP ’95] Ruth M. Ortiz [BSID ’84] Justin H. Oscilowski [BArch ’12] James H. Overton [BArch ’75] Leeanne W. Pacatte [BA ’80, MSCRP ’93] Paula R. Pacotti [BSArchStds ’11] Federico Perez [BArch ’88]


Jim T. Phillips [BArch ’73] Karen E. Pittman [MA ’87, MArch ’10] David R. Plummer [MArch ’94] Pansy L. Price [BSArchStds ’97] Adam A. Pyrek [BArch ’91] Rene D. Quinlan [BArch ’88] Johanna H. Reed [MArch ’12] Elmer W. Reichert, III [BArch ’71] Richard M. Reilly, Jr. [MArch ’95] Don R. Reimers [BArch ’58]* F. M. Resendiz Carrillo Norma Resendiz Humberto G. Rey [MArch ’80] Wendy W. Rhoades [MSCRP ’95] Consuelo Garza Rivera [BArch ’94] Sharyn S. Robinson [BArch ’82] Ellen Rosenfeld [BSID ’81] Margaret L. Rosenlund [BArch ’49] Raquel Camille Royal [BArch ’17] Alesa Iola Rubendall [MArch ’03] Greyson McClain Rubin [BArch ’19, BA ’19] Renee S. Rubin [BBA ’89] Chay R. Runnels [BA ’96, MSArchStds ’00] Mark Charles Santa Maria [MArch ’86] M. V. Santillan Cordova [MLA ’19] James Corbin Schmeil Gian Claudia Sciara Melanie E. Servante [BArch ’02] James H. Shackelford [BArch ’80] Will Shepherd [BArch ’76, MArch ’76] Ya-Ting Shieh Ang-Ruei Shih [MArch ’16] Robert S. Simpson [BArch ’75] Dustin L. Slack [BArch ’93] V. Raymond Smith [BArch ’61] Laura L. Sockrider [BSID ’16] Marianna Sockrider Lesley C. Sommer [BFA ’95] Jerry M. Sparks [BArch ’67] Stephen C. Springs [BArch ’96] Sandra K. Standefer [BSID ’87] David R. Stanford [BSArchE ’79, BArch ’79] Julie N. Steele [BArch ’89] Nicholas Daniel Steshyn [MArch ’14] Tracy A. Stone [MArch ’85] Jo Strane [BSID ’74] Charles C. Studebaker [BArch ’79] Jessica H. Sun [BSArchStds ’08] Kalpana R. Sutaria [MArch ’78] E. L. Swanson [BArch ’52] R. Pat Sweeney [BArch ’57] Andrew B. Taylor [MArch ’92] John W. Taylor, Jr. [BArch ’74] Howard L. Templin [BArch ’72] Tenth Ward Raymundo Vela, Jr. [BArch ’84] Ross Edmund Wagner [BArch ’12] Julie W. Walker [MSCRP ’06] Floyd T. Watson, Jr. [MSCRP ’79] John W. Watson [BArch ’76] Perry M. Waughtal Weatherl & Associates C. Rick Weatherl [BArch ’76] Susan M. Weaver [BArch ’72] Julia C. Webber [BArch ’94] Norman G. Weiner [MArch ’96] James E. White Cissy Winn Peyton Kristine Winston [BArch ’09] Canan F. Yetmen [BA ’91] Yilmaz Yetmen Travis G. Young [MArch ’94]



Robert W. Arburn [BArch ’56] Kenneth E. Baxter [BArch ’70, MArch ’74] Bayou Preservation Carl H. Beers [BArch ’86] Alexander K. Berghausen [MArch ’01] Hilary K. Bertsch [MArch ’95] Blok Architecture Jennifer J. Boverman William E. Bowerman [BSArchStds ’84] Diana Bravo Gonzalez [BArch ’81] David B. Brigham [MSCRP ’05] Kent I. Broyhill [BArch ’53] Burton Office of Architecture and Design Matthew D. Burton [MArch ’97] Salvador Cardenas [BArch ’65] Henry R. Carranco [BArch ’75] Robert F. Coffee [BJ ’56, BArch ’62] Scott C. Conti [MSCRP ’96] John T. Corder, II [BArch ’95] Sara A. Costa [BArch ’05] Hilary F. Crady [BSID ’83] Clarice A. Droughton [BJ ’71] Katie Frances Droughton [BArch ’09] Michelle S. Duhon [MSHP ’09] Winston L. Evans [BArch ’68] Jovita C. Ezeokafor [BSArchStds ’14, BS ’17] Terry N. Forrester [BArch ’59] Gensler Ali Gidfar [MArch ’85] Mitchell G. Gilbert, Jr. [BArch ’73] Egan R. Gleason [BArch ’55] Benjamin Goldberg [BSArchStds ’15] Lee J. Govatos [BArch ’66] Craig S. Graber [MArch ’94] Kenneth M. Grajek [BSArchE ’93, BArch ’93, MS ’95] Guy L. Hagstette [BArch ’79] William L. Henderson [BArch ’73] Ingeborg C. Hendley [MArch ’04, MSHP ’08] Tom E. Hinson [BSArchStds ’70, BA ’70] Mani Iyer Amber Lea Kinslow [MArch ’14] Roger H. Kolar [BArch ’72, MArch ’79] Sue H. Kothmann [MArch ’88] Ashley O Lembcke Katherine L. Livingston [BArch ’75] Viola Lopez [BArch ’79] Robert Laurent Marx [MArch ’82] Scott W. McCrary, Jr. [BArch ’71] Phillip G. Mead [MArch ’91] Richard W. Meyer [BArch ’70, JD ’74] Charles W. Nixon [BArch ’67] Ann L. Patterson [MArch ’82], Judith R. Pesek [BSID ’78] Paul J. Peters [BArch ’69] Linda Peterson Charles W. Pope, Jr. [BArch ’86] Brent D. Redus [BArch ’85] Reveal Arc Mark Charles Santa Maria [MArch ’86] Molly H. Sherman [BA ’86, MBA ’89] Sandra Bearden Smith [BArch ’84] Martha V. Suzuki [BArch ’92] Patrick A. Tangen [MArch ’90] Hsiao-Ling Ting [MArch ’87] Jack L. Tisdale [BArch ’73] Robert L. Tobias [BArch ’85] Lisabeth C. Townsend [MSCRP ’88] Kay A. Troutt [BSID ’73] Bruce E. Turner [MSCRP ’75] Drexel W. Turner [MSCRP ’73] Julie W. Walker [MSCRP ’06] John W. Watson [BArch ’76] Tina S. Weintraub [BSID ’81]

PLATFORM 2019–20 | Preservation in the Americas: Finding Our Shared History

Wm. Michael Wells [BArch ’71] John P. White [BArch ’57] Samuel B. Windham [BArch ’01] Cissy Winn Huiyi Yang CAPITAL IMPROVEMENTS AND BUILDING RENOVATIONS/REPAIRS

Jacqueline Boston John Greene Taylor [BBA ’48]


Cox McLain Environmental Consulting Jones & Carter Inc. School of Architecture Excellence Fund Randall Ackerman [BArch ’73] Allen Boone Humphries Robinson Charles H. Armstrong [BArch ’81] Phillip Arnold David B. Barrow, Jr. [BBA ’53, BArch ’55] Susan R. Benz [BArch ’84] Rebecca L. Birdwell [BA ’96] Myron G. Blalock, III [BArch ’78] David C. Bodenman [BA ’72, MSCRP ’76] Melissa M. Bogusch [MArch ’95] Nestor R. Bottino [MArch ’83] Laura V. Britt [MArch ’00] Gabriel Durand-Hollis, Jr. [BArch ’81] Bibiana B. Dykema [BArch ’79] Charles B. Fulton [BArch ’99] The Ginkgo Group Ltd. John J. Grable [BArch ’76] Gromatzky Dupree and Associates Charles E. Gromatzky Tony L. Horton Michael H. Hsu [BArch ’93] Impact Outdoor Advertising Company JCI Residential Terry B. Kafka Anne E. Kniffen [BArch ’79] Sam Kumar [MS ’92] Lake/Flato Architects Inc. David Lake [BSArchStds ’77] Laura Britt Design Dana Nearburg [MArch ’76] Roland G. Roessner, Jr. [BArch ’76] Deedie Potter Rose James W. Shepherd [MArch ’94] Emily R. Summers James C. Susman [MArch ’79] Jerry S. Sutton Evan K. Taniguchi Ten Eyck Landscape Architects, Inc. Christine E. Ten Eyck Helen L. Thompson [BA ’71, MA ’73] Melba D. Whatley Gordon L. White, M.D. NON-MONETARY GIFTS

Inde/Jacobs Gallery WeWork

Degrees from the University of Texas at Austin are indicated. Every effort has been made to ensure the accuracy of this list. If your name was omitted, misspelled, or incorrectly listed, please accept our apologies and notify us at 512.471.1922 so that we may update our system and correct our error.


Lexa M. Acker Diana Keller Aldridge and Frank Aldridge Phillip Arnold Lisa and Tim Blonkvist Suzanne Deal Booth Jean* and Bill* Booziotis Diane and Hal Brierley Lynne and Lyle Burgin Diane and Chuck Cheatham Dick Clark, III* Reenie and Kent Collins Curtis and Windham Architects Willard Hanzlik J. David Harrison Nancy and Richard Jennings Journeyman Construction, Inc. Jeanne and Michael Klein Ray Landy Lucas/Eilers Design Associates, LLP Lucifer Lighting Company Sandra and Richard Lucas Ileana Mendez and Kevin J. Lorenz The Eugene McDermott Foundation Dana Edwards Nearburg Cindy and Howard Rachofsky Gay and Shannon Ratliff J. Brett Rhode Deedie and Rusty* Rose Lloyd Scott Shelton-Keller Group Lawrence W. Speck Lenore Sullivan and Barry Henry James Susman John Greene Taylor Helen Thompson Melba and Ted Whatley Kathryn and Mike Wheeler Coke Anne and Jarvis Wilcox *in memoriam

Larry Speck on Smart Giving

the architecture of Discovery Green Park in Houston, and the new Academic and Administration Building for the UT Austin Dell Medical School. Speck now holds the W.L. Moody, Jr. Centennial Professorship in Architecture and has received numerous accolades for teaching including The University of Texas System Academy of Distinguished Teachers Fellow award and the Topaz Medallion, the highest honor for architecture education awarded jointly by the American Institute of Architects and the Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture. His classes are extraordinarily popular—over 300 students enroll in his Architecture and Society course each semester. “In my work, I encounter so many architects who have taken one of my classes—those worlds come together. It’s phenomenal, the number of people you can touch at this university who go on to do amazing things,” he said. Speck is invigorated by the idea of giving students the tools for success, so he always knew he’d give to UT. “I believe in these kids, so it’s important to me to support them. And that means through philanthropy as well.”

Photo by Sloan Breeden

“It’s phenomenal, the number of people you can touch at this university who go on to do amazing things.” In November 2018, the School of Architecture received a generous planned gift commitment from Professor Larry Speck, whose career at UT spans over forty years as a professor, associate dean, and dean of the school. Speck established this planned gift through his Individual Retirement Account (IRA), which will allow him to permanently support students at the School. This funding, in the form of endowed graduate fellowships, will provide opportunities for architecture students to continue their learning through higher education. A native Texan, Larry Speck joined the School of Architecture faculty in 1975 after teaching at MIT, his alma mater, for three years. He has maintained an active architectural practice since his arrival in Austin, initially as Lawrence W. Speck Associates and, since 1999, as a principal in the firm Page. He has led significant projects in Texas including the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, the Austin Convention Center,

As a professor with decades of experience teaching graduate students and mentoring teaching assistants, Speck is keenly aware of the importance of attracting the most talented students and the financial challenges that many of them face. It became clear that this was the area which he would choose to establish his legacy. “I know that the School of Architecture can’t be competitive without support for graduate students,” he adds. “They make us better, so it makes good sense to give to graduate fellowships.” Usually busy preparing students for finals in the late fall, last year he was also considering how to provide enduring support. Speck made his gift by designating The University of Texas at Austin as a beneficiary of his IRA, which he calls the “smart way to give.” For those considering making a long-term gift to the University, an IRA is an ideal type of asset to designate for charitable giving. “Your IRA is great if you use it during retirement, but if you don’t use it all—and I don’t think I will—there will be a substantial amount that will go to my estate. It’s not a good financial tool for that purpose,” he explained. “If that money goes to my children, it will be greatly reduced by taxes, versus if it goes to UT, the university gets 100% of it.”

For more information about how to make a planned gift, including an IRA designation, please contact Luke Dunlap, Executive Director for Development, at 512.471.6114 or


Non-Profit Org U.S. Postage Paid Austin, Texas Permit No. 391 310 Inner Campus Drive B7500 Austin, TX 78712-1009

ADVISORY COUNCIL 2019–20 Donald W. Pender, AIA, Chair Bibiana B. Dykema, AIA, Vice Chairt

Photo by Benjamin Ibarra-Sevilla

Jeffrey Abel, Assoc. AIA, LEED AP Lexa Acker, AIA Emeritus W. Randall Ackerman Frank Aldridge, III Diana Keller-Aldridge Richard Archer, FAIA Charles Armstrong, FAIA Phillip Arnold, Hon. ASLA, LEED AP Tary Arterburn, FASLA John Avila, Jr. David B. Barrow, Jr., AIA, ASID Ken Bentley, AIA Susan Benz, AIA Rebecca Birdwell Myron Blalock, III Timothy Blonkvist, FAIA, LEED AP David Bodenman Melissa Bogusch, AIA, NCARB Bob Borson, AIA, LEED AP Nestor Bottino, FAIA Laura Britt, ASID, RID, Allied AIA Lyle Burgin, AIA Anthony Chase Diane Cheatham G. Kent Collins Tommy Cowan, FAIA H. Hobson Crow, III, FAIA Gary Cunningham, FAIA William Curtis, Jr. Gabriel Durand-Hollis, Jr., FAIA Darrell Fitzgerald, FAIA, LEED AP Charles Fulton, AIA Ruth Gay John Grable, FAIA Charles Gromatzky, AIA Jesse Cameron Hager David Harrison, AIA Tony Horton James Tipton Housewright, FAIA, LEED AP Michael Hsu, AIA, IIDA Ford Hubbard, III Terry Kafka Anne Kniffen, RID, IIDA Sam Kumar, LEED AP BD+C

David Lake, FAIA Kevin Lorenz, AIA Sandra Lucas, ASID, NCIDQ, RID, LEED Green Assc. Jessica Mangrum Gilbert Lang Mathews, Hon. AIA Michael McCall, AIA Kate Anne Mraw, LEED AP BD+C Dana Nearburg Judith Pesek, FIIDA, LEED AP Charles Phillips, AIA E. Scott Polikov, FAICP Boone Powell, FAIA Leilah Powell Howard Rachofsky Elizabeth Chu Richter, FAIA Roland Roessner, Jr. Deedie Potter Rose Samantha Schwarze, AIA Lloyd Scott Frank Sherwood, P.E. (Ret.), F. ASCE, Hon. AIA James Shepherd, AIA, LEED AP Dan Shipley, FAIA Emily Summers James Susman, FAIA Jerry Sutton, AIA Evan Taniguchi Christine Ten Eyck, FASLA Helen Thompson David Watkins, FAIA Melba Whatley, Hon. AIA Michael Wheeler Gordon White, M.D. Allison Lee Wicks

Emeritus Members Marvin Beck, AIA Emeritus Reed Kroloff Graham Luhn, FAIA John Nyfeler, FAIA Gay Ratliff

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