Eames House, the iconic landmark of mid-20th century modern architecture built in 1949 by husband-and-wife design team Ray and Charles Eames.

At the base of a coastal hill in Los Angeles, alongside a large meadow and among eucalyptus trees, sits the Eames House, a masterpiece of midcentury modernism. The 1949 home is part of a group of five houses on a five-acre parcel—formerly part of the Will Rogers estate—located on a bluff with expansive views of the Pacific Ocean. It was designed under the influential Case Study House Program, initiated by John Entenza, editor of Arts and Architecture magazine.

Built by prolific American designers Charles and Ray Eames, the house was an experiment in the use of prefabricated materials and mass-produced, off-the-shelf products to rapidly construct a residential structure. The use of industrial materials for home building was unique at the time. The shape and height of the house and studio, as well as the personalized use of interior space, are equally exceptional. Charles and Ray Eames inhabited the house and studio until their deaths in 1978 and 1988, respectively. The paired structures, as well as their contents and collections, tell us much about the design and architecture of this era and about the role the Eameses played as innovators of modernism.

In September 2011, the contents of the Eames House living room were temporarily relocated to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art for exhibit in California Design, 1930–1965: “Living in a Modern Way,” part of Pacific Standard Time: Art in L.A. 1945–1980. The loan to the exhibition provided an opportunity to address physical conditions at the house that had not been examined in detail since its construction. The Getty Conservation Institute partnered with the Charles and Ray Eames Preservation Foundation Inc. (Eames Foundation) in March 2012 to develop a conservation management plan for the long-term care and maintenance of the site. This effort became the first field project under the GCI’s Conserving Modern Architecture Initiative.

Undertaken with the support of the GCI Council and the Dunard Fund USA, the project addresses a number of interrelated conservation issues that focus on the building envelope and the development of an appropriate environment for the interior fabric of the house, which includes its contents and collection—all part of the design legacy of Charles and Ray Eames.

The project team is providing conservation advice, investigating the interior and exterior environmental climates of the house, and performing scientific analysis of the material fabric, with assistance from Getty Museum conservators.

Kyle Normandin, project manager of the Eames House Conservation Project, collecting light measurements.

At the beginning of the project, a multidisciplinary team of conservators, scientists, architects, and engineers faced a number of challenges.

In the living room, after sixty years in place, the square vinyl tiles had lost adhesion to the concrete floor and had become loose and brittle. In addition, the tile and adhesive materials were laden with asbestos and required careful removal. Once the tiles were removed, it was clear that moisture was seeping through the concrete floor. To prevent further damage, the GCI worked with the Eames Foundation’s consulting architects, Escher GuneWardena Architecture, to find a liquid moisture barrier system for use beneath new vinyl composite tile flooring. It was also aesthetically critical for the new living room floor tiles to match the originals in appearance and to be long-lasting. The moisture barrier system also had to be compatible with the new flooring, to ensure a healthy interior environment.

Another area of GCI investigation was the use of color and paint at the Eames House. In July last year, GCI staff were able to document more fully the use of color at the house. Ray Eames was an artist and colorist, and her influence on the selection of paint colors and patterns at the house was clear in the investigation of the paint stratigraphy. By careful examination of paint samples removed from the interior and exterior metalwork, researchers recorded the series of painting campaigns over the life of the house, confirming how the color changed over time, as substantiated by the Eames Foundation.

GCI staff Emily Macdonald-Korth carrying out paint excavation on exterior metal work at the Eames House.

The GCI carried out on-site paint excavations at selected areas of the metalwork and steel window frames. Using stainless steel scalpels and on-site microscopy, conservators made small exposure windows on painted surfaces, peeling back each paint layer to reveal the layers underneath. Through this examination, the GCI discovered a first-generation paint layer of a light, opaque warm gray. The paint was distinctively mixed and possibly tinted by hand with mineral pigments such as red iron oxide, Prussian blue, and chrome yellow—a finding that tends to confirm the original warm gray color of the metalwork described in early accounts of the house. Understanding this paint stratigraphy, combined with documentary evidence, will assist in making choices about repainting the metalwork, both now and in the future.

Whereas a tremendous amount of information exists about most of the materials used to construct and fabricate the Eames House, little information existed about the wood paneling wall in the living room. The long narrow panel boards in the room are configured vertically from floor to ceiling and form a continuous walled surface of warm golden wood that spans the interior rear wall of the living room and continues on the other side of the glass wall to the south-facing exterior terrace area. The large glass expanses meant long-term exposure to daylight, including ultraviolet light, that has caused some degradation of the living room wood finishes (and some distress to the living room contents as well). Getty Museum conservators identified the wood species by removing small samples, and examining the cellular structure microscopically.

GCI scientist Joy Mazurek carrying out an investigation of the wood panels.

This examination, which included studying the size and arrangement of the wood vessel pits, confirmed that the wood is a species of eucalyptus (Eucalyptus microcorys) commonly known as Australian tallowwood. Interestingly, similar eucalyptus trees stand outside the Eames house and populate the neighboring hillside.
Conservators recommended a treatment for the paneling that would preserve the original tallowwood and varnish treatments, including the patina. Treatment began with a gentle overall cleaning of the wall with a mild aqueous solution to remove soil from the pores of the wood. Then several re-saturating varnishes were evaluated for color and appearance, with minimal aesthetic impact to the original wood substrate being an important consideration. The treatment chosen involved a light re-saturating varnish that maintained the warm glow of the tallowwood paneling.

One of the goals of the Eames House Conservation Project is demonstrating how a maintenance-based approach to conservation can prolong the life span of building materials and prevent unnecessary replacement.

Current and past investigations and continued environmental monitoring of the interior and exterior climates will lead to greater understanding of the original building material fabric and of the care needed to enhance its durability—information that will guide decisions by the Eames Foundation about the maintenance of the house.

Development of a conservation management plan that brings together historical documentary evidence, physical analysis of the existing fabric, and knowledge of its performance will inform a long-term strategy for the care and conservation of the house.

At the same time, this project will provide a model for the preservation of similar buildings from this era by demonstrating ways that thoughtful conservation can be applied to modern buildings.

For more information about the work of the GCI at the Eames House, click here.

Creating a major exhibition can take years and lead to places far and wonderful, as drawings curator Julian Brooks reveals this week on Getty Voices. Connect with him on the Getty’s Facebook and Twitter (where he’ll be tweeting on Central European Time!).

Florence, del Sarto, and I.

I’m an associate curator of drawings at the J. Paul Getty Museum. My passion is master drawings, the sketches on paper that artists make when planning a painting or as works of art in their own right, and we have a fine collection here at the Getty. We put them on display in our galleries in a constant series of rotating exhibitions so that there are always drawings on view, and we try to add to the collection when possible.

One of the most exciting aspects of my job is when we initiate a major loan show that includes not only works from our own collection, but also those from other museums, in order to fully investigate a particular topic. The Florentine Renaissance master Andrea del Sarto (Italian, 1486–1530; “del Sarto” since he was the son of a tailor, sarto in Italian) has always been one of the most intriguing artists for me: absolutely core and transformational in the art of his own time, worshipped by artists later in the 16th century, and hugely influential for 19^th-century figures such as Degas. A brilliant draftsman, (apparently) effortlessly creative, and master of bravura effects and intense realism. And yet surprisingly little known.

Now I am in the middle of research for an exhibition of his work, The Renaissance Workshop in Action: Andrea del Sarto, that will be at the Getty in summer 2015, and at the Frick Collection, New York, in fall 2015. Yes, indeed: 2015, and I’ve already been working on it (among other things) for the past few years, probably since 2010. I always feel that exhibitions are like planes coming into LAX: you’re dealing with an exhibition that’s already in the galleries, one six months out, one twelve months out, etc., etc. The main points of this exhibition are to study Andrea del Sarto’s transformation of drawing and to bring into focus his inventiveness, creative process, and workshop practice.

At this stage of the process I’ve talked to most of the curators and institutions that we would like to borrow artworks from, and we will send formal loan requests shortly. (We rely hugely on their generosity; the Getty is always a generous lender too.) The key thing now for me is to focus on research for the exhibition and the scholarly catalogue that will accompany it.

For all of my professional life I have dreamed of getting a fellowship at the Villa I Tatti, the Harvard University Center for Renaissance Studies, just outside Florence. Now I have been awarded one to work on this project and am in Florence for three precious months. It’s amazing to be immersed in Andrea del Sarto’s home city, his drawings, paintings, frescoes, and his life, normally all so far away when I’m in L.A.

I can look first-hand at the most important collection of his drawings, study detailed local documentation and conservation reports, and meet many of the people who have written about del Sarto over the last 30 years.

My days are normally spent in one or two of four principal places:

1. The Villa I Tatti library, with its excellent selection of art books and Bernard Berenson’s fototeca (photo library). As part of my fellowship I have a study here, which provides a quiet place to read and write.

The Villa I Tatti’s Berenson Library

2. The “Kunst” (Kunsthistorisches Institut in Florence, one of the Max Planck Institutes), probably the best all-round study library for Florentine art, with every relevant book, lots of obscure periodicals, and an excellent fototeca, all easily accessible.

Inside the library of the Kunsthistorisches Institute in Florence

3. The Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi, which has about 90 Andrea del Sarto drawings, the biggest and most important collection in the world.

Inside the study room of the Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi (the department of prints and drawings of the Uffizi Gallery). Photo: Roberto Palermo, GDSU

4. I Dolci di Patrizio Cosi, which has fine cappuccini, an excellent selection of pastries, and the best chocolate brioches.

I Dolci di Patrizio Cosi, refueling stop

Over the coming week, as part of Getty Voices, I’ll tell you more about Andrea del Sarto, the exhibition project, and life in Florence. At the end of my week, on Saturday the 26^th, I’ll share what I think is The Greatest Work of Art That Nobody Goes to See in Florence.

I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here for this time, and just wish the days would slow down a little. I look forward to sharing them with you this week.

In another episode of this week’s Getty Voices, Our L.A., East L.A. native and documentarian Steve Saldivar reflects on a building that seemed to represent everything bleak about our city—but was anything but.

Its monstrous ugliness followed East Los Angeles like a storm cloud. At least, that’s what I thought growing up. There it sat, quietly looming, as we Garfield High students spilled onto Whittier Boulevard each afternoon after final bell. The dilapidated building was a daily reminder of the disrepair our community seemed to be sliding into.

My mom once told me in passing that the building had been a lively theater. It was hard to believe. I was 18 and preoccupied with being an angsty teenager. The Golden Gate Theater, hollow and in disrepair, embodied the reason I wanted to leave Los Angeles. I was tired of East L.A. and all its moles. Nothing that big is ever benign. I wanted out.

I was also wrong.

The Golden Gate Theater, built in 1927, had in fact played a huge role in forming community in East Los Angeles. Like many theaters during the ’20s and ’30s, it played silent films and filled the gaps with organ and orchestra music. By the ’60s, films shared the stage with live acts, rock concerts, and even amateur variety acts, according to the National Register of Historic Places. By the 1970s, many immigrants from Mexico called East L.A. home and the theater reflected the changes in demographic, showing films with Spanish subtitles. Later, it closed.

It opened to the public again just recently, in late 2012, in the form of a CVS Pharmacy. Its original architectural vision, capped by an entrance modeled on the portal of the University of Salamanca in Spain, has been modified by the mundane reality of automatic sliding glass doors. But while the building no longer serves its original purpose, it’s found a second act with residents.

The Golden Gate Theatre is East L.A.’s Polaris. To the south, a small shop where I spent my weekly allowance on baseball cards; to the east, the Regency Theatres where I saw my first movie, Backdraft, in 1991. To the north, the Starbucks I never tell anyone I go to. I’m never lost.

The Churrigueresque detailing at its top seems its as pristine today as back in 1927. Maybe one day it will show films again. For now, you can find toothpaste on Aisle 7.

This week, we’re devoting Getty Voices to personal stories about L.A. architecture, whether a favorite neighborhood or a building full tasty memories. Here, Communications head Ron Hartwig shares his favorite building, proof that modernism isn’t the only style to have brought greatness to the L.A.-scape.

A Romanesque gem in West Adams, St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral opened its doors in 1925. Photo: Kansas Sebastian, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Without a doubt, my favorite building in Los Angeles is St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral, one of the finest examples of Romanesque architecture in the country.

Located on Adams at Figueroa, St. John’s is not to be mistaken with St. Vincent’s Catholic Church, its Spanish Baroque neighbor. Built over three years beginning in 1922, it is just one of hundreds of civic and religious buildings, and thousands of residences, that were racing to completion during the roaring twenties, a time when Los Angeles was growing by leaps and bounds. Residents, patrons, and architects alike seemed to be competing with each other during this period of enormous growth. Some experimented with new forms of architecture, even as others tried to make L.A. a “serious” city by giving it monumental buildings—in other words, buildings like those one would find back east or in great cities around the world.

Sit in St. John’s at 4pm on a summer afternoon when the sunlight is just right, and the solidness of its over-two-feet thick walls, the beams of multicolored light from its stained glass washing across the interior, and the magnificent mosaics and the triptych constructed by artisans from Oberammergau provide a sense of security and serenity not felt in many places in this fast-moving metropolis. St. John’s is one of those buildings overshadowed by the contemporary architectural icons that dot Los Angeles, but it, and they, should not be left unseen.

Mosaics and woodwork under the soaring vaults of St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral in L.A. Photo courtesy of and © St. John’s, www.stjohnsla.org

Continuing this week’s Getty Voices theme of Our L.A., Getty Research Institute editor Liz McDermott explores what makes a hot-pink-and-blue box on Victory Boulevard such a community draw. It’s vernacular architecture at its most highly sweetened.

Great architecture? Perhaps not. Community hub? Definitely.

Until I moved to Burbank a few years ago, I thought Baskin-Robbins was a relic from a bygone era, like Tower Records or Borders bookstores. When I was 12 years old, Baskin-Robbins was one of my top destination spots. My friends and I would ride our bikes to the local mall and crowd into the tiny store. I’d always order the same thing, a scoop of Pralines ‘n Cream, my favorite of the 31 flavors. That flavor was the perfect blend of cream, sugar, gooey caramel, crunchy candy pralines, and just overall goodness. I had assumed Baskin-Robbins was long gone, done in by Scoops, Gelato Bar, L.A. Creamery, and the proliferation of trendy, artisanal ice-cream shops.

But lo and behold, on a long stretch of Victory Boulevard, near a spate of quiet residential streets, sits what must be the largest Baskin-Robbins ever. To put it kindly, the architecture is completely unremarkable—it’s a two-story, plain stucco box with a bright pink awning over the entrance. But it boasts over 40 parking spaces, cement picnic tables with hot-pink umbrellas, a drive-through with a gigantic neon sign spelling out all the flavors, and even a poster out front that announces that it’s a training center for budding ice-cream servers.

After months of driving past that behometh, nondescript building, I finally decided to check it out. Nearly every parking space was filled, the drive-through was six cars deep, and it was shoulder-to-shoulder inside. But then I saw it in a big tub under the glass counter: Pralines ‘n Cream. I bought a scoop and it all came back to me. It’s not the sophistication of lavender or basil and lime (two flavors from one of artisanal ice-cream shops over the hill), but it tasted just as fantastic as I remembered. Now when I drive past and see the enthusiastic crowds that still show up, I totally understand why.

Paul Goldberger

Writer Paul Goldberger has always had a passion for architecture.

Well known for his tenure at The New Yorker, Goldberger is a distinguished architecture critic who now writes for Vanity Fair as a contributing editor. In a room full of architecture luminaries, he can more than hold his own.

Next week, he’ll have that chance. Goldberger will be moderating Minding the Gap: The Role of Contemporary Architecture in the Historic Environment, a one-day public symposium being presented by the Getty Conservation Institute that includes an enviable roster of internationally renowned architects and urban designers—Thomas H. Beeby, Juergen Mayer H., Rafael Moneo, Richard Rogers, and Denise Scott Brown. The panel is being presented as part of Pacific Standard Time Presents: Modern Architecture in L.A..

With that in mind, Susan Macdonald, head of GCI Field Projects and the Conserving Modern Architecture Initiative, asked Goldberger to share a few thoughts on building new structures in important historic urban areas ahead of next week’s panel.

Susan Macdonald (SM): There has been a lot of controversy over the last 10 years or more about how bold new buildings inserted into historic centers contribute to or detract from the existing historic environment. Why do you think this has become such an issue?

Paul Goldberger (PG): We’re much more sensitive in general to historic buildings than we once were, and that means we’re more sensitive to intrusions, interventions and juxtapositions in historic areas. And at the same time, there have been bigger and bolder proposals to build within historic districts. Being large in scale and bold in design doesn’t automatically mean that new architecture doesn’t fit, but it makes the process more challenging on every level.

SM: Some architects find that having to meet regulatory controls regarding how they intervene in a historic setting is restrictive. Do you think they should be given carte blanche to design how they see fit, or do you think there is a role for some form of design controls?

PG: Design controls are a mixed bag. They can prevent certain disasters, but they often squeeze out all fresh air, and make it much harder for architects to produce genuinely new solutions, however creative. In general, design controls are a form of protection, the opposite of creative inspiration.

SM: What do you think makes a successful contemporary building in a historic setting?

PG: Sympathetic scale (which doesn’t necessarily mean being the same size), texture, materials, color, proportion—all of these things can contribute to making a contemporary building work in a historic setting. The one thing that I would not list as a requirement is style. That rarely guarantees success, even though it’s the first thing most lay people, if not architects, think is necessary.

SM: What is your favorite contemporary building in an historic setting and why?

PG: Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao and Norman Foster’s Carré d’Art in Nimes, because they both remind us how it is possible to be immensely sympathetic to a historic setting without mimicking any stylistic element of it.

The Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain, designed by Frank Gehry. Photo: Phillip Maiwald, CC-BY-SA-3.0

SM: How about a favorite example from Los Angeles?

PG: Strangely enough, even though Los Angeles is full of architecture that I like, I don’t know that it has a good example of a first-rate contemporary building within a historic setting, in part because it doesn’t have that many dense urban neighborhoods that are also historic. Richard Meier’s Museum of Broadcasting in downtown Beverly Hills comes to mind as one of the better examples, but it’s not in what one would truly call a historic setting.

To hear more of Goldberger’s observations in a dialogue with renowned architects and urban designers Thomas H. Beeby, Juergen Mayer H., Rafael Moneo, Richard Rogers, and Denise Scott Brown, attend the Getty Conservation Institute symposium or evening panel on May 21.

Lyra Kilston and Chris Alexander of the team behind Overdrive take Getty Voices to the streets of L.A. this week. We’re exploring what L.A. means to the people who inhabit it, and how our memories of a place change the way we understand it. Here, we visualize our own idiosyncratic L.A. in Google Map form.

“What’s your favorite place in Los Angeles?” We posed this seemingly simple question to the team who contributed to the exhibition Overdrive: L.A. Constructs the Future, 1940–1990, including curators, preparators, security officers, designers, exhibitions experts, educators, and web folks. The exhibition tells the story of L.A.’s architecture and urban expansion, a history rich with personal stories: to one person, a specific place may be associated with a TV show, while to another it may evoke memories of a childhood best friend—or even a taste or smell.

The result is this evolving Google Map of neighborhood hangouts, underrated monuments, impressive intersections, and even the occasional beloved family home. This is not a conventional listing of architectural masterpieces, or a handy guide to L.A. neighborhoods, but it is a representation of the diverse melting pot that is our L.A.

View Our L.A. in a larger map

This task yielded some pretty interesting results, and prompted me to search for places in my own mental map that were dear to me.

A view through the window of Mitsuru Cafe. The imagawayaki (red bean pancake) are a must-eat whenever I visit Little Tokyo. Photo by Nate Gray on Flickr, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

As I think of my experience in Los Angeles, I think of food. The diversity of cuisine offered in every fusion form reflects the communities here. Unsurprisingly, some of my favorite submissions are foodie features.

I’m a proud hapa, and my mixed background provided me with quite the experience growing up in Los Angeles. My Japanese mother would take me to volunteer at the Japanese American National Museum as a child (my name still survives as a “Courtyard Kid” in the front entry plaza). As a treat, she’d buy me an imagawayaki from Mitsuru Cafe in Little Tokyo. I remember the long lines and peering through the big front window at the skilled hands that could make 50 red bean pancakes in a minute! I still visit Mitsuru Cafe whenever I’m in that part of town. For me, it’s the ultimate Los Angeles flavor.

Randy’s Donuts in Inglewood exemplifies playing with food. How Amber makes it to work on time driving past this place on her commute is impressive in itself. Photo by Thomas Hawk on Flickr, CC BY-NC 2.0 

Another flavor came to mind for Amber Keller, a project specialist in exhibitions, when thinking of her L.A.: the donut. What could make a donut even tastier? For Amber, a giant rooftop sculpture of one. She wrote:

“Who doesn’t love a donuts-only bakery with a giant doughnut on the roof?! I drive near it during my regular commute shortcut almost every day and it can make me smile even when it’s 6:45 a.m. and the 405 is already backed up.”

You know a restaurant is pretty extraordinary when you mentally mark it as a favorite and you don’t even eat the food it serves. For Annelisa Stephan, Getty Iris editor, the abstract chicken-bucket building on Western Avenue is a reason for staying in Los Angeles.

“It takes a lot for me to like a KFC—I’m a vegetarian. I remember the first time I saw it, coming south on Western after I got out of college and came back to L.A.. It’s so awesomely weird, and that made me think, ‘Yeah, I can live here again.’”

High concept fast food? Certainly appropriate for Angelinos. Kentucky Fried Chicken (model), 1990. Grinstein/Daniels Inc. and Jeffrey Daniels. Jeffrey Daniels Architects

My version of Los Angeles has only recently been expanded. I grew up in South Pasadena. While it’s only about 15 minutes from downtown by freeway, it feels like a world away. But my father, a perfectionist and avid runner, took to exploring vast Los Angeles on a grid-like system. He ran major streets first, then divided the city into quadrants to explore the smaller veins that poured out onto the major boulevards. I look to him for sites generally unknown.

He pointed out to me this Holland Dutch-style bakery in Glassell Park. There was once a whole chain of such bakeries and windmill coffee shops, beginning in 1913. Now the bakery offers educational courses, and the only remaining coffee shop is a Denny’s in Arcadia.

Van de Kamp’s at dusk. Photo by Licorice Medusa on Flickr, CC BY-NC 2.0

“It used to be known as the ‘Taj Mahal of Los Angeles bakeries’ when it was first built in 1931.”

His knowledge of all the bridges along the L.A. River, of English Gothic-style high schools, of Japanese gardens in libraries, of East L.A. murals, and Craftsman-style houses has led me to look at Los Angeles with open eyes and an open mind.

While the glitz and glam of Hollywood Boulevard has faded away and much of the city needs care and rebuilding (as do all cities, always), I find Los Angeles to be both challenging and inspirational. It is like a “choose-your-own-adventure” book. It is simultaneously rich and impoverished, socially progressive and conservative, architecturally innovative and depressing.

The remaining windmill coffee shop from the Van de Kamp bakery empire stands in Arcadia on this Denny’s at the intersection of Huntington Drive and Santa Anita Avenue. Photo by “Caveman Chuck” Coker on Flickr, CC BY-ND 2.0

It is a city that is constantly changing—I swear that coffee shop on Melrose was a different coffee shop three days ago—and reworking itself. Buildings rise and fall. And I hope that this Google Map is a small token of one version of 2013′s Los Angeles. One that is full of quirky buildings (definitely quirky neighbors!) and stories that belong to the citizens and visitors that make L.A. such a joy to discover.

Of course we only know what we’ve experienced, and this map is reflective of what the Overdrive team makes of L.A. I know it’s a bit too empty in some corners of the city, so I turn to you:

What’s missing? What flavors would you add? What site in Los Angeles significant to you and why? Where do you take out-of-town guests to give them a taste of the city? What is your L.A.?

What special places tell the story of your L.A.? This week on Getty Voices, Lyra Kilston and Chris Alexander of the Overdrive curatorial team explore the personal stories that knit the buildings and neighborhoods of L.A. into a shared story—our L.A. Connect with them here, on the Getty Voices Twitter and Facebook, and inside the exhibition galleries during “office hours” on Tuesday, May 14, at noon; Wednesday, May 15, at noon; and Thursday, May 16, at 2pm.

My L.A.: My life mapped on the landscape.

In the three years leading up to the opening of Overdrive: L.A. Constructs the Future, the curatorial team spent a lot of time thinking about Los Angeles. We considered the many well-worn stories and ideas about the city, and what new kind of story we wanted our exhibition to tell. Coming from our various backgrounds, we possessed different investments and concerns. But we had all lived in L.A. long enough that its streets, highways, neighborhoods, and buildings had seamlessly converged with our lives, creating a subjective map that traced not only the city, but our own histories.

One of the most rewarding things about working on an exhibit reflecting the recent history of a city was anticipating that so many visitors would be able to personally connect with the material. For example, maybe you’ll spot a photograph of the downtown skyscraper your sister works in, a model of the binoculars building in Santa Monica you commute by, a church or restaurant you’ve visited, or a drawing of your college. Even if you’re from out of town, there’s a very good chance you’ll be able to connect to LAX or Disneyland, or someplace you’ve seen in a movie.

Vintage L.A.: LAX, Theme Building; perspective view, 1961. Charles Luckman, William Pereira, Welton Becket, and Paul R. Williams. Pencil, watercolor, and gouache on board. From the Alan E. Leib Collection. Image courtesy of and © The Luckman Partnership, Inc. | a Salas O’Brien Company

As a native Angeleno, working on this exhibition made me realize how much of my family’s story is told through L.A.’s evolution. My grandfather had to vacate his apartment because it was being cleared to make way for the 101 Freeway. He met my grandmother when she arrived in L.A. as part of a wave of 1930s European refugees, and they worked in film and aviation. Thanks to the G.I. Bill they bought their first home, in a midcity neighborhood filled with new pastel houses and young families. Years later, my parents moved from a bohemian Venice apartment to an old Koreatown fixer-upper, and taught gymnastics at a Czech cultural hall (now turned Buddhist temple). They paraded in the 1984 Olympics opening ceremony, and joined the booming aerospace industry.

High-speed L.A.: Highways 5, 10, 60 and 101 Looking West, L.A. River and Downtown Beyond, 2004, Michael Light. Archival pigment print, 40 3/8 x 50 3/8 in. Courtesy of Michael Light and Craig Krull Gallery, Santa Monica. Image © Michael Light, Courtesy of Craig Krull Gallery, Santa Monica

The sleek office buildings they commuted to in El Segundo are shown in Overdrive, as is a photograph of my elementary school reflected in the glass of the CNA building. And these are only a few of the intersections I’ve discovered in the exhibit. There are more, and we bet you have your own.

Glam L.A.: Century Plaza Hotel; perspective of exterior sunken plaza, 1962, Minoru Yamasaki and Carlos Diniz. Screenprint, 29 x 43 in. Courtesy of the Diniz family archive and Edward Cella Art and Architecture

High-tech L.A.: IBM Aerospace building; exterior view from ground, about 1967, A. Quincy Jones and Frederick E. Emmons, architects; Eliot Noyes, designer; Amir Farr, photographer. Gelatin silver print, 7 5/8 x 9 9/16 in. Alan Eliot Goldberg

This week, we’d like to turn the tables. In Overdrive we’ve gathered a selection of fascinating (if I do say so myself) objects about L.A.’s architecture, and every twist and turn of the exhibit holds stories—for us and for all the people who have helped make Overdrive possible. Now we’d like to hear yours. Did you walk through Overdrive and see part of your story? What are your junctions of place and history? What buildings reflect a bit of who you are?

Share your L.A.! Connect with us in the comments below and throughout the week on Twitter and Facebook. And meet me and fellow Overdrive curator Chris Alexander in person at our informal “curators’ office hours” inside the exhibition at the Getty Center: Tuesday, May 14, 12–1pm; Wednesday, May 15, 12–1pm; and Thursday, May 16, 2–3pm. We look forward to swapping notes about our city.

@thegetty My L.A. is the best and the worst of all possible worlds, simultaneously. The hills, the food, the history. Traffic, Skid Row.

— Juvenio L. Guerra (@juvenio_g) May 13, 2013

@thegetty Case Study House 22. When I think LA architecture I think private homes not public buildings. Lot of great ones to choose from.

— Joey Herring (@jherr555) May 13, 2013

Connect with more “Our L.A.” content from this week’s Getty Voices:

• We generated a google map of off-beat sites and underrated buildings.

They say L.A. has no center; they say it’s a desert. We Angelenos know that’s not true—and not just when it comes to architecture, but when it comes to nature, too.

On National Public Gardens Day, I wanna give up some dirt on a few of the floral Angelenos in my particular favorite place, the Getty Center’s Central Garden. Michael DeHart, who supervises the garden and makes sure all plants are well-fed, is offering visitors tours at 10am and 1pm today in recognition of this special occasion. He’ll also add some fauna to our flora, releasing Coccinella septempunctata (seven-spot lady bugs) to munch on all the aphids that bug us in the spring and summer. Visitors can see them be released, and give them a thumbs-up for all their hard work.

The Central Garden is a genuine slice of L.A., a welcoming and artistic place where immigrants (of the plant variety) can put down roots and bask in a Mediterranean climate. Can an Andean shrub thrive here? Sure, and so can a Himalayan bulb and a Caucasian wildflower:

But while we’re a diverse bunch, I really want to focus on three of my fellow native plants who have always called California home—since long before L.A. was L.A.

Red-twig dogwood (Cornus sericea) is pretty sensitive, so she likes to spend her time in the greenhouse during the hot months. She gets offended when people stare at her twigs, but ignore her leaves:

And as for cream cups (Platystemon californicus)? What. a. diva. She used to hang out with all the other wildflowers, but now her seeds are worth a ton. Just look at that complexion–she’s gorgeous:

For dark and handsome, get a look at desert Canterbury bells (Phacelia campanularia). This dude never hangs around. He blooms in early spring, then disappears. But seriously, this guy can live anywhere–his delicate blue color masks a rough-and-tumble hardiness, even as he goes rougishly to seed:

And then there’s me, Eschscholzia californica; but you can call me California poppy. I’m a pretty laid-back gal–all I need is H2O, a little sunshine, and my own plot of land. When I hang out by the beach, I go by Eschscholzia californica maritima. In addition to being the official state flower (ahem), California poppies also do this really cool thing called dehiscing, where we discharge our seeds in a big EXPLOSION. Not so laid-back after all.

There are more California natives in the Central Garden besides us—we haven’t even gotten to California lilac, coast live oak, deer grass, or tidy tips (oy!), or gone out into the surrounding chaparral. No matter where you go in L.A., we natives are quietly hanging out. It’s nice to finally meet you.

Photo by student Jesus Martinez

The Getty Museum’s Education Department has again teamed up with 826LA for Community Photoworks, a program that teaches photography techniques to students, coaches them in writing artist statements, and offers them an opportunity to exhibit their work to the public. This year, 42 ninth-grade students from Room 13 Los Angeles at James A. Foshay Learning Center, a student-managed and financed art studio, were asked to raise their cameras high and photograph Los Angeles’s distinctive architecture.

Acting as a mentor and technical guide, artist Camilo Jose Vergara led students on an exploratory mission, first around their own school and then at the Getty Center. At the school, Vergara presented his work, which focuses on poor and segregated areas of cities across the U.S., documenting changes over decades in the built environment. Students also learned about tools for examining photographs, and principles that are used by photographers to create images, including line, shape, color, composition and form. After the discussion with Vergara, students practiced photographing streets and architecture, including the photogenic storefront signs that make the L.A. cityscape so famous.

Students take pictures around their neighborhood

Then, during a visit to the Getty Center, students got more creative inspiration by touring the exhibition Overdrive: L.A. Constructs the Future, 1940-1990 with Vergara and curator Christopher Alexander. They then set out across the Center with cameras in hand.

Students listen to Camilo Jose Vergara at Overdrive exhibition

Students recognize models and blueprints of familiar architectural landmarks at the Overdrive exhibition

Shots of the architecture, art, and awesome views of the city and coast were just a few of their subjects:

Students take photos at the Getty Center

Students snapped photos high and low, and some got a bird’s-eye view:

Student perched on a balcony, looking for that perfect shot

The students told me a little bit about their experience:

I like how you can take pictures of the same building but viewed from different angles. It gives a different perspective and meaning to the image. – Kimberly Mejia, 9^th grade

I learned how to focus on the image I take. I learned not to rush taking the picture, capture the moment when you think it’s ready. – Salvador Salinas, 9^th grade

I love taking pictures of architectural building in L.A. It helps me view buildings differently and relate them to art. – Deborah Lopez, 9^th grade

Their teacher, John Midby, told me that the Community Photoworks program exposes future artists to more than just digital photography. “It has broadened the way they look at Los Angeles and the implications of its architecture economically and emotionally,” said Midby. “Also, collaborating with the Getty staff and 826LA volunteers is very important in building their knowledge and confidence as artists.”

The student photographs will be on display in C O M M U N I TeYe on L.A. Architecture, an exhibition opening on May 23 from 5:30 to 7:00 p.m. at the offices of TBWA\Chiat\Day, at 5353 Grosvenor Blvd. in Los Angeles. Student work and artist statements will also be included in a print catalogue and selections will be featured on Getty.edu; we’ll add an update here when they are posted.