6
The Need for Specialised Materials Conservation Expertise in Asia
Introduction1
In the early 1990s Robertson Collins, a tourism consultant in Asia, wrote:
‘It is the basic skills – and eventually the refined skills – that are needed [throughout] the world […] They [field practitioners] need standards and guidelines for Band-Aid, interim work that will simply “hold” their buildings and monuments together, until they can afford to call in the doctor’.
(1991: 217)
Since this comment, the role of the ‘heritage professional’ in Asia has widened considerably. However, the need for skilled ‘doctors’ persists. As mentioned in the introduction to this volume, Asia has experienced rapid growth over the past two decades and increasingly heritage is being used both as a resource to fuel that expansion and as justification in political agendas for nations as they jockey for position within regional and international hierarchies. Meanwhile, due to factors of age, shifting priorities within heritage discourse, deferred maintenance or increased pressures as mentioned above, the material fabric of Asia’s historic built environment deteriorates rapidly. This is an issue of major concern. Compounding this problem is a paucity of expertise, most notably embodied in the architectural conservator. In this chapter we argue that there is a need for this professional in Asia to help ensure the long-term conservation of Asia’s material built heritage.
More than a decade ago, Lister (2000: 114) aptly summarised one of the dilemmas of contemporary conservation education. In Asia and elsewhere:
‘faced with a rapidly growing knowledge base, changing institutional contexts, and pressures to make more efficient use of available resources, the dilemma for conservation educators is how to prepare students for this environment whilst creating programmes […] that are effective and viable.’
How can conservation educators respond to this dilemma? Furthermore, with a dearth of academic programs specialising in architectural conservation – particularly regarding its physical and material aspects – and given the existing skill sets of the stewards currently responsible for Asia’s heritage sites, where (temporally and logistically) can this knowledge be interjected? Should we aim to create doctors, or would ‘paramedics’ be more appropriate at this time?
In probing these questions we begin with an explanation of what the conservator has to offer in the field of cultural heritage conservation. We examine the historic factors that have shaped the present scenario in Asia and consider the challenges of creating this specialised profession in the current academic environment. We argue that given the present scenario, the needs and conditions of sites and available expertise, greater attention must be given to architectural materials conservation. We offer a mid-term proposal for the insertion of this knowledge into the heritage conservation workforce and ultimately argue for the long-term creation of the conservator in Asia as a recognised and integral professional. To substantiate this argument we draw upon our experiences with heritage educators and other professionals in Asia between 2005 and 2010: at a retreat for Asian built-heritage-related conservation program directors in June 2008, and at two field workshops (Vat Phou, Lao PDR in 2008 and Chiang Saen, Thailand in 2009), as part of the ‘Built Heritage in Southeast Asia: Conservation Education and Training Initiative’ of the Getty Conservation Institute (see GCI 2008).
Historically, the conservator emerged from a craft and apprentice tradition in both its skill set and the transmission of its knowledge. Informed by the visual arts and art history it eventually came to include the physical sciences. Today, the knowledge base of this specialised profession integrates scientific investigation, conservation theory and methodology, history, research, hand skills and an understanding of materials and their mechanisms of decay. Other areas of specialisation may be included depending upon the conservator’s area of focus, e.g., modern materials, wall paintings, or a particular era of architecture and construction technology. While the profile of the conservator differs somewhat from country to country (i.e., as an expert advisor or as a specialised field practitioner), the core competencies remain the same. All are trained to research and document the object or site; to characterise and assess materials and their conditions; to analyse symptoms and patterns of deterioration; to identify their causative factors; and to treat (repair and/or stabilise) the object or site for its long-term conservation and presentation. The inherently interdisciplinary nature of the field also means that architectural conservators are predisposed to collaborative work with their heritage conservation peers (architects, engineers, archaeologists, etc.). In a region where traditional craft skills and knowledge regarding historic building materials, construction and architectural decoration are disappearing, the expertise of the conservator has become increasingly valuable and even necessary. Unfortunately, in Asia the role of the architectural conservator is practically non-existent. The absence of this expertise is detrimental to the preservation of Asia’s built heritage.
Where are the Conservators and Why Aren’t they Here?
As the scope of the heritage profession has expanded, so too has the diversity of professionals who work within it. Where is the conservator and why is s/he absent? There are multiple factors that have led to this situation and a detailed explanation is beyond the scope of this chapter. We would, however, like to discuss three interconnected key issues that have influenced the present predicament and which are pertinent to how the situation might be addressed. The first is the ever-expanding concept of heritage and the debates it has incited. Many of these debates are being played out in Asia. The second issue regards the diminishing and, in some instances, disappearing craft tradition, and the third is linked to a global trend in the rise of managerialism and professionalism.
In the past couple of decades, international heritage conservation discourse has evolved and broadened its concerns to include the socio-political and economic contexts within which the physical fabric exists. ‘Heritage’ has become a widely used term to connote much more than architectural, archaeological and/or monumental sites, to include a vast array of material and nonmaterial cultural forms. This has significant implications for what can, should and will survive from the past and in turn has demanded an expansion in disciplinary expertise and methodologies of conservation. Within Asia, these issues are actively debated and are evidenced in the recent proliferation of charters, proclamations and conferences which address the themes of value, significance, authenticity and the identification of heritage (i.e. cultural landscapes, vernacular architecture or living heritage). As the roundtable discussion in Chapter 2 highlights, this debate is most commonly characterised by a tangible/intangible dyad and an investigation into the relevance of and need for culturally specific conservation approaches. The pluralisation of heritage is also visible in the amount of attention and funding that have been devoted to ‘heritage management’, cultural tourism and issues pertaining to World Heritage designation. As the concept of heritage grows more inclusive and competition for limited resources to highlight (or exploit) that heritage becomes more intense, focused attention on conservation of the physical fabric has waned. The end result is the dwindling and disappearance of the historic built environment, a physical heritage that is simultaneously the manifestation of cultural beliefs and the anchor around which the beliefs are practised and enacted.
Not surprisingly, these shifts are reflected in Asian universities, where many heritage-related programs advertise a variation on the theme of ‘heritage studies’: a broad and elastic term that encompasses issues of policy, tourism, World Heritage site management, architecture, and/or urban and regional planning. Academic institutions focus on ‘strengthening capacity’ in several domains of heritage protection; however, no one university program focuses on architectural materials conservation.
Disappearing Craft Traditions
During the past thirty years there has been increasing concern in the Asia region about the loss of craft-based knowledge. This can be seen in the creation of organisations such as the ASEAN Handicraft Promotion and Development Association (1981), the World Crafts Council, Asia Pacific (1999), several European-Asian collaborations near the end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first century to promote craft-related knowledge and the assistance of UNESCO (particularly through its Bangkok office) regarding awards for high-quality crafts production.2 As a guidelines document produced by UNESCO has stated:
‘As important craft traditions in Asia begin to disappear, the crafts skills as well as the pride and the dignity of the artisans are also dying out. With changing times, artisans are dissuading their children from following the path of local craft traditions, urging them to take up outside work rather than continuing the family vocation.’
(Sah 2007: 5)
Today, when there are fewer Asian craft guilds and master craftsmen, the conservation professional often serves as a bridge to forgotten knowledge regarding materials and historic building technologies. Although it remains outside the scope of this chapter to explore in depth the history of Asian crafts and the ways that craftspeople were trained, it is clear that historically craftspeople and their masters were valued for their building arts. Indeed, in some Asian countries, most notably Japan, craft experts are considered ‘living treasures’. However, on a less laudatory note, it is also true that often craft work was, and still is, viewed as a form of manual labour which can carry pejorative connotations and unfortunate associations with lower-class work. Historians have noted that for centuries in Asia, ‘the dominant classes [considered it] imperative to do no manual work’ (Ooi 2004: I, 1223). Anthropologists and other scholars have also noted that, regarding elite classes in many Asian societies, there is a persisting avoidance of being engaged in manual work, which can be (mis)interpreted by others in those societies as being an indicator of lower intelligence. ‘Working with one’s hands has been equated with manual labor rather than intelligent, bodily-kinesthetic endeavor’ (Chen et al. 2009: 357), even though it is erroneous to equate the two. As Sennett (2008: 9) reminds us, ‘Craftsmanship cuts a far wider swath than skilled manual labor; it serves the computer programmer, the doctor and the artist […] Craftsmanship focuses on objective standards, on the thing in itself’. Unfortunately, the conflating of manual labour with craft work and the class association of manual labour with lower wages presents a significant obstacle in Asia to the training of a professional conservation corps.
Given these various factors, the increasingly rare, once family-based craft vocations have taken on greater significance across much of Asia. Within heritage conservation, craft traditions provide educators, policy makers and others with a firm, deeply historical foundation upon which to build even stronger bridges between traditional knowledge and contemporary, professional disciplines such as architecture, archaeology, engineering or urban planning. For those newly emerging fields in Asia that relate to built heritage – cultural tourism or heritage studies – there remain largely under-utilised targets of opportunity between craft-related activities and academic programs. There are several reasons for this, some of which are suggested above by biases against manual labour, but some of which are also embedded in assumptions about which subject areas are justifiably situated within university-level programs. While crafts and their guilds have historically existed within their own infrastructure of knowledge transmission, the conservation profession’s link with craftsmanship raises the value of that traditional form of knowledge and acknowledges it as a key component in the conservation process. By strengthening the connections between traditional craftsmanship and architectural conservation, two significant benefits can potentially result: craftsmanship will be more highly valued and utilised and the profession or practice of the architectural conservator (well-established outside Asia) might find a more fertilised terrain in which to develop.
Managerialism
Crucially, the underlying trends in the recent evolution of heritage studies identified above have been accompanied by – and in large part driven by – the solidification of the ‘management’ paradigm which became popular first in North America and Europe and then elsewhere. It is somewhat unclear precisely when practitioners in Asia began employing the word ‘management’ in association with cultural heritage. It seems clear, however, that ‘cultural resource management’ (CRM) arose first as a term among archaeologists in the United States in the early 1970s, in the context of growing concerns for more effective environmental policies, the foremost of which was the National Environmental Policy Act in 1969 (Lipe and Lindsay 1974; Saunders 1989: 152; McManamon 2000: 45; King 2002: 25). Soon thereafter, UK archaeologists began to adopt the vaguely defined concept of CRM and amend it to be applied to ‘heritage’, a more commonly accepted word in the UK (and its former colonial dominions) for what US practitioners often call cultural resources, although some appropriately have cautioned about the difficulties of equating the two (Watkins and Beaver 2008: 11).
Between 1975 and 1985, the word ‘management’ was increasingly accepted by both domestic U.S. and international practitioners as an expansive concept that encompassed ‘research, planning and stewardship’ (NPS 1998).3 Although the World Heritage Convention (1972) did not mention management per se, between 1977 and 1984 the Operational Guidelines associated with the Convention included a suggestion to create ‘management plans’, although that suggestion was omitted from the Guidelines between 1987 and 1997.4 The absence of ‘management’ from the Guidelines during that decade, however, should not be misconstrued as a lack of interest in applying the lessons of management to historic sites. For example, in 1985 ICOMOS established an International Committee on Archaeological Heritage Management (Biörnstad 1989) and in 1995 the international journal, Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites, was established (note again here the distinction between ‘conservation’ and ‘management’).5
By the late-1990s, interest in the concept of cultural heritage management began gaining real momentum, as seen in how several European governments began using the term ‘management’ in the context of heritage. In 1999, the Australian Government promulgated seven Heritage Management Principles (DEWR 1999). In 2000, when UNESCO’s World Heritage Centre solicited thirty-nine Asian States Parties to write Periodic Reports related to the State of World Heritage in the Asia-Pacific Region,6 ‘management and monitoring challenges’ were noted and the 2003 Paper resulting from these Reports emphasised the need to ‘upgrade conservation and management skills’ (note again this distinction). In 2002, when UNESCO and ICCROM collaborated to create the Asian Academy for Heritage Management, that final word in the organisation’s name fitted neatly within the larger parameters of concern that the World Heritage Centre and others were voicing. At the 26th Session of the World Heritage Committee in Budapest (2002), there was also a call for including local populations more directly in management decision making, and for more publications that would address how to draft management guidelines. Since the late 1990s, as the existence of management plans has increasingly become a prerequisite for World Heritage inscription, a growing contingent of consultants have been hired by governmental institutions to create management plans for a growing number of historic sites. Therefore, an additional market has been created for those with ‘heritage management’ expertise to respond to the need for management plans.
It is an overarching trend that has gained considerable traction across Asia, such that ‘management’ as a term has permeated the sphere of cultural governance, and managerialism as a principle that overarches administrative reform has become increasingly popular (Nakamura and Koike 1992). Those reforms have come within the context of rapid economic and political development. As Anthony Welch (2009: 587) has stated, ‘markets and managerialism have been seen as key strategies with which to promote development, reform the rigidities of the state socialist model, and leapfrog directly into a modern knowledge economy’. As Du Cros et al. (2007) point out, in the case of Asia, this ‘leapfrogging’ has occurred in the field of cultural heritage conservation through the ‘professionalisation’ of heritage conservation and its integration into broader discussions related to culture, tourism, planning and development. Simultaneous with this demand for greater capacities in expertise has been an assumption that in order to create a more civil society with internationally recognised norms, the ‘change requires the production and availability of professionals who come from a university background’ (Du Cros et al. 2007: 51).
But what exactly is management and how does it differ from conservation? Management is ‘organization, supervision, or direction; the application of skill or care in the manipulation, use, treatment or control (of a thing or person), or in the conduct of something’ (OED 2011). For heritage professionals, that ‘thing’ is a cultural resource (with both tangible and intangible dimensions), and the management of that resource is a goal that many practitioners aspire to achieve.7 Etymologically, management has roots in Latin (manuagere, or lead by the hand) and Italian (maneggiare, or handle, especially referring to tools), but management’s main functions were articulated by the French mining engineer, Henri Fayol (1918), who specified them as ‘planning, organizing, leading, coordinating and controlling’. Fayol’s definition has largely lasted the test of time. Curiously, though, the connection between management and hands-on work has not endured, which has had unfortunate consequences.
In contrast, in an attempt to offer a concise definition of conservation, the Burra Charter (1999) refers to it as ‘all the processes of looking after a place so as to retain its cultural significance,’ whereas the American Institute for the Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works (2010) asserts that conservation ‘encompasses actions taken toward the long-term preservation of cultural property. Conservation activities include examination, documentation, treatment and preventative care, supported by research and education’ (AIC n.d.). These definitions – and English Heritage’s terse summary of conservation as ‘managing change’8 – suggest complementary but not identical concerns of those seeking management and conservation of cultural resources.
As the scope of heritage conservation has expanded and the dialogue has shifted to the language of ‘heritage management’ this has detracted attention from the need for specialised knowledge about the material fabric. In other words, intensifying concerns for improved ‘management’ of Asian built-heritage resources has been one of the reasons why education and training in the physical ‘conservation’ of those resources has lagged. Indeed, it is a difference in approach that is increasingly worrying both university heritage educators and practicing professionals related to built-heritage conservation. Over recent years we have repeatedly encountered a desire for an investment in a form of conservation training that will meet the considerable challenges associated with safeguarding Asia’s historic built environment. Clearly responding to such challenges is far from easy. In the remaining sections of this chapter we offer a broadly conceived roadmap that moves from the medium-to long-term in its horizons.
Spatial and Temporal Places to Intervene/Mid-to-Long-Term Approaches
There are two natural spaces where opportunities exist: the universities (students) and the field (practicing professionals). These represent two different points along the professional path and they correspond to mid-and long-term approaches.
Universities
One viable pedagogical approach to help solve these pressing educational needs is to create, and then to properly situate a series of materials-based architectural conservation courses within either an already existing or a new university program. One source of information about academic programs dedicated to heritage protection in Asia is the Asian Academy of Heritage Management (AAHM), established in 2002 by UNESCO’s Bangkok office and ICCROM as a virtual network of Asian educational programs concerned with the mission of ‘strengthen[ing] the capacity to manage heritage resources sustainably through institutional cooperation and training, research and exchange under UNESCO-ICCROM guidance, using integrated, holistic and multidisciplinary approaches.’9 During the first decade of the twenty-first century there was a proliferation of such programs throughout the Asian-Pacific region. In 2011 the AAHM had fifty-eight institutional members, fourteen of which are in either Architecture or Planning departments/schools, eight are based in Humanities departments, four are linked to Archaeology departments and most of the remaining programs are focused on topics such as tourism studies, disaster mitigation or environmental law. Only six programs – approximately one-tenth of the total – feature either science-based or museum objects-based training. Each of these academic concentrations harbours its own particular set of intellectual competencies, which are sensible if one desires to practice as an architect, archaeologist or engineer (the professions often represented by Asian, contemporary, built heritage-related conservation practitioners). However, given the often-rigid disciplinary boundaries associated with particular knowledge bases, one of AAHM’s goals of fostering ‘integrated, holistic and multidisciplinary approaches’ is at best, challenging, and at worst, elusive.
The composition of the AAHM network and its emphasis on management are indicative of broader challenges when considering the insertion of materials-based, architectural conservation courses into university programs. First, there are few specialists in the region qualified to teach architectural materials conservation courses. Second, there are few existing heritage-related programs in universities that might logically accommodate such courses. Third, the labour market does not readily support the specialised expertise of another professional group (i.e., the architectural conservator), and last, on a philosophical level many Asian practitioners are uncertain about the importance of retaining original, ‘authentic’ fabric as they strive to conserve the patrimony under their stewardship. Internationally, significant ethical debate centers around this last point, either when the conservator is confronted with inherently flawed materials or systems, when the community of caretakers no longer exists to maintain a site or object, when the appropriation of a site or object by different cultures poses conflicts as to how or what should be conserved or, as is still often the case throughout much of Asia, when continuous use, contemporary cultural aesthetics and socio-religious implications come into direct conflict with a privileging of original material.
Throughout Asia, the majority of historic sites are managed by national Ministries of Culture and, as noted elsewhere, the staff in charge of researching, managing, conserving and presenting those sights is predominantly comprised of architects, archaeologists and engineers. Therefore, government policy, the labour market and universities are linked in a cycle of supply and demand. If there was a clear demand by government agencies for conservators who possessed expertise about historic materials (or for other kinds of specialists who were needed to work on historic structures), then this would provide a compelling reason for universities to offer such courses and for students to follow them. Consequently, because the architectural conservator does not have a clearly defined (and compensated) role in the growing Asian marketplace associated with heritage conservation, universities have been reticent about establishing a discrete program of study regarding materials, which might not attract enough students to justify the program’s existence.
Despite the present challenges, universities can, and some individual professors do, offer occasional architectural conservation courses. While there is some concerted effort to establish programs in architectural conservation that include materials studies, these will take time to develop because the variables of available expertise, market value and heritage policies regarding who is qualified (or certified) to work on national heritage properties are not yet sufficiently determined.10 In light of this situation, the most sophisticated Asian built-heritage professionals have sought conservation education abroad – either in Europe, North America, Australia or (more recently) in Japan, China or India – with the hope that somehow, upon their return to their home country, they can meaningfully transform conservation practices there. The degree to which this is actually occurring is a compelling question for a future paper.
The Field
The second space into which conservation knowledge can be inserted/introduced is the field, or to be more specific, to the practicing professionals who work within it. Field professionals would benefit from structured, professional development opportunities that directly correspond to the needs of their work. To some extent, these opportunities already occur through national and foreign inter-governmental organisation (IGO), non-governmental organisation (NGO), or international non-governmental organisation (INGO) sponsored activities. These opportunities, however, arise ad hoc based upon the budgets and priorities of national, regional and international organisations.11 The specific training activities vary widely, from short international symposia and field schools to longer-term workshops or multi-year field projects where a small group is trained over the course of the project. Each activity has its own objectives and methods and each format, as explained below, has its inherent advantages and disadvantages.
Symposia and Conferences
The primary purposes of symposia and conferences are to exchange ideas, to create a forum for raising awareness and to provide a strategic opportunity for networking. While information specific to the conservation of sites may be presented, these are not the venues in which practical training is conducted. A cursory survey of approximately eighty heritage-related conferences and symposia held during the past twenty-three years reflects consistent interests in themes related to tourism, urban conservation (with a focus on Asian cities), sustainable development, risk assessment, heritage management, adaptive use of historic structures, community participation and cultural landscape conservation.12 Clearly, for the most part, these do not focus on practical materials conservation.
Field Schools
One of the key objectives of occasional field schools (such as those coordinated by the AAHM), which are often thematic and sometimes practically oriented, is to provide a discrete window into the issues pertaining to a particular conservation problem. By their very nature, field schools are tied to a historic site where problems are discussed but rarely solved. More technical field schools may teach participants a specific technique or the application of a specific methodology. In best-case scenarios, a field school serves as a catalyst to a larger project, either at the field school site or initiated at another site by a field school participant who returns home with new ideas. The chief disadvantage of the ad hoc field school is that it is a singular activity without programmed follow-up and, therefore, learning is limited to what can be accomplished within a short time span.
Serial Workshops
Multi-week recurring workshops (i.e., serial workshops) offer extended learning about various aspects of a topic. Typically, these workshops are either offered to a single group of participants or are designed using a modular format whereby the module theme attracts a specific audience based on individual interests. For didactic purposes, sites are often used to illustrate points discussed in lectures. Participants are asked to share their own expertise about the situation before them, sometimes presenting cases from their home countries that relate to the problems or methodologies being discussed. In so doing, participants collectively debate how proposed methodologies either apply to their particular contexts or might need to be adjusted for practical application. Three benefits of serial workshops are: they are extended and iterative learning experiences; they foster the creation of a network of conservation professionals; and they provide a discrete, focused, serial activity for regional professionals. Two disadvantages are the limited duration of each activity and the intermittent support of the instructors and peer group. To mitigate these disadvantages, some educators have advocated ‘blended learning’ to combine face-to-face instruction with online communication (Garrison and Kanuka 2004; Bonk and Graham 2006; Dardes 2009). Blended learning methods can help achieve longer-term mentoring of mid-career conservation professionals, but such mentoring (in our experience) poses its own series of formidable challenges.13
Field Projects
Multi-year field projects tend to benefit a small group of local professionals and are focused on imparting techniques and methodologies of in situ conservation. The dual objectives of field projects are the conservation of the object or site and the training of on-site staff. The didactic activity is linked to an actual site and problems where solutions are proposed, applied, tested and evaluated over time. In principle, field projects provide the opportunity and setting to address the issues of conservation in a holistic and integrated manner. The advantages of the multi-year field project are consistent training of a single group of professionals and technicians anchored in real problems of a local site. The group is able to consider, apply and modify a methodological approach to conservation of the site as the project evolves. Multi-year projects allow for digestion of new information, reflection and evaluation. People not only learn about the theories underpinning fundamental concepts and methodologies but, more significantly, they also learn by doing. The disadvantages and limitations of this format for professional development are that all too often, the training component of the field project is relegated to a secondary by-product as opposed to a primary objective, and that training is typically limited to a small group of local professionals. While the small group benefits from in-depth, extensive learning, the wider network of people exposed to this new information and approach in the short-term is minimised.
Some of the more successful training efforts have been those with a long-term commitment to, and sustained presence within, a specific project, partnership, participant group or serial activity. Consistency and time enable the development of relationships (trust, understanding and communication), and the teaching and testing of methodologies in situ. The application of theories in situ is one of the most practical and powerful means of learning and the most relevant to the field practitioner. Consistency also enables monitoring and evaluation of the training effort. In the case of foreign-run projects or workshops, however, it is important to remember that there is a delicate balance to be struck between foreign and local knowledge and a willingness to integrate the particularities of local contexts – educational, political, historical, or cultural – including indigenous systems of knowledge which can or already do serve conservation objectives. When programs are conceived with such a ‘dialogue’ in mind this helps ensure a fluid and respectful exchange of ideas. Training activities with international participant groups extend the reach of professional networks but limit the number of professionals trained within a single country, thereby diluting the potential for change within a national infrastructure. Whereas training and working with a cadre of local professionals can contribute to the creation of a critical mass of knowledge in one location, thereby enabling change (in one location). In the former case, the possibilities for change within a home institution are diminished.
Despite the plethora of workshops, symposia, conferences, field schools and other positive initiatives geared to professional practitioners, there remain serious deficiencies stemming from the ad hoc nature of these initiatives. When Asian built-heritage conservation professionals (architects, archaeologists and engineers) are saddled with the responsibilities of site stewardship, the disjunction between their core knowledge and the breadth of expertise required for site preservation becomes apparent, because what these degreed professionals are educated to perform and what they are required to practice are not necessarily equivalent. Intermittent infusions of additional knowledge and experience are an intermediary approach, but what is truly needed is a longer-term solution. If none of these professionals is sufficiently trained to address material conservation issues in their work, how can they realistically be expected to make informed decisions regarding the long-term physical care of historic sites? We believe the long-term solution is the creation and introduction of the conservator.
Examples Elsewhere
In Europe and North America, the conservator is increasingly formed through university study and subsequent professional practice. In these regions, architectural conservation programs are situated amongst university degree programs where their skills and knowledge are commensurate with other professional schools such as architecture and urban planning.14 The main objective of these programs is to train skilled conservators to assess, repair and protect the material aspects of culture. A few examples among many established and successful programs which prepare young professionals for work in architectural materials conservation are: the Opificio delle Pietre Dure and the Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro in Italy; the Ecole des beaux arts de Tours and the Ecole de Chaillot (for architects) in France; Institut für Restaurierungs- und Konservier- ungswissenschaft, Fachhochschule Köln and Hoschschule für angewandte Wissenschaft und Kunst — Erhaltung von Kulturgut in Germany; the University of Pennsylvania’s Graduate Program in Historic Preservation and Columbia University’s Historic Preservation program in the United States.15 While the scope of a conservator (and his/her academic formation) may vary from country to country, the fundamental precepts of history, theory, philosophy and a conservation methodology based in scientific investigation are common to all. The examples listed above provide a variety of templates for program and curriculum design and serve as a model for what is possible in Asia. It is necessary to acknowledge that these programs exist because there is a market value for these skills and a place in the workforce where this trained professional fits. As remarked earlier, the university and the marketplace are interconnected in a symbiotic relationship.
Conclusion
Thirty years ago, Sasi Prakas Sorey (1981: 700), an Indian architect and planner, asserted:
‘India as well as other developing countries of the region […] require a more broad-based training programme, where the principles of Conservation should be well integrated with basic training of disciplines such as Architecture, Engineering and Town Planning. The danger of treating Conservation as an isolated subject, in the context of developing countries, is that Conservation is often mis-understood as a luxurious and extravagant idea, which poor countries cannot afford’ [author’s capitals].
While some of Sorey’s observations remain true, much has happened in the past thirty years and the economic and political landscape of Asia has changed. A number of countries of the region have experienced unprecedented economic growth and, as others in this book explain, heritage has become a resource for illustrating and fueling that development. Today, many nations throughout Asia are better placed to invest seriously in the conservation of their cultural heritage. This includes paying much greater attention to their material built-heritage and ultimately calls for the cultivation of the conservator as a respected, well-paid professional. We believe that the role and expertise of the conservator is a valid and necessary profession.
Our work in Southeast Asia has led us into deeper conversations with conservation education professionals from around the region who have suggested that we should move beyond temporary band-aids. Clearly, the existing gap and underlying need for education and training in architectural materials conservation is woven within a more complex narrative of global trends, cultural values, debates about the scope of heritage conservation, market forces and historic hierarchies of knowledge. This narrative reflects current concerns in Asia – to be professional and on a par with international benchmarks denoting progress, modernity, sustainability and other ideals associated with globalisation. While a more in-depth analysis is merited and in part addressed by other chapters in this publication, what is crucial to comprehend is the context within which the educational conservation gap is situated.
Fundamentally, it is critical that regional heritage practitioners and educators continue to find common ground, not only with each other but also with international institutions, so that the next steps can be taken strategically. The expressed need for more targeted conservation education related to building materials or architecture should be answered by developing sustained training opportunities that offer concrete skills and provide regional conservation professionals with reasoned methodologies and clear criteria with which they can make more informed conservation decisions about the long-term preservation of the physical fabric. As Dardes (2009: 6) has explained, ‘Education, especially for the professions, is a process that involves more than learning about a topic. It’s about learning to become a professional, equipped with the expertise and the ethos to function within a community of peers.’ Naturally, we are not advocating that physical fabric is more important than either meaning or management. Instead, it is both a response to an unfulfilled need and a contribution to the objective of inculcating more holistic conservation approaches among Asia’s heritage practitioners. The response should be balanced with a respect for traditional craftsmanship and indigenous conservation practices, where they continue to exist, along with an acknowledgement of the values that shape various conservation approaches. The practical reality persists: if the historical material, site, or object no longer exists or is no longer recognisable, then what is the vessel that embodies the knowledge and stories of the past? Where is the evidence that serves as a reminder of its significance? Sites, buildings and objects should not only serve as de facto memorials, they may also (and often do) perform active roles in society as touchstones of memory and communal identity. They may be places of congregation, social exchange or veneration. However, without firm knowledge about how to preserve and maintain material evidence, we stand to lose many significant Asian physical markers of memory forever. If that occurs, any differences between management and conservation, or band-aids and more refined skills, will be immaterial.
Notes
1 In the writing of this essay, the authors wish to acknowledge the substantial research assistance provided by Ms. Kristina Nugent, an intern in the Education Department of the Getty Conservation Institute between September 2009 and September 2010.
2 For example, Crafts Net, Crafts Match or, in Afghanistan, the Turquoise Mountain Institute for Afghan Arts and Architecture. For these initiatives, see www.ahpada.com, www.craftsnet.org, www.craftsmatch.org, www.wccapr.org, www.turquoisemountain.org and www.unescobkk.org/culture.
3 See the National Park Service’s Cultural Resource Management Guideline, which indicates that ‘Cultural resource management involves research, to identify, evaluate, document, register and establish other basic information about cultural resources; planning, to ensure that this information is well integrated into management processes for making decisions and setting priorities; and stewardship, under which planning decisions are carried out and resources are preserved, protected, and interpreted to the public’ (NPS 1998).
4 ‘Management’ reappeared in the Guidelines as of February 1997 (WCH-97/2, paragraph 6 v) and has been included up to the present.
5 In 2008 a professional journal, Heritage Management, was established in the USA, and in 2011 the Journal of Cultural Heritage Management and Sustainable Development was created in the UK.
6 The State of World Heritage in the Asia-Pacific Region was adopted in July 2003 by the World Heritage Committee at its 27th session, and published as part of the World Heritage Paper Series no. 12: http://whc.unesco.org/documents/publi_wh_papers_12_en.pdf
7 Note, for example, how UNESCO’s World Heritage Center is increasingly attempting to provide guidance about management, as seen in the revisions of the World Heritage Convention’s Operational Guidelines and in other publications, such as WHC-07/16.GA/12: http://whc.unesco.org/archive/2007/whc07–16ga-12e.pdf (accessed 12 May 2010). However, there remains no single blueprint for what constitutes a ‘management plan’, in part because of inherent differences in management structures, policies and institutions worldwide.
8 See, for example, English Heritage’s definition of conservation: ‘the process of managing change to a significant place in its setting in ways that will best sustain its heritage values, while recognising opportunities to reveal or reinforce those values for present and future generations’ (English Heritage 2008: Overview).
9 Note the emphasis on ‘management’. In the AAHM most programs emphasise the management of heritage resources, focusing on the systems which intersect and influence the condition and preservation of those resources. Graduates of these programs often find employment either in the public sector – where Asian governments are increasingly devoting resources to protect and promote their cultural heritage – or in private companies that are trying to profit from the increasing awareness, by Asians and non-Asians alike, of the uniqueness of that heritage. See www.unescobkk.org/culture/our-projects/empowerment-of-the-culture-profession/asian-academy-for-heritage-management/
10 Three examples are the World Heritage Institute for Training and Research – Asia Pacific, in Shanghai, the Architectural Conservation Program at Hong Kong University and the National Museum Institute, India. Furthermore, the Asia Pacific Cultural Center for UNESCO (ACCU) in Nara, Japan offers a short course on wood conservation and three national research centers – the Asia Cooperation Programme in Conservation Science at the National Institute of Cultural Heritage Training Program in Daejeon, Korea (KOICA), the National Research Institute of Cultural Properties in Tokyo and the National Museum Institute of History of Art, Conservation and Museology in New Delhi, India – do engage in materials research.
11 A few examples of foreign field projects and organised courses where training of local professionals occurs are the Fondazione Lerici field projects at Vat Phou, Lao PDR and My Son, Vietnam, the Ecole-Française d’Extrême-Orient (throughout much of south, southeast and east Asia), the Ecole de Chaillot (east and southeast Asia), and several international projects at Angkor in Cambodia. In this last example, training is a condition of receiving a project permit, not unlike what occurs in other countries, such as Egypt. However, ‘training’ is neither defined nor monitored in a systematic way. In the case of Angkor, although work is routinely reviewed in biannual ICC (International Coordinating Committee for the Safeguarding and Development of the Historic Site of Angkor) meetings, the training component of international work is not evaluated. As a result, the commitment to cultivating a class of self-sufficient, informed conservation professionals can sometimes be frustratingly weak and can vary dramatically (Thomson 2007).
12 The survey was conducted by searching library holdings for Proceedings and the internet for records or announcements of past or upcoming events. This cursory survey was limited by information available in English.
13 These challenges are related to internet accessibility and connectivity as well as its associated costs, the continuing importance of face to face contact in relationship building and maintenance for many cultures throughout the Asia Pacific, and the hurdles of language.
14 This is more firmly established in North America but is increasingly the case throughout Europe.
15 These are a few among many. One of the best directories for international training in conservation is the ICCROM international training directory www.iccrom.org/db_train.php.
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