Behind the scenes of fashion conservation: A conversation with Cesar Rodriguez Salinas

After training as a general conservator, Bilbao-native Cesar Rodriguez Salinas specialised in textiles and fashion costumes. He applied his knowledge and keen eye to various European collections and museums, including the Cristóbal Balenciaga Museum, before settling at the Kunstmuseum Den Haag in 2018. Major exhibitions such as “Art Deco: Paul Poiret” and “Titanic & Fashion” were under his care.

FashionUnited spoke with Rodriguez Salinas about restoration and the role of heritage. He also discussed the tension between preserving the past as it was and refurbishing archival fashion for presentation to a wide audience.

Could you briefly guide us through your career?

In 2006, I completed my five-year bachelor's degree in fine arts in Spain, specialising in restoration. I learned to conserve everything related to heritage: photography; paper; paintings; textiles; and metals.

Towards the end, I got an opportunity to train at the Balenciaga Museum in Getaria. From 2011 to 2013, I worked there on the original collection of Cristóbal Balenciaga. I was involved in research, conservation, and scientific investigation. I learned things I had never considered as a student, such as why certain pieces deteriorated while others did not.

That experience opened my eyes and gave me direction for my master's degree, which focused on science and heritage for textiles. I studied for two years. Afterwards, I started travelling through Europe and gaining work experience, including six months at MoMu in Antwerp. Then I came across the Kunstmuseum's vast fashion collection, which dates back to the 17th century and includes a textile conservation studio. After a freelance project, I was able to stay because the previous conservator was retiring.

My dream was to explore Europe for a bit and then go to America: the American dream. Now, I am quite happy in the Netherlands. I also have a family here and have become a father. I have been the head of textile conservation since 2018.

What was it like to be so close to the creative process at Balenciaga and be guided in archival research?

For someone who had just left university, barely spoke a word of English, and came from a very small town, working for the foundation was an adventure.

I had always identified with Cristóbal because he is Basque, like me—Bilbao is in the Basque Country—and also because of the precision with which he created fashion.

Once a year, there was a lunch with the surviving seamstresses from Cristóbal's time. They were old ladies, well into their eighties, who had survived the war. They would also look at your work and say things like: “Cristóbal would have ripped that sleeve right off.”

He had long since passed away by then (1972), but through the stories of these ladies, you got to know a little of who he was. From that, I understood that what he made were not just beautiful clothes for a body, but an act of perfection through needle and thread.

What does a typical working day look like?

The Kunstmuseum's collection is incredibly diverse, ranging from centuries-old utilitarian objects to modern designer garments, and that forms the basis of my work. One day I might receive enquiries from researchers or museums for a loan; the next, I dive deep into the archives.

There are also always strict exhibition deadlines. If a key piece is selected that is not in good condition, I have to make a plan to save it.

I also supervise students with fashion and conservation backgrounds. I tailor their internships to the studio's needs at the time, such as a historical reconstruction, but it must always link to the collection.

This year, for example, I worked with a fashion student on a replica of an 18th-century robe à la française that had already been altered three times. We had to determine the final version. I taught her how to look through the original fabric to identify the pleats and create a pattern from them.

What projects are running alongside the exhibitions?

This week, I hosted experts in the history, traditions, and culture of Suriname for advice on three angisas from our collection. These are headscarves worn by women after the emancipation of Suriname. The angisa is made from a cotton print that is about 100 years old. I had to clean it without erasing the traces of its history. I cleaned the piece to return it to a good state of preservation.

What kind of research is conducted in the studio and who determines the questions?

We have had a new director, Margriet Schavemaker, since last year, and with every change, new goals are set. One of them is to gather more knowledge about the collection. Imagine you have an iconic dress that has never been properly studied; you want to understand where the dress was produced, why it has worn out, and how to treat every component, from the plastics to the feathers.

We conduct research together with other institutions. In the Netherlands, there is the Cultural Heritage Agency of the Netherlands (RCE). The RCE has chemists who can identify the original dye from a single thread. A specialist takes the fibre to the lab, analyses it, and identifies the dyes it contains. My job is then to find out why the colour has faded, for example.

That kind of research has no deadline. It is an ongoing process, with the final result being a publication or a lecture. The other track involves students who want to learn more about fashion.

How does the restoration process work?

If the colour has faded, we cannot simply re-dye a piece. From a museum ethics perspective, the goal is to preserve the story as it is now. We document what happened to a garment before it came to us.

For instance, there was a 17th-century doublet, one of our masterpieces. We always thought it was yellow and green, but research showed it was originally purple and green. You do not bring back the purple, but you do officially record what it once was. You can potentially use a digital reconstruction to show the public how vibrant the colours must have been.

Which pieces do get restored?

Sometimes, a textile is so badly damaged that it can no longer be displayed on a mannequin. That is when you move from conservation to restoration: you look for a solution to strengthen the material for presentation.

Take ‘weighted silk’, for example. This is silk that was treated with metallic salts to make it feel heavier and more luxurious, but those salts are now eating the fabric from the inside out. We do not currently have the technology to remove and replace those salts.

It is always an ethical consideration. Do you replace the lining of a dress so you can still exhibit it? Or do you keep the piece in its damaged state, hoping that in 10 or 20 years a technique will exist that can save the material?

With a painting, almost everyone knows what you can and cannot do, but with clothing, the question is: what is acceptable? I just put my own clothes in the washing machine – so why is that not allowed here in the museum? Museums have different rules, and they are relatively new.

Is the work of a conservator solitary?

Yes and no. For a three-metre-long tapestry, you work with a whole team, but with a dress, you prefer not to have too many hands on the fabric; there simply is not enough space.

When I am focused on a piece, I enjoy the solitude and autonomy. My profession is comparable to that of doctors: physicians can have different ideas about what is best for the patient. Ultimately, as a conservator, you have to make the best judgement for the object in front of you.

I feel quite solitary in the studio, but the required knowledge sharing is very social. My network extends from Belgium and Spain to the US and France. I have close ties with institutions from the Institut National du Patrimoine in Paris to those in America. These contacts are essential because everyone has a different specialisation.

To what extent are you dependent on that network?

In the Netherlands, the talent pool is small. The Rijksmuseum has three textile conservators, the Kunstmuseum has me, and beyond that, there are mostly freelancers. Very few permanent professionals are attached to institutions. I believe you have to help each other. You get more back when you share information than when you keep everything to yourself.

Can you recall a particularly special restoration project?

For years, a special donation had been lying in a plastic bag in the studio, kept as reference material. The object had once been a dress made of Leavers lace: very fine lace embroidered with a French technique typical of the 1920s. Later, during a visit to the Victoria & Albert Museum for a loan for the Coco Chanel exhibition, I saw the exact same lace in a display case. Through the curator, I got in touch with the owner—it was a loan from Los Angeles—to compare the pattern.

After further research, including visits to the Chanel archives in Paris and the city archives, I discovered that the piece in our studio was most likely an original surviving Chanel from the era before the little black dress—a very special period. After even more research, the lace and beads were indeed confirmed to be original.

When do you enjoy your work the most?

That is often in the interactions. In 2025, the Kunstmuseum participated in the TV programme ‘Secrets of the Museum’. After the broadcast, emails poured in from ladies, many of them elderly, who wanted to meet me. Sometimes they brought donations.

One 94-year-old lady donated a piece of Liberty fabric from her mother's wedding dress. Through my contacts at the Liberty archive, I was able to tell her that this piece is documented as originating from 1942 or 1943. She became very emotional about that. We were allowed to keep the loose pieces of the dress; she felt the museum was the right place to preserve it. Had that lady never found us, we would never have known that the dress dated from the 1940s.

Without these kinds of stories, conservation and restoration would be a dry occupation. I find the relationships and knowledge that arise alongside the conservation work more special.

The museum's restoration and conservation department is now 60 years old. Has much changed?

The ethical principles have changed over the years. This year we are celebrating our anniversary, and my contribution to that project was to go through the archives and see who worked in conservation before me. There will be a catalogue of about 200 pages, with different stories and approaches to restoration as a profession but also as a history of our fashion collection. What fascinated me was that even when the profession was not as developed, a lot was already being documented.

The first textile conservator started here in 1966, specifically as a fashion conservator, which was exceptional. Her name is Vera and she lives in the Dominican Republic. Making contact was difficult at first, until I discovered she speaks Spanish. After that, we clicked immediately. She even sent me her wedding photos afterwards; that says a lot.

Through her, I learned that the profession was more focused on restoration: you had to make pieces look as new as possible. Nowadays, it is more about the story and how best to pass it on. As a conservator, you want to be invisible. If a visitor can tell that a dress has been worked on for six months, then you have not done your job well. You do not want to leave a trace.

Are the materials and methods you use different?

Definitely. In the 2000s, the use of synthetic materials was normal or even considered good. That is different now. We are more aware of the climate, the environment, and health. The hydrocarbons that were widely used in the past—very effective for removing stains, but harmful to your health—are now barely available, and that is a good thing.

I try to use as little detergent as possible and use natural dyes, which can achieve results comparable to synthetic ones.

I was trained by people who were active in the late 1980s, so I know the old methods. I had to teach myself the modern approach. You have to keep updating your knowledge and stay motivated to improve the sustainability of your profession.

How do you feel in the studio?

It is only a small space where many people pass through. Those people make the place special. When I feel homesick, I never miss the place itself, but the memories. We conservators eventually leave—we retire, or whatever happens. The pieces, however, remain. My personal goal—apart from assignments and my role—is to leave behind something of value for the future.