This chapter offers an exploration of how an in-depth look at material, and the question of when mimetic practice is appropriate, inform what it means to care for an artwork. Artworks fabricated in the twentieth century have drastically changed. This in turn demands a re-evaluation of the purpose and values shaping conservation theory and practice, in order to meet the needs of modern and contemporary artworks. Whereas the conservator was traditionally charged with the role of preserving the perceived authentic material state of an artefact, this is no longer always relevant or desirable for contemporary artworks. The contemporary art conservator’s role can thus be seen as having shifted from preserving and maintaining original material, to being charged with the task of reinterpreting artworks as they inherently change (Scheidemann 2009, 8). It is a process which reflects how preservation practices mirror the ideology of their time. In trying to preserve the meaning of an artwork, the contemporary art conservator has come to interpret a much more open context which allows for a greater variety of original creative intentions. Conservators are thus increasingly gathering information to contextualise artworks – their purpose and values – led by the framework of the artwork in question. When we consider mimetic practices such as material replacement for stability and visual integrity, and whether or not to apply them to contemporary artworks, the process of investigation allows us to map out the framework in which an artwork functions. Questions of what ‘care’ is lead us to a better understanding of what ‘needs’ are.
In order to begin to find solutions to the problems posed by modern and contemporary artworks, first, for any work, a conservator must ask what the work is, in order to understand what framework needs to be upheld: what is significant to the work, and what treatments are permissible?1 In order to begin to answer these questions, modern guidelines have been set up by those working with contemporary artworks, which generally include interviewing the artist, where possible, in order to register the artwork’s context (Irvin 2005).
At a basic level, contemporary art conservators have started researching the behaviour of new art materials and technologies in order to understand and assess their process of ageing better, and how this might be combated where appropriate. This research is shared amongst professionals to create a growing body of knowledge. But in addition to looking at what the material is, the question is to consider why the material is. Standard conservation methodology is coming to include new models which incorporate documentation, material-condition research, and significantly clarifying the artist’s intent (Wharton 2005). Following this inclusive model, conservators are tasked with first identifying whether any physical change in an artwork is desirable, or whether preventive conservation efforts are warranted. After understanding which degrees of change are acceptable or even desirable, a conservator can begin to consider what options are available for carrying the artwork forward. This includes studies of material analysis, addressing research literature as well as the artist’s documented intent, and perhaps even considering whether it is the artist who gets the final say.
I am interested in the questions that material manipulation raises: when and how material is applied and replaced, and what this tells us about the perimeters of the artwork. Both of the case studies which will be discussed within this chapter are artworks that are constructed of ephemeral materials, which is to say that they are works which are physically vulnerable. Technically, all material is physically vulnerable, and, as is increasingly echoed across conservation, nothing lasts forever. However, there are differing degrees of vulnerability, and some material artworks are inherently less stable than others. The ephemerality that will be discussed is not necessarily intentional, as will be elucidated by the examples given. For Bag of donuts (1989) we can clearly see that the artist has played a significant and conscious role in mitigating this ephemerality, applying mimetic tools of both material substitution and later replication, in attempt to counteract what conservators in contemporary art refer to as a work’s inevitable ‘inherent vice’ caused by its very material selection. Inherent vice should be understood as the anticipated material vulnerability. For instance, a work made out of ice will inevitably melt. In some cases, the material can be stabilised, for instance by regulating the room temperature – as with Marc Quinn’s self-portrait series, Self (1991), cast from the artist’s own blood, discussed in Jeroen Stumpel’s chapter in this volume. The blood portraits are intentionally and permanently kept frozen, or indeed sometimes an artwork’s material can be replaced. By contrast, in Francis Alÿs’ work Silencio (2013), the artist seems largely unaware of his work’s physical vulnerability, and is merely uninformed about this aspect of his work. Ephemerality, as used within the context of this chapter, therefore indicates a short-lived or transitory nature, caused by either material selection or construction, and necessitating some form of intervention if a physical work is to endure. Mimetic interventions – to replace and stabilise – can in some instances become a means to conserve and promote longevity. In conversation with the material, and through a deeper look at how it provides narrative, we gain a deeper understanding of the artwork as a whole and insight into its needs and care.
1 Bag of Donuts
Bag of donuts (1989), by American artist Robert Gober (b. 1954), is one of a total edition of 8. Each edition consists of an identical bag which the artist carefully hand-cut and shaped out of archival paper and filled with a dozen doughnuts made from actual dough. Each edition was signed and dated by the artist, with ‘R Gober 1989’ on the underside of the fabricated bag. Bag of donuts is potentially problematic on many levels, and raises a variety of issues, starting with the selection of material, i.e. the highly perishable doughnuts. As this work is discussed in more detail, I will pay specific attention to the role that the material plays in shaping it, how the dough has been manipulated, and what the role of the artist and the conservator are in this. It is this dialogue of material manipulation which sheds light on and pertains to the discourse of conservation theory.
In October 1989, a solo exhibition of Robert Gober’s works opened at the Paula Cooper Gallery in New York City. The artist’s works were arranged in multiple rooms. In the second room – against the artist’s work Male and female genital wallpaper – sat the sculpture Bag of donuts, displayed on a pedestal (Smith 1989). With Bag of donuts, the artist attempted to represent the original object by using its associated materials and production techniques, which included making doughnuts out of actual dough, a dozen in each bag, and the construction and use of a paper bag. The work perfectly mimicked a nondescript bag of doughnuts one might purchase in a doughnut shop.
The opening of the show was attended by, among others, the critic, curator, and artist Ed Brzezinski. A seemingly unaware Brzezinski took one of the doughnuts out of the bag, and bit into it. As Brzezinski later commented: ‘I noticed this bag of doughnuts sitting on a pedestal. Plain doughnuts with no sugar. I figured somebody had brought them and then gotten tired of them. So I grabbed one and bit it. It tasted stale’ (Birnbaum 1997).
Eating artworks is not completely uncommon or always undesired. As part of the Eat art! exhibition at the Busch-Reisinger Museum in 2002, German artist Sonja Alhäuser (b. 1969) constructed a work entitled Exhibition basics, consisting of three wholly edible sculptures – chocolate pedestals, dyed pale green with food colouring to match the museum’s other nonedible pedestals. On top of the chocolate pedestals stood caramel vitrines housing marzipan figurines of artists Joseph Beuys and Dieter Roth, an homage to two artists who experimented with foodstuffs as art materials between the 1950s and 1980s, as well as an edible figurine of the artist herself.
The relationship between the art audience and Alhäuser’s works is one of literal consumption, – whereby the audience receives the artwork through eating it. The sensual process of consumption causes the inevitable destruction of the work, yet this simultaneously finalises it. As clarified by the artist, ‘the audience is needed to effectively complete the work, to help it fulfil its destiny of being destroyed to be created’ (Peacock 2006). The participatory consumption of the work informs the experience, whereby the audience does not simply watch the work unfold, but actively helps to unshape or unmake it. As Alhäuser explained, ‘I use chocolate, popcorn, and caramel to construct these objects because I want to entice visitors to nibble on them, to engage all their senses in an appreciation of the work’ (Peacock 2018).
Brzezinski, in taking a bite out of Bag of donuts, was less fortunate. First and foremost, he had failed to recognise the artwork as indeed ‘an artwork’. Gober had not created the work for consumption. Moreover, Brezinski’s unfortunate interaction with the doughnut did not go unnoticed. Another visitor at the opening exclaimed: ‘Hey, this isn’t Dunkin Donuts!’, while the artist approached Brzezinski and stated: ‘This person saw you take a bite out of my doughnuts and put it in your pocket. You break it, you buy it.’2 After this, gallery attendants ejected Brzezinski from the exhibition venue.
By this time, Brzezinski had learned that Bag of donuts was indeed not just a bag of doughnuts. The doughnuts, through their placement on a pedestal, in an art exhibition in a gallery, composed by the artist, had been transformed into an artwork. Placement – the gallery – signposts the context through which material is to be read. Bag of donuts was more than just its namesake. Moreover, the doughnuts had been transformed not only in status – raised from foodstuff to artwork – but also in material composition. The artist had, in collaboration with conservator Christian Scheidemann, found a means of manipulating the dough in order to extend the work’s overall longevity. This probably caused the doughnuts to taste stale, as Brzezinski noted. Scheidemann degreased the doughnuts in order to avoid staining the paper bags, treating them in a low- pressure tank with acetone, after which they were refilled with paraloid B72, an acrylic resin, in order to ensure their structural integrity (Mead 2009). Moreover, Gober had coated his doughnuts with Rhoplex, a preservative chemical. Both processes could be considered mimetic tools for the purpose of preventative conservation. Brzezinski threw up, and was taken to hospital in an ambulance, where he was informed that, as the chemical was dry, it would pass through his system, but that he was lucky, for if it had been liquid, it would likely have killed him.3
Gober compared his work to ‘natural history dioramas about contemporary human beings’ (Mead 2009). Bag of donuts captivated and confused as it played on themes of objecthood and realness. Given Brzezinski’s response to the work in situ, it is fair to say the artist successfully accomplished this confusion. In 2013, Bag of donuts was displayed at the National Gallery of Modern Art in Edinburgh, and one of the doughnuts went missing. As with the 1989 incident, the artist replaced the missing doughnut, another mimetic intervention as part of a conservation effort.
So we are presented with doughnuts which have been physically altered, and with an installation which features new components – the replaced doughnuts. The significance of this is that we see how material can be understood as the subtext for an artist’s practice and theory. In the case of Gober’s work, the material here asks us to think of when a bag of doughnuts is indeed more than a bag of doughnuts, and each doughnut is itself a transformed doughnut, built for longevity: a super-immortal doughnut, if you will. When things are not what they seem, this raises a discussion around material and context – whether mimetic manipulation adds to or detracts from the work. When things are not what they seem, we are able to reconsider what the real thing is. Material change, as illustrated through mimetic practice, forces a dialogue around what we see as the artwork. Works such as Bag of donuts elucidate the fact that there is a dialogue occurring between the artwork’s narrative and its form, which must be clarified by the artist if we are to understand where the perimeters of the artwork are and how we can indeed authentically represent and display the work.
2 Decision Making and Material Identity
In order to address material and its role within an artwork, the Stichting Behoud Moderne Kunst (SBMK), which is the Dutch Foundation for the Conservation of Contemporary Art, has produced a decision-making model for the conservation and restoration of modern and contemporary art. The model was presented at the symposium Modern art: who cares? in 1977, and is still used today. It highlights the importance of understanding meaning and the application of material, which is described as follows:
The meaning of a work, however, is layered and certainly not unambiguous. One can speak of meaning imparted by the artist, but also by a context (criticism, group, style, time), by a place (collection, country, ‘site-specific’), or event (performance). In addition, the choice of material and working method has consequences for the meaning of the work. Finally there are also ideological (political, philosophical and religious) layers of meaning.4
Material identity, as with the works illustrating this chapter, is constructed not only through the selection of material, but also through its application, as well as any actions undertaken on the material, e.g. chemically altering it or replacing it. Their material is, to borrow from art historian Rebecca Gordon, both structure and signifier, because of the significance of both material selection and its application. Gordon introduces the idea of ‘material as structure’ and ‘material as signifier’ in her article ‘Material significance in contemporary art’ (Gordon 2013). The notion of material as ‘structure’ is developed from artists she has interviewed, whereas the notion of material as ‘signifier’ is developed from the ideas of earlier scholars whom Gordon acknowledges, including the philosopher and semiotician Roland Barthes (1977). In this sense, echoing the philosopher and communication theorist Marshall McLuhan (1994), ‘the medium is the message.’ And sometimes – but not always – this includes physical change as part of the message. McLuhan was active in communication theory, but his overall postulation – that a medium actively shapes how a message is received – has increasingly been applied in other fields, including arts practice. The significance of McLuhan’s statement is inadvertently reiterated by conservator Christian Scheidemann, in his essay ‘Material as language in contemporary art’, where the selection of material and its application are seen as critical elements to reading and understanding the artwork as a whole.5 What is brought to the fore with increasingly unconventional art materials is the question as to what the material selection conveys and how it informs the artwork. Material instability can sometimes situate and contextualise the artwork – decomposition might be desirable. But, as we see in instances such as Gober’s Bag of donuts, the material might inform the artwork, but the material’s inherent fragility can and should in some instances be mitigated. This notion that the material of art is fundamental for understanding the artwork’s meaning also finds traction in earlier art historical discussions pertaining to more traditional modes of art, including the art historian Henri Focillon’s Vie des formes (2004, published in English as The life of forms in art). Here Focillon emphasised the importance of considering the material of art in understanding its meaning. This argument can be pushed further, as is done in this chapter, to state that not only material selection, but also material change due to its inherent properties, or else through its construction and subsequent action, tell us something about an artwork and shape an artwork’s overall message and experience.
Gober’s super immortal doughnuts are no longer your average deli doughnut. All materials move and act to a certain degree; no physical material is completely stable. However, consideration must be paid to materials which rapidly degrade and to the question of how to cope with inevitable material changes. What is done with artworks which are particularly unstable offers interesting insights into their maker’s practice and the intended lives of these works. For instance, the American artist Janine Antoni (b. 1964) has created works out of foodstuffs similar to those used by Gober, such as chocolate and fat, and has, like him, not embraced the transience of her works. Antoni actively participates with conservators in trying to find suitable conservation strategies for physically preserving her works and ensuring some form of longevity, often incorporating mimetic tools. In Antoni’s case, the deliberate material decisions are, as the art historian Martha Buskirk (2003, 137) describes it, ‘not an end in themselves, but (serve) as a means of addressing a wide range of cultural as well as personal references.’ Here, the artist is aware of the material’s intrinsic physical characteristics, and uses them by sculpting her works through gnawing and licking, as well as using their symbolic and cultural associations. However, she is unwilling to let her pieces fall prey to what in contemporary art conservation is referred to as the material’s ‘inherent vice’ – a fragility or instability caused by the selection and/or assemblage of materials which makes the work increasingly difficult to maintain (Wharton 2011, 166). All material artworks carry some sort of inherent vice by default. The follow-up question is what we do about this. Here the answer depends in part on the artist’s intent. For some works, inherent vice is a mere byproduct of material selection, though seemingly a somewhat inconvenient one. Artists such as Antoni and Gober collaborate with conservators to find suitable ways to combat this material instability, sometimes by replacing material, at other times by finding ways to manipulate it or replicate the visual work.
However, artists may use the same organic, highly changeable material for very different ends. Therefore, impermanence cannot be assumed from material alone (Heuman 1999, 10). Where possible in collaboration with the artist, the conservator discovers the framework of the artwork, whether it is transient or more permanent. In the latter case, the artist generally stipulates the terms upon which the work can be continued, such as whether or not the work’s original material is significant. Discussions with the artist that evaluate the artist’s intent and the conceptual importance attributed to temporality, as well as to the material authenticity of the work, serve as an early measure for predicting and anticipating possible intervention and treatments to understand where the future of the artwork might be (Cross et al. 2012, 18). They help us to address what changes are considered desirable for the work.
Countering what we have seen with Gober’s work, it should also be noted that artists creating ephemeral works are not always concerned with their work’s longevity. In fact, they may be opposed to the material work having any sort of long-term existence. Here, artist Jean Tinguely’s auto-destructive works form a prime example. Although many of Tinguely’s moving machines or Meta-matics were not envisioned as temporary works, the artist also created specifically temporary pieces – the first of which was Homage to New York – a work which performed its own ‘suicide’. It was commissioned in 1960 for the Sculpture Garden of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The work had been assembled out of various scrap materials compiled into a faltering machine designed to self-destruct. The machine clumsily did not quite manage to end itself of its own accord, so the artist intervened with an axe to help finalise the work’s destruction (which was simultaneously its completion). Eventually the work also caught fire, thereby reaching its conclusion. As stated by the artist:
Homage to New York was for me an attempt to liberate myself from the material. The best way to do this was to make it self-destroying, like Chinese fireworks, so that during the event – and naturally it became an event, a spectacle – all these materials, even the smoke, became part of the sculpture.6
The significance of the work lay in the tension of its performance and its irreproducibility – turning the work into a moment shared and experienced by a select few. The artwork was therefore less material object and more transient performance. As Tinguely went on to say: ‘What was important for me was that afterward there would be nothing, except what remained in the minds of a few people, continuing to exist in the form of an idea.’7 In instances like these, the artist’s conscious anticipation of building memory for the viewer turns the memory itself into what could be considered an intangible document and an indispensable part of the work. Homage to New York existed in the material performance and was supposed later to lie only in memory.
MoMa, however, did in fact salvage various bits out of the wreckage, storing them in their permanent collection under the heading Fragment from Homage to New York (1960). These fragments became de facto art artefacts, precious by their usurpation into the museum collection. It is questionable, however, whether the artist would have approved of this archiving and the subsequent status attributed to the fragments. Arguably, despite the museum’s attempt to salvage parts of the physical work, the “authentic” artwork, or the piece’s “true essence” escapes the salvaged fragments. For Tinguely, based on his statements, the actual artwork lay not in the material fragments left over, or indeed the initial structure; rather, it lay in the machine’s short-lived performance. As discussed by British artist Michael Landy (b. 1963), who curated a show on Tinguely, conjoint with his own work, at Tate Liverpool: ‘[Tinguely] wanted you to just witness the sculpture’s extinction but not possess it’(Pollard 2009). Here the value of temporariness is clear, in that it is used as a way of invoking questions within the viewer, opening up the discussion of the biography of a work of art – what it is meant to do, how it functions, and for how long. We need to be wary of the aestheticisation of the object taking precedence over the performative nature of the artwork as a whole, for this impacts how we might treat the physical work. There is a risk of not letting works perform as they are intended to, because we become precious about trying to conserve the material, or else, as in the case of MoMA, become precious of temporary artwork debris, treating these like valuable relics. It is not only artists, but also those individuals such as collectors and bodies such as museums, who contextualise and set the boundaries of artworks.
This precious collecting, and in turn contextualisation, can be seen in a lot of what are known as Fluxus objects. In this case there has been a great deal of scholarly concern around the fetishisation of the physical objects and remnants, which some feel threatens the core performative nature of the movement and risks perverting the contextualisation and focus of the works as a whole.8 The Fluxus objects, much like the auto-destructive works by Gustav Metzger or David Medalla, are ‘transient interactive objects’ (Philips 1997, 161). They are inherently meant to change, and significant value should not be placed on the material object.
The conservator of such a work of art must ask what the role of material is in terms of its symbolic reference: its visual role, as well as the importance of its possible temporality. What structure keeps the work alive? For intentionally ephemeral works that are physically transitory, the conservator has to work with more abstract concepts, such as how to preserve that which, in its physical essence, cannot be kept. The struggle, as described by artist Vera Lúcia Carmo (2014), is that ‘the object of conservation [has] ceased to exist, leaving only the object of exhibition’. In other words, the material object is no longer necessarily the point; rather, as sometimes with Tinguely, it is the work’s limited performance. This begs the question: how can the performance be preserved? To address the problems posed by these types of works, the role of conservator becomes that of ‘someone who manages change’ (Tate 2018).
Ephemeral artworks such as the Swiss-born artist Urs Fischer’s Untitled (2011) confront this inevitability of dematerialisation head-on, from inception onwards. Untitled, produced for the fifty-fourth Venice Biennale, consisted of three burning candles in the shape of Fischer’s office chair, a wax figure of his friend Rudolf Stingel, and a full-scale replica of Giambologna’s Rape of the Sabine women (1583). All of the wax figures contained wicks which were lit, and over the duration of the exhibition continued to burn and melt. The significance of Fischer’s work was perhaps most eloquently described by Guardian writer Jonathan Jones, who illuminated the experience: ‘Fischer’s candle-man haunted me later when I was walking the decaying streets of Venice. It will haunt me for a long time. It is a beautiful, funny, frightening emblem of time’s fatal arrow’ (Jones 2011). The tension of the work lay in the encapsulated experience of its inevitable loss, and the subsequent memory created of something that was, and cannot be repeated – a lost form, a past moment. Effectively experience driven artworks such as this play upon what Severin Fowles discusses as the ‘carnality of absence’. As he elaborates, ‘When absences become object-like, when they seem to exist not merely as an afterthought of perception but rather as self-standing presences out there in the world, they begin to acquire powers and potentialities similar to things’ (Fowles 2010, 25, 27). The viewer is arguably left with some aspect of the work after it is gone, whereby, as with Fischer’s Untitled (2011), the work can be said to continue to haunt the viewer precisely because it no longer exists. Scheidemann (2009, 9) makes a case for this kind of experience, claiming that ‘a work of art often is considerably more than just the components of its material in the consciousness of the average viewer’. Instead, the artwork encapsulates an experience, triggering later memory. With the changed dynamic of twentieth-century art practice, artworks are no longer understood as confined to, or solely existing within, their physical shells; rather, as exemplified by the temporary artwork, they lie in the experience and framework within which they move and are read. Part of the challenge conservators and collectors face lies in coming to terms with the vulnerability of some material artworks and trying to negotiate alternative ways of caring for these works. Sometimes this means respecting their intended material obsolescence. The conservator Pip Laurenson (2006) proposes that conservation efforts should focus on the ‘identity’ rather than the ‘state’ of an object.9 Although she develops this framework for time-based media artworks, she notes, critically, that she would envision its use for a wider range of artworks.
The ephemeral nature of some artworks thus raises inevitable questions regarding their material significance and durability. The imposed temporality, furthermore, greatly challenges traditional conservation conventions which aim, as evaluated by Muñoz-Viñas (2005, 15), to ‘keep something as it is, without changing it in any way: retaining its shape, status, ownership, use, etc.’ Instead it is increasingly clear that the methodology for conservation of contemporary art must take a more inclusive and individual approach into account, whilst still adhering to some guidelines (Davenport 1995, 52). The parameters of an artwork and possible conservative measures can both be elucidated from considerations not only of material selection, but also, critically, the artist’s condoned interventions, e.g. Gober’s modified doughnuts, where the mimetic role of the acrylic resin, and later complete replacement of a missing doughnut in the Edinburgh exhibition, play a central role.
3 Silencio
Silencio (2003), created by the Belgian-born, Mexico-based artist Francis Alÿs (b. 1959) is an installation piece which consisted of a room covered in 525 bright pop-art coloured rubber mats, each featuring the image of a finger being pressed to lips. The audience was invited to walk over the mats, which were fabricated near the artist’s residence in Mexico according to his design, and related to the typical doormats present in every Mexican doorway.
The work, which is currently in a private collection, was shown in 2010 at the Bonnefantenmuseum in Maastricht, where the artist had been nominated for and won a prestigious prize, the Biennial Award for Contemporary Art. At the time, the Bonnefantenmuseum was interested in acquiring Silencio, and asked conservator Claartje van Haaften to look into the durability of the work – how long would this piece last? What were the specifications for caring for it? Van Haaften’s considerations included: What is the rubber? Chemically, how stable is it? How can you diminish the wear that comes from the inevitable visitor interaction with this work, such as high heels, dirt, or even just the impact of daylight? But first of all, the focus was on the following: What was the work made of – what type of rubber? How were the mats constructed? A questionnaire was prepared for the artist – first of all, trying to figure out the ingredients of the material and the process of fabrication: how much heat, what glue, how much glue, which colorants, how they were mixed together – as all these aspects would impact the longevity of the rubber mats. The artist answered, with the aid of someone who worked at the factory. However, upon further investigation and through testing the actual material, Van Haaften discovered that the material was not in fact made of the components that the artist thought it was. Moreover, the work had been produced over a long time period, approximately seven years, as it was fabricated in a small four-person factory, so there was a clear variation between the mats depending on age, how they were constructed and how they were holding up over time. There had been changes in the production and the material that had been used to produce all 525 mats.
In conservation, while conservators increasingly involve the artist where possible, and ask what is right, it must also be asked whether the artist is always right. As the case of Silencio illustrates, sometimes it is simply the case that the artist does not know. Sometimes the questions being asked by conservators for collectors are not an important part of the work for the artist. In the case of Silencio, where the artist thought the work might last a hundred years, the conservation team concluded that the work might last thirty at most. Here the process through which the material was made and the small production in Mexico seemed to connect the work to the reference which had inspired the artist, namely, the ever-present Mexican doormats. Replacing the material or indeed the manufacturing process would have altered the work’s reference. Yet both material and process inevitably impact the longevity of the work, and therefore also impact the decision-making process for both the care and acquisition of the work.
4 Conclusion
When material is problematic, and when things are not what they seem to be, they ask us to look closer, be it as conservators, art historians, or other art audiences. Change – and the possibility of change – directs questions and furthers dialogue. The possibility of the mimetic – to replace material and visually manipulate – is an opening into a discussion of where the boundaries, and even the authenticity of an artwork lies. Bag of donuts and Silencio alike remind us that there is no standardised approach, but that instead, for each artwork, those charged with its care are guided by questions and a desire to understand what shapes the artwork, and how we can continue to represent this authentically. For Bag of donuts, the artist assisted in both the work’s material manipulation and its replacement. By contrast, in the case of Silencio, the work is what it is, and its material, in its selection and fabrication were determined not only by the artist, but also by the means through which the artist envisioned creating the work: small traditional Mexican labour. Though there are some pragmatic changes within the process of fabrication, afforded by the factory producing the mats over the course of seven years, subsequent material manipulation and intervention were not considered. The work’s ephemerality clarified the work’s process and echoed its circumstances.
Rather than simply looking at these two works as specific individual cases, they can be taken together to illustrate a larger framework in which they make sense and can be read, experienced, and cared for. Although the long-term conservation strategies vary for each work, together Bag of donuts and Silencio highlight a series of questions and considerations of what is possible, and how mimetic interventions such as material manipulation and visual assimilation influence an artwork. Discussions around mimetic practice can be used to map the requirements for an ephemeral artwork to persist. What these two case studies illustrate, then, is how material management is a lens by which to evaluate not only conservation practices, but also the theories which guide it, the questions which are asked, and the way in which art narrative is shaped and understood, and pertains to the role of the artist, the conservator and an artwork’s material. In discussion, the conservator Claartje Van Haaften stated that, in conservation, there is no hard science with hard facts, but rather a great deal of subjectivity. The role of conservators thus requires an awareness of the perspective from which they are negotiating, with a thought to the long-term view. How are artworks projected into the future, and how might the future look back at current action and intervention? Van Haaften looks at artworks and considers alternative display methods – the various ways in which an artwork can be exhibited. She proposes that there is no standardised approach, but rather that conservators are guided by the historical viewpoint and theory of their time.10 To develop effective decision-making strategies for the long-term preservation of ephemeral artworks, or indeed any artworks, we return to a work’s physical material, and consider what role it plays within the artwork as a whole. The significance of the material provides the subtext to the work: the material explains the work’s construction. The questions raised around material are a matter of understanding how something is put together in order to understand the thing itself and how to care for it. Through exploring material and its possible manipulation – when to change, copy, or replace – we begin to deconstruct the very means through which artworks are themselves framed and understood.
Acknowledgements
For those who love swansongs and the fractured ways we replay them. I wrote this for you.
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