This text is from the publication Permanence Through Change: The Variable Media Approach, published in 2003 by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum and the Daniel Langlois Foundation for Art, Science, and Technology.

The following are excerpts from "Preserving the Immaterial: A Conference on Variable Media," which took place at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, on March 30-31, 2001.The conversation between Meg Webster, Carol Stringari, and Jon Ippolito about the reproducibility of Webster's highly ephemeral work Stick Spiral is preceded by an introductory text by Carol Stringari.

I would prefer not to have the work treated with chlorine—like a swimming pool—to be kept fresh. But if the owner desires it, then he can have it. I do not mind that the work changes over time, it will anyway. The water can be clear for a while, then allowed to grow, then made clear again. It is a living work and should be enjoyed as such.

This quote from Meg Webster's documentation of Cone of Water (1989) exemplifies the artist's fluid idea about how her works should live in the future. The artist creates works that are conceptual in nature but heavily reliant on specific, natural materials. Although Webster accepts change, she has established parameters, e.g., re-creations should reflect the unique circumstances of the installation and surrounding natural environment. Therefore materials such as water, salt, or twigs are not stored because it is impractical and unnecessary. The artist compiles guidelines that often come in a box of documentation, which contains a certificate of authenticity, narrative instructions (or score) for installation, drawings, and photographs. The artist prefers to be contacted when a work is being installed to determine the variability of the piece. Ideally, her thoughts about each re-creation should also become part of the history and documentation of the work and be added to the box.

To create Stick Spiral (1986) requires more than simply replicating the viewer's experience of the original version. Webster stipulates that the branches used to construct this ephemeral installation be pruned from the local region recently enough to bear foliage, odor, and/or fruit of the current season. Her ecological mandate insists that installers of the work find branches already cut for purposes other than the exhibition itself. Destroying nature to make art would be anathema to the artist's aesthetic. The process by which the work is constructed is equally important to the appearance of the final product. Webster essentially instructs the installers of Stick Spiral to enact a kind of performance—albeit one invisible to the public.

From a preservationist's perspective, the documents, photographs, certificates, and videotapes fall into the storage category, and should be conserved to inform future recreations of the work. Strategies for preserving the installation itself would most aptly fall into the migration and reinterpretation realms, for which the artist is working with the Guggenheim to define parameters. She is open to transformations and variability, yet her question "What makes something mine, as opposed to someone else's?" is a valid philosophical concern for many contemporary works—the crux of the argument for defining parameters while artists are still alive. Because Stick Spiral is heavily medium dependent yet ephemeral, it is a perfect case study to define the evolving nature of our stewardship of the unconventional.

The following are excerpts from "Preserving the Immaterial: A Conference on Variable Media," which took place at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, on March 30-31, 2001.

Carol Stringari: What we have as documentation of your work is some sketches and communication between the curators and yourself. At this point, would you go back and write a score?

Meg Webster: Actually, I should go back, think through what we learned, and make additions to the box. Once a work sold, I put all the documentation into a well-crafted box as a way of containing a description of each piece. Now, I would add video—photographs were always a part of the documentation—but video would definitely be a part of the record if I were to create another box.

CS: You would videotape the actual installation as a definitive prescription?

MW: I wouldn't use video as a definitive prescription, but I would record what happened. I'm more interested in the way that Stick Spiral might be built in the future, how it might change, and what that change would add to the work.

CS: You're ecologically minded, and you specify that the sticks have to have been cut or blown down for reasons other than the installation. In the event that we couldn't find branches to create the piece—

MW: You would have to wait for a storm.

CS: We would wait. [Laughter] That could be a problem in an institution. Anyway— [Laughter]

MW: Well, you could have an institution devoted to making works like mine.

CS: There's no mandate to use the same type of branches again if the piece is installed in the same space or the same location. We could use what can be found at the time?

MW: Yes, and perhaps the work would generate out of those specific materials. It's important that it's a spiral into which one enters and out of which one is able to see at some points. I need to define the true parameters.

CS: If you could only find sticks enough to make it knee level, would it work?

MW: Well, I don't know. Maybe it would work. That would be something else—a spiral on the floor would be much more visible. It'd become a whole different thing.

 

CS: You're ecologically minded, and you specify that the sticks have to have been cut or blown down for reasons other than the installation. In the event that we couldn't find branches to create the piece—

MW: You would have to wait for a storm.

CS: We would wait. [Laughter] That could be a problem in an institution. Anyway— [Laughter]

MW: Well, you could have an institution devoted to making works like mine.

CS: There's no mandate to use the same type of branches again if the piece is installed in the same space or the same location. We could use what can be found at the time?

MW: Yes, and perhaps the work would generate out of those specific materials. It's important that it's a spiral into which one enters and out of which one is able to see at some points. I need to define the true parameters.

CS: If you could only find sticks enough to make it knee level, would it work?

MW: Well, I don't know. Maybe it would work. That would be something else—a spiral on the floor would be much more visible. It'd become a whole different thing.

CS: This brings up a number of issues in terms of performance, installation, and museum responsibility. We would now probably videotape the installation. But I think within the videotape, there would have to be some further description. Because museum staff are afraid to make a mistake, they return to that installation photograph and arrange the piece exactly the way it was originally. They don't know the parameters are variable.

MW: There is another important question: Am I the only one who can decide on the parameters? I could deem an institution responsible for deciding on the parameters.

Tiffany Ludwig: If this were to become a permanent piece, would it exist within a limited time frame? Or could it even be considered as a permanent piece?

MW: Well, the sticks do fall apart after a while; they deteriorate. If it was constructed outside, the deterioration might become part of the work. After a number of years, the ground would become rich due to the decomposing material. It could be made as a living work as well.

CS: Meg, one of the problems of installing Stick Spiral here at the Guggenheim Museum was exposure of traditional works in the collection to any sort of organisms or animals. We had to do a lot of research on fumigating. Now, in terms of ecology—

MW: Were they fumigated?

Jon Ippolito: We had five truckloads of branches, [laughter] and each truckload was treated differently. Let's see, we fumigated the first two loads fairly generously. We had two weeks to find five giant truckloads of twigs in Manhattan; if it hadn't been for the storm, we would've been doomed. For the first few loads, we did a fairly diligent job of intensive fumigation after researching what would be the most ecological fumigation, a total contradiction in terms, but we tried. As for the branches that came from the storm, I believe we left them out long enough so that the vermin could basically—

MW: But we did have a mouse.

JI: Yes, in the end, we had a stowaway in the gallery.

CS: Well, the mouse is less a concern than certain types of spiders and bugs that would come into the museum and lay eggs, for example. Because there are very few methods of fumigation that are not chemical, we questioned whether we could ecologically fumigate your work. Although there is a method of placing the branches in an
oxygen-free environment for weeks and weeks, we didn't have the time to do this. How do you feel about that?

MW: It's a problem. It's nature versus culture. It's a complicated world out there, and we like things very clean and safe. I suppose I should have a clever answer, but—

JI: That's what the questionnaire's for. We don't just rely on some sort of pat form; we tailor questions particular to each work and each artist. The fumigation question is for Meg. I thought of a few other questions for you, including if we were to loan this piece to a museum in the desert, the Guggenheim Las Vegas for example, would a cactus qualify as a branch? If installed in the dead of winter, when there is no foliage, could you use branches without evidence of recent life? If you were to install it on an island, would you have to go to the nearest fallen branches, which might be thousands of miles away on some mainland?