Water Damage, Aug 2010

I woke up to a half dozen dog droppings and urine puddles from our two “house” trained toy poodles—they only go in the house. I was doing a second reconnaissance to gauge the extent of the feces damage when I noticed a flood in the conservatory which houses a portion of my art collection, layered against every surface like sedimentary rock. I instantly surveyed the damage and assessed a few pieces partially submerged in water and a further two framed works directly under the flow that had originated from the ceiling. Once the immediate shock wore off, and that took some getting used to, I had to leap to action. First up were the two paper works, which were covered in water—though the extent of how much had penetrated the frames was still unclear. Next, an art chair crafted in wood that had already suffered visible buckling and varnish lifting, which had to be dragged from the deluge. More difficult to formulate rescue tactics for was a site-specific tree house installation, the scale of the real thing, attached to the ceiling and floor; had it been alive it would have thrived in such soggy circumstances. But it wasn’t and in fact was constructed in papier-mâché and appeared about to revert to that state.


The tree was literally too much for me to process, so utterly overwhelming, I left it for a time. I grabbed the two frames and proceeded to deconstruct them to determine the level of damp inside. In the corner of one drawing was a little pool like a child’s toy tilted from side to side to observe liquid flow. That the frame had been made 20 years ago was apparent by the series of endless little metal spikes, installed one by one, around the entire perimeter of the frame that amounted to a 20-minute extraction process alone. After both works were safely out of the frames they appeared fine and unscathed until a closer look revealed that both boards that the drawings were mounted to were indeed soaked. This brought on a terrible choice—i.e. to wait for a conservator to arrive later in the day (and risk suffering further moisture damage) or attempt to pull the works off their delicate hinges without tearing the drawings themselves. Last time I was faced with a similar dilemma I was unpacking a Polke on paper that had a piece of tape inadvertently affixed to the face of the paint. I ever so delicately and carefully removed the tape and the result was not pretty. The piece of tape with the bit of painting that lifted off had to be rushed to a conservator like a severed finger in a matchbox. Damn, conservators are good and convincing: the unsung heroes of the art world. In this case I managed to safely remove all the hinges and the drawings were fine.


Next up the looming tree house. Funny as my wife and I had been arguing of late that the tree should go into storage as it so thoroughly dominated the room, but I have been steadfastly resistant to de-installation. Either my wife precariously crawled out onto the roof to stuff waste into the gutter pipes or fate and nature are strangely compliant to her ways like everyone else seems to be. I managed to prune all the branches off the tree, which freed up the tree house portion to be separated from the trunk, thus enabling the base to be removed from the lake that had accumulated beneath. After an hour or so of terror, the worst was averted along with an insurance claim. In the end, no one can ever really own art, we are just temporary custodians charged with safekeeping, but beware: water is a constant threat and the scourge of art. And loaning to museums.