Negotiating these text bundles is mostly intuitive and, with the passage  of time, habitual. In exhibitions we develop an eye for seeking out labels and  subjecting them to snapshot edits, personalized ways of reading. Movements  made between artworks and their written descriptions have been described as  "le minuet," a bobbing dance back and forth that the exhibition context only  partially controls.2 When confronted with a label, we might focus solely on  the lines that interest us and let the rest go ignored; or we might read it word  for word and then write it down. Rules are mostly if not entirely irrelevant.  Should we look at the label before the artwork, or vice versa? It depends on  mood, familiarity with the content of the exhibition, and the play and discovery  inherent to the pairing of information in context—the visual reality of the work  before us, and the text that partially defines what we see.  Lots of rules and occasional hand-wringing, nevertheless, come to bear on  the process of drafting these art-descriptive texts. It is generally agreed that  the best examples are unobtrusive—there when viewers and readers want  them, yet easily eclipsed by the artworks they characterize. In museums, the  job of compiling artwork labels typically falls to curators, conservators, and,  in small institutions, registrars, or a combination thereof. It would be logical  to assume that two differently trained individuals—a curator and a conservator,  for instance—would approach this task with different agendas. And, to a  Handmade Media: Thoughts  on Object Descriptions  for Paper Artists  elizabeth finch  The photo captions in this piece were provided by the collections  in which the works reside and appear here unedited so as  to demonstrate the variety of ways artworks can be described.  To further exemplify these differences, the work by Melvin Edwards  appears with two media descriptions—one from the  Metropolitan Museum of Art and the other from Dieu Donné  Papermill where the work was created. Ed.  above: Kiki Smith, Untitled (Moons), 1993, 65 ½ x 64 ¼ x  2 ½ inches, collaged lithograph on handmade Nepalese paper,  printed at Universal Limited Art Editions, West Islip, New York.  Collection The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Purchase,  2003. © Kiki Smith, courtesy of PaceWildenstein, New York.  Photo: Sarah Harper Gifford, courtesy of PaceWildenstein,  New York.  􀀩􀀩  􀀩􀀮  􀀭  􀀩􀀮  􀀫  􀀩􀀮  􀀩􀀫  􀀩􀀮  􀀯  􀀩􀀮  􀀱  􀀩􀀮  􀀩􀀭  􀀩􀀮  12 - hand papermaking  degree, this is true. Surprisingly though, every museum professional  I spoke with emphasized the importance of streamlining  and simplifying the dissemination of information. Regardless of  their official titles and duties, these professionals are not shy to  pick up the editor's red pen when tackling a list of works.  Yet, as Scott Gerson, a paper conservator at MoMA points  out, the only line available for trimming is the one dedicated to  media. All the others (artist's name, title, date, and collection),  he observes, "are prescribed." And it is precisely because the  media line is discretionary that it comes laden with what Gerson  sees as "responsibility."3 In fact, I encountered a variety of  responsibilities in this discussion and others I had on the topic  of artwork descriptions—to the artist and artwork, to the given  exhibition and museum, to the viewer, and ultimately, to small  but incremental shifts in the sandbox of art history that takes  place on labels whether we notice or not. Regardless of constant  attempts at consistency—the gold standard of every softly humming  database—the valuation of the same information ("ink on  paper" versus "ink on handmade paper") is changeable; it varies  by context and the inevitable shifts in thinking that occur with  the passage of time.  Not so long ago it was acceptable to omit from a work's record  the publisher and printer responsible for a given print or  print series' realization. Now not only are these details regularly  included in a "museum-standard" print description but, in  certain contexts, the master printer's name also appears. This  change came about with the emergence, in the post–World  War II years and especially in the 1960s, of an influential group  of printers and publishers.4 In various ways—verbally, contractually,  and otherwise—these printers, publishers, and their affiliated  artists have said to museums and galleries, in essence, "Our  details matter. Let's flesh out the level of detail when it comes to  prints."  But these very details, or rather their shifting values, complicate  the work of those whose goal it is to establish "controlled  vocabularies" for "metadata" (data about data, or those words  found on standard artwork labels) that will stand the test of time.  In recent years, several organizations—most notably the Library  of Congress, the Getty, and the Visual Resources Association—  have set out to standardize database descriptions of cultural objects,  including artworks.5 The leaders of this effort are librarians,  who once again have shown themselves to be more forward  thinking than the rest of us. Specifically, they understand that  only by coming to a consensus about how to describe artworks  exactly can we knit them into the global context, the infinitely  searchable repositories that comprise one of the more utopian  promises of online communities.  In reality the comprehensiveness of this undertaking causes  it to fall short when it comes to those details that matter to artists.  A case in point is the word "handmade," which, when entered  into the search field of the Getty's online thesaurus brings  up a single reference to "handmade bricks." In this round of paper,  scissors, stone, the hardest and heaviest object clearly wins.  Such databases will improve with time, but at present their use  by museums is patchy at best. Most museums prefer to follow  their own timeworn protocols, which more or less gradually  and more or less consistently absorb media-based shifts in artistic  practices. Eventually museums may fall in step, melding  their databases into an online "commons." In the meantime,  anyone can access these resources to sample their offerings. Of  particular interest to artists who work with paper is the Library  of Congress's Thesaurus for Graphic Materials, which seeks to  encompass the paper universe—a history of paper in searchable  words—from postcards and postage stamps to prints and  drawings. Intrepid visitors to this site can even propose amendments  to the thesaurus by accessing an online form, althoughcontributions must be "clear and general enough," a proviso that  fails to build confidence in the future specificity of this utopian  enterprise.6  Anyone familiar with works on paper knows how elusive to  description any given example can be. Perhaps this is because  paper is so receptive to a variety of operations, hosting infinite  manifestations of media, from silver gelatin emulsion to printer's  ink. What is great about paper—miraculous even—is also  its pitfall, at least in the admittedly sheltered world of artwork  labels and well-lit spaces. That said, the convention of ignoring  the support surface entirely and describing only the medium  (singular)—be it oil, ink, or charcoal—is now mostly obsolete.  We have come to understand that the artist's choice of surface  can be as important as what he or she does with it. Nonetheless,  the new stature of surfaces, including that of paper, has not  simplified the process of generating artwork descriptions. More  than ever label writers struggle with the question of how much  of the paper's content to reveal. Listing brand names is generally  frowned upon, and for good reason. "Ink on Arches" would be  lost on the average viewer. But what about handmade paper? In  general, the rule of thumb in cataloguing, as in medicine, is to  do no harm. Anything entered into a museum database about an  artwork, including an error, is likely there "in perpetuity." Tombstones  indeed.  It is not surprising, then, that the curators, conservators,  and registrars I spoke with generally preferred to err on the  side of caution. For instance, if the handmadeness of a given  paper comprising all or part of a new acquisition could be verified,  preferably with a reference to its mill of origin, then this  information would enter the museum's database. Moreover, if  the paper was made-to-order by a mill, or was in fact made by  the artist, then this information, too, warranted becoming part  of the work's permanent record.  Yet when it came to questions of including the word "handmade"  in a label or exhibition checklist, the answers varied considerably.  Among the institutions I polled—the National Gallery,  the Metropolitan Museum, MoMA, and the Brooklyn Museum—  there is no longstanding practice that is followed internally  among departments or in collaboration with other museums.  Some were entirely comfortable featuring the term handmade,  others found it too vague to pass muster, mostly because it begs  the question "How?" Some were open to amending the characterization  "handmade" with other qualifiers related to origin  (such as "Japanese"), or type (such as "abaca"), especially if the  work in question was included in a show in which the intricacies  of media were part of its thematics.  A good example of this is Kiki Smith's 2003 exhibition  "Prints, Books, and Things" at MoMA. Smith insisted on a detailed  checklist and labels using terms such as "Japanese handmade  paper," "Nepalese handmade paper," and "ink on paper  with collage and methyl cellulose." Speaking extemporaneously  (and not in reference to Kiki Smith), Judith Brodie, curator of  modern prints and drawings at the National Gallery, offered up  "methyl cellulose" as an example of a material that she would  edit out of a label for the express reason that no one would understand  it as an adhesive or binder.7 With this pronouncement  she sided, at least momentarily, with accessibility over specificity.  That said, Brodie was one of several museum professionals I  spoke with who mentioned that all the "rules of cataloguing are  meant to be broken." This suggests a willingness to be persuaded  to think differently about any media listing if presented with  the right evidence. No doubt, the force of conviction helps too. At  MoMA, Kiki Smith's advocacy for the importance of representing  the handmade variety of her papers was evidence enough,  and an institutional ocean liner made a graceful, if temporary,  turn toward specificity without a significant loss of accessibility  Melvin Edwards (American, born 1937), Agua y Acero, 2000, 37 ¼ x 56 inches (94.6 x 142.2 cm), stenciled  cotton rag pulp on paper. Collection The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Purchase, Gift of Hyman N.  Glickstein, by exchange, 2001. \[2001.291\] Photo: Jean Vong. Courtesy of Dieu Donné Papermill, New York. Note  difference in media line provided by Dieu Donné Papermill: stenciled cotton rag pulp on linen base sheet, pigment;  produced during a Lab Grant residency at Dieu Donné Papermill.  14 - hand papermaking  (the exhibition's website, which remains online today, is proof  enough of that).8  Sometimes media descriptions are simply too delicious to  edit, which is certainly the case with John Cage's Wild Edible  Drawing No. 6 made of "mulberry, burdock, hibiscus stems, barley,  hijiki, and clover." Or their specificity is useful in a given  context, such as the black-and-white reproduction of an untitled  work by Frank Badur made of "handmade paper in red and gray."  And some artists integrate descriptions into their titles, effectively  making them prescriptive rather than discretionary, protecting  them from any future red pen. This is true of Ellsworth Kelly's  Colored Paper Image VII (Yellow Curve with Gray) from 1976, an  early and extraordinary example of pulp painting.  As for the term handmade, Rachel Mustalish, associate conservator  in the Sherman Fairchild Center for Conservation of  Works on Paper and Photographs at the Metropolitan reminded  me that at one time "all paper was handmade."9 Of course the  descriptions that accompany those papers—the papers displaying  drawings from the 1700s and before—do not mention their  handmade origins. And this is the kind of detail that will escape  the average viewer of an exhibition of Guercino drawings, for  instance. Some details must be left to the enthusiasts out there  (and you know who you are). Nonetheless, if there is a case to  be made, and I think there is, that handmade paper, like drawings  and prints, has not only gained new prominence in recent  decades but is also used differently than it was in the past, then  it is up to artist-run mills as well as paper artists to make their  medium enter more fully and more universally into print.  Artists and mills can facilitate the shift by making active  decisions about how they refer to works in the materials they  send out into the world. In small museums, what is provided as  supporting information for a new acquisition usually becomes  part of that work's permanent record, which may or may not be  edited for the purposes of a wall label at the time of exhibition.  Larger museums typically contact artists to verify the information  they have received with a new work. Although it is tempting  to approach such requests with a rubber stamp, looking closely  at the form provided and making amendments to it where  necessary will help to avoid misrepresentations in the years and  decades to come.  The most influential moment for artists to impact their media  listings is during the organization of an exhibition in collaboration  with a museum. Even large museums tend to wait  to make decisions about how to list a work until it is scheduled  to leave storage or arrive on its loading dock. This is when all  the details of fiber content, pigment, and process are sifted out  and streamlined, often to the point of elimination. If you happen  to be an artist who wants those details represented, then  by all means make a case for their inclusion. Take, for instance,  the New York–based artist Bruno Jakob who has been known  to describe his artworks as "invisible physical energy on paper."  Sometimes exceptions to the rules make perfect sense. Consistency  be damned.  ___________  notes  1. This term appears in an informative and delightful essay by Ingrid Schaffner  on the subject of wall text. See Ingrid Schaffner, "Wall Text" in What Makes a  Great Exhibition? ed. Paula Marincola (Philadelphia: Philadelphia Exhibitions  Initiative, Philadelphia Center for Arts and Heritage, 2006): 154–67. Schaffner's  introduction of the term "tombstone" appears on page 161.  2. Jeffrey Kipnis, "Who's afraid of gift-wrapped kazoos?" in What Makes a Great  Exhibition? 99.  3. Conversation with Scott Gerson, Kathy Curry, and Sarah Suzuki at The Museum  of Modern Art, New York, on October 24, 2007.  4. This history is well documented in Trudy V. Hansen, David Mickenberg, and  Barry Walker, Printmaking in America: Collaborative Prints and Presses  1960–1990 (New York: Harry N. Abrams in association with Mary and Leigh  Block Gallery, Northwestern University, 1995). See also David Platzker, "Reconsidering  the Fine Art Print in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction," in Hard  Pressed: 600 Years of Prints and Process, ed. David Platzker and Elizabeth  Wyckoff (New York: Hudson Hills Press in association with International Print  Center, 2000): 27–33.  5. The Getty's Data Standards and Guidelines are located at http://www.getty  .edu/research/conducting_research/standards/, which includes several useful  links including one to its Categories for the Description of Works of Art. The  Getty's Art and Architecture Thesaurus Online can be found at http://www  .getty.edu/research/conducting_research/vocabularies/aat/. The Library of  Congress's Thesaurus for Graphic Materials was originally published as two  separate works, the Thesaurus for Graphic Materials I: Subject Terms and the  Thesaurus for Graphic Materials II: Genre and Physical Characteristic Terms.  These works were combined in a single volume in 1995 and are now referred  to, respectively, as TGM I and TGM II. They are available at http://www.loc  .gov/rr/print/tgm1/ and http://www.loc.gov/rr/print/tgm2/. The most recent  and most art-focused initiative is Cataloguing Cultural Objects, which functions  under the aegis of the Visual Resources Association. See http://www.vraweb  .org/ccoweb/cco/index.html. CCO has also published a book: Murtha Baca, Patricia  Harpring, and Elisa Lanzi, et al., Cataloguing Cultural Objects: A Guide  to Describing Cultural Works and Their Images (Chicago: American Library  Association, 2006).  6. Available at http://www.loc.gov/rr/print/tgm1/v.html.  7. Judith Brodie, conversation with the author, October 25, 2007.  8. See http://www.moma.org/exhibitions/2003/kikismith/. See also Rags to  Riches: 25 Years of Paper Art from Dieu Donné Papermill, ed. Mina Takahashi  (New York: Dieu Donné Papermill, 2001) and particularly its checklist,  pages 71–78, which contains many useful examples of handmade paper object  listings.  9. Rachel Mustalish, conversation with the author, October 29, 2007.