It smells like city. And it's raining.
Everything is wet. Wet streets. Wet pedestrians. Wet exhaust from the miles of traffic squeezing into roundabouts. By my standards, this is a fantastic day. Besides, it's always better to be in Madrid on a rainy Tuesday than in the cab of a semi-truck plowing along from Cincinnati to Chicago's O'Hare Airport on a blue-sky Monday. I wish I had brought my super-hero cape though. Oh well, it would have made me stand out in the crowd.
Blending in is indispensable and my "uniform," is in order. Black trench - check. Neutral cross-body handbag (to foil pickpockets) - check. Local super market shopping bag - check. As long as I don't open my mouth and attempt to speak Spanish, I'll practically be a local.
Roughly forty-seven weeks of the year, I'm a mild-mannered Registrar. Most of my time is devoted to keeping up with the mountains of paperwork generated by the administration of lending art to exhibitions around the globe. The other four to six weeks, I'm an art courier, a member of an elite league that could be called the Guardians of Traveling Art. Ta-ta-ta-da! - Imagine some racy adventure music here.
Photo courtesy of the Cincinnati Art Museum
Couriering art is a little like being a superhero in a neo-noir graphic novel. Well, it's part superhero and part roadie to a rock star rolled into one, except the stars I accompany are even older than Keith Richards, some by more than 500 years.
It's good business to participate in traveling exhibitions. Nearly all art museums loan works from their permanent collections to shows in other places. But, the logistics of transporting cultural property from one continent to the next is a complex undertaking. It is a collaborative activity involving museum staff - registrars, conservators, preparators - as well as outside agents like customs brokers, fine art shippers, and security personnel.
With all these people making sure one-of-a-kind cultural treasures are packed and shipped properly, it may seem like overkill to send a courier too. Under certain conditions, however - dealing with fragile or high-value objects, or coping with complicated transit routes - an art courier is standard equipment.
As the courier, I am an advocate for the art, vigilant and ready to make sure any and all risks of bodily harm are minimized or eliminated for my "stars." I'm accountable for the safety and handling of the art objects while they are in transit. It takes fortitude, stamina, and occasionally, a bit of cheek to ensure the crate containing a world masterpiece - worth a gazillion dollars - isn't skewered by an errant forklift blade, left on the tarmac in 90 degree heat and 100% humidity, or palletized with live (or dead) poultry, even goats. Anything can happen.
But racing to save art from the dangers of the road is all part of a courier's training.
In Hamburg, Germany, I once arrived to pack two large paintings. I had never been there before, and wasn't sure which building on the plaza was the right one. Suddenly, I realized it was the one where a large construction crane was hauling debris from the second floor.
Panicking, I ran the rest of the way to see what was going on, because construction should never be happening in space directly adjacent to exhibition space with loaned art in it! Breathless, I arrived at the front door of the exhibit hall. There were five other American couriers there, all equally unnerved.
Not only was there demolition going on. The host registrar would not come out of her office or answer her phone. There was only one security guard who was "securely" entrenched at the front desk. None were at the transport vehicle. This in particular made us all very upset because... there was also no loading dock.
The truck was loaded in the open plaza (next to the demolition work). Parked not six feet away was a garbage truck with two surly-looking drivers observing all the activities at the exhibition hall. Who knew what they were really up to?
True to the Guardians of Traveling Art code, we couriers took control.
We organized into teams and took shifts acting as security. While one courier's art was de-installed, examined and packed, other couriers stationed themselves outside at the truck to oversee loading. Thanks to our super-hero vigilance, nothing was stolen, damaged or destroyed.
When Picasso or Cézanne are headliners of a show, staying close to one of these stars, following their every move, seeing to their security, accommodations, plus keeping their whereabouts a secret until it's time to make an entrance, are all in a day's work. And it all has to happen without calling attention to yourself or what you are doing. Security is a courier's highest priority.
Before leaving for unfamiliar places, I do a bit of research to find out about my destination and get a few quick tips on how not to look like a tourist. One of my favorite tips from a travel website recommended buying a few things at a local market and using that bag for souvenir purchases to blend in. It works. Occasionally, it works so well real tourists stop me to ask for directions.
Why take so much care? Answer: potential criminals know no boundaries. Even innocent introductions and "...nice to meet you, what are you doing in London?" small talk with the person next to you on a flight can lead to questions about the purpose of your "business" trip. And that is risky business. Because Registrars are a naturally suspicious lot, we use a variety of tactical moves to remain circumspect in these situations. My technique is not to invite in-flight conversation at all. I find my seat, and pull out headphones and a massive novel.
Inquisitive passengers aren't a problem for some couriers: they come with their own bodyguards, like one I met on another trip to Germany. Both he and his "security" escort looked like Viggo Mortensen's character Nikolai in the film Eastern Promises. Who knows which masterpiece was traveling in their very tense care? No one dared to ask.
Even if we elude the human criminals, Murphy's Law, a more treacherous foe, can await on the ground. Back in the days when I was only a cub registrar, the Petra: Lost City of Stone exhibition was being organized. A whole team of Art Museum staff traveled to Jordan. Work schedules went right out the window as problems emerged at nearly every work site.
The Chief Registrar during the Petra project recalls, "...[one day] the curator had taken the museum keys home so we couldn't pack anything that day; the collection manager for the site only worked from 10-2 each day; the security provided to us at the Petra Museum was the young man who slept on the roof."
Other team members told tales of camels and Bedouins meandering through the work areas, plus the hot sun and limited work supplies. Anything is possible in our profession. We all know about the dedicated courier who refused to leave his plane when it made an unexpected stop overseas. He spent the night alone out on a remote runway. He is the king of the art superheroes.
International trips can be difficult, but domestic art shipments - predominantly via ground transport - can be just as challenging. There are endless hours on a lumpy tractor-trailer cot in close quarters with virtual strangers, plus all the truck stops, junk food and bad coffee, worse bathrooms, breakdowns, bad weather and waiting in obscure airport cargo docks killing time.
I'm often the lone female hanging around with a crew of chain smoking, hirsute freight handlers. Other couriers have endured long hours of spats between a set of married drivers, or traveling cheek-to-jowls with said drivers' small animals. Some transit misadventures materialize from nothing more than a puff of smoke. Literally.
That's what happened when I was escorting an exhibition shipment from Connecticut to Alabama one January. We started out in a blizzard. Halfway into the trip, the truck broke down, smoke snaking in through the vents. Luckily, the drivers were able to clear things up with minor repairs and we arrived in muggy, humid Alabama only a couple hours off schedule.
I've made several trips with a couple of drivers I'll call "Tim" and "Roy," a musician and a former CPA, respectively. As one might expect, Roy is extremely detail oriented and precise. The schedule is perfectly planned; he knows everything about the destination museum, its art collection, and sometimes the people who work there.
His driving partner, Tim, once joked Roy had a dossier on every courier who rides with them. I laughed. A few hours down the road and plenty of time to ponder, I started to wonder. Was Roy's former career as a CPA a cover? Did I make a mental typo? Was he really a former CIA operative? Suddenly, I was uneasy. To this day, I still have doubts.
So, is being a globetrotting Guardian of Traveling Art glamorous? Not so much. Yet, despite flashbacks of truck stop brew and looking over your shoulder for bad guys, something about the work remains appealing when the road calls. It isn't an easy way to see the world, but couriering art masterpieces is an extraordinary way to help visitors see more of the world through art. Even if once in a while we have to don superhero capes along the way.
Carola Bell is the Associate Registrar for Loans & Exhibitions at the Cincinnati Art Museum. She is also studying for her master's degree in English, is a printmaker and just became a grandmother.
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Carola Bell, Registrar at the Cincinnati Art Museum shares her tales of travelling the world in the company of art masterpieces - and a few shady characters.
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