Live from Changeover: Two Weeks from Install

Tape measures, oven mitts, and the final sprint before the spiral goes dark.

Introducing Live from Changeover, a real-time look at what it takes to turn one Guggenheim show into the next. This entry: two weeks out from install, and I am somehow both exhausted and thrilled about it.

Carol Bove’s retrospective at the Guggenheim closes today, which means we’re officially in install season, baby!

As an exhibition designer, my work always ramps up in the weeks before an install (by a lot). Final design decisions need to be made, engineering approvals submitted, final drawings reviewed and approved, teams informed. Oh, and of course, people have questions. A lot of questions.

I had this big beautiful dream of writing an in-depth post outlining the install process, à la the Netflix docu-series 7 Days Out, which covered the final days of prep before events like the Westminster Dog Show (still bitter they never did an exhibition opening). Welp, my workload ramped up so fast I didn’t get the chance.

Truth is, I am a bit tired. I’m writing this on the subway on my way to the Guggenheim before 8 AM for the 3rd time this week (and many other various commutes), and I swear my phone is on a constant vibrate from all the emails and Teams messages I get. We also found another rat in our apartment this week (yes, I said another), and I’m training for a marathon, because of course I decided to sign up for a marathon.

So, instead of my one magnificent, extensive essay on the install process, I’m going to walk you through it live.

Welcome to Live from Changeover: a look behind the curtain at a Guggenheim install, plus the things that are keeping me upright as it happens.

I will mostly be writing these on my commutes back-and-forth from the museum, so please bear with me and excuse any typos or grammar errors - I’m doing my best!

Side note: I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with a guy on the subway right now, and he just lifted up his arm and oh my god he reeks!

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Before I dive in, my thoughts and opinions here are my own and not affiliated with the Guggenheim. I also deeply value the trust artists, curators, and the institution place in me to develop a show, so I will never reveal anything that could damage that relationship. Plus, it’s kind of chic to keep some secrets, right?

Ok, let’s get into it!

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The reason I’ve been at the museum so early so often (re: the 8 AM subway) is that we have do most of our on-site work and testing before the museum opens at 10:30. As you may have noticed, the Guggenheim is not your typical museum space. Not only do our floors slope, but our back walls curve, there are no standard conditions, and no two spots in the building are the same. The museum was also built in the 1950s, before any machines or robots, so our floors aren’t exactly straight and our walls are sometimes a bit funky.

An incredible photo of Frank Lloyd Wright directing the crews during the construction of the Guggenheim | 📸 via Urbana Design

Long story short: our drawings and 3D model aren’t always reliable, so we trace almost everything on-site. This involves huge pieces of paper on the floor, tracing wall locations, marking ceiling heights, noting every condition the model got wrong.

We also rely heavily on mock-ups, 1:1 models or tests that let us see and feel how something will actually sit in the space. We need to see any unique build in the space before committing to it. And sometimes mock-ups mean holding a print-out of the artwork in its intended spot to check the fit or try out a lighting approach.

A mock-up of Carol Bove’s lounges vs. the final product. We spent half of the mock-up running around on those cushions to make sure they were sturdy yet comfy enough for the public. They passed the test!

We do all of this work before the public enters the building to keep the surprise magic of future shows alive. We do it also because it would be so distracting to be admiring a Picasso while, two feet away, two people are holding a piece of art, one person’s on a ladder adjusting lights, another is holding the ladder, someone’s asking for the lights to be turned on and off seven times, two more are taking notes, and four or five are just standing there watching.

We also, of course, do some less-intrusive work during public hours. If you’ve been to the Guggenheim in the past two weeks, you may have spotted me on the rotunda floor with a paint fan deck and a flood light, or somewhere else with 2–3 tape measures, measuring an imaginary (soon not-imaginary) build.

An actual photo from my camera roll that I actually reference to make sure the drawings match the height that we chose with a measuring tape and paper bag.

Or you may have caught me on one of Carol’s lounges, disassociating, staring at the ceiling. Or on one of my many 5-minute walks around the building. Both essential to my sanity.

My favorite photo of someone lounging on the lounges. He’s my spirit animal, actually.

The full install process runs roughly six weeks, and I promise you we use every hour of it. Properly, the whole thing is called “changeover,” because we’re not just installing the next show, but we’re also safely deinstalling the current one, painting and priming the museum back to its original state, and then, finally, installing the art for the next show.

For many reasons, the museum spiral is closed to the public during changeover. At most large museums, closing one gallery isn’t a big deal because there are permanent collections and other galleries, a.k.a. somewhere else to send people.

At the Guggenheim, closing the spiral is a very big deal, because the spiral is the museum.

More than once, I’ve had someone ask me, “Well, why don’t you just install at night and keep the museum open in the day?” Even if we install at night, it would still take us six weeks to properly install a show.

So we offer discounted tickets during changeover, and we keep the side galleries open, so there’s still some spectacular art to see. Right now, especially, we have a Kusama infinity room on the 7th floor and the famous banana by Maurizio Cattelan on the 4th.

And for my fellow museum-nerds: there are still plenty of viewpoints onto the spiral during install, so if you’re curious, you can watch my written words happen in real time and in real life. It can feel a bit like a fishbowl for those of us working the install, but mostly you tune it out. Tbh there’s too much else going on to think about who’s watching.

Carol’s show opened in early March. It was the first major rotunda show I worked on at the Guggenheim, and I know it’s cliché, but I genuinely cannot believe how fast time has gone. As a designer, one of the best feelings on earth is watching something you worked so hard on transition from idea to reality, and then to see the finished product with your own two eyes.

I spent SO long designing on these three pedestals (the other two are hiding!). I must have done over 100 renders, testing iterations and trying to get them just right. I think they turned out pretty nice, what do you think? | 📸 via Wet Hot Magazine

I always knew I wanted to be a designer in some capacity, but I never could I have guessed that I’d end up at a museum I’ve admired my whole life. It really doesn’t get old.

So while I’m sad to see my first big exhibition design baby go, I am equally excited to experience that same glorious feeling again. It’s addictive, I swear.

The next show is a new body of work by Taryn Simon. I’ll speak more on Taryn, her work, and the show once the press releases go out. But, for now I’ll just say that this show is going to be nothing short of incredible. I have never worked harder or learned more on anything in my life, and I am so proud to be a part of it.

Taryn Simon and her piece, the Kleroterion at Storm King Art Center | 📸 by Eli Baden-Laser via ArtNet

You can read about some of my favorite artworks by Taryn here, here, and here.

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We’re so close to the finish line, but wow there is still much to do. My mind and body currently feel like they’re in 23 places at once. I’ve been commuting between the museum, home, our other offices, vendors’ studios, and a few cheeky weekend getaways because ~balance~. My to-do list is ever-growing, my calendar fills up by the hour, and I’m running so many programs at once I’ve developed a genuine fear of my laptop spontaneously combusting. Last week, I’m not exaggerating when I say I used oven mitts to pull it out of my backpack (Ok, while I might not be exaggerating, I may have been a bit dramatic).

Right now we’re ironing out the final details. And nailing down these final few details is proving tougher than designing the entire rest of the show. I hate to use another running metaphor, but this final push feels like the last two miles of a marathon. If you’re in marathon shape, running two miles on a normal day is child’s play. But after running 24 miles, my god, those last two miles are harder than the 24 miles that came before it.

I’m basically in the thick of those last two miles.

I’m producing renderings and drawings like a mad woman and attending meetings like a high-powered executive. We’re finalizing colors, reviewing material samples and full-scale mock-ups, meeting with the artist several times a week, and trying to tighten every loose end we can before install starts. The goal is to walk into install with as few open questions as possible.

Also, every decision needs to be memorialized and documented in a drawing of some sort so that all of our teams are on the same page. And who is responsible for those drawings? You guessed it, yours truly.

Honestly, I’m looking forward to changeover. Not only because I get to see the fruits of my labor, but because I also get to stop looking at my laptop for four weeks. Once install starts, the drawings are done, the renders are produced. If something goes wrong, we solve it together, in the space, in person. My laptop stays closed, and it lives at the museum. Hallelujah!

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Objects of Affection

I’m going to start slipping in the random things and items that are helping get me through my weeks, so I’m introducing Objects of Affection (a working title lol). Nothing is sponsored, and there’s really no rhyme or reason to this. I simply think it’d be fun to give some shout-outs to my favorite things.

FIRST: my Paper Republic journal.

Stationery TikTok got me hard a few years ago. The more I swiped, the more I watched people set up their Louis Carmen or Paper Republic journals, and like any good consumer, I decided I needed to be one of them.

My mom and I were already planning to spend the holidays in Austria that year (yes, the trip where I got my Guggenheim offer), and lucky for me, Paper Republic is based in Vienna. Unlucky for me, they were about to close for the holidays, but lucky for me, I landed the day before their break, two hours before closing. So again, like a good consumer, I took my taxi from the airport straight to the store and bought my beloved A6 Le Portfolio. The rest was history.

She is beauty. She is Grace.

Nearly two years later, my portfolio is an extension of my body. I am an avid note taker, and I love a physical agenda and to-do list, so I am constantly opening it and scribbling down my thoughts or to-dos. It’s with me so much that almost everyone I work with can recognize it, and I’ve even had a vendor refer to it as “the little black book of wonders.”

A quick tour à la MTV’s Welcome to My Crib: inside my portfolio, you can find my favorite pen, the Pilot Hi-Tec-C in 03.mm, and a mechanical pencil for sketching, a bright-green Moleskine weekly planner (though I much prefer the Paper Republic weekly and will repurchase for 2027), and two gridded Muji notebooks, one for work, one for fun personal notes and sketches.

I took this picture on a good day. On a typical day, that folder pocket is STUFFED with folded-up drawings and/or other memorabilia.

I also have an entirely separate Paper Republic system dedicated solely to this Substack. Yes, I’m obsessed.

SECOND: my COS Elasticated Barrel-Leg pants.

These pants are equal parts form and function. I love a barrel-leg shape pant on me, and the exaggerated proportions here give me exactly the effortlessly-cool factor I’m always chasing. The shape also lets in a lot of airflow (TMI?), and the crisp cotton is my ideal for a good summer pant.

Is it weird to say that I feel so freeeeee in these pants? I can squat up and down, moving measuring tape like nobody’s business, then walk straight into a meeting still feeling put-together.

Also, the pockets are so deep. I can fit two measuring tapes in one pocket and my Paper Republic journal in the other. Is this what men’s pockets feel like?

The deep pockets caught in action. There is not one but TWO measuring tapes in this pocket.

I will say it looks a little suspicious, like I’m hiding something, but it beats showing up to a meeting juggling two tape measures, a journal, and a set of 11x17 drawings with nothing but girl hands.

We love a good bathroom selfie. Currently in my pockets are two measuring tapes and my Paper Republic journal and I’m hands free! A dream.

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I’m finishing this at 10 PM on a Friday. There are two loaves of focaccia in the oven for a party my boyfriend and I are hosting tomorrow. We had smoothies for dinner, and he just decided to make scallion pancakes from scratch because we’re both still hungry and our groceries don’t arrive until tomorrow. TGIF.

I hope you’re as excited about this series as I am. It’s a little all-over-the-place, but I think it’ll be fun to let you in on the busy weeks as they happen. Let me know if you have specific questions about changeover, and I’ll happily cover them.

Hope you’re having a good weekend, and wishing you a great week.

Best,

Alya