I’ll admit it, permanence makes me nervous. The notion that a personage, artifact, structure, or even idea is sufficiently durable to remain unaltered in perpetuity seems implausible in a physical and cultural environment characterized by entropy, cataclysm, decay, degradation, and regeneration. After all, is there much that we have inherited that we could describe as having been, still being, and irrevocably destined to be permanent? One needs only to consider the Buddhas of Bamiyan or the recently lost monuments in Palmyra to recognize the inescapable temporality of even longstanding human creation. And yet permanence, with its claim of eternity, is at the core of the paradox that defines every museum.

On one hand, the museum, in both its institutional and architectural formation, exists to present works of art to some constituency of interested parties. This function is certainly a museum’s most familiar one, patently self-evident to those who love visiting collections buildings. Indeed, many of the world’s most beautiful spaces are those that have been designed to present art and, regardless of collection type, building style, or location, a good museum nourishes those seeking delight and discovery. On the other hand and equally important though far less apparent to visitors, is the museum’s role as caretaker, as protector, as conservator of works of art forever. Can one imagine museum directors countenancing the demise of even the least significant element of a collection on their watch? Similarly, is there a museum that cannot take seriously the