Inventories

Schocken department store, corporate sign

The sign is not for sale. The sign is not for rent. The sign is not for lease. The sign is not for trade. The sign is not for barter. The sign is not for reproduction. The sign is not for display. The sign is not for distribution. The sign is not for promotion. The sign is not for exhibition. The sign is not for theft. The sign is not for consumption. The sign is not for replica. The sign is not for use.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist. Martin Buber, Ich und Du 

The sign is not for joy. The sign is not for fire. The sign is not for love. The sign is not for fear. The sign is not for rain. The sign is not for faith. The sign is not for war. The sign is not for peace. The sign is not for bread. The sign is not for wind. The sign is not for sleep. The sign is not for luck.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist. Martin Buber, Ich und Du 

Two teaspoons from Tietz department store

Be.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be.

Ich-Du
Ich-Es

Be.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be.

Ich-Du 
Ich-Es

Be.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist.
Whoever chooses has been released, for he has come before the countenance.

Be.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be. Longing. 
Belonging. 
Longing. 
Be.  

Ich-Du 
Ich-Es 
Ich-Du 
Ich-Es

Be.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be.

Ich-Du 
Ich-Es 
Ich-Du 
Ich-Es

Be.
Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be. Longing.
Belonging.
Longing.
Be.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist. 
Whoever chooses has been spared, for he has presented himself before the countenance.

Nivea cream jar

Because the face, too, deserves renewal.
Restore what time steals—without illusions.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist.
He who decides is free, for he has approached the Face.

Smoothness is not vanity; it is resistance to decay.
For skin that remembers renewal in the face of history.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist.
He who decides is free, for he stands before the Face.

Against the dryness of modern life—nourish what endures.
In a world of appearances, let softness speak the truth.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist.
She who chooses has become free, for she confronts the Face.  

Beauty begins when you embrace your own reflection.
Moisturize. The alternative is despair.

Wer sich entscheidet, ist frei, weil er vor das Angesicht getreten ist.
She who chooses has freed herself, for she confronts the Face. 

Stand-up collar from the company F.V. Grünfeld

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of history were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a voice.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of tradition were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a choice.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of money were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a plea.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of time were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a protest.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of the past were gripping him by the throat and refusing him an opinion.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of bureaucracy were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a pardon.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of a forgotten god were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a prayer.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of an unfinished symphony were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a solo.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of an unfinished painting were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a brushstroke.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of a foreign language were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a translation.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of a sentence were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a metaphor.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of a metaphor were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a sentence.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of the surveillance state were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a moment of privacy.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of imperial ambition were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a homeland to defend.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of corporate greed were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a fair wage.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of partisan gridlock were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a compromise.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of state censorship were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a word of dissent.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of bureaucratic inertia were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a single reform.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of monopolized media were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a truth untold.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of electoral disenfranchisement were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a ballot to cast.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of capitalist acceleration were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a breath of stillness.

The high, stiff collar of his shirt pressed into his neck as if the hand of environmental collapse were gripping him by the throat and refusing him a future to inherit.

Bow tie from the department store N. Israel

Place the tie around your neck with one end slightly longer than the other. Cross the longer end over the shorter end forming an X near your collar and pull the longer end up through the loop to create a knot. Place the neck around your tie with one end slightly shorter than the other. Cross the shorter end over the longer end forming an X near your collar and pull the shorter end up through the loop to create a knot. Fold the shorter end horizontally to form the first wing of the bow. Place the end around your tie with one neck slightly longer than the other. Cross the X forming an end near your collar and pull the loop through the knot. Fold the longer end vertically to form the first bow of the wing. Drop the longer end over the center of the folded wing to form the middle part of the bow, then pinch the longer end near its base, fold it back toward your neck, and tuck it through the loop behind the first wing. Place the end around your neck with one tie slightly shorter than the other. X the cross ending a form near your pull and collar the knot through the loop. Short the folder end diagonally to bow the form wing first. Drop the shorter end over the folded center wing form of the bow part of the middle, then pinch the shorter base near its end, back it folded toward your tuck and neck it through the first loop behind the wing. Finally, gently pull the wings to tighten and adjust the knot and wings until they are symmetrical.

Porcelain box from the Berlin luxury and leather goods store Albert Rosenhain

The woman came home from the party outlandishly drunk and accidentally put her jewelry away in the box that contained her father’s ashes.

Tin can for refreshing sweets

Every evening he’d start reading the news and only stop when he’d finished the last candy in the container. But he’d cheat: he wouldn’t suck, he’d chew.

Men’s undershirt with Wertheim department store label

The old man lived many years and died “unstained,” like a bleached shirt.

­Tea pot warmer from the department store Rosen­hain

So incorrigible were the man’s friends that before they visited, he would have to run around his house labeling every vessel: “this is not an ashtray.”

Women’s handbag

Once, her psychoanalyst told her that a woman’s choice of handbag is indicative of how she feels about her genitals. After that session, she quit treatment and for weeks and months after would spend her former appointment-hour shopping.

Dress from the fashion store “Kersten & Tuteur” 

Since mankind as a whole is still very far from having reached the limit of abundance, the mode in which society may overcome this natural limitation of its own fertility can be perceived only tentatively and on a national scale. There, the solution seems to be simple enough. It consists in treating all use objects as though they were consumer goods, so that a chair or a table is now consumed as rapidly as a dress and a dress used up almost as quickly as food.
Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition

The woman who wore this dress never met the woman who made this dress and neither of them ever met the female silk moth whose multitudinous offspring had to be boiled alive in their cocoons to obtain barely a single pound of raw silk.

Our whole economy has become a waste economy, in which things must be almost as quickly devoured and discarded as they have appeared in the world, if the process itself is not to come to a sudden catastrophic end.
Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition

The woman who bought this dress once met the woman who sold this dress: their meeting was a transaction. Names were not exchanged.

Metal boxes with gramophone needles from the Schocken department store

The man had music in him. He could feel it welling inside him, he could feel it swelling, there were strings in his sinews, there were woodwinds in his lungs, a trumpet blowing in his throat and lifting up his tongue; he could feel the pressure of these sounds, he could feel the tension and effort required to produce them, but he couldn’t hear a thing, at least not more than a faint hum or buzz that he often suspected to be an hallucination, and one day this failure to hear his own inner music so distressed him that he disassembled his gramophone and applied its needle to his skin: he punctured his wrist and finally, in a great gushing, the blood sang.

Hat box from the N. Israel company

“The alternative between capitalism and socialism is false, not only because neither exists anywhere in its pure state anyhow, but because we have here twins, each wearing a different hat…” wrote Hannah Arendt, who neglected to mention that each ideology wanted the other ideology’s hat; rather, that each wanted the other not to have a hat at all and to go around bareheaded in the winter and catch a chill.

Gloves

“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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O, deine Hände sind meine Kinder. 
Alle meine Spielsachen 
Liegen in ihren Gruben.

Immer spiel ich Soldaten 
Mit deinen Fingern, kleine Reiter, 
Bis sie umfallen.

Wie ich sie liebe 
Deine Bubenhände, die zwei.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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Your Hands are my children
All my toys
Lie in their furrows.

I play soldiers
With your fingers, little horsemen,
Until they fall.

How I love them
Your small boy’s hands – yes, both.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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This is the thumb, which makes us primates. This is the forefinger, which accuses. This is the middle finger: you can sit on it. This is the ring finger, which marries. This is the little finger: hold it in the air when you sip your tea.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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Your Hands are my children
All my toys
Lie in their furrows.

I play soldiers
With your fingers, little horsemen,
Until they fall.

How I love them
Your small boy’s hands – yes, both.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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O, deine Hände sind meine Kinder. 
Alle meine Spielsachen 
Liegen in ihren Gruben.

Immer spiel ich Soldaten 
Mit deinen Fingern, kleine Reiter, 
Bis sie umfallen. 

Wie ich sie liebe 
Deine Bubenhände, die zwei.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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“I placed my fate in hard hands,” wrote Else Lasker-Schüler.

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Box and four silk hand­kerchiefs from the Grünfeld company

The world is
Achoo
The world is in the hands of
Achoo
The world is in the hands of those who
Achoo
The world is in the hands of those who give it to others.
Gesundheit.

Dish

For the family that has everything: a dish that holds nothing. For the family that has nothing: a dish that holds everything? No, in this world they get no dish at all.