Waiting in Bratislava for the train last night, I decided to get a cup of tea from the Nescafe vending machine. I put in a Euro and chose my drink, adjusting the appropriate amount of sugar. The machine display then prompted me to select my drink again. Then, it asked me to adjust my sugar level again. Then, it prompted me to select my drink again. Suddenly, I realized I was caught in a seemingly endless cycle of selecting beverages and adjusting sugar levels. Behind me, a v. small man was cleaning the floors with a buffing machine, the cord of which was now snug against the back of my feet. I had failed to notice this since I was so involved with the selecting and adjusting. This man noted that my feet were interfering with his job, then noticed my visible agitation and came to help. After more selecting (to no avail), we both started hitting the machine, both in the front and at the sides, until the whole thing became absurd and it became apparent that I was not going to get my Euro back. Tea-less, but in high spirits, I got on the train and settled into my little couchette for the night.
This morning I woke up in Berlin. This is the best way to travel!
Berlin!
The Museum of Things was my Sunday destination. This little museum is actually an archive of the Deutsche Werkbund, which was an institution that was focused on "life reform" through control of the aesthetic practices and preferences of the German population (Ok, so maybe it was not quite as powerful as I'm suggesting). The museum displayed German industrial design in all its glory!
The Deutsche Werkbund worked to, among other things, establish guidelines that dictated good and bad taste. What should be deemed aesthetically pleasing and what should be deemed less so? They even went so far as to have a kind of 'kit' that was brought into schools to demonstrate what sort of manufactured products were in line with the national consciousness. So German, no? The whole point of the institution was to provide a sort of aesthetic ideology that was in line with the politics and social agenda of the time. Efficiency, good, functional design was promoted, and ornament and embellishment for its own sake was abhorred. Brilliant, I think.
Let me tell you, it was a spectacularily arranged history of Germany told through mass manufactured objects. I mean, we're used to telling our stories through objects, right? In a conventional 'museum' the uniqueness, rarity and age of the objects makes us see them as meaningful and valuable in themselves. Here, the selection and thematic arrangement of not so rare, everyday objects was a fascinating window into history and German consciousness.
As a collector of things, I was also very interested in the curation and organization of the collection. Perhaps because I've been struggling with deciding what to discard in my own personal collections, I fond myself thinking about whether there was someone still collecting contemporary objects that would be displayed in those very same cases some years down the road. What if I was throwing away our very history?! Should I hold on to my old matchboxes? I felt a twinge of regret for using all the napkins in my napkin collection one winter when I had that cold that would just not go away.
Anyway, the collection itself was organized both chronologically and thematically, with objects taking their places in large glass cabinets arranged in rows. Along one wall, in the thematic mode, there were groupings of amazing things, like old cell phones, tiny chairs (!), Mona Lisa Souveniers, plastic hamburgers, soap, adhesives, shaving brushes and things made of tin.
If you are in Berlin soon, I'd recommend it. A fun diversion.
Afterward, I went to a coffee shop to await Hilda, who was returning to from the countryside. We met and rejoiced over tasty kebabs. With glasses of tea, we started to start catching up after many years apart. A reunion as sweet as our beverages!
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