Comb and comb stand c. 1930

Curator: Well, this looks rather pristine, doesn't it? Editor: Utterly. A sort of frozen moment of Art Deco grooming ritual. I'm immediately struck by the austere elegance; the sheer chill of the metal. Curator: Indeed. What we have here is a “Comb and comb stand” dating from around 1930, currently residing here at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. Editor: There’s something about the arrangement, the severity of the metal punctuated by the soft burst of the red bristles… it's almost unsettling in its perfection. As if someone is desperately clinging to a bygone ideal of glamour and order. Curator: Precisely. Notice how the metal is unbroken, each curve flawlessly executed, and each cylindrical handle mirroring the others, rising up and terminating with perfect disks. The Art Deco style embraces simplicity and mass production, finding beauty in repetitive geometrical shapes and highly reflective surfaces, yet it all seems so calculated. Editor: Like a stage set. Perhaps that’s the key. Everyday objects elevated to something more theatrical. Is it metal primarily, then? I see red bristles. Curator: Primarily, yes, it is metal – polished to a high sheen that gives the pieces that air of unattainability. Editor: Does anyone even use these objects anymore? Seems as relevant as a butler to smooth one's brow... Anyway. Back to composition. It strikes me that all of those gleaming surfaces must bounce light all over the boudoir! What decadence. Curator: Absolutely. Consider, too, that while ostensibly functional, pieces like this represent an idealized, even ritualized vision of daily life. Editor: Exactly. It's not about washing or grooming but the *idea* of such; sanitized, buffed, utterly controlled! It makes me want to mess it up, maybe spill something on it... Ah, the subversive urges of a creative soul. Curator: Tempting, certainly. But I find satisfaction enough in appreciating the carefully planned harmony within it. Editor: Well, each to their own; I appreciate its craftsmanship and its weird subliminal disquiet, this vision of pristine daily living… thanks for this tour, very insightful! Curator: The pleasure was all mine, an unusual discussion about domestic routine in days of old.