Seven small objects, drawn from the corridors of a hotel that has been closed for some time. Released once, in small editions, to be lived with quietly.
There is a particular quiet that settles over a place when the season has ended. OFFSEASON makes objects for that quiet. Seven pieces, in small editions, released once. Then it closes again.
this is drop · mmxxvi of an institution that releases rarely.
Faded oxblood, brass snaps, cream chain-stitch embroidery on the heart side. For loitering by the front desk in shoulder season.
Sage piqué, cream tipping, a small monogram pattern at the chest. The shirt you wear behind the counter when no one is checking in.
Vegetable-tanned cognac leather, twin brass postal buckles, a tag at the strap. A bag for carrying tomorrow's correspondence quietly.
A printed announcement, taped to the door of an institution that has been closed for some time. Two formats. Signed and numbered.
Matte black ceramic. Notes of tobacco, salt and cedar. The candle the night porter lights when the lobby grows still after eleven.
Five vinyl notices in the typographic language of the lobby. For the back of a journal, the side of a steamer trunk, the door of an office that has gone quiet.
A pair of A6 leather-bound books, blind-debossed with the house monogram, bound by hand in cognac vegetable-tan. For lists and letters one might not send.
A short, infrequent correspondence from the front desk. Notice of the next edition, news from the lobby, the occasional postcard from the off-season.
we write rarely, and only of the institution. you may part with us at any time.