An installation at The Met recreates a closet from the Greenwich Village studio apartment of Sara Berman. Berman was born in 1920 in Belarus, emigrated to Palestine in 1940, and then to New York in 1953. From 1982 until her death in 2004, she stored her her all-white wardrobe, as well as other loose possessions, in a single walk-in closet, on two hangbars and six rows of narrow wood shelves. Her wardrobe consisted of: ten or so pairs of trousers, twenty or so shirts, ten or so sweaters, stacks of folded socks and underclothes, two wool scarves, two wool caps, one pair of gloves, a cotton bathrobe, three plastic wristwatches and, on the floor, seven pairs of flats with their toes pointed outwards. The housewares stored inside include: linens, towels, an iron, a globe, a white wood serving tray, a steel casserole, a set of painted ceramic mugs, a small stack of letters, and about a dozen books.
All these things are fine and lovingly cared for, but they are not luxurious, and they are not sentimental. They are remarkable instead because Berman selected and displayed them with such care. Stacks of tshirts and underpants are folded precisely, as if for sale, each pile sitting an inch away from the next. Shirts are ironed and buttoned, facing front, with an inch left between each hanger. The things contained in this closet, shockingly few in number for a contemporary American, are all of what Sara Berman needs.
Berman’s closet isn’t monastic; it offers its own kind of opulence. With the pieces inside it’s possible to craft a great number of ensembles, spanning seasons and occasions. Her closet might be as rich in fashion possibilities as Nan
Kempner’s famously overstuffed ones.
A small photograph of her on the gallery wall shows her in white coat, shirt and trousers,
with a mens striped necktie, looking naturally, elegantly and eccentrically chic. This closet, filled with her personal effects, could have been understood as a memorial. Instead it speaks, strongly, to her love for herself and her love for her life.