They are loading in fixtures and decor, and it appears they have cornered the market in antique Singer sewing machines. Just seeing one Singer fills me with nostalgia for the countless long, serene days and nights when I played or read near my mother and grandmother as they sewed our dresses on their fancy black and gold machines.
Seeing this many Singers was overwhelming:
That plastic-wrapped flat on the left is stacked several feet high with Singers. There are more under the blue tarps and even more inside the store. Some were pristine; some need a good polish and a lot of rust remover:
As we exulted over the machines and watched the sign painter, the manager came over and greeted us. Tall, blonde, British, and impeccably dressed, he explained that the Singers would be polished and spiffed up, and then installed on tight rows of shelving all across the huge plate-glass windows. The machines will also be beautifully lit, he said.
If it really looks like what I'm imagining, it will give the galleries on the street (and the ICA) a run for their money as a traffic-stopping installation piece. I can't wait. You can see some of the machines on lower shelves here, next to the sign painter:
The store opens on Wednesday night. The manager assured us that we would find "lovely," suitably grown-up knits and dresses. I must say it looks promising.
And if I can't find what I want, maybe I can borrow a machine for a few days to make my own.