A lantern without nostalgia. A chandelier without performance. Harriet doesn’t hang to decorate – she hovers to disturb. She’s pressed in chrome and etched with doubt, a pendant that speaks in borrowed light and borrowed lines.
Her message is scripted. You won’t see what she says at first – but the room hears it.
Objects like Harriet aren’t silent. They just wait for the pause.
People don’t need products. They need presence.
Not mass. Not bland.
Just odd objects with a past — and a point.
Hand-restored and re-strung by HAUS.JACOB, Harriet is built around contradiction:
A geometric, almost conservative cage structure. A hand-scripted statement glowing from its center.
Suspended by a lavender cable, soft yet exact.
This is not a lamp. It’s a line of dialogue — held in place.
You don’t need objects from mass production. You need a sentence that glows.