As a toddler, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother. She lived on the second floor of a 19th-century building in the capital city. I loved going shopping with her. Life was local, and everyone knew my grandmother (after all, she was a talented seamstress), and my grandmother knew everyone. A simple shopping trip (such as getting bread) meant multiple conversations with countless passersby, which I listened to with interest. The highlight was visiting the pastry shop, where I would get strawberries with whipped cream. Not every time, but occasionally.
However, the most impressive experience was the very rare visit to the Art Nouveau-style savings bank. I didn’t understand what my grandmother was doing there; I only knew it involved money. Since there were almost always many people there, my grandmother had joined the queue, and she had seated me on a bench in the middle of the hall. I had to wait a long time, and during that time, I looked at the murals and the impressive decoration. I imagined the painted scenes on the walls and pondered what could happen next and all that could occur. The hall of the savings bank was very impressive, and it felt like being in a cathedral. Despite many people, there was an almost sacred silence, as if loud talk would be a sin. I felt very small and insignificant in this large, elaborately decorated room.
My grandmother has been dead for decades, and my last visit to the savings bank building was surely with her. Now I happened to be in the area and had TIME (which almost never happens). I was curious about how the building looks today, so I decided to visit the savings bank. From the outside, the building looks rather unassuming, but inside, it’s breathtaking. The restored staircase alone is impressive, and the main hall, where I sat as a toddler in the middle and looked at the pictures, is very well restored and impressive in retrospect. The feeling like being in a cathedral with the silence and height of the room like back then came back to me.
What puzzled me was the ceiling. The ceiling was made of glass and let in light. However, as a child, I remember that the ceiling also had full pictures. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but I mean there were people in the summer working and resting in fields, adults as well as children. The savings bank was almost empty. Very unusual compared to the crowds and waiting from back then. I walked around the hall and looked at the furnishings, the pictures, the sculptures. It’s an impressive work. I thought I’d take a few photos to show my mother and discuss with her whether there really was a glass ceiling back then or whether there was a painting like I remember.
I started taking photos, and suddenly a woman stood next to me and said resolutely, “Photography is prohibited here.” I must admit, I was in a confrontational mood and disagreed with her. I said there was no prohibition sign, and I continued taking photos. She didn’t like the disregard of her authority. She replied that despite the absence of a sign, it was still prohibited, and I should STOP immediately. And the spoken word “immediately” felt like it was written in big bold letters! I politely asked her to show me the regulation in writing because one could say a lot. She was angry and started making a phone call. Even after the call, she couldn’t provide any argument other than her statement “Photography is prohibited.”
I briefly considered, if anyone ever had the idea to rob this savings bank, they probably wouldn’t be walking around with a visible camera. Nevertheless, as I looked at her, I wasn’t sure if she was overreacting and calling the police because they didn’t have a security guard at the savings bank, and I didn’t have time for such a delay. I had already taken the desired pictures, and she made no attempt to snatch my phone away. I bid her farewell and left. I had no intention of robbing the savings bank!
What I still don’t know is whether there really was a glass ceiling back then (the savings bank was put into operation in 1913, although there was already a financial institution at that location in 1888) because my mother also can’t remember. That’s why I’m unsure if my early childhood memory is mistaken or if there was a restoration to the original condition. The attendant at the savings bank didn’t know either!
Michaela Merz 