Latest / The History of Germany: Kingdoms, War, and Rebuilding Europe — Fexingo History / The Bauhaus at Weimar: Art, Politics, and the First Four Years
Transcript
- Lucas: If you've been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you know we've done a few on the Bauhaus already — the school in Dessau, the Masters' Houses, the whole design revolution. But I realised we skipped something crucial: the very beginning. The Bauhaus didn't start in Dessau. It started in Weimar, in 1919, in the middle of Germany's post-war chaos. Luna: Right — and Weimar wasn't exactly a welcoming place for avant-garde art. Lucas: Not even a little. So let's go back. The story really begins with Henry van de Velde, the Belgian architect who had run the Grand-Ducal School of Arts and Crafts in Weimar before World War I. When the war ended and the German Empire fell, van de Velde, being Belgian, was forced to leave. But before he left, he recommended three names to succeed him: one was Walter Gropius. Gropius wasn't the obvious choice — he was still relatively young, known for the Fagus Factory, but he had big ideas. Luna: And he got the job? Lucas: He did, in 1919. And almost immediately he renamed the school the Staatliches Bauhaus — literally 'state building house' — and issued a manifesto that sounded almost spiritual. He called for a 'cathedral of the future' where craftsmen and artists would work together. The famous woodcut of the cathedral on that manifesto was by Lyonel Feininger, a painter who became one of the first Bauhaus masters. Luna: I always think of the Bauhaus as sleek and functional, but that early vision sounds almost medieval. Lucas: Exactly — it was a strange hybrid. The early Bauhaus was deeply influenced by expressionism and even theosophy. Gropius believed in breaking down the hierarchy between artist and craftsman. So the curriculum was built around the Vorkurs — the preliminary course — which all students had to take. It was invented by Johannes Itten, a flamboyant, charismatic teacher who was a follower of Mazdaznan, a cultish blend of Zoroastrianism and health fads. Itten made students do breathing exercises and wear loose robes. He was brilliant but polarising. Luna: So the school's identity was still being fought over. Lucas: Absolutely. On one side you had Itten with his mystical expressionism. On the other, Gropius was increasingly leaning toward functionalism and mass production. And then there was the political pressure. The city of Weimar was a conservative stronghold — it had been the home of Goethe and Schiller, and now it had this 'Bolshevist art school' in its midst. The local press attacked the Bauhaus constantly. By 1921, the government of Thuringia, which funded the school, was controlled by right-wing parties who wanted to shut it down. Luna: How did Gropius keep it alive? Lucas: He made compromises. In 1923, he organised a major exhibition — the Bauhaus Exhibition of 1923 — to show the public that the school was serious and productive. It was a turning point. For that exhibition, Gropius shifted the school's direction dramatically: away from Itten's mysticism and toward what he called 'art and technology — a new unity'. Itten left soon after, replaced by László Moholy-Nagy, who taught metalwork and photography with a hard-edged modernist approach. The famous 'Bauhaus style' — clean lines, geometric shapes, industrial materials — really solidified in that exhibition. Luna: And yet the political situation only got worse. Lucas: Much worse. By 1924, the right-wing parties won the Thuringian state election, and they cut the Bauhaus's funding by half. Gropius saw the writing on the wall. The school was running out of money and the political hostility was relentless. So in 1925, he moved the entire Bauhaus to Dessau — a more industrial city with a social democratic government that supported modern art. The Weimar chapter was over. But those first four years, from 1919 to 1923, were incredibly fertile. They produced some of the most radical experiments in art, craft, and education of the twentieth century. Luna: It's amazing how much they managed to create under all that pressure. Lucas: Absolutely. And if today was actually useful to you, the way these stay ad-free is listener support — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It really helps us keep digging into stories like this without interruption. Luna: Yeah, every little bit counts. So after the move to Dessau, the Bauhaus really entered its most famous phase — but that early Weimar period set the foundation. Lucas: Exactly. And one of the most fascinating legacies of the Weimar years is the Vorkurs. Itten's preliminary course was essentially a laboratory for creativity — students experimented with materials, textures, colours, and forms without any pressure to produce a finished object. It was about unlearning and rediscovering. That course became the model for foundational art education worldwide. Later, Josef Albers took it over and made it even more rigorous, but always with that same spirit of play and discovery. Luna: So the Vorkurs wasn't just about teaching skills — it was about changing how people think. Lucas: Exactly. And it worked. Students like Marcel Breuer, who later designed the Wassily Chair, came through that course. But the early years also had some real tensions. Gropius had hired many of the Expressionist painters — Feininger, Kandinsky, Klee — as 'Form Masters', but they didn't teach craft. That was done by separate 'Workshop Masters', who were traditional artisans. It was a two-tier system that caused friction. The painters got higher pay and more prestige, and the craftsmen felt like second-class citizens. Luna: I can imagine that didn't sit well. Lucas: No, and Gropius eventually abolished the distinction, but not until the Dessau years. In Weimar, the school was still finding its way. There were also financial scandals — the school overspent on books and materials, and the city council kept auditing them. At one point, they couldn't afford to pay the heating bills. Students and teachers froze in the winter. But they kept working because they believed in the mission. Luna: What about the Bauhaus Exhibition of 1923 — what actually was shown? Lucas: It was huge. They built a model house — Haus am Horn, designed by Georg Muche — which was a prototype for affordable, modern living. It had flat roofs, open floor plans, built-in furniture. It was radical for its time. They also showed theatrical works, like the 'Triadic Ballet' by Oskar Schlemmer, with those geometric costumes. And there were workshops demonstrating weaving, metalwork, pottery, and typography. The exhibition drew thousands of visitors, including international critics. It put the Bauhaus on the map. Luna: And it probably helped convince the Dessau authorities to take them in. Lucas: Absolutely. The exhibition proved the Bauhaus could produce real, saleable designs — not just avant-garde art. That was key. So when the Weimar government pulled funding, Dessau was ready to offer a new home. The move in 1925 was almost seamless, because Gropius had already been planning for it. He designed the new building himself — that iconic glass-curtain building — and the school reopened in 1926. But the spirit of the early Weimar years never quite left. It was chaotic, idealistic, and sometimes cultish, but it was also where the Bauhaus was born. Luna: It's striking how much of what we think of as 'Bauhaus' — the clean lines, the functionalism — came out of that later period, but the seeds were all planted in Weimar. Lucas: Exactly. And it's a reminder that great movements often start in unlikely places, under terrible conditions, with people who are fiercely committed to an idea. The Bauhaus at Weimar lasted only six years, but those six years changed how we think about design, education, and the role of art in society. Luna: Thanks for taking us back to the beginning, Lucas. Lucas: My pleasure. And if you want to see some of the surviving objects from that early period — the pottery, the textiles, the furniture — the Bauhaus-Archiv in Berlin has an incredible collection. It's worth a visit if you ever get the chance.