Latest / The History of Germany: Kingdoms, War, and Rebuilding Europe — Fexingo History / Bauhaus at 100: The Factory That Remade German Art
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked about revolution, empire, war — today I want to look at something that came out of all that chaos. I'm talking about the Bauhaus. A school. But not just any school — a place that tried to rebuild the world after the catastrophe of World War I. Luna: I feel like I know the look — the flat roofs, the geometric buildings, the tubular chairs. But I don't actually know the story behind it. Lucas: Right. Most people recognize the style, but the school itself only existed for fourteen years. From 1919 to 1933. It moved three times — Weimar, then Dessau, then Berlin — and it was shut down by the Nazis. But in that short time, it basically invented the blueprint for modern design. Lucas: The founder was Walter Gropius, an architect who had served in the war. He was disillusioned — like many artists of that generation. He believed that art had to be rebuilt from the ground up, not just aesthetically but socially. So he proposed a new kind of school, one that combined fine art, craft, and industry. Luna: And the name Bauhaus — that's a play on Bauhütte, right? The medieval cathedral builders' guild. Lucas: Exactly. Gropius wanted to evoke that medieval communal spirit. The cathedral as a total work of art, where everyone — the stone mason, the painter, the glass maker — works together. So he called it the Staatliches Bauhaus. But the manifesto he wrote sounds almost like a religious sermon. 'Architects, sculptors, painters — we must all return to the crafts!' Lucas: And the program was radical. Every student began with a preliminary course, the Vorkurs, where they experimented with materials, form, and color. No specialization at first. Then they moved into workshops — weaving, ceramics, wood, metal, typography, stage design. But here's the twist: they weren't just making art objects. They were designing prototypes for mass production. Luna: So they were like industrial designers before that was even a thing. Lucas: Exactly. Gropius's slogan was 'Art and technology — a new unity.' He wanted the school to be in dialogue with factories and industry. That was the whole point: to create things that could be manufactured and affordable, not just unique pieces for the wealthy. Lucas: But the early years in Weimar were rocky. The school was seen as radical, left-wing, even communist by the conservative locals. And there were internal battles too — some of the teachers were expressionist painters, like Johannes Itten, who was a mystic and wore robes. He was all about intuition and spirituality. Gropius had to walk a line between these artistic impulses and his more rational, industrial vision. Luna: I can imagine that tension. Did the students have a say in the direction? Lucas: They did, actually. There was a student council, and they pushed for more autonomy. But also the state government in Thuringia, which funded the school, was getting more conservative. By 1924 they cut the budget, so Gropius moved the whole school to Dessau in 1925. And that’s where things really took off. Lucas: In Dessau, Gropius designed the iconic Bauhaus building — that glass curtain wall, the asymmetry, the clear geometry. It became the symbol of the school. And there, the workshops really matured. The metal workshop produced the famous tubular steel chairs, like the Wassily chair, named after Kandinsky. The weaving workshop, led by Gunta Stölzl, made abstract textiles that were actually used in buildings. Luna: I keep hearing about the women at the Bauhaus. I've always had the impression that it was progressive, but also that it wasn't all it claimed to be. Lucas: That’s a really good point. Gropius's manifesto said the school was open to any person of talent, regardless of gender. But in practice, the workshops were heavily gendered. The weaving and ceramics workshops were seen as 'women's work,' and many women were steered there, even if they wanted to do architecture or painting. There were exceptions, though. Marianne Brandt, who came to the metal workshop — she became one of the most important designers of the Bauhaus, creating those angular teapots and lamps that are still in production today. Lucas: And Anni Albers, who started in weaving, became a pioneering textile artist who later influenced the whole field. So the school wasn't perfectly egalitarian, but it did give some women a platform. But you're right — it wasn't the utopia it sometimes gets painted as. Luna: It's like that with a lot of progressive movements, I guess. Lucas: Yeah. But the Dessau years were also a time of incredible creativity. The school was fully funded by the city, which was social democratic, and they built experimental housing — the Masters' Houses — where the artists lived. And they had these famous parties, like the Lantern Festival, where students and teachers dressed up in costumes and put on theatrical performances. It wasn't all serious geometry. Lucas: But the political pressure kept mounting. In 1928 Gropius stepped down, and Hannes Meyer took over. He was a Marxist, and he pushed the school much more toward design for the working class, into mass housing and social projects. He called it 'the collective design of buildings for the collective.' That didn't sit well with the local authorities, and he was fired in 1930. Luna: So who came after him? Lucas: Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. The famous 'less is more' architect. He tried to depoliticize the school, but it was too late. The Nazis were gaining power, and they saw the Bauhaus as a breeding ground for Bolshevik culture. In 1932, the city of Dessau cut funds, and Mies moved the school to Berlin as a private institution. It lasted less than a year. In July 1933, under pressure from the Gestapo, the faculty voted to close the school. Luna: And then what happened to the people? Lucas: A lot of them emigrated. Gropius went to England and then to the United States. Mies came to Chicago. Josef Albers went to Black Mountain College. Anni and Josef Albers had a huge influence on American art and design. Kandinsky and Klee scattered. Some stayed and tried to ride it out, but many ended up in exile, or worse. The Bauhaus became a kind of diaspora. Lucas: But the ideas didn't die. They got exported. The International Style in architecture, the whole mid-century modern look, that's all Bauhaus heritage. And its influence is everywhere — from the furniture we sit on to the apps we use. Minimalism, functionalism, the idea that good design can improve life — that’s the Bauhaus legacy. Luna: It's kind of amazing that a school that lasted just fourteen years could have such a lasting impact. Lucas: Yeah. And it's interesting to think about how the Nazis suppressed it, but then after World War II, both East and West Germany claimed parts of the Bauhaus legacy. The Bauhaus-Archiv in Berlin, which was founded in 1960, is a testament to that. And the school's history is a reminder that design is never neutral — it's always tied to politics and society. Luna: That's a good place to pause. I mean, we've been talking about how the Bauhaus tried to rebuild society through design. And it makes me think about how we value things that aren't commercial — like this podcast. You know, we don't run ads. We just want to share history with people who are curious. Lucas: That's true. We've always been committed to keeping this ad-free. It feels like a way to honor the idea that knowledge and culture shouldn't be sold to the highest bidder. If you want to support that choice, the link is buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. No pressure, but it helps keep the show going. Luna: Yeah, exactly. It's like a tiny way to keep independent culture alive. Lucas: Anyway, speaking of legacy — there's one specific Bauhaus creation I want to talk about. The Dessau Törten housing estate. It was a real housing project for workers, built between 1926 and 1928, using standardized components and assembly-line construction. Gropius wanted to address the brutal housing shortage after the war. It's still inhabited today. Luna: So the Bauhaus wasn't just about art school. It actually tried to solve real-world problems. Lucas: Exactly. They weren't just designing lamps and chairs; they were thinking about how to house a society that was industrialized, urbanized, and still recovering from war. The Törten estate had flat roofs, which were radical at the time — and they leaked, by the way. The residents complained. But it was an experiment. And some of those experiments failed, but the lessons shaped modern housing. Lucas: And then there's the Bauhaus's influence on the arts more broadly. Paul Klee's painting, Kandinsky's theory, Oskar Schlemmer's Triadic Ballet — those are all part of the school's output. The Bauhaus wasn't just architecture and design, it was a whole avant-garde movement. Luna: So what would you say is the most misunderstood thing about the Bauhaus? Lucas: I think people often see it as this cold, sterile style. But actually, the Bauhaus was full of humor, play, and even mysticism. It wasn't just about geometry. It was about finding a new way to live. And it was also deeply human, with all the struggles and contradictions that come with that. Lucas: The Bauhaus is a perfect example of how a small group of people can have an outsized influence on the way we see the world. And I think that's a hopeful message. You don't need to be a huge movement to change the way people think — you just need a clear idea and the courage to pursue it. Luna: That's a nice way to end, I think. The Bauhaus as an idea that persists. Lucas: Yeah. And maybe the next time you sit in a chair that looks like it came from a modern showroom, you'll think of the Bauhaus. Or when you see a building with clean lines and a flat roof. It's all part of that legacy.