Latest / The History of Germany: Kingdoms, War, and Rebuilding Europe — Fexingo History / Bauhaus in Exile: How the Nazis Scattered Germany's Modernist Architects
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked about the Bauhaus before — how it started in Weimar, moved to Dessau, and became this powerhouse of modern design. But what really sticks with me is how it all fell apart. The Nazis shut it down in 1933, and the people behind it — the teachers, the students — they scattered across the world. Luna: Right, I remember you mentioning that a lot of them ended up in the US. But how did that actually happen? Lucas: That's the story. And I think it's interesting how something that was meant to be a German school — deeply rooted in German craft and industry — became a global movement precisely because the Nazis tried to crush it. The irony is hard to miss. Before we dive in, I want to mention that listener support is what keeps this show ad-free and independent. If you enjoy following these threads with us, you can help at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. It's a small way to keep conversations like this going. Okay, so let's start with the closure itself. Luna: Yeah, I knew the Bauhaus was labeled 'degenerate art,' but what was the actual trigger? Lucas: The Nazi takeover of Dessau's city council in 1932. The school had moved there in 1925, but by the early thirties the local Nazi party was gaining power. They saw the Bauhaus as a hotbed of Bolshevism and cultural decay. Mies van der Rohe, who was director by then, tried to keep it going in a private format in Berlin, but after a few months the Gestapo raided the premises and the school effectively dissolved. By then, most of the key figures had already left Germany. Luna: So they saw it coming. Lucas: Some did. Walter Gropius, the founder, had already resigned in 1928. He'd seen the political pressure building. He and his family moved to England in 1934, and then to the United States in 1937 to become a professor at Harvard's Graduate School of Design. That was a huge deal — Harvard was basically inviting modernism into American architecture education. Luna: And Mies — he stayed a bit longer, right? Lucas: Mies stayed in Germany until 1937, hoping he could work under the regime. He even tried to design buildings for the Nazis — he submitted a proposal for the Reichsbank, but it was rejected. Eventually he realized there was no future for him there. He emigrated to the US in 1938, heading the architecture program at the Armour Institute in Chicago, which later became the Illinois Institute of Technology. That's where he designed the iconic Seagram Building in New York. Luna: The Seagram Building — that glass tower with the bronze exterior. It's so minimalist, almost austere. Does that come directly from his Bauhaus years? Lucas: Absolutely. Mies's mantra was 'less is more.' At the Bauhaus he'd already been pushing for a 'skin and bones' architecture — structures where the frame is exposed and the glass isn't just a window but the entire wall. The Seagram Building is the culmination of that thinking. But not everyone who left found that kind of success. Some Bauhäusler disappeared into obscurity, or struggled to adapt. Luna: What about László Moholy-Nagy? He was a Hungarian, so he couldn't stay even if he wanted to? Lucas: Right. Moholy-Nagy left Germany in 1934, first to Amsterdam, then to London. In 1937 he was invited to Chicago to start the New Bauhaus — an American version of the school. It struggled financially, but it eventually became the Institute of Design. Moholy-Nagy died in 1946, just as the school was finding its footing. His focus was on the integration of art, technology, and everyday life — exactly what the original Bauhaus preached. Luna: And there's the White City in Tel Aviv — I've seen photos of those white low-rise buildings. That was Bauhaus emigres too, wasn't it? Lucas: Yes, that's one of the most surprising chapters. In the 1930s, many Jewish architects who had studied or taught at the Bauhaus fled to Palestine. They brought the Bauhaus aesthetic with them — clean lines, flat roofs, functionalism — and applied it to the new city of Tel Aviv. Between 1933 and 1939, about 2,700 buildings were constructed in the International Style there. It's now a UNESCO World Heritage site. Some of those architects never became as famous as Gropius or Mies, but their work is everywhere. Luna: So the Bauhaus really became a global brand. But was there any resistance to it in the US? Did people see it as too German, or too avant-garde? Lucas: There was some pushback. The architectural establishment in America was still very much Beaux-Arts — classical columns and symmetry. Gropius and Mies had to adapt. Gropius, for example, designed his own house in Lincoln, Massachusetts — called Gropius House — and it's a blend of Bauhaus modernism with New England vernacular, like clapboard siding. He made compromises. But by the 1950s, the International Style had become the corporate look — sleek steel and glass towers — and that's largely Mies's legacy. Luna: And what about those who stayed in Germany? Did any Bauhaus people survive the war? Lucas: A few stayed. Some, like the sculptor Gerhard Marcks, were deemed 'acceptable' and continued working. Others went into what was called 'inner emigration' — they kept their heads down. But the school itself was gone. The building in Dessau, designed by Gropius, was used as a training center for the SS. After the war, it fell into disrepair. It wasn't until the 1970s that it was restored, and now it's a museum. The Bauhaus-Archiv in Berlin also collects the school's legacy. Luna: So the Bauhaus only lasted fourteen years, but its influence is everywhere. That's kind of amazing. Lucas: It really is. And part of that influence came from the diaspora. Without the Nazi persecution, you might have had a strong German modern movement, but not the global spread. The students and teachers carried the philosophy with them — to the US, to Israel, to Britain, to Mexico. Some became teachers themselves and trained a whole new generation. The Bauhaus idea of the 'total work of art' — where every object from a teapot to a building is designed with the same principles — became part of modern life. Luna: I think about that when I see a Barcelona chair. That was Mies, right? And it was originally designed for a German pavilion at an international expo. Lucas: Exactly. The Barcelona chair was made for the German Pavilion at the 1929 International Exposition in Barcelona. Mies designed the whole pavilion and the furniture. It's become an icon of modern design — and you can still buy reproductions today. That's the Bauhaus legacy: objects that are timeless because they're stripped of ornament and focused on function and material. But there's also a darker side — the fact that so many of these artists and architects had to flee, and some didn't survive. Luna: Did any Bauhaus people die in the camps? Lucas: Unfortunately, yes. Some students and lesser-known faculty didn't get out in time. The painter Franz Ehrlich, for example, was a Bauhaus student who was arrested by the Nazis and sent to Buchenwald. He survived by collaborating on architectural projects for the SS — designing their headquarters inside the camp. After the war, he continued working in East Germany. It's a deeply complicated story. And then there are those who were simply killed — like the architect Alfred Arndt's wife, who was Jewish and died in Auschwitz. Luna: That's sobering. The Bauhaus isn't just about beautiful design — it's tied to some very real human tragedy. Lucas: Absolutely. And I think that's why the Bauhaus-Archiv in Berlin exists — not just to celebrate the aesthetics, but to preserve the full history, including the persecution. The collection includes personal letters, photographs, and documents that show how the school's ideals collided with political reality. It's a reminder that art and design don't exist in a vacuum. Luna: So if someone wanted to see the Bauhaus legacy for themselves, where would they go? Lucas: Well, the obvious places are Dessau and Berlin. The Bauhaus building in Dessau is a pilgrimage site for design lovers. The Bauhaus-Archiv in Berlin is being rebuilt right now and will reopen with a new exhibition. But you can also see it in Chicago, at the IIT campus, or in Tel Aviv's White City. Or even in the humble Barcelona chair at a modern furniture store. The Bauhaus is everywhere — you just have to know what to look for. Luna: I'll definitely be looking for it now. Thanks, Lucas — that was a great thread to follow.