The use of Socialist Realism in public art and architecture is endless throughout the former Soviet bloc. It was clearly a major tool employed by the government(s) to create a culture blindy faithful and dependent on the state. The government of the GDR again shows itself as a Soviet puppet in their strikingly similar use of Socialist Realism throughout East Berlin.

One primary designer of such buildings is Hermann Henselman, former Berlin city architect, who even laid original plans for the Berlin TV Tower (seen in first image).While his name had come up in my research of Karl-Marx-Allee weeks ago, it wasn't until recently that I realized just how many of the buildings I walk by every day are creations of Henselman. As a student during the Bauhaus era, many of Henselman's buildings align closer to the modernist guidelines than stalinist ones. Still, even on some of his most "Bauhaus" buildings are glaring reminders of Henselman's pandering to the communist government. The most obvious example of this is the Haus des Lehrers off Alexanderplatz (pictured in second image).

Covering a large portion of the modernist high-rise's outer facade is a Socialist Realist mural depicting glorified images of life in the GDR. After reading about it, I went to take a closer look at the images and was shocked at what I had not fully realized before. There are scenes showing good communist children learning and presumably on their way to serving the state well, similar to the idea of the "Pioneers". There are also images depicting the strong ethic of the communist blue collar worker, as well as the great minds of scientists all working toward the advancement of the great state (Some of these images can be seen in the third photo).

The use of socialist realistic art within the architecture in order to make people feel a certain way.

Alone In The City

After passing by several times on my way to visit my sister at her apartment near Westhafen, and leading my student-led tour on neighborhoods border, I decided to visit Wedding. The area attracted me because of the large area that it takes up on a map, and explanation that my sister gave me about it being a poor, cheap neighborhood that was becoming "cool" and therefor, gentrified, much like Kruezberg has in recent years. I decided to get off not at the main Wedding ring-station, but a little further north at U6-Bahnhhof Seestrasse, where I hoped to find a more distinct feel away from the neighborhood's transportation center as well as the asian supermarket my sister suggested I visit.

The minute I stepped out of the underground station, I could feel so many differences between this neighborhood and many others in Berlin. My first impression was that it felt more bustling and condensed than most parts of the city I had been. The street was packed with cars in all directions, and the sidewalks were nearly full as well, with everyone walking at what seemed to be a faster pace. The buildings were much older here than in our neighborhood, and all of them tightly hugged the wide sidewalks with no small greenspace in between. Advertising also seemed to be more prominent here, including an enormous movie poster that took up the facade of a large glass building kitty-corner from the station.

I decided to buy a small meal at the chinese fast food place the sat on the street directly in front of the station. Its walls were made completely of glass and there was a small two person table right against one of the windows that would be perfect for observing life on the street as I sat. Sitting in the warm building away from the cold wind that blew outside, I thought back to the reading that described sitting in an outdoor cafe and taking in the city. After seeing the doorway directly next to me, though, I realized that I was almost taking part in a very common ritual for this block. It was a joint doorway that featured a hall leading to four different stores, so it was a perfect place for people to take a break from cold if they needed to stop for any reason. I witnessed multiple people step inside to take phone calls or adjust their scarves or coats, and yet another man spend several minutes waiting in the doorway as he passed the time to meet a friend outside, who eventually came. Near the end of my visit, there was another girl who simply stood in the doorway for 20 minutes, but her patience for whatever she was waiting for outlasted my curiosity about why she was there so long. It was clear however that this common hallway, with no store clerks or anyone else telling people to move along was utilized to the fullest. It did not, however, drain street life or create unwanted loitering, at least not while I was observing.

Overall, I left the Seestrasse area of Wedding feeling like the neighborhood had a much more American out-of-downtown-big-city feel too it, with its taller older buildings, prominent advertisements, fast pace, and small gridded blocks filled with cars. There were no Bauhaus or communist apartment buildings here, and even the TV Tower was not visible from this block.

Berlin, Week 6: Blending?

As the birthplace of the 1989 uprisings against the GDR, Leipzig has many physical reminders of the communist government’s decades of power. Compared to Berlin, it is a town much more dominated by structures clearly built well before World War II. Still, though, on nearly every block stands a daunting creation of GDR leaders (One example seen in the first photo, in the city center). On my walks around Leipzig, I found my questions of “why” the buildings of East Germany echoed the Stalinist designs of the Soviet Union were pushed aside as I tried to make sense of whether or not an attempt was made to blend this style with what already stood in the city.

Behind the famous St. Nicholas Church is a block of buildings nestled together, and relatively blended in with the surrounding urban landscape. It was not until our guide pointed out one of the buildings in the row that I noticed it was very different from the rest, both in age and overall design (seen in the second image). Once pointed out, the building looked clearly like one that would have been built under the GDR, yet there were elements in its design that were obviously meant to subdue its ties with modernism and help it to blend in with the designs of the past. Its design was based around three aspects almost never seen in constructivist and Stalinist architecture. It was relatively low-rise, standing 7-stories tall and just inches above its direct neighbor. The newer building was also painted very neutral, subtle colors that did not bring attention to themselves. Finally, it featured a pitched roof that matched its surroundings, rather than the typical boxed, flat roof. At this point I began to wonder why Leipzig’s urban landscape was given a level of respect not shared with Berlin.

I never really developed a theory that there was a Leipzig master construction design plan under the GDR that dictated new buildings must blend into existing ones because some of my first impressions of the city center were monstrous mid-rise block buildings that often “stole the show” from the charming pre-war buildings below (such as the one in the third image). Even modern day construction in Leipzig seems to be caught somewhere in the middle. The skeleton of the new mall being built makes it look like it will be as overbearing and unconcerned with its surroundings as the worst of the communist buildings, yet public mock ups brag that it will feature a façade that pays respect to the past, and helps the building not stand out as an example of extreme capitalism.

Berlin Week 5: Purpose of Communist Architecture

If this program has taught us anything about architecture, it is the fact that the design of a building has the power to evoke emotions or even actions in the people around it. For centuries, architects have taken advantage of this power, and used it as a driving force behind their designs. Some, like Schinkel working for the Prussian state, hoped to create national pride and productive behavior. In designing the Bauhaus school in Dessau, Walter Gropius made entire walls of glass in order to have the building itself embody transparency (seen in the first image).

It is easy to recognize an architectural style and link it to a certain type of community, such as the granite rectilinear fascist/Nazi architecture. Explaining the ideals or purpose behind a given style, though, is much more difficult. Living in a city partially ruled by a communist government for roughly four decades, we are surrounded by examples of communist architecture, another easily distinguishable style. It In studying the Soviet occupation of Germany and the culture and built environment that developed under the GDR government, it is clear, and commonly agreed upon, that these buildings were designed with the intention of influencing people's thoughts and actions.

While showing Ashley around Berlin's sights on her visit, she asked me about the purpose of the TV Tower (shown in the second image). Was all that really necessary for transmitting television and radio signals? Or was it built to be an icon, much like our Space Needle, or Paris's Eiffel Tower? It was an intriguing question because, based on the context under which it was built, it is hardly equivalent to Paris and Seattle's buildings, both products of World's Fairs. At the same time, though, its aesthetic purpose to "wow" those who saw it and show off the power and advancement of the city and government is very similar to the others.

The builders under the GDR took such projects to a whole other level, though. In Berlin, the TV Tower is visible from almost every part of the city that has any sort of sight-line at all. It serves as a constant reminder of the power of the government and the insignificance of the individual in comparison. At Buchenwald, mass graves were memorialized by a monument built by the GDR (shown in third image). The memorial itself is so massive and overbearing that it seems to use the hallowed ground and the tragedies took place there as an excuse to flaunt the dominance and power of new government, that of the liberators. While this particular sight seemed disrespectful to nature and the very thing it was memorializing, I find the "goal" behind communist architecture fascinating, particularly how it ranges is made up primarily of polar opposite bare-bones buildings and overly extravagant ones, yet all are recognizable as being part of the overall style.

Berlin, Week 4: Artistic Expression

Like manyother European capitals, Berlin is a city full ofincredible art. The art in Berlin is not limited to museum walls and national monuments, though. I have found that after being inundated with often breathtaking pieces, from graffiti murals to groundbreaking architecture, I have been craving artistic expression. Having been fascinated by architecture for as long as I can remember, all the class discussions and readings have brought me back to a time when I would let my mind wander off at times to dream up building designs andnew urban layouts. When listening to music recently I have felt far more "moved" by it, feeling it really flow through me. I have also had urges I have not had before to go out and get some canvas and try my hand at painting after ideas pop into my head.

I do not think that my new desire for artistic expression and my inundation with it in Berlin is a coincidence. It is amazing to me how living in such an atmosphere can affect a person. It also hints to me that it is not just a result, but also a contributing factor for the amount, and varying genres of art born in Berlin, seeing how contagious it can be. While my resources are low, I have found some expression in writing, but also have recently been photographing Berlin in a more artistic fashion as well as playing with photo editing as a way of bringing out the true

feeling of an image better, a way of coping with how the photos I take never really capture how the actual scene made me feel (an example is seen in the first photo, where I have tweaked the contrast, sharpened the image, making it more harsh, and increased the shadows and reflections seen through the S-Bahn window).

Having heard Weimar described as the "cultural center of Germany" had me very excited to visit it, along with the other home of the Bauhaus movement, Dessau. In Weimar, I had an incredible experience, mainly with the overall beauty of the town itself. The quant cobble stone streets and low-rise ornamental buildings had me day dreaming about designing American small-towns (now often just Wal-Marts and gas stations and grocery chains connected by wide, unwalkable streets) in a more community and pedestrian oriented way, such as Weimar. I also was able to learn more about Franz Liszt at an exhibit, and experience the physical beauty and enchanting sounds of the piano at Weimar's Shlossmuseum. In Dessau, I was able to be reminded of many of the founding elements of the Bauhaus (Bauhaus School seen in second photo) that are still echoed in architects' works that I have been in awe of for years, such Mies Van Der Rohe, Skidmore Owings and Merrill, and NBBJ who use large amounts of steel and glass in straight lines with virtual

ly no ornamentation.

Though the greatest amount of artistic expression I was able to release was playing an oversized piano outside the museum in Weimar (seen in picture 3), my desire for the creation of art helped me appreciate it and its history even more.

Berlin: Week 3

Berlin is all about re-inventing itself. From Schinkel's use of revival architecture in a search for new individuality,to coping with the dark past in the National Socialist movement, the city has created new meaning, both intentional and by chance, in its works of construction. This is true both in the new and the old.

Much like the artificial ruins of Pfaueninsel, many buildings within Potsdam's Sanssouci Park come from the 18th century, yet harken back to a much earlier time. The style of the park is clearly baroque. Each building is clearly visible, almost framed, by long walkways littered with foliage in the forground. A similar scene is witness from these buildings as well, as a views looking out onto the park look as though they were planned to appear like a painting from all angles. Seemingly unrelated to this theme, an Egyptian-style obelisk, covered with hieroglyphs (Seen in first photograph) marks the eastern entrance to the park. The monument, however, pays tribute to ancient symbols of abundance and the flowers and new life of spring. Though the scene at Sanssouci Park is much different than one of ancient Egypt, this building was planned to bring new meaning to an old symbol. It adds a fresh layer, while also honoring the accomplishments of the past.

As Brian Ladd points out in "The Ghosts of Berlin", the Reichstag building (seen in the second image) was treasured by Hitler and continued to serve as an important building under the Nazi movement. The building was also used as an excuse to gain special executive powers allowing the persecution of communists under very questionable circumstances after the Reichstag Fire of 1933. At this time, the building stood as a symbol of unjust Nazi power. During the GDR rule, the building was left in limbo and stood as a symbol of a weakened and divided Germany. After reunification, the building once again served as home to Germany's parliament and the new glass dome was constructed. The building now stands as a symbol of the just, democratic, and united nation that Germany is today, despite a trying history.

The fact that one building can stand for so many different things in such a short period of time does indeed show the importance of the building itself, but more importantly, it shows that the value given a building by the people who use it and preserve it is far more important that what the building was originally intended to be. This lesson can also be applied to the preservation of the Berlin Wall in the East Side Gallery (seen in the third image). The simple concrete slabs once stood for oppression, division, and pain, but are today a symbol of peace and unity, and have even gone so far as to serve as a medium for artwork that can further convey this message.

Berlin: Week 2

Often times in Berlin, I am too caught up in the Nazi and Soviet past to fully appreciate the rich royal history that came long before. On a day trip to Pfaueninsel (Peacock Island), we were immersed in purely Prussian history. After being established by Frederick William I and used by Johann Kunckel as a glass foundry, the island served as the pleasure ground for Prussian King Frederick William II starting in the late 18th century. He and his wife had a small castle built (shown in first image) on the island that was designed as an artificial ruin.

The idea of a king building his home to look like a ruin brings to mind the question of the aesthetic value of ruins. What is it about a destroyed building that makes it beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than one in good condition? In the city of Berlin it is much about the historical significance of a destroyed building, one that has been through so much, yet still stands and in many cases, can still be used. It seems to give the occupants a sense of freedom to use it for whatever purposes they may choose, something that cannot be done with most new buildings made and zoned for certain things. The fact that Frederick William II's castle was not an authentic ruin did make the building less significant than if an actual battle had been fought on that site, which gives scholars and tourists an insight into the need for authenticity.

The apartment buildings in our neighborhood in the outer reaches of the former East Berlin's Mitte district look like the typical monotonous blocks built by the GDR, providing only the essentials, doing so as cheaply as possible, and in a uniform fashion. Living in such a building gives me an clue as to what life was like during that time; it can be seen in the concrete, carpet covered floors, as well as the paper thin walls.

The public works of the communist government can easily be the butt of jokes, such as the building that appears to be made up largely with Styrofoam (seen in second image), and is now easily visible to all who pass by, as the bottom corner of it has been chipped away, exposing the inner make up of the wall.

The utter lack of luxuries for citizens of the GDR can also be personified by the Trabant, a standard issue car (seen in third image) that was a great sense of pride to those who were lucky enough to have owned one, often after a waiting period of about 10 years. Though the vehicles have now become nostalgic time pieces worth much more than other junky old cars, they still are a telling clue as to what East German life was like.

In today's very mixed Berlin, it is quite common to see polar opposites sharing the city space. This can be seen in two different buildings sharing the same block, or by two very different cars parked on the same street. In the final image, there is a picture of a convertible Audi, a staple of luxury and consumer culture, with the bare-bones GDR-era Trabbie parked in the distance. This scene is very comical, but also very characteristic of a diverse city with such abrupt changes in culture over recent years.