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.

Group #3 Exploration: Flak Tower

Flak Towers were used by the German Luftwaffe after 1940. They served as a defense against Allied air raids entering any of the cities they guarded with anti-aircraft weaponry. The one in Berlin’s Volkspark Humboldthain was one of three guarding the capital. It was designed by Albert Speer as part of his “Inner Ring of Defense”. This particular tower was a “first generation” Flak Tower that was laid out like a square with a small tower at each corner.

Though this tower was in the West, the Soviet’s attempted to destroy it during the occupation. Because of this, half of the tower, whose walls can be up to 3 meters thick, was destroyed, leaving only two of the four towers.

Today the Volkspark Humboldthain Flak Towers have been made into a historical monument. You can go to the top of the towers and see a panoramic view of the city. There are tours through the bunkers below, but it was closed today. While we were up at the towers there was a group of people tight rope walking between the towers. People were also repelling down the sides of the towers. It was interesting to see how this WWII air raid defense system has been completely reclaimed by the people as a public park.

In a very real way the Flak Towers and the surrounding area are much in line with the idea of Berlin as a city of ruins. Particularly striking is the feeling one gets while standing on the top, feeling as though one was sitting on an ancient abandoned fortress – imbued with the thought that this bulwark has already lasted the test of time.

Supplementing this thought is the picturesque Rose Garden one finds nearby. Cultivated in a secluded space just off the main trail, its architectural surroundings leave one with the impression that, perhaps on a sunny day, one could be enjoying the garden in the ruins of an old Roman estate in Tuscany. With its classically columned arbor and stone walls covered in vegetation, when one sits down and overlooks the scene it is hard not to feel transported away from Berlin and into a land far older.

Berlin: Week 1

Leaving Humboldt on our first meeting in our classroom, the beautiful weather made the decision to take an educational walk back to the apartments an easy decision for my room mates and I. By chance, I stumbled upon an adequite map before leaving the university and plotted a course that took us past many of the Mitte's main attractions. A pleasant walk "Unter den Linden" lead us to the famous Berliner Dom and Altes Museum, both buildings I had studied in prior architecture history courses. The top image, capturing the Berliner Dom dating back to the 15th century, followed by the TV tower, a symbol of Berlin under the GDR, and the information center for the renovation of the old Prussian palace is typical of the way the city of Berlin can, in itself, be a historical text. It shows it's resilience and evolution through monarchies, fascism, communism, and a renewed value of it's history.

On saturday, I was invited to experience a staple of German/European entertainment culture. My sister's boyfriend (a childhood product of the GDR, now living in west Berlin) welcomed me to town by taking me to a Bundesliga football match between Berlin's Hertha BSC and FC Köln. The match was played in the historic Olympiastadion (shown behind me in the second photo). The stadium, like Berlin, has an extensive and conveluted history with dark roots, yet it still stands as a treasured piece of Berlin and Germany. It was the site of the 1936 Summer Olympics, an event officially opened by Adolf Hitler, and one that made his goal of racial homogeny more clear than ever before. Only members of the "Aryan" race were allowed to compete for Germany. Preparations for the games also included the rounding up of "Romani" in Berlin into internment camps. The architecture is a perfect example of the daunting, minimalist stone buildings that became so common under the Third Reich. World War II Battles were fought here, though the building itself escaped almost untouched. During the Allied occupation, the stadium was the site of 1974 FIFA World Cup matches, which host nation West Germany won, beating out East Germany, among others.

More recently, though, the beautiful stadium hosted matches for the 2006 FIFA World Cup. This signifies it is clearly regarded as still one of premiere football venues in Germany, as it beat out Munich's brand new stadium to host the final of the 2006 tournament. The famous European football supporter culture is clearly evident on trains heading to the stadium, where nearly everyone is decked out in Hertha blue and white, while chanting and singing, as well as taunting the brave souls sporting the crest of FC Köln. The streets and stations were lined with riot police, and the stadium was not serving alcohol, as saturday's was deemed a "risk match". Surprisingly, though, the actual danger of hooliganism and violence seems slim, as I witnessed many drunk, scary looking supporters of one side, simply teasing and laughing with the opposition. There was, however, a great show of support during the game (one that made me even more sad than I was to not be attending Sounders home MLS match for the first time ever this upcoming week). The supporters are seen pogoing and chanting as a group in the below video.