2019_4_257-400_Symmetry-Culture-and-Science

ARCHITECTURAL EDUCATION IN HUNGARY FROM 1928 TO 1948 305 published in the Hungarian architectural press of the time. Tér és Forma also dealt much with the issue, especially after Walter Gropius's lecture in Hungary in 1934, in which the architect raised the idea of fighting the Bauhaus as style (Gropius, 1934). Looking back from today, conservative progress in the 1930s was headed in the right direction, as it was able to provide architectural students with sound basic training, both during the revolution and the revision of new architecture. There is no better proof of this than the directions in which the graduate architects oriented themselves after their studies: they found their own way in architecture, relying on the knowledge gained at the Technical University. Just like János Wanner or Károly Dávid, who, around 1930, designed at the university in a subdued modern or even historicizing style, then for a short time worked in Le Corbusier's studio. While Dávid tried to go on with modern architecture even in the 1950s, under the Socialist Realist style, Wanner had already returned to the adaptation to local conditions by the end of the 1940s (Figs. 9–10). Figures 9–10: Buildings designed by János Wanner (Vándor, 1937; Kismarty-Lechner, 1943). 3.3 The 1940s: vernacular architecture and meaningful simplicity The magazine Építészet (Architecture) was published between 1941 and 1944, edited by architect Jenő Padányi Gulyás. The magazine, with some notes, responded to the architectural education at the Technical University as well. Consistent with its spirit, the journal mainly criticized the lack of a profound teaching of vernacular architecture.5 In 5 Padányi’s critique must be interpreted in the context of his own individual work as an architect and writer. Even authors of the journal were known for their commitment to folk art. They had been investigating, researching folk art and life with aim to transform the knowledge of vernacular architecture into contemporary constructions (Ferkai, 1989; Ferkai, 1994).

306 R. KARÁCSONY, Z. VUKOSZÁVLYEV the journalists’ opinion, an independent department should have been set up for this purpose at the Technical University. At the same time, the teaching of vernacular architecture was present in the course, in the form of private-teacher lectures given by István Medgyaszay from 1927 onwards.6 In addition, the design programs always included vernacular architecture topics: rural dwelling, health center or elementary school. These tasks helped the students to get acquainted with local materials and structures and adapt them to the built environment. In 1935, Tér és Forma welcomed fresh, slightly out-of-touch student plans, and the latter attribute was used not as criticism but as a positive feature. They found it a good thing that the university let young people's imagination soar, as it would be attenuated in real life anyway (Bierbauer, 1935b). By contrast, in the 1940s, the Kotsis Department returned more firmly to the concept of conservative progress, as can be seen from the preface of the student plan collection compiled by the professor in 1944 (Kotsis, 1944, pp. 3–4; Figs. 11–12). The specialized press did not respond to the selection, which can be explained by the fact that, due to the war, the publication was kept in storage for a long time. At that time, the professor considered it most important to give students real tasks, and to select specific locations for design. The function was designated by the professors, but the spatial requirement and the exact design program had to be worked out by the students individually. Fitting local conditions remained to be the focus of attention, which itself guided the finding of solutionS. Also, in the 1940s, students were free to choose the style, the architectural and design approach, but the instructors’ aim was to have designs created in the spirit of “meaningful simplicity”. 6 Minutes of the 20th Session of the Rectors’ Council, held on August 31, 1927, 5–6. BME Archives.

ARCHITECTURAL EDUCATION IN HUNGARY FROM 1928 TO 1948 307 Figures 11–12: Student designs, E. Lőke, I. Körmendy (Anon. 5, 1945).

308 R. KARÁCSONY, Z. VUKOSZÁVLYEV Figure 13: Student designs, T. Mikolás, I. Salamon (D.L., 1948; Anon. 6, 1948). 3.4 A collection of student plans in 1948 After World War II, architectural education received more media coverage again in the years of political transition. In 1948, part of the student plan collection first published by Professor Tibor Kiss, was also published by the soon-to-be-abolished Tér és Forma and Új Építészet (New Architecture), which was active between 1946 and 1949 (D. L., 1948; Anon. 6, 1948; Figs. 13–14). The latter journal was founded in 1946 by Communist architects-editors leaving Tér és Forma. Both magazines agreed that too simple, schoolish

ARCHITECTURAL EDUCATION IN HUNGARY FROM 1928 TO 1948 309 plans were made in the 1940s at the Technical University, and that the free soaring of imagination, typical of the mid-1930s, had vanished. Kotsis’ “meaningful simplicity” was thus heavily criticized, especially by the editors of Új Építészet. Namely, Máté Major called for a complete reform in 1948 (Major, 1948), which would divide the curriculum into two parts: the core and optional subjects. The History of Architecture, together with many other courses that were previously basic subjects, would have been included in the latter group. Figure 14: Student designs, T. Mikolás, I. Salamon (D.L., 1948; Anon. 6, 1948). The need for specialization had already foreseen the architect-engineer training of the State Socialism, in which a new era in Hungarian architectural education began in 1952. A significant difference, however, was that Major still wanted to make the new, modern architecture the basis of architectural education. The reform was implemented a few years later, but instead of Modernism, the Socialist Realist architecture based on Hungarian Neoclassical architecture became the only way to follow. At the same time, the diversity of both the press and student plans disappeared temporarily. Fortunately, it was easier to move from the idea of “meaningful simplicity” to the Socialist Realism required by Stalinist cultural policy both for professors and students. Moreover, thanks to some

310 R. KARÁCSONY, Z. VUKOSZÁVLYEV professors who remained committed to Modernism, this more conservative trend also made it possible to avoid returning to historicizing architecture under the pressure of the style (Karácsony and Vukoszávlyev, 2019). 4 SUMMARY The influence of the Modern Movement in the history of Hungarian architectural education is indisputable. The spread of the new architecture’s principles in Hungary coincided in time with the preparation for the XII International Congress of Architects, giving impetus to changes. In the late 1920s, there was a shift towards a more modern approach both in education and in the private practice of professors, which contributed to the need for architectural education reform, being internally formulated at the Technical University. In addition to the professors, some students also took part in adopting a more modern approach at the university. For example, Farkas Molnár, who became acquainted with the Bauhaus and the Modern Movement individually, and soon became the international and Hungarian representative of progressive Modernism. Apart from the professors and the students, the specialized press, and above all the Tér és Forma, also played an important role in the modernization of Hungarian architectural education. The magazine encouraged and somewhat guided the process of change through the articles published. In the late 1920s, at the time of greatest changes, the editors marked out, or at least suggested the right path to follow: instead of the extremes, they saw the key to development in a conservative progress. REFERENCES Anon 1 (1927) Néhány terv az építészkiállításról (Some plans from the architectural exhibition), Tér és Forma (Vállalkozók Lapja), 48, 5, 6–7. Anon 2 (1928) Három új építészeti iskola Budapesten (Three new architectural schools in Budapest), Tér és Forma, 1, 6, 243. Anon 3 (1930)“Architectura”, XII. nemzetközi építészkongresszus és építészi tervkiállítás (Architectura, 12th international architectural congress and plan exhibition), Budapest. Anon 4 (1930) A Budapesti M. Kir. József Műegyetem építészhallgatóinak kiállítása 1930 (The exhibition of the students of the Budapest Royal Joseph University), [Abstract in English], Technika, 11, 7, 1–5 + appendix. Anon 5 (1945) A József Nádor Műegyetem épülettervezési tanszékén Kotsis Iván tanárnál készült feladatok gyűjteménye (Collection of tasks accomplished under Iván Kotsis in the department of architecture of József Nádor Technical University), Technika, 25, 48, 50.

ARCHITECTURAL EDUCATION IN HUNGARY FROM 1928 TO 1948 311 Anon 6 (1948) Műegyetemi hallgatók munkái (Student works at the Technical University), Új Építészet, 3, 4, 130–31. Bakos, K. (2018) Bortnyik Sándor és a „műhely”, Budapest: L’Harmattan. Bierbauer, V. (1929) A budapesti m. kir. állami felső építőipariskola szünidei felvételei, Tér és Forma, 2, 12, 527. Bierbauer, V. (1930) A kongresszus után, Tér és Forma, 3. 10. 431. Bierbauer, V. (1935a) A nyolcadik évfolyam küszöbén, Tér és Forma, 8, 1, 1–2. Bierbauer, V. (1935b) A legfiatalabb kor építészete, Tér és Forma, 8, 4, 97. Bierbauer, V. (1941) Új könyvek, Tér és Forma, 14, 5, 94. D.L. (1948) A budapesti Műegyetem, Tér és Forma, 21, 2, 46. Fehér, K. and Krähling, J. (2019) Építészettörténet és építészeti tervezés. Az építészoktatás megújulásának kérdései az 1930-as nemzetközi építészkongresszus műegyetemi kiállítása kapcsán, Építés – Építészettudomány, 47, 1-2, 135–167. https://doi.org/10.1556/096.2018.012 Ferkai, A. (1998) Hungarian Architecture between the Wars, In: Wiebenson, D. and Sisa, J., eds. The Architecture of Historic Hungary, Cambridge: The MIT Press, 245–274. Ferkai, A. (1989) Nemzeti építészet a polgári sajtó tükrében I.1920–1930, Építés – Építészettudomány, 20, 3- 4, 331–364. Ferkai A. (1994) Viták a nemzeti építészetről 1930–39,Építés – Építészettudomány, 26, 3-4, 255–278. Ferkai, A. (2011) Molnár Farkas, Budapest: Terc. Gropius, W. (1934) Az új építés mérlege, Tér és Forma, 7, 3, 69–82. Héberger, K. (1979) A Műegyetem története 1782–1967, Vol. 3, Budapest: BME. Hültl, D. (1930) Dr. Hültl Dezső építőművész, Rector Magnificus székfoglaló beszédéből: „A modern építésznevelésről”, Építő Ipar, 54, 39-40, 155–56. Kállai, E. (1928) Bauhauspedagógia, Bauhausépítészet, Tér és Forma, 1, 8, 317–22. Karácsony, R. and Vukoszávlyev, Z. (2019) Teaching Modernism: A Study on Architectural Education in Hungary (1945–60), In: Melenhorst, M., Pottgiesser, U., Kellner, T. and Jaschke, F., eds. 100 YEARS BAUHAUS What interest do we take in Modern Movement today? [3rd RMB and 16th Docomomo Conference], Technische Hochschule Ostwestfalen-Lippe and Docomomo Germany: Lemgo, 331–43; http://www.rmb-eu.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/3rd-RMB-Conference- Publication_final_reduziert.pdf. Kismarty-Lechner, J. (1943) M. kir. állami téli gazdasági iskola Ráckevén, Tér és Forma, 16, 3, 41. Komor, M. (1929) Az építésztanárok hivatásáról, Tér és Forma, 2, 3, 92–98. Kotsis, I. (1930) Építésznevelés a Műegyetemen, Tér és Forma, 3, 3, 192–95. Kotsis, I. (1937) Vidéki városok külső övezeteiben épülő egyszerű lakóházak tervei, Technika, 18, 3, 64–65. Kotsis, I. (1944) Tervgyűjtemény a M. Kir. József-Nádor Műegyetem építészhallgatóinak az 1. számú Épülettervezési Tanszéken készült munkálataiból, Budapest: Egyetemi Nyomda. Kotsis, I. (2010) Életrajzom, Budapest: HAP Galéria. Major, M. (1948) Szempontok az építésznevelés reformjának kérdéséhez, Új Építészet, 3, 4, 128–29. Major, M. (1978) Férfikor Budapesten, Budapest: Szépirodalmi Kiadó. Padányi, G. J. (1928) Építésznevelés a stuttgarti műegyetemen, Tér és Forma, 1, 8, 307–08 Robertson, H. (1928) Építészeti nevelés a londoni Architectural Association iskolájában, Tér és Forma, 1, 8, 299–306. Romsics, I. (2010) Magyarország története a XX. században, Budapest: Osiris.

312 R. KARÁCSONY, Z. VUKOSZÁVLYEV Szentkirályi, Z (2015) Az építészképzés 30 éve 1945-től napjainkig, Építés – Építészettudomány, 43, 1, 55-61. Vándor, M. (1937) Kis családiházakról, Tér és Forma, 10, 11, 331. https://doi.org/10.1556/EpTud.43.2015.1-2.2 Virág, H. and Ritoók, P. (2003) Modern Movement in Hungary, In: Plank, Cs. I., Hajdú, V. and Ritoók, P., eds. Light and Form: Modern Architecture and Photography 1927–50, Budapest: KÖH. Zelovich, K. (1930) A hazai technikai felső oktatás fejlődése, In: Lakatos M., Mészáros L.E. and Óriás Z., eds. Az 50 éves Vállalkozók Lapja jubileumi albuma, Budapest: Vállalkozók Lapja.

Symmetry: Culture and Science Vol. 30, No. 4, 313-329, 2019 https://doi.org/10.26830/symmetry_2019_4_313 SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST Attila Kurucz1*, Anna Losonczi2, Dániel Szabó3, Barbara Keszei4, Andrea Dúll5 1 Doctoral School of Psychology / Institute of Psychology, ELTE Eötvös Loránd University, 46 Izabella utca, Budapest, H-1064, Hungary E-mail: [email protected] 2 Ginkgo Architects, 57 Bartók Béla út, Budapest, H-1114, Hungary E-mail: [email protected] 3 Ginkgo Architects, 57 Bartók Béla út, Budapest, H-1114, Hungary E-mail: [email protected] 4 Doctoral School of Psychology / Institute of Psychology, ELTE Eötvös Loránd University, 46 Izabella utca, Budapest, H-1064, Hungary E-mail: [email protected] 5 Institute of Psychology, ELTE Eötvös Loránd University, 46 Izabella utca, Budapest, H-1064, Hungary E-mail: [email protected] *corresponding author Abstract: Perception of the geometrical configurations of spatial systems in thebuilt environment is a key in spatial navigation. A characteristic feature of any spatial system that comes from its geometry is the level of integration of its spaces in comparison to all other spaces in the spatial system. The more direct the (permeable or visible) relationship between a space and all the other spaces of a spatial system, the more this space is integrated into the whole system. Spatial analysis methods for the investigation of permeability and visibility integration of spaces have been developed by Space Syntax researchers. This paper aims to present an exploratory, empirical study using a Space Syntax model in combination with the individual representation of a spatial system. We studied two locations in a flat in a modern villa built in the 1940s: one was more integrated in terms of permeability, but more segregated in terms of visibility, whereas

314 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL the other location, regarding spatial characteristics, was the opposite. We applied (1) the Space Syntax analysis and (2) a questionnaire. In terms of visual integration, the two methods (1, 2) showed similar results, but clear agreement between the findings could not be confirmed in terms of permeability integration. Keywords: Space Syntax, permeability integration, visual integration, modern architecture, spatial navigation 1 INTRODUCTION Humans have been shaping their environment ever since prehistoric times in order to create safe and constructive conditions for various life functions and activities. The built environment can also be regarded as a supporting tool; humans shape and organise their spaces to facilitate their activities to the greatest possible extent. The built environment is also a reflection of their actions and behaviours. There is constant interaction between humans and their environment. For this reason, it can be assumed that the analysis of the built environment can significantly help us understand how humans function as individuals, and vice versa. Nonetheless, humans often encounter difficulties while trying to understand the spatial configuration of the built environment, since spatial navigation is a complicated and complex cognitive and behavioural process. It engages almost all their sensory organs, ranging from vision through the movement of their bodies to spatial perception, or to the understanding of the relationship between the structure of space and their bodies. The complexity of this process is increased by the fact that in order to perform their activities in an efficient manner, they must also understand the organisation of a spatial system. Navigation may be difficult even in an architecturally small space, such as a flat. For example, in the flat used in our exploratory study, guests often get lost, according to the owner (Fig. 1). We have realised that the possible reason behind this, which we also investigated in this study, can be a contradiction. Whenever humans navigate in a spatial system of a building, they observe, among other things, how we can get from one space to another. This endeavour can be facilitated if the configuration of the spatial system is visible from a certain spatial location. We have concluded that the space serving as an important link between the three functional segments of this flat is visible only from a small number of locations. This makes navigation between the segments difficult. The hallway marked with number 08 in Fig. 1 connects the office, the bedrooms and the open- plan area of the living-room/dining-room/hall. However, this space is visible only from a

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 315 few locations. Consequently, if someone wants to reach the office from the living room, it is difficult to find the connection. Figure 1: Floorplan of the flat. In this study we examine through the exploratory analysis of this everyday situation how the geometrical configurations of the built environment, or to be more precise, the accessibility and visibility of a certain space or space segment is perceived. The focus of this study is a flat located in a villa on the side of Gellért Hill in Budapest, (Figs. 1, 2). The house was built in 1941–42 according to the plans of Jenő Lechner Jr. in modern style (Ferkai, 1995). Although the layout and arrangement of the flat no longer reflect the original conditions, the latest refurbishment completed around 2010 followed the principles of Bauhaus, the most significant school of modern architecture, and can be regarded as a modern paraphrase of Bauhaus. We conducted the survey within the framework of the Budapest100 urban festival, which is held every year. During this two- day event participants can enter buildings that are otherwise closed to the general public. In 2019 (the year of the survey), the theme of the festival was dedicated to the 100th anniversary of Bauhaus, and the programme featured a range of houses built between the

316 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL two world wars. The style of the flat used for our survey and the theme of the event prompts us to summarise the thoughts underlying spatial organisation and arrangement in the age of modern architecture, especially in the Bauhaus School. Figure 2: The façade of the villa on the side of Gellért Hill, Budapest (Photo by Attila Kurucz). A major principle of spatial design in the modern architecture of the first half of the 20th century called for the creation of spatial dynamism. Time, as a new aspect, was assigned importance in architectural design. As a result, the typically closed and static spaces prevalent in the 19th century styles were replaced by flowing spaces. Walter Gropius, an architect and founder of the Bauhaus School, and László Moholy-Nagy, an artist and teacher at the school, both found it extremely important — as an innovative thought of modern architecture — that spaces and chains of spaces should encourage people to move around (Gropius, 1967; Moholy-Nagy, 1929). In creating the flow of spaces they attributed a major role to designing the intervisibility of spaces. Even though modern analytical Space Syntax methods were unavailable for them, they could intuitively model the relationship typical for a given spatial configuration. Mies van der Rohe, the last director of Bauhaus, attributed great significance to visibility in his artistic credo, which expressed his intentions to resolve the often conflicting principles of space and structure (Frampton, 2007). According to Moholy-Nagy, it is not the external mass shaping but the

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 317 internal spatial configuration that determines a unique architectural experience (Moholy- Nagy, 1929). 2 THEORETICAL BACKGROUND In this study, we investigated the spatial system of the flat with two methods. First, we analysed the floorplan of the flat with the help of two Space Syntax analysis methods (permeability and visual integration analyses, see below). Hence, we obtained an objective picture about the geometric structure of the flat. On the other hand, we conducted a questionnaire to determine whether the respondents’ perception of the spatial configuration of the flat’s spaces in terms of permeability was in agreement with the results of the analysis of the geometry of the spatial system. Furthermore, we wanted to know whether the most (or least) visible space segment for the respondents would be identical with the one determined with our Space Syntax analysis. By now, the theoretical disciplines of architecture have reached a point where, in addition to the intuitive descriptions of architects, the geometric properties of a spatial system can be described using mathematical measurements. One of these theories is the Space Syntax developed by Bill Hillier and his colleagues in the 1970s. Space Syntax is a collection of techniques that are able to compare the results of the analysis of the geometry of different spatial systems with human activity patterns in the same spatial system (Hillier, 1996). Space Syntax investigates the system of connections between the spaces of a city or a building. The investigation also tries to measure how these connections affect the patterns of movements and different activities of people (meeting up, shopping, crime, etc.) in a spatial system. Alternatively, the other way around: how human activities shape the layout of a city or a building. Researchers have also developed theories to explain the correlations or differences of spatial systems and human behaviour patterns (Hillier, 1996). These theories study the correlations between the two phenomena primarily from the perspective of sociology. However, the purpose of this study is to move from the level of society to the level of the individual and determine how the Space Syntax model of a given spatial system represents itself in the human mind. The methods of Space Syntax analytics rest on graph theory (Hillier and Hanson, 1984). The permeable and visible relations of a building are modelled with the help of graphs, where the nodes of the graph represent spaces or space segments inside the building, while the edges of the graph represent the accessible and/or visual relationship between two spaces. The resulting graph models of spatial systems are typically analysed with two

318 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL types of syntactic models. The first model measures integration, which determines closeness or the ‘depth’ of a space in relation to all other spaces of the spatial system (Hillier and Hanson, 1984). The other method is the measurement of choice, which shows how many times someone enters a space if they take the shortest path between all spaces of the spatial system (Hillier et al, 1987). In this study we measured the level of integration of the spaces in the flat, because we believe that the contradictory nature of the hallway (marked with number 08 in Fig. 1) makes navigation in the flat difficult. In other words, the graph models set up based on the permeability and visual connections of the spatial system show different degrees of integration in this part of the flat (Section 3). Regarding permeable connections between spaces, the number of doors or openings leading from one space to another determines the depth and directness of the connection between two spaces. To determine the level of integration of a space we add up the number of “steps” they need to reach all the other rooms. The smaller the number, the more integrated the space is into the spatial system. This value can also be determined for a spatial location, not only at room level. In this case, we have to count the number of spatial locations we need to encounter if we want to reach another location in space. The integration of spaces or spatial locations also informs us about the accessibility of the given space segment (Hillier and Iida, 2005). The more integrated a location is, the more accessible it is from the other locations of the space. Literature often simply refers to this property as integration (Hillier, 1996), but in this study we used the word “permeability” to distinguish it from visibility integration, as in some studies applying Space Syntax methods (e.g., Beck and Turkienicz, 2009). Regarding visual connections between spaces, the level of integration is measured similarly, but here we look at visual connections between two spaces. To explore the visual connections of a space, Space Syntax researchers started out from the theory of isovists developed by Michael Benedikt (1979). An isovist is the set of all locations in an environment that are visible from a given location. Alasdair Turner and his colleagues (Turner et al, 2001) transformed this into the language of graphs claiming that the visible connection between two locations in space is the overlap of isovist fields visible from these two locations (visibility graph). The more overlaps the isovist field of a spatial location has with the isovist fields of other spatial locations, the more integrated it is visually into the spatial system. As we can see, this measurement method is usually applied for locations in space, and not for entire spaces. Therefore, if we want to compare

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 319 the values of permeability integration and visual integration, it is worth examining them at the level of spatial locations. While the measurement of permeability integration of the spatial system provides information primarily about the accessibility of spaces, whereas the measurement of visual integration tells us about the visibility of spaces. According to Space Syntax researchers, the more accessible a space, the more central it is (Hillier and Iida, 2005). In the questionnaire, the participants were asked to evaluate the assumed level of integration of spaces on a scale defined by opposite attributes, alongside these three ordinary concepts: accessibility, visibility and centrality. Psychological studies often use bipolar scales containing opposite attributes to enable respondents to describe a given environment (Dúll and Urbán, 1997; Franz and Wiener, 2005; Wiener et al., 2007; Akalin et al., 2009; Hidayetoglu et al., 2010). The next section will present the Space Syntax analyses we performed and the results of the questionnaire. 3 ANALYSIS OF THE SPATIAL SYSTEM WITH SPACE SYNTAX METHODS One of the objectives of analysing the flat with Space Syntax methods was to support with data our experience obtained while walking around the flat, namely that while the hallway (marked with number 08 in Fig. 1) can be easily accessed from the rest of the flat, it is visible only from a few vantage points. The second objective of this analysis was to find another location inside the flat where these types of integration values act in the opposite direction, i.e., the given location is visible from many other locations but is less accessible. In the first step, we drew the permeability and visibility map of the flat with two methods that are commonly used in Space Syntax research projects. On this basis, we selected another location in the flat whose accessibility and visibility values were exactly the opposite of unit 08. In the second step we concentrated on analysing the accessibility and visibility of these two specific locations. It needs some explanation why we found it necessary to have a location with the opposite characteristics, and not a location with identical permeability and visibility integration values. We assume that the two integration values are in interaction. For example, during the investigation of the accessibility of a space it is not obvious if we investigate the routes along which we can access the other spaces of the flat, or simply observe the extent to which a given location is visible from the rest of the flat. This special situation allows us to examine these strongly interacting properties separately during the questionnaire. In

320 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL addition, by finding a counterpoint we can also determine which factor is more significant in assessing the level of general integration of a space. Figures 3a–b: Analysis of the J-graph (above, ‘a’) and the visibility graph (below, ‘b’) of the flat’s spatial system.

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 321 To determine the permeability integration value, we drew the justified or J-graph model of the flat (Hillier and Hanson, 1984, p. 106). We calculated for each node of the graph the number of steps needed to reach the given node from the other spaces and added up the numbers. Based on these aggregate values we prioritised the spaces according to the number of steps needed to reach all the other spaces (Fig. 3a). On this basis we determined the most integrated and most segregated spaces of the spatial system in terms of permeable spatial relations. In other words, we can find the spaces that are the easiest or most difficult to access inside the flat. According to the analysis, the most easily accessible space of the flat is the dining room; while the office, the spare room and the bathrooms are the least accessible spaces. The hallway, which was chosen as the subject of our investigations, fell in the second most easy to access category. Hence, for the purpose of comparison it was reasonable to choose a space that ranks as the second most difficult to access, e.g., the living room, the terrace or the bedroom. To determine the visual integration value of spaces we also prepared a visibility graph map for the flat (Fig. 3b) with the DepthMapX1 spatial analysis software. The software creates an isovist field visible from every part of any grid, and by juxtaposing the fields it calculates how many other locations with which the given location is visually connected. On this basis it can be determined that the most visible parts of the area are between the dining room and the terrace, and part of the terrace adjacent to the living room (most densely hatched area in Fig. 3b). Unit No. 08 (the hallway), which is in the focus of our investigation, is visible only from a few locations, as we could experience during our visit to the flat. In other words, this hallway forms a less (but not the least) integrated part of the flat. Consequently, for the purpose of comparison it is reasonable to choose a visible, but not the most visible space, such as most of the living room or the kitchen and its surrounding area. Based on the comparison of the permeability and visibility analyses we chose the living room as a second location for our investigation, since the area near the kitchen is the most easily accessible part of the flat, as we could see during the analysis of permeability integration. Therefore, as a counterpoint to the integration values of unit 08, it was more worthwhile to choose the living room, which is more difficult to access, but still is visible from many parts of the flat. Since we carried out the two analyses at different scales (we measured permeability integration at the level of rooms, while we used spatial locations 1 The DepthMapX space analysis software is available on the online training platform of the Space Syntax Laboratory of UCL, London: http://otp.spacesyntax.net/software-and-manuals (Accessed: 28.11.19).

322 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL to measure visibility integration) in order to ensure comparability, permeability integration must be examined at the level of spatial locations, as well. In the second step, for the sake of expediency and simplicity, we did not measure permeability integration for all locations in the flat. Instead, we selected a location in the living room (A) and in unit No. 08 (B), and from that point, we analysed the integration values pertaining to these locations only. In the living room we selected location ‘A’ along the wall farthest from the kitchen/dining room area. From this location one can see the bedroom through the window, and almost the entire area of the living room/dining room/hallway is visible also. However, this location is more difficult to access than any location closer to the dining room. We measured the accessibility of the two locations by identifying paths that connect the given location with the entrance points of the others. Then we measured the distances between these locations (Fig. 4). We calculated how many metres we have to walk from every single room to reach the given location. By calculating the mean value of these distances, we obtained how many metres one must walk from all rooms of the flat to reach the locations. While in the former stage we calculated the number of steps between the nodes of the graph (we determined the step depth value), now we calculated the distance between the locations (metric depth). Figure 4: The accessibility of locations ‘A’ (left) and ‘B’ (right) chosen for the questionnaire in terms of metres from the other rooms of the flat. The Space Syntax methodology allows us to determine permeability integration according to several depth measures. We did this because we assumed that the J-graph model of a spatial system would manifest on the cognitive map of the respondents only after they have familiarised themselves with the flat, while the real distances are easier to

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 323 assess even after the first visit to the flat. This assumption is examined in a later study. Consequently, based on this measurement it can be determined that location ‘A’ is on average 10.47 m away from the other rooms, while the average distance of location ‘B’ from the other rooms is 5.17 m. This means that we need to walk nearly twice as much from location ‘A’ than from location ‘B’ to walk around the entire flat. The integration value of location ‘B’ is higher than that of location ‘A’ in terms of metres if we examine their accessibility. We also examined the visibility connections of the two locations (Fig. 5). While the isovist field of location ‘B’ covers an area of 15.06 m2, the isovist field of location ‘A’ is nearly five times larger, covering an area of 72.49 m2. This analysis allowed us to locate the two locations more precisely. Therefore, we positioned location ‘B’ to allow participants to see inside the bedroom and perceive all visual connections of unit No. 08. Figure 5: The visibility of locations ‘A’ (left) and ‘B’ (right) selected for the questionnaire from the rest of the flat. With the Space Syntax analyses, we could quantify the accessibility of the hallway (unit No. 08), and the number of locations from which it is visible. We also found a counterpoint exhibiting opposing values. So the question remained whether or not people perceive the difference between the two spaces.

324 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL 4 QUESTIONNAIRE 4.1 Methodology of the questionnaire Our exploratory questionnaire aimed, in part, to determine whether the respondents’ perception of permeability and visual integration of the two locations was similar to the values yielded by Space Syntax analyses. On the other hand, as we indicated at the beginning of the description of our Space Syntax analyses, by choosing opposing locations we wanted to decide which factor plays a more decisive role in the assessment of the level of general integration. We used common attributes to describe permeability and visual integration, as well as a more general type of integration. As we mentioned in the Theoretical Background, permeability integration gives us information about accessibility, while visual integration tells us about the visibility of a space (Hillier and Hanson, 1984; Hillier, 1996). We assigned the attribute ‘easy to access’ to high level of permeability integration, and the attribute ‘difficult to access’ to low level of permeability. Furthermore, we assigned the attribute ‘visible’ to high level of visibility integration and the attribute ‘non-visible’ to low level of visibility integration. To describe comprehensive, more general integration we found the attribute pair ‘central / non-central’ the most appropriate. As we mentioned in the Theoretical Background, according to Space Syntax researchers, spaces with high integration values become central in a given spatial system (Hillier and Iida, 2005). Using the different attribute pairs for the level of integration (central /non-central, easy to access /difficult to access, visible / non-visible) we developed three seven-point scales. The respondents’ task was to evaluate the spaces opening up in front of them using the scale items2. As indicated in the Introduction, we conducted our questionnaire3 within the frameworks of the Budapest100 urban festival. We conducted this study within a larger- scale study of our research team. For the entire study, the respondents received a 2 We formulated the question as follows: “Please mark with an X which elements of the attribute pairs below are more characteristic of the space in front of you. Please choose an answer on the seven-point scale below. If you find the attribute on the left very characteristic of the space, assign a value of 1, if neither attributes are characteristic, assign a value of 4, and if you find the attribute on the right characteristic of the space, please assign a value of 7. Obviously, the values between the two opposite ends indicate degrees of intensity of a given attribute.” 3 Participation was voluntary and anonymous. Furthermore, we followed the principles of the current code of conduct of the Research Ethics Committee of Eötvös Loránd University, Faculty of Education and Psychology. The number of the ethical licence is 2017/133.

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 325 questionnaire with questions referring to seven stations, two of which were the locations selected in our Space Syntax analysis (locations ‘A’ and ‘B’). Figure 6: Statistical analysis of scale values obtained in locations ‘A’ and ‘B’. 4.2 Results and evaluation of the questionnaire Altogether 57 persons participated in our questionnaire, but in some cases the questionnaires were returned incomplete. Some of the respondents didn’t assign values to all of the scales. We left the latter out of the evaluation as we wanted to work with complete data from the respondents. According to the responses, 69.8% of the participants (37 persons) were female and 30.2% were male (16 persons). Their age ranged from 19

326 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL to 73 years, the mean age stood at 41.92 years (standard deviation (SD) = 12.45). As many as 15.1% of the respondents (8 persons) had qualifications in visual arts. Due to the number of respondents and the characteristics of the sample, the generalisation and extrapolation of results will be one of the purposes of a future study. During the analysis of the data, we studied the frequency of scale values and the mean values for both locations (see the statistical data in Fig. 6). In terms of accessibility, several respondents assigned a scale value of 4, i.e., they were unable to make a decision (16 persons, 29.1%). However, a considerably large group of respondents (11 persons, 20%) assigned a scale value of 1, which tipped the scales towards easily accessible, and eventually yielded a mean value of 3.291 (55 persons, SD=1.663) In conclusion, there is no unquestionable agreement with the values obtained in the course of the Space Syntax analyses. In fact, we rather observe the opposite. In terms of visibility, the responses clearly cluster around scale values 1 (32 persons, 56.1%) and 2 (15 persons, 26.3%) with a mean scale value of 1.965 (57 persons, SD=1.592). Therefore, in this case the respondents’ assessment of the level of visibility of the spaces was similar to the results obtained via Space Syntax analysis. On the centrality scale for location ‘A’ we could see a larger cluster at scale values 7, 3 and 4. On this basis we can conclude that a larger number of respondents (14 persons, 25.0%) found that the living room was not centrally located, while some of the respondents (3, 4 scale value: 18 persons, 32.2%) could not decide between the two ends of the scale. The mean scale value of 4.375 (56 persons, SD=2.085) also suggests that it is unclear whether the respondents found location ‘A’ central or non-central. At location ‘B’ on the accessibility scale, many respondents assigned values 4 (14 persons, 25.5%), 5 (13 persons, 23.6%) or 6 (10 persons, 18.2%). But based on the mean scale value of 4.036 (55 persons, SD=1.753) we can see that the participants were unable to decide whether location ‘B’ was easy or difficult to access. However, further targeted studies can be inspired by the fact that on the second day of the two-day survey, 19 of 29 respondents asked for directions regarding this station (location ‘B’) while navigating along the questionnaire route, which suggests that they possibly found this location rather difficult to access. (On the first day we did not conduct such observations, but the similar number of queries made us realise that this value was also informative.) For the visibility of location ‘B’ we got a similarly unanimous value as in the case of location ‘A’, but on the other end of the scale: the values clustered around 6 (22 persons, 40.7%) and 7 (14 persons, 25.9%), and yielded an overall average of 5.370 (54 persons, SD= 1.674). This means that the obtained values were clearly in agreement with our expectations based on

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 327 the Space Syntax analyses: unit No. 08 does not have a visible spatial configuration. A large number of participants assigned values 6 (13 persons, 23.6%) or 7 (29 persons, 52.7%) to the centrality of location ‘B’, the mean scale value was 5.800 (55 persons, SD=1.789). On this basis we can state that the respondents found unit No. 08 non-central. Based on the comparison of the scale values of location ‘A’ and ‘B’, we note the following: no significant difference can be shown in the accessibility values of the locations (one-sample t-test, t(53) = 2.471, p=0.0167). We could see in the base statistical analysis that the respondents could not make a unanimous decision in either case between the two endpoints of the scale, but now we could also see that they evaluated the two locations significantly differently from the way the space syntax analysis shows. However, in the case of visibility values the difference could be identified, because there is a significant difference between the evaluation of the locations (one-sample t-test, t(53) = 9.987, p<0.0001). The centrality values of the locations also showed a significant difference (one-sample t-test, t(54) = 3.807, p=0.0004). These observations support our previous statement that location ‘B’ is more non-central than ‘A’. According to the correlation analysis, in the case of location ‘A’, perception of accessibility is in strong positive correlation with visibility (r(55)=0.270; p<0.05), while in location ‘B’ we can witness tendency-level positive correlation between the two values (r(53)=0,243; p<0,10). The space evaluated to be visible by the participants was also considered to be more easily accessible. In the case of perception of centrality this analysis shows tendency-level positive correlation with accessibility (r(55)=0.260; p<0.10) and visibility (r(55)=0.252; p<0.10) at location ‘A’, i.e., the higher centrality values the respondents attributed to a space, the higher were the visibility and accessibility values. However, at location ‘B’ there is no proof of such correlation with the other two factors. 5 CONCLUSION AND DISCUSSION Based on the responses to the scales in the questionnaire we may conclude that it was difficult for the participants to assess the accessibility of the spatial locations. In the case of location ‘A’ we can see that the participants perceived it more accessible than ‘B’, but there isn’t a significant difference. It is possible that they could not interpret this attribute to the environment. They could unanimously determine the visibility value of the two locations, as the Space Syntax analysis: location ‘A’ is more visible than location ‘B’. The difference between the values assigned to the two location is also significant. In the

328 A. KURUCZ, A. LOSONCZI, D. SZABÓ, B. KESZEI, A. DÚLL case of the centrality scale the respondents could not reach a unanimous decision regarding location ‘A’. However, they unanimously described location ‘B’ as considerably more non-central. The difference was significant. It can be assumed that they could interpret the ‘central’ attribute to both spaces, but they were unable to make a decision in location ‘A’. We can conclude that the respondents could not easily apply the “easy to access / difficult to access” attribute pair for the interpretation of permeability integration in the two examined spatial situations. It is possible that the opposing nature of the integration factors caused the disturbance, since there is significant correlation between the assessment of the visibility and accessibility of the spaces. The respondents were able to interpret the dimension of accessibility along the concept of visibility. In doing so they probably gave less thought to assessing the length of paths they needed to cover to reach the given location from the other rooms of the flat. In a subsequent study it would be worth examining to what extent the attribute “easy to access” is suitable for describing permeability integration; or if it is not suitable, what other attribute could be used. In the case of the attribute “central” it would be worth examining more deeply its correlation with the two other factors or further spatial properties, because correlation could be shown between the “central” and the two other factors at location ‘A’, but it couldn’t be seen at location ‘B’. In other words, based on the data analysis, there is no clear correlation between centrality, accessibility and transparency. The fact that a single exploratory investigation has yielded such significant results confirms that it is reasonable to support Space Syntax analyses with such or similar questionnaires. Even a simple scalar measurement may lead to deep observations in understanding how humans perceive spatial systems in their environment and the geometric properties describing such spatial systems. Acknowledgements This work was completed in the ELTE Institutional Excellence Program (783- 3/2018/FEKUTSRAT) supported by the Hungarian Ministry of Human Capacities for Andrea Dúll. The authors hereby thank sociologist Borbála Paksi for making her flat available for the investigation, and for her useful advice during the compilation of the questionnaire; the main organisers of the Budapest100 urban festival for including our examination in the

SPACE SYNTAX ANALYSIS OF A MODERN VILLA IN BUDAPEST 329 event programs; architect Bálint Halász for his expert advice; and last but not least the participants of the investigation. REFERENCES Akalin, A., Yildirim, K., Wilson, C. and Kilicoglu, O. (2009) Architecture and engineering students’ evaluation of house façades: Preference, complexity and impressiveness, Journal of Environmental Psychology, 29, 124–132; https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jenvp.2008.05.005 Beck, M.P. and Turkienicz, B. (2009) Visibility and permeability: Complementary syntactical attributes of wayfinding, In: Koch, D., Marcus, L. and Steen, J., eds. Proceedings of the 7th International Space Syntax Symposium, Stockholm: KTH, 009:1–7. Benedikt, M. (1979) To take hold of space: Isovists and isovist fields, Environment and Planning B, 6, 1, 47– 65. https://doi.org/10.1068/b060047 Dúll, A. and Urbán, R. (1997) Az épített környezet konnotatív jelentésének vizsgálata: Módszertani megfontolások, [Examination of the connotative meaning of the built environment: Methodological considerations, in Hungarian], Pszichológia, 17, 2, 151–179. Ferkai, A. (1995) Buda építészete a két világháború között, [The Architecture of Buda between the World Wars, in Hungarian], Budapest: MTA Művészettörténeti Kutató Intézet. Frampton, K. (2007) Modern Architecture: A Critical History, 4th ed., London: Thames and Hudson. Franz, G. and Wiener, J.M. (2005). Exploring isovist-based correlates of spatial behavior and experience, In: Van Nes, A., ed. Proceedings of the 5th International Space Syntax Symposium, Delft: TU Delft Press; retrieved from: http://www.xjan.de/publications/FranzWiener05.pdf. Gropius, W. (1967) Apollo in der Demokratie, [Apollo in the Democracy, in German], Neue Bauhausbücher, Berlin: Florian Kupferberg Verlag. Hidayetoglu, M. L., Yildirim, K. and Cagatay, K. (2010). The effects of training and spatial experience on the perception of the interior of buildings with a high level of complexity, Scientific Research and Essays, 5, 5, 428–439; https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jenvp.2011.09.001 Hillier, B. (1996) Space is the Machine, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hillier, B. and Hanson, J. (1984) The Social Logic of Space, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511597237 Hillier, B., Burdett, R., Peponis, J. and Penn, A. (1987) Creating life: Or, does architecture determine anything?, Architecture et Comportement/Architecture and Behaviour, 3, 3, 233–250. Hillier, B. and Iida, S. (2005) Network and psychological effects in urban movement, In: Cohn, A.G. and Mark, D.M., eds. Proceedings of Spatial Information Theory: International Conference, Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 553–564. https://doi.org/10.1007/11556114_30 Moholy-Nagy, L. (1929) Von Material zu Architektur, [The New Vision: From material to architecture, in German], Bauhausbücher, No. 14, Dessau: Bauhaus. Turner A., Doxa, M., O'Sullivan, D. and Penn, A. (2001) From isovists to visibility graphs: A methodology for the analysis of architectural space, Environment and Planning B, 28, 1, 103–121. https://doi.org/10.1068/b2684 Wiener, J.M., Franz, G., Rossmanith, N., Reichelt, A., Mallot, H.A. and Bülthoff, H.H. (2007) Isovist analysis captures properties of space relevant for locomotion and experience, Perception, 36, 7, 1066–1083; https://doi.org/10.1068/p5587



Symmetry: Culture and Science Vol. 30, No. 4, 331-338, 2019 https://doi.org/10.26830/symmetry_2019_4_331 PAUL KLEE AND THE SPIRITUAL TRADITION Tamás Meggyesi* * Department of Urban Planning and Design, Faculty of Architecture, Budapest University of Technology and Economics, 3 Műegyetem rakpart, Budapest, HU-1111, Hungary E-mail: [email protected] Abstract: Paul Klee taught at Bauhaus for 10 years — he was not an architect though, and his primary effect, too, goes beyond the training of architects. Let us not forget that Walter Gropius invited yet unknown artists like the painters Johannes Itten and Lyonel Feininger, or the sculptor Gerhard Macks. If we want to directly connect to Paul Klee’s mind-set and perceive its impact on the development of modern art, we could hardly find a better introduction than a few lines from his writing, Creative Credo, which was used as a textbook in the Bauhaus. Keywords: Bauhaus, Paul Klee, Creative Credo, traditio perennis, art philosophy, architectural education. 1 THE CREATIVE CREDO “When a dot begins to move, [and] becomes a line” “The dead centre being the point, our first dynamic act will be the line. After a short time, we shall stop to catch our breath (the broken line, or the line articulated by several stops). I look back to see how far we have come (counter-movement). Ponder the distances thus far travelled (sheaf of lines). A river may obstruct our progress: we use a boat (wavy line). Further on there might be a bridge (series of curves). On the other bank we encounter someone who, like us, wishes to deepen his insight. At first we joyfully travel together (convergence), but gradually differences arise (two lines drawn independently of each other). Each party shows some excitement (expression, dynamism, emotional

332 T. MEGGYESI quality of the line). We cross a freshly ploughed field (a plane traversed by lines), then thick woods. One of us loses his way, explores, and on one occasion even goes through the motions of a hound following a scent” (Klee, 1956). The basic doctrine of his art philosophy is that: “Movement is the source of all change”; “In the universe, too, movement is the basic datum”; “The Biblical story of Genesis is an excellent parable of movement. The work of art, too, is above all a process of creation, it is never experienced as a mere product” (Klee, 1920). The last sentence is notable, according to which artwork is primarily genesis, creation and not a product. The first Bauhaus manifesto still referred to this, saying that today’s buildings “...exist in complacent isolation, from which they can only be salvaged by the purposeful and cooperative endeavours of all artisans. Architects, painters and sculptors must learn a new way of seeing and understanding the composite character of the building, both as a totality and in terms of its parts. Their work will then re-imbue itself with the spirit of architecture, which it lost in salon art” (Mezei, 1975). 2 CONSCIOUS AND SUBCONSCIOUS LEVELS OF A SPIRITUAL TRADITION As we know, the second Dessau Manifesto lacks this romantic approach, and as we also know, by the end of the 1920s, the ethos of mass housing shifted towards production even in the Bauhaus. On the other hand, Klee’s oeuvre evolved until his death, and his influence is far beyond the Bauhaus. His name is also associated with the formation of abstract art, Surrealism, or Dadaism, and he was among those who, in the footsteps of Sigmund Freud and C. G. Jung, provided an organic and artistic role to the subconscious world. Herbert Read (1959) wrote that “Klee may have seen, more clearly than any artist since Goethe, that all efforts are in vain if they are under violent force, because the process of creation happens in the subconscious.” He admired the creative power of nature; he

PAUL KLEE AND THE SPIRITUAL TRADITION 333 thought the artist should learn from nature. He believed in the creative forces, which may be manifested not only in the subject, but in the material of the canvas, brushes and paints, in colours and various artistic techniques as well as in the creative imagination — if we let this happen. It was not in the spectacle, but rather in the formation, in the genesis, that he discovered the poetry hidden in nature’s creative force. Klee develops his paintings by puttering with materials, almost becoming one with them. This heartfelt freedom and intimacy of ‘letting be’, this loving relationship with handicraft culture and fantasy, however, is only marginally connected to the Bauhaus creative methods of technical- architectural formation. Rather, it represents a tradition still relevant today (Katona and Vukoszávlyev, 2009). If traditio perennis exists, then his is that. Paul Klee was born in a family of musicians. He was a good violinist, and by the age of 11 he was a member of Bern’s provincial orchestra. His intimate relationship with music remained later in his life. He especially felt close to the world of Bach and Mozart. He was photographed in the company of Water Gropius and Bela Bartok — which is touching because Klee’s art in many ways is related to Bartok’s music — let us just think of Bartok’s piano piece Rainy Weather, his cycle, For Children, or Microcosmos itself. Humour and irony also play an important role in his later art. His exceptional talent at caricatures already shows up at this time. He is a member of the Academy of Fine Arts from 1918, and a staff member of the journal Blaue Reiter from 1911. At first his drawings and paintings are only in black and white, but he makes an eternal friendship with Kandinsky, who arouses his interest in colour theory. An Italian trip, then a journey to Tunis in 1914, leaves a lasting impression on his artistic approach. From then on, he becomes a lover of air, light and colours. The same way as Goethe’s poetry was changed by an Italian journey, or the way of thinking of the second generation of modern architects by the world of African kasbahs. His Notebook is evidence of this, which is the outline of a complete colour theory, also the 2nd volume of the textbook series published by the Bauhaus. According to Herbert Read (1959), these writings are at least as important in understanding modern art as Leonardo da Vinci’s essays on painting are to interpret Renaissance (cf. Gruson, 2019; Katona, 2018). He teaches in Bauhaus from 1921 to 1931, then works at the Academy of Düsseldorf until escaping from Nazi persecution to Switzerland. A Nazi paper, after classifying his art as degenerate, wrote about him in the usual degrading manner of the time as follows: “…Paul Klee looks like a thoroughbred Arab, but in reality he’s just a Galician Jew” (Patsch, 2007). Perhaps only the Paul Klee Centre, designed by Renzo Piano and opened

334 T. MEGGYESI in Bern in 2005 served him satisfaction, here some 4000 pieces of his artwork are exhibited. Paul Klee’s painting was fundamentally influenced by his acquaintance with Cubism, which freed him from the constraints of natural depiction. Klee was not an architect, but the poetic vision with which he taught painting as well as his unique capability of abstract thinking had a profound impact on his students. The attraction to narratives, the iconographic tendency, the exploration of layers of meaning and his worldview that strived for universality could not penetrate the world of Bauhaus. In education, he led workshops such as bookbinding, glass painting and wall painting: activities in which, on one hand demonstrated material expertise and handicraft culture, and on the other hand manifested fantasy and poeticality (cf. Katona, 2010), have an important and equal role. The subjects are particularly diverse. To name just a few: children’s drawings play an important role in his drawings and paintings, which — especially with regard to his rather libertine juvenile life — is a sign of converted innocence from adulthood. He liked playing puppet shows, where he also made the puppets. Perhaps it is from this that Klee’s world is rather ornamental than decorative, rather analytic than synthetic. His pictures are deep but scattered. He works on a small scale, almost in the tradition of manuscript initials, and his works are often iconographic. We find his cityscapes particularly touching, which do not reflect the rationalism of the Zeilenbau, but combine the picturesque nature of Mediterranean towns with the dreamlike colourful world of children’s drawings. The sun appears in several cityscapes, which is not merely a graphic element, but also a symbol: it has a place not only in the sky, because its warmth and light should permeate the mass of buildings, too. It is a pity that these pictures did not inspire the rationalism of the triumphant mass housing of the late 1920s. His graphics that make use of the compositional potentials that lie in the penetration of surfaces are also remarkable — and advances the creative methods of later, postmodern generations of architects. His pictures of the fish are thought provoking, which seemingly were trying to present the vision of another medium. Some of his works show Kandinsky’s influence, but the ones that present the strange and touching spiritual sensitivity are those that raise Paul Klee’s painting to a poetic level. His subjects are often iconic, that is, beyond material perception, and he ‘descends’ to a wide variety of views, takes on ‘mineral aspects’, or ‘plant worldview’, or rises to cosmic outlook. As he writes in Creative Credo, “symbols bring comfort to the mind, by making it realise that it is not confined to earthly potentialities”. According to a cartoon of the

PAUL KLEE AND THE SPIRITUAL TRADITION 335 time, he personified Buddha in his students’ eyes, whom his followers adore on their knees. At other times, he celebrates visual transformations that evoke spiritual or downright sacred contents hidden behind phenomena. Figure 1: Paul Klee, „Sexy Culonnas”, 1928. This dazzling diversity reminds me of Péter Nádas’ (1991) book, On Divine and Earthly Love, where the author, with reference to a certain Jean Gebser (1985), distinguishes four periods of the development of consciousness: the archaic, the magical, the mythical and the mental. Man has experienced the world and himself in his four developmental stages differently, while elements of the transcended worldview were often inherited in the newer one. I have the impression that Paul Klee’s poetry of pictures is unique and moving because he not only enlivens these ancient views, but he also often blends them with each other. His cityscapes, capturing the wonderfully archaic memory of crystal worlds, are particularly thought-provoking, and with these it is almost as if he were truly expressing, moreover celebrating, the constructive spirit of the Bauhaus. At other times he gives rise to imaginations where something could be simultaneously something else, too, and through this he can present the mystery of the incomprehensible unity of the world. With

336 T. MEGGYESI this he evokes the forgotten ancient layers of our present worldview only alive in the unconscious or hidden in our genes, in which, as Péter Nádas (1991) puts it, “Dynamic forms of the soul appear in rituals and conventionally selected associated objects, totems and taboos”. In conclusion, I would like to present two examples that are particularly close to me. One is a tree, its leaves turning into lead-framed glass windows (“Sexy Culonnas”, 1928, see Fig. 1). The other is an almost revered abstract composition that could be the metaphor for equilibrium, titled “gewägt wägend” (ca. 1930, see Fig. 2). Still, it is like seeing Einstein’s formula, E = mc2, manifested poetically. Because, according to one of his infamous sayings, “Art does not reproduce the visible but makes visible” (Read, 1959). This is how a tree becomes a cathedral, and a line and surface a law of nature. His last years are embittered by a severe version of scleroderma, the effect of which is felt in his works. His art is so much related to natural forces that even death is included in it. His tombstone reads: “I cannot be grasped in the here and now, For my dwelling place is as much among the dead, As the yet unborn, Slightly closer to the heart of creation than usual, But still not close enough” (Miklósvölgyi, 2009). Paul Klee is a unique, individual spiritual phenomenon that, besides his creative success. reminds us that our own lives might have dimensions related to eternal, and that the roots of these might lie in nature and deep within our soul. “Art plays an unknowing game with ultimate things, and yet achieves them!”, he writes in Creative Credo. This is his spiritual background. It is not mysticism, rather the love of reality. And this does not refer to passing, but to the spiritual roots of creation, the realization of which can not be wanted, only allowed to be. So let the spirit of Paul Klee fertilize us all.

PAUL KLEE AND THE SPIRITUAL TRADITION 337 Figure 2: Paul Klee, „gewägt wägend”, ca. 1930. 3 SUMMARY Paul Klee has left a unique, personal ouvre within the tendencies of modern fine arts. The study was commemorated on the 100th anniversary of the founding of BAUHAUS, and seeks the artist’s role in the development of the modern architectural concept. In his works, instinctiveness, playfulness, the rhythm of colours and lines play a prominent role, which, among others, can be related to Bela Bartok’s music. In addition, fantasy, the admiration of nature, humour and symbolism are, for him, the manifestations of spiritual life that go beyond physical reality. In this sense, he is a representative of spiritual tradition.

338 T. MEGGYESI Acknowledgements The lecture was given at the academic conference held on June 12, 2019 at the Budapest University of Technology and Economics, Faculty of Architecture, on the 100th anniversary of the Bauhaus. REFERENCES Gebser, J.(1985) The Ever-Present Origin, English trans. from German by Noel Barstad and Algis Mickunas, Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press. Gruson, F. (2019) The spirit and the symbol in architecture: The divine proportion, Symmetry: Culture and Science, 30, 1, 5–14. https://doi.org/10.26830/symmetry_2019_1_005 Katona, V. (2010) Reconsidering the Tectonic: On the sacred ambivalence of the tectonic in the light of Martin Heidegger and relevant theoretical studies on architecture, Periodica Polytechnica – Architecture, 41, 1, 19–25. https://doi.org/10.3311/pp.ar.2010-1.03 Katona, V. (2018) Symmetries and proportions in architecture, Symmetry: Culture and Science, 29, 3, 325– 327. https://doi.org/10.26830/symmetry_2018_3_325 Katona, V. and Vukoszávlyev, Z. (2009) Intuitív tradíció: Gondolatok Peter Zumthor, Sigurd Lewerentz és Hans van der Laan építészetéről (Intuitive tradition: Remarks about the architecture of Peter Zumthor, Sigurd Lewerentz and Hans van der Laan), Utóirat – Post Scriptum, 9, 49, 29–34. Klee, P. (1920) Schöpferische Konfession (Creative credo), Tribune der Kunst und Zeit, Vol. 13, Berlin: Erich Reiss Verlag. Klee, P. (1956) Schriften zur Form und Gestaltungslehre (Writings on form and design theory), ed. Jürg Piller, (English trans. from German by Ralph Manheim, English ed. „Paul Klee Notebooks”), Vol. 1, Basel: Benno Schwabe, 541 + xxxi pp. Mezei, O., ed. (1975) A Bauhaus: Válogatás a mozgalom dokumentumaiból (Bauhaus: A selection of documents from the movement), Budapest: Gondolat Publishing. Miklósvölgyi, Zs. (2009) A mozdulatlan nézés művészete (The art of motionless watching), Új Forrás, 41, 8; retrieved from: https://epa.oszk.hu/00000/00016/00148/090816.htm. Nádas, P. (1991): Az égi és a földi szerelemről (On divine and earthly love). Budapest: Szépirodalmi Kiadó. Patsch, S. (2007): Klee, Cologne: Benedict Taschen. Read, H. (1959) A Coscise History of Modern Painting, New York: Frederck A. Prager.

Symmetry: Culture and Science Vol. 30, No. 4, 339-358, 2019 https://doi.org/10.26830/symmetry_2019_4_339 THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS Katalin Máthé* * Institute of Applied Arts, Károly Simonyi Faculty of Engineering, Wood Sciences and Applied Arts, University of Sopron, 32 Deák tér, Sopron, 9400, Hungary. E-mail: [email protected] Abstract: The preoccupation of the sciences, arts and religion is to place humans into a wider context and to assign meaning and significance to their existence. Since the Renaissance, in the Western culture, the articulation of the world picture had been increasingly dominated by the sciences, particularly by physics. As the focus of intellectual activity shifted from concerns pertaining to the soul to the physical concreteness of the body, the modern West became a profoundly materialist culture with tremendous material achievement. However, when examining the emergence of scientific theories within a larger historical-cultural framework, it becomes apparent that the driving force in the evolution of our modern world picture is an a priori belief that the cosmos is structured by a set of transcendent mathematical relations. In presenting this process, this paper seeks to demonstrate that modern architecture, and its major school, the Bauhaus, has aimed to share the scientists’ apostolic mission in providing salvation for humanity in a physical-geometrical reality they have been jointly created. Keywords: art history, theory of art, symbolism, architecture, Vitruvius, scientific revolutions, avant-garde, Bauhaus 1 INTRODUCTION The birth of the Bauhaus is dated to the appointment of Walter Gropius (1883–1969) on 12 April 1919 to head the Weimar School of Arts and Crafts and the Academy of Fine

340 K. MÁTHÉ Arts that he united under the single title of “Staatliches Bauhaus in Weimar” (Bauhaus State School in Weimar). Many events contributed to this act and the Bauhaus school, during its fourteen years of existence, witnessed several shifts in artistic focus dictated by economic necessities, cultural-political circumstances and the personal beliefs and charisma of its teaching staff. Figure 1: Feininger’s Crystal cathedral from the front cover of the Bauhaus Manifesto, 1919. Our centre of interest is the initial, visionary phase of the school whose aims were phrased by Gropius at the time of its foundation in a four-page pamphlet, the Bauhaus Manifesto, which was heated by a revolutionary spirit that characterized German avant-garde thought in the immediate post-war / Weimar Revolution era: “Together let us desire, conceive, and create the new structure of the future, which will embrace architecture and sculpture and painting in one unity and

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 341 which will one day rise toward heaven from the hands of a million workers like the crystal symbol of a new faith.” (Droste, 2006, p. 17). The manifesto’s front cover is a full-page woodcut by Lyonel Feininger (1871–1956) depicting a cathedral bathing in a crystal-refracted light (Fig. 1) as if it were an illustration to John’s prophecy in the Book of Revelation: “I saw the Holy City, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God… its radiance like a most rare jewel, like jasper, clear as crystal … by its light shall the nations walk…” (Wertheim 1999, p. 15). The almost two thousand years that span between the two visions do not seem to alter the vision itself; only during the course of time did humans gain confidence in their capabilities to create a physical version of the heavens on earth. 2 THE MATHEMATIZATION AND MATERIALIZATION OF HEAVENS We are so accustomed to think about space as an infinite physical void that it is somewhat confusing to realize that such a conception is a scientific-artistic construct according to which the Western mind was trained to view things since the Renaissance. The pioneer of the depiction of an overall unified space was Giotto (1266–1337), who experimented with giving corporeal beauty, weight and spatial depth to the scenes he painted. Roger Bacon (1214–1292) called this new style that sought to represent what the physical eye could see “geometric figuring” and promoted its potential to the clergy, together with the benefits of the fusion of experimental science and mathematical thinking. In Giotto’s time the accepted notion of space was that of Aristotle: “nature abhors a vacuum” as he put it. Thus matter — the elements of air, water, fire and earth — filled all physical space that was finite, ending where the celestial space, the etheric realm of God and of celestial beings begun. Space had no volume per se and was reduced to something that surrounded the surface of objects and bodies. This hypothesis was already contested in antiquity, and from the various alternatives, modern science gradually adopted the atomistic view that saw matter as a conglomerate of individual particles and void space. Pythagoras (born in 569 BC) is credited to be the first thinker to abandon the interpretation of the world as an interplay of psychological forces personified by gods and to attempt to

342 K. MÁTHÉ explain natural phenomena in terms of physical forces that could be comprehended and predicted. He saw the entire universe as the manifestation of underlying mathematical harmonies. The quest in this transcendent realm was a religious activity whose aim was to free the psyche from the constraints of the body so that it could rise into a heavenly mathematical dimension to uncover God’s secrets. The notion of God as a mathematician or architect who created the blueprint of the universe had great appeal to both humanists and the Church during the Renaissance, and mathematically based intellectual activity gradually came to be accepted as the true way to redemption. As science gradually became a priestly mathematical pursuit and art a mirror of measurable reality, the first systematic overview of “geometric figuring” was carried out by the humanist Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472) in his book De Pictura which was first published in Latin in 1434 (Hajnóczi, 1999). In outlining the laws of perspective, he relied on his knowledge of optics which was an important branch of science at the time, as it aimed to unlock the secrets of God through their physical manifestation: light. In the Renaissance, perspective painting, architecture and science were interchangeable activities; the most notable architects, such as Vignola (1507–1573), were perspective painters as well; Galileo (1564–1642) at one stage of his life was a professor of perspective painting at a Florentine Art Academy. From the Renaissance up to the 19th century, architectural thought revolved around the only known antique treatise on architecture, the Ten books of Architecture by Vitruvius (ca. 80 – ca. 15 BC). According to its author, it covered all wisdom with which an architect in the Roman Empire ought to be familiar, and as such it was of supreme interest for the Renaissance mind (Katona, 2018). It survived in a fragmented, unillustrated form that left room for interpretation. Given the cultural background presented above, an important focus of the interpreters was to determine the perfect proportions of the various temple types that Vitruvius (1931) described in Book III and IV, and to come up with a practically applicable modular system of the various orders (Doric, Ionian and Corinthian) to assist practicing architects in their endeavours to give material form to heavenly proportions. In Book I, Vitruvius listed three main requirements for good architecture — firmitas or structural strength, utilitas or function and usability and venustas or beauty — and defined aspects for consideration to achieve these qualities. In the Vitruvian terminology, symmetria meant common measure, a module, the harmony of the parts in relation to the total design (Lefas, 2018), and was one of the six concepts he described as aspects of

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 343 beauty. According to Vitruvius the most important source for harmonious creation were the proportions of the human body which he presented as a modular system, where the length of the nose was taken as a module. These anthropometric proportions were to be applied to painting, sculpture and architecture, thus harmonious proportion derived not only from the relation of absolute numbers but from analogies with the human body (Salingaros, 2018). The human body was the expression of a divine composition, therefore all measurements — inch (digit), palm, foot, cubit (forearm) — were derived from it. Vitruvius related the human body to numbers and geometric forms, which echoes Pythagoras’ numerology that attributed to numbers not only quantities but psychological characteristics and also forms. Thus the ‘Vitruvian man’ that all Vitruvius commentators sought to depict, and of which that of Leonardo is the best-known, can be considered as the graphic interpretation of a supposed divine cosmic blueprint that obsessed the human mind for centuries (Gruson, 2019). Both Pythagoras and Vitruvius considered ten as a perfect number — the reason why Vitruvius chose to write ten books on architecture — which also corresponds not only to the decimal system but to the number of the fingers. Pythagoras associated numbers not only with deities but with form. When quantities are represented by dots — as numbers are depicted by dots on the faces of a dice – these dots can be arranged into various shapes: triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons. For example, three, six, ten, can be arranged into triangles, thus they are triangular numbers (Fig. 2). Dots arranged in shapes that carry meaning, the star constellations, was a means of astrology to retrieve information from the celestial realm. The source of this line of thought is ancient Egypt and Babylon where Pythagoras spent two decades as an apprentice to high priests. By Vitruvius’ time this knowledge lost much of its secrecy and probably its content, but was considered to be a desirable expertise for architects. Vitruvius dedicated his Book IX to cosmology, which included descriptions of star constellations and astrology. Vitruvius described the universe as an architectural design, in which the laws of the cosmos and that of architecture were presented as identical, God

344 K. MÁTHÉ being ‘architectus mundi’ (architect of the world) and the architect ‘secundus deus’ (second god). Figure 2: Dots arranged into shape is the number’s relation to form according to Pythagoras; stellar constellations are also dots arranged into shapes. During his study years in Bologna and Padua, Nicolas Copernicus (1473–1543) was exposed to the Vitruvian-Albertian aesthetic ideals (Sanvito, 2018) that inspired him to spend the rest of his life to deduce “the shape of the universe and the unchangeable symmetry of its parts”. Ptolemy’s geocentric system that Copernicus sought to replace was simply a calculation aid to determine celestial positions and contained no assumption about God’s cosmic plan. Copernicus turned to architects and used the analogy of the human body in outlining his vision of the cosmos as an organic whole. His common measure was the distance of the earth from the sun, upon which he proportioned the distances of all the other planets of his solar system. Copernicus’ decision to place the Sun in the centre in this perfect composition was driven by aesthetic and theological convictions that had their roots in antiquity — already the Pythagoreans believed in a fire-centred universe. In his On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres, the summary of his lifelong quest, he states: “In the middle of all sits the Sun enthroned in this most beautiful temple… He is rightly called the lamp, the mind, the ruler of the Universe. Hermes Trismegistus names it the visible God … the Sun sits upon a royal throne ruling his children, the planets which circle around him.” Copernicus’ system was not simpler or more precise than that of Ptolemy, which was due to the Polish astronomer’s insistence that celestial bodies may travel only a perfectly

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 345 shaped path, the circle. Thus, he had to labour doggedly to transcribe planetary motions in terms of circles. Copernicus did not challenge the etheric quality of the heavens and thus did not ascribe material reality to any other planet but the earth. It was Johannes Kepler (1571–1630) who was capable of the tremendous leap to abandon the idea of the circular planetary orbit after a five-year “war on Mars”; so vexing were his efforts in determining the orbit of Mars that he would remark: “I was almost driven to madness in considering and calculating this matter” (Wertheim, 1997, p. 74). Kepler viewed the world as a material embodiment of mathematical formulas that were already inscribed within God’s mind before creation. According to Kepler, the planets were physical bodies just as the earth, thus a deviation from the perfect circle as the shape of their orbit was a viable option for him. Associating the circle with the spiritual, and the straight line with the material, he settled on the ellipse. Furthermore, he attributed the planetary motions to physical forces, thus devising a completely physical universe and anticipating Newton’s gravity. The Western mind is framed so deeply in a Newtonian mechanical world picture that a suggestion of an invisible force acting across empty space and being responsible for the integrity of the universe appears to be just another aspect of a Godless, consequently physical cosmos. But after a second consideration, the almost occult flavour of this thought becomes apparent and excludes the possibility that such an idea stems from a purely rational-materialist mind. Neither Kepler nor Newton were materialists. Kepler’s motivation for scientific activity was congruent with that of Pythagoras: he believed that geometry was implanted into man by God and that human participation in the divine plan was possible only through mathematical study. Newton’s God was the designer and the overseer of a material universe which exhibited a superior systematic order that was a further proof of God’s infinite power. Newton looked for inspiration about the blueprint of the cosmos in architecture as well. He deeply revered the Scriptures, and as his notebooks show, he devoted time to determine the exact dimensions of the Temple of Solomon as supposedly it embodied God’s divine plan. With his science, Newton aimed to reclaim the original and pure form of Christianity and saw himself as the restorer of indigenous faith. He believed that his findings would teach

346 K. MÁTHÉ humans about their true relationship to God and grant them an understanding about their duties and responsibilities both towards God and their fellow human beings. As time progressed, however, many of the things Newton believed science could not decipher, and therefore he attributed to God, were gradually being explained in scientific terms. Physicists’ self-confidence grew in their capacity to completely write out God from nature. Pierre-Simon Laplace (1749–1827) demonstrated that there was no need for a supreme being neither for the creation nor for the maintenance of the cosmos. Instead, the physicists themselves came to be deified. Newton was respected as a demigod, and architects, who were confirmed already by Vitruvius in their own supreme status in creation, set out to design a physical place for Newton’s worship (Fig. 3). Étienne-Louise Boullée (1728–1799) dedicated his vision of a monumental cenotaph to the English physicist with passionate devotion: “Sublime spirit! Vast and profound genius! You are divine!” Figure 3: Section of Boullée’s Cenotaph for Newton (1784), a 500ft diameter sphere within a three-tiered cylindrical base.

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 347 3 SCIENCE AS SALVATION A commitment to science and its technological by-products was not a new phenomenon. As was mentioned earlier, the Franciscan friar Roger Bacon in the 13th century was an ardent supporter of perspective painting, mathematics and experimental science; his campaign was voiced in his works dedicated to Pope Clement IV. Bacon saw that technological inventions had the potential to hasten the coming of age of redemption and could improve human life already on earth. He envisioned flying machines, automotive carriages, machines for lifting heavy weights, optical instruments to enhance sight and elixirs for prolonging life, among others. But his most convincing argument for the true value of science in the eyes of the papacy was that it could be employed to make converts. Figure 4: Illustration from Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis depicting “sound-houses”. On the eve of the Scientific Revolution visions of a man-made New Jerusalem began to proliferate, among which perhaps Francis Bacon’s (1561–1626) The New Atlantis (1627), unfolded in the form of a short tale (Fig. 4), is the most impressive. The notable shift in the Baconian utopia is its yearning for a power over nature instead of a divine knowledge of nature. He reduced the moral in The New Atlantis to an ideal society free from sin, pollution or foulness where heavenly existence was facilitated by a scientific-monastic institution, the Solomon’s House, directed by thirty-six scientist-priests, the so-called

348 K. MÁTHÉ “Fathers”, whose mission was to apply their knowledge of nature to the betterment of life in Atlantis. These Fathers equipped New Atlantis’ population with very similar machines and curing methods envisioned already by Roger Bacon. Furthermore, weather control and something similar to genetic modification were within their powers and were capable of erecting towers that reached to the upper layers of the atmosphere. They were granted absolute freedom and had access to unlimited resources in their laboratories and workshops and were revered as high priests who travelled in crystal-adorned carriages with dozens of attendees. The brotherhood of supreme knowledge is a reoccurring theme in the history of science and architecture, and is manifested in the foundation of later scientific and artistic associations such as the Bauhaus’ teaching stuff. This early faith in the powers of science as an improver of society both morally and materially is astonishing given that no technological breakthrough occurred for another two centuries that would dramatically transform the physical conditions of society for the better. The first branch of science that bore such fruits was thermodynamics, which facilitated the construction of steam engines; the next was electromagnetic theory that led to the establishment of the electric power industry and telecommunications. In 1898, Alfred Wallace (1823–1913) wrote in The Wonderful Century his account on scientific achievement in the 19th century. “… our century [is] superior to any that have gone before it, ... it must therefore be held to constitute the beginning of a new era of human progress” (Wertheim 1997, p. 161). 4 GERMAN AVANT-GARDE VISIONS AT THE TURN OF THE 19TH–20TH CENTURIES Being acquainted with the utopian-visionary spirit that imbued science since its very beginnings, it comes as a lesser surprise that a major source of the German architectural avant-garde vision was the ideals of the poet, science-fictionist and inventor Paul Scheerbart (1863–1915) (Fig. 5). A charismatic figure of the late Wilhelmine Berlin’s intellectual circles, Scheerbart lived in constant poverty and in a state of near starvation and spent most of his earnings on his perpetuum mobile experiments. He possessed a

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 349 prominent circle of friends, among them the architect Bruno Taut (1880–1938), on whom his concepts made a lasting impression and who all took his work very seriously. Figure 5: Paul Scheerbart’s portrait by Oscar Kokoschka, 1910. The subject of several of his works of fiction was the architecture of the future with a hero who was an architect. Scheerbart’s settings were very similar to a New Atlantis and his hero-architects possessed similar powers to those of the New Atlantis’ Fathers. Future architecture made complete use of technological advances: mobile glass structures of sometimes the size of an entire city were erected in impossible environmental conditions such as the South Pole, the top of the Himalayan mountain range, underground, or floating in air or in water. Architecture’s distinguished role came from Scheerbart’s belief that culture was created by architecture and the formal structure of the environment could elevate one’s thinking towards the realization of his higher faculties. Scheerbart exquisitely verbalized the Expressionist world-sentiment that focused on humans’ sensual perception of their surroundings. The architecture he envisioned was an improved version of nature where inhabitants could peacefully and comfortably enjoy the greatness of the universe. Everything was geared towards the enlightenment of the individual without the individual having to make any effort to elevate his spirit.

350 K. MÁTHÉ Scheerbart’s technically most accurate account of his edifices, such as descriptions of structural layout, lighting and thermal control, is given in his Glass Architecture (1914). He set his stories into a relatively near future, the mid 20th century, as he did not consider them to be mere fantasies but realistic prospects. He based this assumptions on his personal experience of the pace with which trains had transformed the surface of the earth. In the Scheerbartian universe, technology served exclusively moral-spiritual purposes. But his technological know-how that he developed alongside his perpetuum mobile experiments allowed him to predict the ill-uses of technology as well. The most astounding is his prophesies of aerial warfare enfolded in a 1909 pamphlet entitled The Development of Aerial Militarism and the Dissolution of the European Land Armies, Fortifications and Navies. This writing considers a feasible defence strategy against aerial attacks: the relocation of city dwellers to the countryside in garden cities. Scheerbart also proposed that future governments should discourage living in cities and limit traffic through taxation. A decline in mobility would occur organically, as in his spirit-lifting and physically mobile homes in which people’s escapist desires would gradually dissolve. Scheerbart’s preoccupation with the perpetuum mobile was his attempt to advance the coming of salvation and enlightenment of humanity. He was very aware of the impossibility of his efforts, but his desire to break through materialism was stronger than his common sense. He aspired to triumph over Western physics, mathematical logic and technological development, and wanted to penetrate into the deepest secrets of the universe to unlock its unlimited resources and harness them to free humanity from misery. He wanted to become a millionaire, buy the Black Forest and the Harz Mountains where he could erect the first model glass structures to test out his ideas. The economic freedom coming from unlimited resources would also dissolve national and political boundaries — Scheerbart’s vision bore a fair share with socialism and anarchism. 5 SCHEERABRTIAN IDEALS IN GERMAN ARCHITECTURAL AVANT-GARDE AND IN THE BAUHAUS History brought about what Scheerbart wanted to avoid: the use of technology for destructive purposes, the overgrowth of the cities, pollution, an ever-growing traffic-load without any immersion into the beauties of cosmos neither in an architecturally enhanced nor in a natural environment. Scheerbart saw this coming at the outbreak of the war, fell into depression and starved to death during his hunger-strike against military aggression in 1915. A similar pacifism was exhibited by the architect Bruno Taut (1880–1938), who

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 351 was Scheerbart’s closest friend during his last years. Unlike the majority of his generation, who saw the war as the advent for a great spiritual cleansing and signed up as volunteers, Taut avoided military service. During the war, artistic antimilitarist activism in Germany centred around Taut and led to the foundation of the Arbeitsrat für Kunst (Working Council for Art) in 1918 shortly after the November Revolution (Fig. 6). Figure 6: “Monument to Joy” (1919) of Wassili Luckhardt (Zacken), a vision from the early days of the November Revolution. The Arbeitsrat at its foundation was intended to be an autonomous professional body within a decentralized government with the aim to redefine the relationship of architecture to society and the role of architectural education within a socialist framework. Fearing a civil war, during the later days of the Weimar Revolution an integration of the reactionary upper classes into a social democratic system was sought. The Councils decided to hand over political power to a national assembly. Elections for the Weimar National Assembly were held in January 1919 and in August, when the Weimar Constitution was adopted, the Revolution ended. As a response, Taut resigned from his post in the Arbeitsrat and passed on the leadership to Walter Gropius (1883–1969) who faithfully represented Taut’s artistic policies not only within the Council but also in the Bauhaus. Taut’s 1918 Arbeitsrat founding manifesto, the Ein Architektur-Programm (An Architectural Programme) is almost identical in aims and content to that of Gropius’ 1919 Bauhaus Manifesto, claiming a leading and uniting role for architecture in a process of artistic and social regeneration.

352 K. MÁTHÉ The Berlin based Arbeitsrat grew quickly and by 1919 it counted over a hundred members, among them Gropius, the Taut and the Luckhardt brothers, Hans Scharoun, Carl Krayl, Paul Goesch, Eric Mendelsohn, Hans Poeltzig and Adolf Meyer. Their exhibitions and publications were open to everyone who had a say about the future of architecture and society. Their first exhibition “Die Ausstellung für unbekannte Architekten” (Exhibition for Unknown Architects) in Berlin opened almost the same date as Gropius’ appointment to Bauhaus director in Weimar. The selection of the exhibition participants was made by Gropius and Bruno’s brother, Max Taut (1884–1967). The general reception of the exhibited pieces was rather on the furore side, but it was a perfect occasion to bring together Germany’s radical architectural forces. Bruno Taut handpicked slightly over a dozen of the participants, among them Gropius, to formulate a small group that was later named the “Gläserne Kette” (Crystal Chain). The idea of an exclusive and cryptic society probably came from Gropius, who did not believe in the efficiency of the populist-activism coming from a large organisation such as the Arbeitsrat, which he attempted to convert into a “conspiratorial brotherhood” and structured the Bauhaus from the start as a quasi-Masonic lodge; “small, lodge-like working groups — that’s what we need” as he put it (Whyte 1985, p. 2). The Crystal Chain was a secret correspondence among its members who, because of Taut’s wish to maintain secrecy, took pseudonyms for themselves. Taut chose to be Glass; Gropius, who did not contribute to this literary exchange of world-redeeming ideas was “Mass”, a word with many meanings, among which something very close to what Alberti had meant under symmetry. They held that as uniquely gifted individuals, it was within their responsibility to lead humanity into an earthly paradise. Taut was convinced that the time had come when people were driven by a desire for communal life and architects were the chosen ones who were able to convert these spiritual yearnings into built form. To highlight the spiritual potential of the age, Taut included a full quote from John’s Revelations of the New Jerusalem and excerpts from other mystic literature in the Frühlicht (Dawn), the short-lived avant-garde periodical he established. The crystal has been used in the mythical tradition to describe a transcendental light, the divine, a quality that is beyond human cognition, that lives as a spark in the soul through which a communion with God and with fellow human beings may take place. This spark sought to be kindled by the creation of glass architecture in Paul Scheerbart’s fantasies, and his devotion towards glass architecture was taken up by Taut as a result of their friendship. The connotations of glass are so identical with crystal in this context, that the

THE COMING OF HEAVEN ON EARTH AND THE BAUHAUS 353 two notions are interchangeably translated into English as crystal or glass. 1914 saw Scheerbart and Taut mutually praise each other and their admiration for glass structures in two accomplished works: Scheerbart dedicated his already mentioned novel, the Glass Architecture for Bruno Taut and Taut built the Glass House at the Werkbund Exposition in Cologne to revere Scheerbart. Figure 7: “Spheres, Orbit, Wheel” and “Cathedral-star”, from Bruno Taut’s Alpine Architecture (1919). The Glass Pavilion was only a small, built version of Scheerbart’s fantasies, following closely his specifications of a Glass Eden: double glass walls, fountain and glass bulbs lit with coloured light and a “kaleidoscope”, an opaque glass screen onto which slowly shifting abstract patterns were projected. The “glassdreamers” collaboration was interrupted by the war and Scheerbart’s subsequent death, but Taut went on to elaborate on Scheerbart’s visions during the war. The Alpine Architecture (1919) was a folio of his drawings of glass structures (Fig. 7); The City Crown (1919) described a concept of a new coloured glass centre where citizens may enjoy the benevolent powers of a crystal palace; Der Weltbaumeister (1920) was an ‘architecture play’ dedicated to the spirit of Scheerbart and The Dissolution of the Cities (1920) echoed Scheerbart’s anti-city sentiment and gave

354 K. MÁTHÉ an account of small agricultural communities placed in an infinitely-stretching, stateless countryside. Scheerbart’s visions were not only pervading Taut’s imagination during these years, but also imbued the Crystal Chain correspondence and the Arbeitsrat architectural circles. The catalogue that accompanied the second exhibition of the Arbeitsrat in 1920, organized by the Luckhardt brothers, entitled “Neues Bauen” (New Building) and which consisted exclusively of the pictorial works of the Crystal Chain members, advocated Scheerbart’s oeuvre to the reader. We also know about Gropius’ infatuation with Scheerbartian ideals from his letter written to his fellow crystal-chainer, Hermann Finsterlin (1887–1973) in recommending him to read Scheerbart’s works. Gropius was sympathetic even to the agrarian community lifestyle both Scheerbart and Taut promoted. Seeing the success of some agricultural reform communities that were established in Germany from the late 19th century, he was considering owning an estate within such a commune during the early years of the Bauhaus. The Neues Bauen exhibition opened on 3 May 1920 marked a turning point in the thinking of those involved in the visionary shaping of the future of architecture and consequently that of mankind. A tension was already apparent in the Crystal Chain correspondence, where from the outset the Luckhardt brothers represented a more rational approach to that of the other members, who were reluctant to compromise transcendental values for the sake of economic reality. When Taut’s publication the Frühlicht had to be closed down in July 1920, due to withdrawal of professional and financial support, the reality had to be faced that structures erected for the mere betterment of mankind lacked the kind of social backing and unlimited resources that they enjoyed in Scheerbart’s novels, and post- war architects in Germany, despite their efforts to formulate “conspiratorial brotherhoods” were not actually akin to the Fathers of New Atlantis. As Wilhelm Worringer (1881–1965) wrote about this dilemma at length in his book with a similar title, empathy or abstraction was the choice, and once and again abstraction was closer to the demands of the receptive society. From the crystal-chainers, Taut, the Czech painter, Wenzel Hablik (1881–1934) and Hermann Finsterlin made attempts to safeguard their visions for humanity and sketched film scenarios. Taut’s convictions in the architect’s self-sacrificing role to having to serve the needs of humanity eventually led him to change his stance. “I am now finished with intuitive works, I almost hope for ever” (Whyte 1985, p. 11) he wrote in the Crystal Chain correspondence, and dedicated himself