From Bauhütte to Bauhaus

The other day, I was surveyed about the recent renovations of university residence halls. The questions varied from “how do students use the public spaces?” to “which amenities are inhibiting the academic success of residents?” By and large, my responses were positive. I believe the residence halls at this university are top-tier–clean, functional, and beautiful. Of course there are always areas for improvement, but the general concept of the renovations is on point. I started to think about why this was. All of them seemed to embrace modern design elements–such as high ceilings, stone floors, light colors, and lots of glass. For those unfamiliar with the new buildings, here’s a representative (-ish) picture:

Of course, anything defined as “modern” is  appealing in a contemporary sense–as it implies new, current, fresh, “in style,” etc. But a common fear is thus: Does modern design last in the long haul? Surely the style must go out of date. I’ve thought about this for a while, and I’m starting to think this isn’t the case. What we know to be modern design has a very functional nature associated it with it–it often strips to the essentials and focuses on the materials used. It abides by the “form follows function” principle–triggered by the birth of Bauhaus in the early 20th century.

Bauhaus design was sparked as a design principle in 1919  by the Staatliches Bauhaus (School of Building) in Germany. The design institute was focused on employing art for practical purposes–breathing beauty into the mundane. Furniture and buildings for the everyday person became more accessible and aesthetically pleasing. Daily interactions were streamlined, inline with the idea that people would be empowered by this ubiquitous support. The most current embodiment of these principles is in the digital realm. Most web design follows these principles, turning the fundamentalist web of the 1990s into the slick user interfaces of today.

But where did Bauhaus design stem? The focus on beautiful, facilitated mundanity was appropriated from the mason’s guild of the Bauhütte. This collective of journeymen took part in the design of Gothic cathedrals. This trade did not focus on design for everyday items and activities, and this is where the Bauhaus school diverged.

Cathedrals, in their very design, focus on something this is above and beyond our daily existence. The spires of the buildings point toward the heavens, illustrating how our collective efforts on earth are directed toward our Creator. We can only receive support and empowerment from a force this is outside ourselves. This is the belief held by the Baumeisters, and their cathedrals illustrate it. The Bauhaus school, on the other hand, liked the idea of design affording empowerment, but manipulated the design principles to not support a higher power but personal power. It was an agnostic perspective that drove innovative design into many facets of our existence. While much of modern design has lost touch with this idea of user empowerment–we often design “modernly” to conform to trends–the benefits of good design in pragmatic circumstances has pushed us further. We’ve accomplished greater feats technologically and (arguably) socially than previous civilizations, and a small part of this can be attributed to the democratizing force of Bauhaus design. In order for this school of thought to be effective, though, we must not lose sight of the power of design. It should not simply make something beautiful. It should be merely pragmatic. It should strive to change a user’s thoughts–to become empowered and respect the power of others, seen and unseen.

The residence hall renovations at Michigan may have been a simple conformity to design trends. But maybe they could be leading to something greater.