BERLIN NOTES (LVI)

Hagen Pelka 'Bahnhof Gesundbrunnen von der Swinemünder Brücke' (1984)

Now that the Wall is gone, the city is twice as big and has changed so much that he often doesn’t recognize the intersections. Once he’d known all the city’s bombed-out gaps, first with rubble, then without. Later still there might be a sausage stand, or Christmas trees for sale, or often nothing at all. But recently all these gaps have been filled with buildings, corner lots built up again, firewalls no longer visible. As a child, before the Wall went up, he sold blueberries (having picked them himself) at the West Berlin train station Gesundbrunnen so he could buy his first glossy ball. Glossy rubber balls existed only in the West. When he saw the Gesundbrunnen station for the first time after the fall of the Wall, the tracks leading east were completely overgrown with tall grass, the platforms covered with birch trees swaying in the wind. If he’d been a city planner, he’d have left it just like that in memory of the divided city, and to symbolize the ephemeral nature of all things built by human hands, and maybe just because a stand of birch trees on a train-station platform is beautiful.

JENNY ERPENBECK 'Go, Went, Gone' (2015)

BERLIN NOTES (LV)

René Burri 'Along the Berlin Wall' (1961)

Yet despite its physical absence here and elsewhere in Berlin, the dividing wall maintains a vivid presence. Indirectly visible through its historical traces in the otherwise puzzling layout of certain streets and buildings, it can also be seen in the differing visual cultures of East and West: not only in the different styles of architecture and levels of building maintenance, but in the different styles of interior design, like the East Berlin taste for oilcloth table coverings, artificial flowers, and regimented white lace curtains. To the frequent dismay of motorists and public transport commuters, the wall is still strongly felt through the chaos of continuing traffic changes (for example, detours due to road or building construction, disrupted service and altered routes for bus, U-bahn, and S-bahn lines) that its sudden disappearance has engendered after over a generation of walled Berlin life. The enormous, frenetic mass of continuing construction that has overwhelmed Potsdamer Platz paradoxically reasserts the wall it has effaced, by being not only a constructed obstacle of monumental scale but an international tourist attraction as Europe's largest building site. In short, the now absent wall dividing East and West remains in many ways the structuring principle of this unified city, just as the divided cities of East and West Berlin were defined essentially by their contrasting absent parts.

RICHARD SHUSTERMAN 'The Urban Aesthetics of Absence' (1997)

EUROPAHAUS

But one thing people like us cannot do without: the big city, where the lights are bright at night.

KURT TUCHOLSKY

With the passing of time, the myth of Potsdamer Platz has grown so big it has ended up casting a huge shadow over neighboring Askanischer Platz. However, it should be remembered that, during the first half of the last century, it had become one of the neuralgic centers of Berlin. Then everything revolved around the big train stations. At Askanischer Platz was the Anhalter Bahnhof, the largest and busiest train station in the city. From 1841, the year of its inauguration, large hotels were established in its surroundings. First the Harsburger Hof and later the Excelsior, once the largest hotel on the european continent.

Ideenwettbewerb zur Verbauung der Prinz-Albrecht-Gärten in Berlin, 1924

In 1924, with a desire to take advantage of this dynamic, the promoters of the famous skyscraper at Friedrichstrasse station promoted a new competition. Its aim was to define the western part of the Prinz-Albrecht-Palais, where the royal stables were, with a large building that gave facade to the square and preserved its garden at maximum. The main building, an 18th-century palace, later modified by K.F. Schinkel, occupied its eastern part. The winning proposal of the competition was presented by the architects Richard Bielenberg and Josef Moser, also authors of the Hotel Fürstenhof near Potsdamer Platz. It should be noted that their proposal had nothing to do with what was later eventually built. In fact, the authors went from proposing a neoclassical styled building to a complex of buildings designed according to the principles of the Neue Sachlichkeit, more similar to the proposal presented by Otto Firle.

Europahaus am Anhalter Bahnhof, 1936-37

This complex of buildings, in a certain sense, wanted to be a replica, on the Askanischer Platz, of  Haus Vaterland, located just in front of the Potsdamer Bahnhof. Opened in 1911 as Haus Potsdam, the building was designed by Franz Schwechten. Curiously, the same architect who, a few years earlier, had designed the Anhalter Bahnhof. It housed Café Piccadilly, the world’s largest restaurant with 2,500 seats, a theater, with a capacity of 1,200 seats, and numerous offices. In 1928 it was renovated and re-opened, under the motto of the world in a house, with its theater transformed into a cinema and offices into multiple themed restaurants. In addition, Carl Stahl-Vrach, the architect of its renovationa and set designer for films such as Fritz Lang's "Doctor Mabuse", transformed the building into one of the first exponents of the Lichtarchitektur, or architecture of the night.

Saarlandstraße (heute Stresemannstraße), 1941-42

On the other hand, the Askanischer Platz complex had a façade about 280-meter-length and a total area of ​​35,000 square meters and was built in two phases. In the first phase, completed in 1926, Deutschlandhaus was built. A building which contained a mall, a theater, a ballroom, and a movie theater. Very similar to Tauentzienpalast. A complex of offices, shops and a ballroom of which Bielenberg and Moser were also the authors. The second, after many troubles and the death of Bielenberg, could not be completed until 1931. And it is in this last phase, designed by Moser and Otto Firle, that one of the first tall buildings in Berlin with steel structure was built: the Europahaus. A 12-storey tower that would eventually give its name to the whole complex. Firle surely contributed many of his own ideas, previously included in his competition proposal. One of them, no doubt, was the transformation of the Europahaus into another showcase in Berlin of the architecture of the night. But it was not until 1935 that a 15-meter-high structure was added to the central tower, crowned with the luminous logos of Allianz and Odol, adding up to a total of 50 meters, which broke definitely with the marked horizontality of the winning project.

Abraham Pisarek 'Auf Berliner Straßen', 1945-46

Nazism ended up stripping Europahaus of all its neons lights and turning it into the Reich's ministry of labor headquarters. During that period of darkness, the Anhalter Banhnhof became one of the three main Berlin stations where, between 1941 and 1945, almost a third of Berlin's Jews were deported. From this station, thanks to the infamous and disciplined task developed by Adolf Eichmann, they were sent, in groups of 50 to 100 people, to Theresienstadt Ghetto, in passenger convoys added to regular trains. But RAF's strategic bombing ended up devastating the station and its environs. However, Albert Speer's insane plan to transform Berlin into Welthaupstadt Germania had already envisaged closing the station and turning it into a public swimming pool. In fact, it was not until 1960 that the Anhalter Bahnhof was completely dismantled. And with its closure, and subsequent demolition, a part of Berlin’s history fell into the pit of oblivion. Except for Europahaus which still stands today, but in the darkness originally imposed by the Nazis.

BERLIN NOTES (XLIV)

Edward Hopper 'Approaching a City' (1946)

What lures me, amongst many things, was when I first went in there, there were great segments of the city that were empty. There were lots, where buildings had stood. The first thing that it reminded me of was when I was a child, in the Bronx. We used to play in lots that looked like that, of course they were lots without buildings. But here the buildings were destroyed, erased. So there was a correspondence between the lots that I knew as a child and this place in Germany that had these empty lots. That was number one. Number two, what struck me was, although the buildings had been destroyed, and had disappeared, the aura came through the ground. In other words, the physicality of the buildings were not there, but one could feel the sense of structures having been there. That was what we were talking before. There were disappearences that had occured, but yet the atmosphere of these structures was coming out of the earth. That was two. Number three, the strange condition of sensing Edward Hopper. Hopper's paintings were basically of Hoboken and places like that. Somehow, there was a condition in Berlin that brought back senses of Hopper. That was I tried to do, by the way, in my structures that I built in Berlin now. To capture some of those, amongst other things, some of those things.

JOHN HEJDUK in conversation with David Shapiro (1991)

BERLIN NOTES (XLI)

Daniel Libeskind 'Out of Line' (1991)

Berlin could be seen as an exemplary spiritual capital of the twenty-first century, as it once was the apocalyptic symbol of the twentieth-century demise. The identity of Berlin cannot be re-founded on the ruins of history or on the illusory ‘reconstructions’ of an arbitrarily selected past.

The transformation of the shape of (future) city must be accompanied by corresponding changes in the mentality associated with prewar lot lines, anachronistic visions, dreams that money can buy. What is necessary is an optimistic view of the twenty-first century: a radical rethinking of zoning, function, property, and program. These categories are no longer appropriate to the changed relation between capitol, capital, public responsibility, and the end of ideology.

What we need is a connection of Berlin to and across its own history. This connection, this movement, goes through the relation of the old and the new, capitol and capital, full and empty, the 'no-longer' and the 'not yet'.

The lost center cannot be reconnected like an artificial limb to an old body, but must generate an overall transformation of the city.

Potsdamer Platz can be the place where the East-West, center-periphery division can overcome the conflicts that were born, witnessed, and died in this very place.

These conflicts cannot be resolved by reconstructing a hollow past, but by laying new foundations and new images that are open to concrete dynamics.

DANIEL LIBESKIND 'Out of Line' (1991)

BERLIN NOTES (XXXIII)

Armando 'Zonder titel'  (1957)

Berlin is an ugly city with beautiful remains. Berlin was badly mutilated by bomb, but not destroyed beyond recognition like Dresden or some of the cities in the Ruhr. Afterwards, it was still possible to tell which streets were which. Unlike Dresden, but Erich Kästner has described this in his diary.

What do I mean by beautiful remains? I mean the few lovely buildings, erected decades ago by the burgeoisie, which have been left undisturbed in dreary cities ruined by post-war architecture. After May 1945 it was necessary to build residential areas fast; people wanted a roof over their heads again. These neighbourhoods are vast spiritual wastelands, yet Berlin is full of them. At a larger stage, concrete high-rises popped up everywhere. Utopian architects assured us that they were the ultimate in aesthetic pleasure and that they would make humanity happy, but I, for one, find them depressing.

And yet the war is not the chief offender. After 1945 people demolished countless jaunty little houses and buildings from the late nineteenth century. Here too the rule was: new is good, old is ugly, out with the old. In recent years, people have become more cautious about knocking things down. The frenzy modernization has abated somewhat. People are back on the right track. They’re renovating.

In the meantime, a question has arisen: can you make a sweeping statement of that sort about modern architecture? Can I say that I loathe all (or nearly all) of post-war architecture? No. Because then, what about modern art? What about your own paintings? Exactly.

Berlin is a young city. It doesn’t have a majestic medieval past. Oh, here and there you might run across a dilapidated village church looking in disgruntlement at the city around it, but there are no proud Romanesque or Gothic cathedrals. You do see a host of churches built in neo-styles, mostly during the last century, but we won’t hold that against them. Better a neo-church than no church. A little circumspection can’t hurt.

So Berlin may not be a beautiful city, but it is exciting. What  makes it exciting is the occasionally unbearable tension between a seemingly carefree present and an oppressive past. Berlin is a city teeming with places and traces.

ARMANDO 'From Berlin' (1996)