We’ve discussed René Mayer’s attraction to the organic architecture of the Goetheanum. But this fondness for biomorphic forms is just one pole of his artistic sensitivity. The other is his preference for simplicity and austerity, as advocated since the 1920s by an academy that would become globally famous: Walter Gropius’s Bauhaus, founded in 1919 in Weimar, relocated in 1925 to Dessau, and dismantled in 1933 in Berlin-Steglitz in response to pressure from Nazi authorities. In this institution, research and teaching initially focused on revaluing craftsmanship in art. This was followed by reflection on simplifying the forms of everyday consumer goods. Whether it was salt shakers, teapots, bedside lamps, wallpapers, or furniture – primarily chairs and sofas – the stylistic heritage of the previous century was fundamentally challenged. In the minds of the “masters” (as the Bauhaus teachers were called), the purpose of simplifying forms was both industrial (creating objects that could be produced very rationally) and aesthetic (creating beautiful objects). This reflection culminated in the concept of “less is more,” thus rejecting any superfluous ornamentation – a concept that was also the motto of the German-American architect and designer Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, one of the Bauhaus’s most influential “masters.” Mies van der Rohe played a decisive role in the global spread of the Bauhaus spirit. The famous German Pavilion at the 1929 Barcelona Universal Exposition, which he designed with Lilly Reich, and the “Barcelona” chair, created for this pavilion, are among his most remarkable achievements.
Returning to the two conceptual axes that guide René Mayer: a (too) quick reasoning could lead to the presumption that the artist demonstrates a disconcerting ambivalence by simultaneously embracing two totally antagonistic doctrines. But the contradiction is only apparent. Or, to be precise, it only concerns one aspect of the question: style. It goes without saying that the streamlined style of the Bauhaus is in contradiction – or rather in counterpoint – to the sometimes exuberant biomorphic design of organic architecture. So, the question is: what connects the world of the Bauhaus to that of the Goetheanum? The answer is glaringly obvious: the artisanal approach inherent in both philosophies. Because organic architecture, which seeks to develop in symbiosis with nature, as claimed by the creations of Frank Lloyd Wright, logically favors natural materials such as brick, wood, and stone – and consequently stimulates craftsmanship that employs them. Steiner (who built the Goetheanum in concrete, let’s not forget…!) as much as Gropius, are perfectly aware of the importance of artisanal know-how. In his teaching precepts, Steiner goes so far as to say that the objective of school manual work (today “visual arts”) is not to train students in a good mastery of craft techniques, but to lead to the creation of useful and usable objects.
Therefore, the awareness of the vital importance – in the sense of “essential to life” – of craftsmanship is the guiding thread for René Mayer. When he says that he is fundamentally an artisan at heart, he clearly, albeit without verbalizing it, emphasizes the notion of life: The heart is where not only the pulse of biological life beats, but also that of emotional life. – Over the years and through his artistic experiments, René Mayer has increasingly deeply understood and assimilated the vital necessity of the creative act and the importance of producing something with his own hands. It is in the honesty and humility of this approach that the flame is born, giving works the personality, legitimacy, and vitality that products from a factory halfway around the world will never have.
