It was important to the author of this homage to include the name Friedrich Bürklein in the front matter – and to ignore Maximilian. Take that, King Maximilian II Joseph of Bavaria, after whom (it has to be) the Maximilianstraße in Munich is named, the Maximilianeum, the Maximiliansbrücke or the Maximiliansanlagen. Built in a not entirely perfect Bavarian-Neo-Gothic style, which has found its way into the lexicon: as, of course, the Maximilian style. The king has immortalized himself in everyday life, the architect in the archive; the king is still considered a heroic visionary, his architect a victim of historicist madness.
To be fair, the ego projects of an art-loving king are still among the sights of the city. Who only discovered with such help, sapperlot, that Munich is on the Isar. However, it is still not royal, but congenially royal-architectural works that outshine a Munich that is also passed around the world in a selfie in this way.
If you occasionally pass the Maximilianeum, you are welcome to do so before you get bogged down in the eastern wild boar periphery around the SZ tower, past this building of sheer fantasy, which, as the director of the Alpenglühen, you could not imagine any more dramatic, but at the same time not more beautiful either knows that sometimes it’s hard to get around the enthusiastic selfie hunters from all over the world on life support. Not too many architectural or urban sensations can be admired in Munich. The closer you get to the present, the fewer selfies you can capture.
Maximilianstrasse in Munich should actually be called Bürkleinstrasse.
(Photo: Stephan Rumpf)
The Königsplatz should be mentioned, the Englischer Garten, the Ludwigstraße, the Olympia-Areal … This album also includes the homogeneously built, at the same time people-friendly and pleasantly self-confident Maximilianstraße (which used to be mainly cafés and lots of culture plus upper-class apartments, until everything became Prada and office dullness), which leads over the Maximiliansbrücke to the Maximilianeum. All of that should mean: Bürkleinstraße, Bürkleinbrücke and for our sake Bürklianeum. Even the colossal building that now houses the state parliament embraces people lovingly – which is more of an architectural than a political success.
Sights like the Maximilianeum are actually monuments. Among other things, they invite you to think about why today’s cities are so pathetically poor in design and at the same time so misanthropic and dysfunctional – which also applies to a number of newer parts of Munich.
In any case, the anti-Maximilian attitude tried at the beginning is the belated revenge of an architect to whom we owe all this and much more; who gave this king Maximilian II his skills and half his life, even his son who died in the war, who fell out of favor in the end, was treated meanly, was fobbed off with alms – and died humiliated. Also humiliated by people who are so often used today for the promises of participation, which unfortunately often go hand in hand with the so-called “popular opinion”. Professional colleagues and critics are also included.
Friedrich Bürklein is buried in the Old South Cemetery.
(Photo: Stephan Rumpf)
The little boy, harassed by the taste mob, died in “mental derangement” in the Werneck sanatorium. That was 150 years ago, on December 4, 1872. Bürklein was lonely in death, presumably insane, but above all robbed of his dignity and recognition for his life’s work. The ungrateful Munich owes him a lot.
The world of building could, indeed should, still learn from Bürklein. Above all, the successors of the monarchs as builders, i.e. the managers from BMW to Siemens, but also the ladies and gentlemen from the city council, would be strongly advised to take an extra lesson from Bürklein. Bürklein was a superhero of ideal dimensions, proportions and harmonies, pleasing to the eye, to people, to the city, to the everyday, and at the same time to the special, to the fantastic and to magnanimity. Mediocre, unimaginative, unenthusiastic: he never was. It is quite possible that he failed because of mediocrity.
The master builder Friedrich Bürklein after a lithograph by Franz Moos.
(Photo: Süddeutsche Zeitung Photo)
Georg Friedrich Christian Bürklein was a giant demoted to a dwarf, who was made to feel down in his cradle: Bürklein was born on March 30, 1813 in Burk in the district of Ansbach, the son of a teacher. The Franconian, who would soon prove to be an enormously talented, even visionary architect, already had the Burk diminutive in his name: Bürklein, the little one from Burk.
The talent of the little one was discovered early on. He was taught by Friedrich von Gärtner, he rose and made a career. This was particularly successful with the construction of Munich’s “Central Train Station”, constructed as a highly modern steel strut structure, but visually reminiscent of a basilica, representative on the outside, overwhelmingly spacious on the inside, and even comparatively cheap. The young architect Bürklein made an impression on the thrifty, extravagant king, who wanted to change the world, also stylistically – at the transition from classicism and historicism.
Bürklein became the inventor of a neo-Gothic architectural style that turned out to be so stubborn, but also so human, so gestural rich in ornamental work and plastic penetration, that one can also see a rebellious, Bavarian moment in it. Among the neo-Gothic styles, the monarchist Maximilian style is the purest, anarchy plundering architectural history with relish. A style was soon derided that created friendly and pleasant, yes, at the same time sheltering and cosmopolitan spaces of intense color and the greatest wealth of detail. To please. When did architects stop being enthusiastic about this function – the delight – in functionalism?
The material terracotta, so loved by kings and architects and also so beautiful (but also: glass and iron as modern materials) was soon considered the “tiled stove style”. The Maximilianeum was greeted with laughter while it was still being built by people who meant the dying monarchy, but – since all power is clothed in architecture – also laughed at the royal building culture for the sake of simplicity. Maximilian II soon became insecure and had also come to the end of his life – Bürklein had to replan during the construction phase (away from neo-gothic to neo-neo something), the construction costs rose, the architect was fired and replaced by Gottfried Semper. The people cheered and Friedrich Bürklein sank into mental derangement. Bürklein was the Charlie Brown of 19th-century architects.
The Bürklein building on Sonnenstraße was already a women’s maternity hospital, postal check office, event location and clinic.
(Photo: Robert Haas)
He has always worked for an architecture of beauty. Often for free. When you stand in front of almost the only building in Munich’s truly and insanely ugly Sonnenstrasse that doesn’t make you burst into tears about a Munich that couldn’t be more Magdeburg-like, you are standing in front of the former women’s maternity hospital, later the postal check office, “Event -Location” and clinic. The building was designed by Friedrich Bürklein, who often remained without pay and was laughed at, which is why his obituary said that he was a modest person. Bürklein, the little one from Burk, was one of the biggest. Munich and Bürklein: This is one of the most beautiful and cruel love stories of modern times.