The background features a hanging towel and a fixed washbasin with a water tank: washing hands was essential for clean work and hygiene at a time when people used their hands to eat. Next, we see a brush and a cavity with a shelf that would have been used to transfer objects from one room to another, an element that features in other works by the artist. The sturdy cupboard, with its metal hardware and gothic decor embodying the essential nature of carpentry and ironwork, could be used to store books and other objects out of reach from rats or to hide away a stove. Above all these elements is a shelf adorned with bowls for eating and jugs for drinking. These are a popular type of lidded jug from Northern Europe that place the work in a certain milieu.

The diverse uses for this space are thus expressed through the furniture and objects, which serve to unite the professional and private life. This versatility continues through the furniture, such as the table, which holds tools for creating codices and sacred objects, but which could also serve as a desk if its lid were closed, or as somewhere to arrange books. At that time, the most valuable volumes were positioned horizontally on tables and shelves, while the rest were kept in chests, cupboards or in lockable tables like this one. There is a strong functional component in furniture from the medieval period, which, together with simple forms and minimalist style, attempts to meet many needs in one single piece, achieving the first examples of multifunctional furniture. One such example is the chest that could be used for storage, as a seat, table or step, and even a bed. However, despite the simplicity of medieval furniture, it offers intelligent solutions that are impressive even by today’s standards thanks to its versatility. Given the importance of religious furniture, some of the most interesting pieces are found in the monastic sphere. What’s more, its durability is ensured by its almost architectural, solid and robust nature, meaning that some of these pieces have survived to this day.

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In the transition from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, the sparse furnishing found in homes and palaces becomes more elaborate, resulting in a first golden age of cabinetmaking. The simple, robust furniture of the Medieval period evolves towards lighter, more sophisticated pieces, while other generic and multi-purpose pieces such as the chest―although still in use (like the Italian cassone)―give way to more specific types and compositions based on panels and mouldings that accentuate symmetry.

The honing of furniture-making techniques had been ongoing since the 13^th century. The hydraulic saw made it possible to obtain boards and work with panels, while the use of tongue and groove joints, secured with dowels, gave the furniture a better finish. Work began with a frame of upright posts and crossbeams as a basis, which was then covered with lighter panels, assembled piece-by-piece. In contrast to the earlier predominance of walnut and oak, new materials, finer and more exotic woods, as well as finishing lacquers and varnishes also began to be used. Marquetry emerged in Italian Medici workshops in Siena and Florence, reaching a virtuosic level of skill in the fascinating studioli of noble humanists in Urbino and Mantua. More and more works began to emerge that are considered “non-standard” because their material quality and workmanship transcend the carpenter’s guild trade. Finally, the introduction of sketches for furniture design ultimately expressed the artistic consideration that began to be attributed in this period to the work of producing furniture pieces.

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The objects depicted in the work incorporate a symbolic value that is also linked to social standing, expressing a certain status. The tablecloth also highlights the active trade with the East for whose products Venice was a gateway, a taste for objects brought from distant lands that allowed a select few to introduce exoticism into the home, something that would have a long history in the European cultural sphere, increasing with the rise of global trade. The depiction of tablecloths or rugs would become popular in Europe thanks to their inclusion in Flemish Renaissance works such as this one. They are, in fact, known as “Memling rugs” (just as those depicted by Holbein would adopt the name “Holbein rugs”). The complex decorative tapestries reflected the technical skill of the artist, who claimed fees accordingly.

The chrismon featured on the jug and the flowers themselves depict another form of symbolism, linked in this case to Christianity, to the sacred. The faithful identify these objects as such and they also point to an identity linked to these beliefs. The layers of meaning and value associated with objects always go beyond mere appearances, not only in paintings, but in homes themselves.

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The bedroom’s multitude of uses is expressed in the concentration of objects and furniture, representative of a certain social standing and a plethora of trades that work with such diverse materials, brought together in guilds that regulate and consolidate the decorative arts. Worthy of note here―as it is an object still considered unusual in homes of that time―is the small convex mirror hanging from the window, as well as a unique detail to its right: the wing of an angel lends the whole piece a sacred meaning.

Textiles play a prominent role in this work, in keeping with their provenance, Flanders, with its unrivalled, rich textile industry. In an era in which furniture lacks comfort, textiles, such as the cushions seen on the bench or the bed, are used to improve this. Blankets and canopies (hung here from the ceiling, as was the fashion) worked to insulate from the cold and it was common to spread cloths, enriched with embroidery, hemstitching and fringes, over furniture as a decorative flourish, as can be seen in this painting. Bedrooms were decorated through textiles more than through furniture. White clothing, which was scarce and expensive until the 16^th century, became more common with the refinement of linen cloth, which was also used to make sheets. 

The bed takes centre stage and is highlighted by the headboard and canopy. It is raised according to an ancient custom that distinguishes its hierarchy and protects it from humidity and rodents. It is the most precious piece of furniture in the house and also the most comfortable, which is why guests are received there and why the best bed is offered to them as a sign of hospitality. There are large beds for the whole family to sleep in, not only out of necessity (a single bed and room, protection from the cold, etc.) but also out of habit. Some look like wardrobes, creating the illusion of a room within a room to maximise space, combat the cold and offer privacy as needed, using canopies for example. They would make up a significant part of the assets of the poorest people (where they owned them) and would be worth an awful lot of money for the richest, who sometimes collected them or even took their most prized bed with them. One such example that will go down in history is the “second-best bed” that Shakespeare bequeathed to his wife in his will.

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This work shows a soft cushion and a perfectly upholstered seat with soft lines, clues to what will become, along with privacy, another one of the century’s notions that will go on to play a fundamental role in the evolution of the home: the spirit of comfort. In spite of how it may appear, the less formal Versailles of Louis XIV actually contributed significantly to this quest for comfort, as demonstrated by the emergence of the armchair. However, comfort had its origins in the bourgeoisie, and it was the private hotels of the Parisian Marais that set the tone. Nevertheless, the prestige of the French court helped ensure that it was the French who paved the way and any trends that emerged, such as Rococo, radiated throughout Europe. Furniture catalogues emerged to help with this dissemination, although curiously the first such catalogue was attributed to a famous English cabinetmaker, Thomas Chippendale (The Gentleman and Cabinet-maker’s Director, 1754).

The quest for comfort forms the basis for modern ergonomics and furniture. In contrast to the rigidity that encouraged a formal posture, the seats curve and adapt to the body, and even to complex clothing such as that worn by the Countess. Upholsterers’ work is essential, as the padding and textured fabrics they use prevent the body from slipping. Their prominence also stems from the fact that they are true decorators who can change the appearance of an entire room with textiles alone. Curtains now emerge as a decorative element (the piece depicts one with a tassel that frames the Countess), while tapestries fade away in favour of panelling or wall coverings.

Cabinetmaking is also experiencing an unprecedented golden age, with cabinetmakers signing their furniture in the same way that artists sign their works: stamps became compulsory in France in 1751, as a guarantee of quality and recognition of value. Furniture has become highly sophisticated and, compared to its previous cumbersome and solemn nature, it is tending to become lighter and smaller (like the rooms themselves), which allows for mobility: occasional tables that can be brought out or put away as needed, which could be the case for the one depicted; or cabriolet armchairs with a curved back, which no longer rest against the wall and are easy to move. And, of course, different types of furniture start to pop up: dressers, desks, gaming tables and dressing tables, chiffonières, secretarydesks… People say that in Louis XV’s time there was a seat for every occasion, from cabriolet armchairs or Queen Anne chairs (with a flat back, against the walls of the room), to an endless number of types and postures when sitting: bergère chairs, sofas, love seats for two people, the chaise longue to stretch your legs, the voyeusechair to spectate at gaming tables, the chauffeuse fireside armchair...

Something in the work is already suggestive of the winds of change: although the chair has prominent sweeping lines and a scallop motif―a Rococo favourite―we can already spot a change of taste in the small table and the cup, marked by the discoveries of Pompeii and Herculaneum decades prior, and a renewed interest in antiquity.

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The multiplicity of uses of the bedroom is expressed in the proliferation of objects and furniture, representative of a certain social position and of the diversity of trades that work with such diverse materials, associated in guilds that regulate and consolidate the decorative arts. The small convex mirror hanging from the window is an object that was still unusual in homes of the period, and to its right, a singular detail: the wing of an angel that lends a sacred sense to the whole.

In this context, the differentiation between private spaces (binnenhuis) and spaces for public, social use (voorhuis) was already well established, and subdivision of the house by function began: living rooms, bedrooms, kitchen. The particular structure of Dutch society at the time, with the dominant bourgeoisie imposing its values and way of life, brought with it a new domestic culture that revolved around the private aspect of family life in the home. The home is, above all, the heart of family life. That a narrative like that of the naughty drummer is worthy of being the subject of a painting is quite expressive of this new concept of domesticity, the importance of which can be seen in the abundance of Dutch representations of family life and domestic interiors.

Life became more focused on privacy and home life, because there was a new, more defined sense of the family unit, in which women played a central role and childhood acquired a new prominence, as can be seen in this painting. In a predominantly urban environment, children spent more time at home because they were not sent out at a young age to work in the fields or as apprentices in workshops. More attention was paid to their education at school and at home, and people began to theorise about all of this. The greater presence of children strengthened emotional ties with them and, although in this scene we see the mother disciplining the child, there are countless images that portray tender interactions. In any case, the focus given to childhood in the nuclear family is evident, as can be seen by the cradle in the foreground, meticulously depicted by the artist, with a baby sleeping soundly (for the time being), swaddled to avoid the rigours of the Dutch, dank cold, which forced women to spend long hours sewing atop seats with platforms and leather backrests, another clear example of adaptation to the environment.

Lastly, note the use of wicker or rattan in the construction of the cradle and in basketry techniques, with ancestral roots in popular culture, applied to furniture. These techniques offer strong, lightweight (cradles were sometimes hung up to harness their swinging motion), affordable and highly comfortable solutions. They would enjoy something of a resurgence in the 19^th century due to influence from the East and products arriving from the colonies.

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The importance of cartographic and cosmographic elements (atlases, maps, terrestrial and celestial globes, the armillary sphere, etc.) is evident, conveying this desire to learn about all four corners of the world. The library is an ideal space for delving deeper into this knowledge and the Dutch were at the forefront of scientific development in this regard. The population’s fascination with maps, atlases and globes is demonstrated by the fact that they feature as decorative elements in the interiors of the period. They were not only regarded as scientific objects, but were appreciated for their beauty too, as can be seen by the care with which the artist has depicted all the elements of the piece, which even allows us to identify specific editions and models, equating artistic practice with the visual integrity of a cartographer’s work.

Knowledge of the world includes its exploration and conquest. The Dutch had the largest merchant fleet of the time, which was largely responsible for their enrichment. As an expression of this leadership in colonial trade, the painting shows oriental lances and a tablecloth, likely made from Chinese embroidered silk. Black lacquered walnut chairs, like the ones depicted here, became fashionable in the Dutch Golden Age, and their marquetry was also highly regarded. This moment marks the birth of an emerging global culture, not only through knowledge and cultural exchange, but also through trade. They manage to fit the whole world into one room, not just with globes and books, but also through products.

It is moving to think that the artist, proud to continue painting at such an old age (and only a year before he died), signed his name on an everyday object like the base of a candelabra with its nearly burned down candle, the symbolic value of which is not lost on us.

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He is wearing lounge-wear, another way of differentiating between the public and private spheres, at a time when more efficient chimneys and windows provided better insulation from the cold and more comfortable attire could be worn inside. Iranian or Turkish rugs are not yet used for this purpose and play an eminently decorative role as coverings or are hung as objects of great value. Using them as floor coverings was a contribution from Georgian England, creating rooms that were not only warmer but also less noisy. The manner in which it is depicted here, the right way up and folded back, allows us to appreciate its quality and is characteristic of an empiricist culture supported by the visual exploration of the world.

The bed, with its four-poster structure, the rug, a painting and a moulding above the door constitute the room’s entire decor, in a typically Dutch sobriety fitting of its bourgeois pragmatism and the search for solutions in the distribution of the home. But in contexts where there has not been as much progress as here in the differentiation of spaces, the bedroom remains the centre of the house and is the space in which people spend the most time. Let’s not forget that the bed was still the most comfortable piece of furniture, and it was not frowned upon to receive guests from the comfort of one’s bed or even sit on someone else’s bed. From the 16^th century, the use of “day beds”, as distinct from night beds, was considered normal and was inspired by the klinai used in Greco-Latin triclinia. These day beds reached peak popularity in Rococo France in the form of a chaise-longue.

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Through the deterioration of these objects, Peto depicts the special attachment that someone must have to them, which makes them a kind of portrait and embodies the narrative power of the objects. What are they telling us? Is this an unmistakably masculine still life, with forms of leisure that were seen to be masculine at the time? In any case, it is a subjective view conveying tastes and preferences: music, reading, tobacco... Could it be a self-portrait? Peto is known to have played the violin since childhood, and he was passionate about books. Be that as it may, this artist does usually include elements that are part of his private life in his paintings (although this does not seem to have been the case with the pipe).

Aside from their appearance, Peto has not chosen objects of special material value; he wants to express something different: the emotional value that owners place on certain items. Some possessions are cherished for a lifetime; they are repositories of memories and experiences, of identity, things perhaps received from a loved one and that conjure up memories of them when they are no longer there, comforting objects from childhood...

A piece like this shows that there can be a strong emotional component in our relationships with objects, that a bond can be established that transcends the merely practical, the aesthetic and the material. Something that the designer must have taken into account when practising his profession and that Donald A. Norman addressed in his now classic book “Emotional Design: Why We Love (or Hate) Everyday Things” (2003).

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Although Thonet chairs may have succeeded in cafés, the taste that manifests itself in bourgeois interiors like the one depicted is remarkably conservative. Hygienist trends, somewhere between scientific basis and fashion, dictate that light and ventilation are essential for creating a healthy atmosphere in the home, something that can be seen in the noble floors of the houses renovated by Baron Haussmann and in this painting through the depiction of large windows.

Solutions for comfort continue to be explored, such as the steel spring armchair that Morisot painted here, one of the pieces of the time, as well as the quilting that accentuates its soft appearance. Perfectly co-ordinated upholstery and curtains tie the scene together and create the feeling of well-being and privacy in a room that is now strictly private, that the subject of the painting somehow seems to blend into. She prepares for that perfectly staged setting that the bourgeois class demands, whether it be visits, dinners, dances, concerts... always accompanied by others. Displaced from the public sphere and elevated to the status of “angel in the house”, the woman nevertheless lacks “a room of her own” in which to self-actualise, beyond the dressing table and the private ritual of dressing and grooming. She is, however, conquering certain areas of public space through her urban incursion into the new temples of consumerism: department stores. A novel sales concept that emerges in this sphere to provide an outlet for booming production and, as a result of its development, the dissemination of illustrated product catalogues, the first interior design magazines and catalogue sales.

She looks at herself in a dressing mirror or psyche mirror, larger than those previously seen on this journey. The French had been dominating mirror production since the 18^th century, after establishing their own industry in response to growing demand from Versailles, which would end up replacing the traditional Venetian blowing method with a pouring method that allowed much larger sheets to be manufactured. The mirror in question is known to have belonged to Berthe Morisot. Could that be her gazing into it? An encounter between a woman and herself, painted by an artist, in a gesture telling of appreciation and self-affirmation, as well as of that growing need to find one’s own space, both in and outside the home.

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It is a period for 19^th century Gothic and Baroque revival, any furniture named after the last Louis' of France... sometimes mixed in a motley eclecticism. The wealthy haute bourgeoisie revived styles and collected antiques as a way of strengthening its prestige and legitimising its social relevance through the past, in clear contrast with the thriving modernity of an industrialism that it itself promoted and that now provided other solutions: in contrast to the exclusivity of unique panels painted by an artist, as seen in the background, the city abounded with wallpaper. This wallpaper could be found in a wide range of different qualities, from very expensive, hand-painted wallpapers from China, difficult to distinguish from a fresco, to those mass-produced by industry, which were much cheaper. A growing sector of the population was seeking greater accessibility to products in line with the egalitarian society it wants to promote, while the bourgeois set offers a historicist refuge from the currents of change.

In the midst of the cultural and stylistic crisis unleashed by expanding industrialisation, Art Nouveau emerges in response with a promise of newness (Nouveau), modernity (Modernismo), youth (Judgenstil), rupture (Sezession) and freedom (Liberty) aiming to be the face of the new era. Sensual, organic and highly decorative, it is not depicted in this work, but it is in tune with the resistances indicated earlier. If the age of technical reproducibility saw a constant search for distinction through manual and artistic production, Art Nouveau, with its organic, sinuous and curvilinear appearance, evokes the refinement of the handmade.

However, there is also a democratising aspect to Art Nouveau: one of its pioneering and flagship manifestations was Victor Horta’s town house, and its most eloquent expression can perhaps be found in Guimard’s Paris metro sign. It also achieved widespread dissemination through the graphic arts and the growing mass media. Although, by the time this painting was created, there were those who were already denouncing ornament as a crime. Industrial production and modernity increasingly demanded another kind of visual and formal culture.

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It was Loos who in 1908 published “Ornament and Crime”, a manifesto of his thoughts on aesthetics, where the search for a radical truth is translated into the defence of structural forms and the condemnation of ornament as falsehood. That is why he very much liked the crudeness with which Kokoschka expressed himself in his “black portraits”, many of whose commissions Loos encouraged, as is the case with this work.

Although not as radical as Loos’ ideas, it is nevertheless possible to identify a trend towards aesthetic purification that will start to shape the evolution of modern design. The Vienna Secession in Austria had already assumed a flatter and more geometric style compared to the organic and sinuous styles of Art Nouveau. Something similar was happening elsewhere, such as in the Anglo-Saxon world.

Two members of the Vienna Secession, J. Hoffmann and K. Moser, founded the Viennese Workshops (Wiener Werkstätte) in 1903, a co-operative for promoting modern decorative arts with which Kokoschka, as well as Klimt and Schiele, collaborated. Its integrationist approach to design is based on the craftsmanship and artistic quality of products, as demonstrated in one of its flagship projects: the Stoclet Palace in Brussels (1905-1911). A “total work of art” that would be Loos’ worst nightmare, as he described in “Poor Little Rich Man”, where everything relates to a scheme and even the subject’s slippers have to match the rest of the decor. But here, too, a deviation from ornament had begun. It can be seen in the façade of the Palace or in the furniture designed by Hoffmann, with its rotund lines resembling architectural plinths.

Although the Stoclet Palace and most of the objects made by the Viennese Workshops exude exclusivity, demonstrating in passing that the geometric trend was not at odds with luxury and sophistication, a new sense of form is emerging that is already paving the way for mechanistic aesthetics, which in its simplified lines, free from superfluous elements, finds the most easily standardisable form, capable of being produced on a large scale. An aesthetic formed in the wake of modern design, also understood in its drive for democracy.

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This attitude was nothing new. Since the last decades of the previous century, the Arts & Crafts movement had witnessed the ravages of industrialisation in its birthplace: terrible working conditions, division of labour and dehumanisation, mass production and poor-quality products, ugliness... William Morris, the charismatic and multifaceted soul of the project (architect, designer, craftsman, writer, poet, activist) defends the return to crafts as a way to alleviate these evils and lay the foundations for a fairer society, inspired by an idealised Middle Ages and nature. A view on craftsmanship that differs greatly to that seen thus far on this journey (associated with exclusivity), making Morris a pioneer in lending an ethical aspect to design.

In their return to a simpler way of life and testament to their admiration for other cultures, Kirchner and other members of the Die Brücke collective produced their furniture, such as the carved chair on which Fränzi is sitting, by hand. Furthermore, the very execution of this painting, like so many others by the artist, is reminiscent of wood carving and magnifies its materiality.

Morris’ criticism of the harmful impact of industrialisation was accurate, but mass production was not all bad: as production increased, prices became cheaper and products became more affordable. Craftsmanship, however, has its limitations and cannot meet the needs of a growing population. Morris had wanted to bring beauty and well-being into the everyday lives of everyone (“I do not want art for a few, any more than education for a few, or freedom for a few”) but he often, frustratingly, found himself producing objects for the elite. Perhaps a certain escapist attitude, like that of the members of the Die Brücke collective, prevented him from seeing the benefits of industrialisation, which could be used to realise his democratising dream, but which were impossible to resolve under the artisanal terms he had proposed. A utopia then remains pending, which the Bauhaus would pick up where Arts & Crafts left off.

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Founded in 1917, the De Stijl journal brought together like-minded artists and architects, including Mondrian, who from the beginning sought to integrate the arts through what Van Doesburg called a “new aesthetic consciousness” in the first issue of the publication. One could argue that De Stijl was one of the first to consider abstraction in terms of design and architecture.  

The chair by Gerrit Rietveld, also associated with De Stijl, is often seen as a manifestation of this integrationist approach. Looking at it feels like seeing the sketches of a Mondrian painting cut out and assembled to create an everyday object. Rietveld is also behind what can be considered De Stijl’s architectural manifesto, the Schröder house (1924), which he built in collaboration with Truus Schröder-Schräde herself, future owner of the house in which Rietveld would end up living. Neither of them had any architectural experience at the time, so they felt free to make the house exactly as they wanted. The bedrooms were located on the first floor, and their flexible layout, based on sliding walls, was a milestone, as the space could be adapted to different needs. For Truss, these were determined by the relationship with her three children, according to a non-conventional parenting model that inspired the search for absolutely novel solutions in the home, recognising the importance of children in its layout. 

After the social failure of the Great War, a material and spiritual reconstruction of the world was necessary through radically new forms and solutions, in a renewed proposal to unite art and life, which is what projects such as De Stijl, and also the Bauhaus, brought with them.

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In this work, the planes are raised and introduce space, as in an axonometric projection. In fact, this work is part of the preparatory drawings for the design of the house-cum-studio that Van Doesburg and his wife planned to share with Hans Arp and Sophie Taeuber, which was never finished. It is a somewhat abstract architectural representation, with no windows or other functional allusions, but which inevitably adopts the diagonal to suggest the third dimension. When Van Doesburg started to use diagonals not only in compositions like this one, but in more fully illustrated ones, Mondrian definitively separated himself from De Stijl.

The diagonal, which beyond spatiality provides dynamism, was more connected with the visual experiences coming from Russia than with neo-plasticism’s static plot of horizontals and verticals. Van Doesburg had met El Lissitzky a short time before, in Weimar, where he made contact with other constructivists and with a school that had recently opened its doors: the Bauhaus. These were key years for the evolution of our artist. Gropius, founder of the Bauhaus, had been impressed by a lecture given by Van Doesburg and invited him to the school in 1921. Van Doesburg went a step further and settled there, likely thinking he would be hired as a teacher at the school, although his highly critical nature made this very difficult. “You are all romantics”, he told them, fully imbued with the spirit of constructivism, attacking the expressionist character of the school from the pages of De Stijl. Nevertheless, he stayed in Weimar, teaching courses at his home (attended by many students and teachers from the school) and organising constructivist projects there and later in Berlin.

Perhaps Van Doesburg’s criticisms were somewhat true because it wouldn’t be long before there was a turning point at the Bauhaus, with the simultaneous influence of Russian trends brought by El Lissitzky, of the constructivism of Moholy-Nagy and of Van Doesburg himself as a catalyst. The school reconsidered its objectives and procedures to establish an approach that was more mechanistic than subjective and artisanal, more in line with industry, to which the reductionist aesthetics of neo-plasticism (filtered through Van Doesburg) would have much to contribute.

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In a way, it picks up where Arts & Crafts left off, trying to adapt its ideal of artisanal production to the new times, so the school is initially organised as a workshop that even reproduces the guild division into masters, journeymen and apprentices. The spirit of the early days is largely attributable to the importance of expressionism in Germany. Gropius, founder of the Bauhaus, had belonged to a group of architects who studied the Gothic style of modern architecture in iron and glass and the natural style of geometry, such as that of glass. Klee also promoted the geometry of nature. This crystalline utopia is portrayed in the image of the “cathedral of the future”, which is the image Feininger chose to illustrate the inaugural manifesto of the Bauhaus, and even Mies van der Rohe, the standard-bearer of modern rationalism and the school’s last director, is indebted to this style.

But since the Bauhaus was all about “learning by doing”, they created prototypes for industry and began to realise the difficulty of achieving their democratising objectives in artisanal terms: it was difficult to produce such objects economically and adapt their forms to industrial production. In contrast to the visionary and spiritual character, a constructivist soul was gradually imposed given the need to change focus and, in 1923, the school was opened up to the public through an exhibition with the slogan, “Art and technology: a new unity”. Two years later, the new headquarters in Dessau fully embodied this change. The iconic image of this new rationalist Bauhaus is also found in Marcel Breuer’s tubular steel furniture: an innovative material, adapted to industrial requirements and the standardisation of shape for mass production, with a refined and mechanistic aesthetic in which “form follows function”.

The Nazis’ rise to power in Germany brought the school programme to an abrupt halt and once again postponed the democratising utopia. After the war, however, Bauhaus edges were perceived as too harsh and its mechanistic aesthetic and steel were considered cold. Humanised versions of modern design were finding their place, incorporating the organic softness of curves and the traditional warmth of wood. An approach that Klee seems to glimpse in a work like this, whose notable materiality of earthy colours on fabric glued to paper conveys the closeness of the materials whose qualities he tries to replicate, brick and cement, which human beings have traditionally used in the configuration of the home. They are also materials that come together in the modern-day house and in the one painted by Klee, constantly transforming, with a multitude of angles and possibilities. This house may symbolise the utopias yet to be realised in living spaces.

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