What Saxony is built with

In the past, it was taken for granted that anyone building would use the materials available locally. Wood came from the nearest forest, stone from a regional quarry, and clay often directly from the construction pit. Transporting materials over long distances would have been far too costly and complicated. Even in castles and churches, marble was rarely real Carrara stone but rather an illusion painted onto surfaces. Depending on the availability of resources, distinctive regional building traditions developed – from the thatched-roof houses of the north to the sandstone architecture around Dresden and in Franconia.

And today? During the pandemic, container loads of timber from German forests were shipped directly to China. At the same time, Germany imports huge quantities of natural stone from China and India every year. Despite the long transport routes, these products from Asia are often cheaper than those quarried domestically.

But there is a countermovement to this globalised construction industry: architects who resist relentless cost pressure and instead return to tradition, working as much as possible with reclaimed and regional materials. Not out of a backward-looking “things were better in the past” mentality – quite the opposite. This way of building saves resources, creates identity, and is therefore highly contemporary. “Making something good out of what’s there, being creative,” is how Sebastian Thaut sums it up.

The Leipzig-based architect runs Atelier ST together with his wife, Silvia Schellenberg-Thaut. They frequently renovate existing buildings and have a special affinity for regional materials – as they demonstrated with Mühle’s new production hall. For 30 Grad, Thaut selected three typical materials that shape both historic and contemporary architecture in Saxony – along with exemplary buildings that showcase them.

WOOD

Take spruce wood, for example. Atelier ST designed Mühle’s Hall 4 in the Ore Mountain town of Stützengrün entirely as a timber structure. The load-bearing frame, roof and wall cladding are all made of this conifer. The green hills of the Ore Mountains are rich in woodland: about one-third of Saxony’s total forest grows here along the Czech border, making it the state’s most densely forested region.

“Timber construction plays a big role in Saxony,” says Thaut. “There’s a wealth of expertise. Especially here in the Ore Mountains, you see that typical tinkerer mentality.” Unlike in other parts of the state, fast-growing, straight spruce dominates the forests – even though it is not native to the region. The tree was introduced in the mid-18th century to reforest land cleared by mining and industrialisation. Spruce remained the tree of choice until after World War II. Today, foresters favor mixed forests that are less vulnerable to the effects of climate change – but what we harvest today was planted 80 years ago or more, so spruce remains abundant.

That availability was decisive for Atelier ST when planning Mühle’s new hall – along with the fact that the timber could be processed by a local carpentry firm. The result: architecture of short distances, speaking a clear, contemporary language, yet literally rooted in its place through the material.

PORPHYRY

Ask people about a typical Saxon stone, and most will think of Elbe sandstone, which gave an entire mountain range its name and defines the skyline of Dresden. The Royal Palace, the Zwinger, the Semper Opera House, the Frauenkirche – all built of this pale sedimentary rock.

Porphyry, however, is less well known, even though it is widespread in western Saxony. In Leipzig, for example, the reddish-veined volcanic stone was used in the construction of St. Thomas Church, the Old Town Hall and the Grassi Museum. It can also be found in countless churches, monuments and bridges.
 “Drive through the villages, and you’ll see porphyry lintels and columns everywhere,” says Thaut.

Unlike sandstone, which formed slowly through sedimentation, porphyry owes its existence to a geological mega-event. Around 290 million years ago, a supervolcano erupted near the present-day town of Rochlitz on the Zwickauer Mulde River. The Earth spewed out an estimated 5,500 cubic kilometres of lava, gas, ash and rock, leaving deposits of porphyry tuff up to 500 metres thick. It is still quarried today at Rochlitz Mountain.

Leipzig-based architects Schulz und Schulz – colleagues from Atelier ST – demonstrated that this stone remains a powerful material for contemporary architecture. Their Propsteikirche St. Trinitatis, consecrated ten years ago, is a striking complex of church, parish center and bell tower clad entirely in Rochlitz porphyry. Thaut appreciates the choice: “It’s regional and, with its long tradition, a perfect fit for Leipzig.”

BRICK

In the Vogtland region, historical brick buildings shape the landscape – culminating in the monumental Göltzsch Valley Bridge near Reichenbach, the largest brick bridge in the world.

But what makes fired clay bricks a typically Saxon material? After all, people around the world have been building with clay for millennia, whether baked or unbaked. As with porphyry, the answer lies in geology: the Vogtland has rich deposits of clay, which led to the establishment of numerous brickworks in the 19th century. They supplied their products as far as Leipzig, where industrialisation created entire brick-built complexes such as the Baumwollspinnerei in Plagwitz.

In Vogtland villages and towns, too, many houses are made of brick – unlike in the Ore Mountains. These stately red-brick residential buildings from around 1900 stand as symbols of prosperity and economic strength. When, in the mid-19th century, a railway bridge was planned over the Göltzsch River on the Leipzig-Nuremberg line, brick was the obvious choice: the material was plentiful, and the infrastructure was in place. Nearly 20 brickyards produced up to 50,000 Dresden-format bricks a day. The resulting bridge, 574 metres long and 78 metres high, consists of 26 million red bricks. Granite was used only for the foundations and particularly stressed parts.

The viaduct is one of those structures whose sheer scale leaves you feeling small in its shadow.
 “It’s awe-inspiring,” says Thaut. Another of his favourite brick buildings is in Leipzig, not far from the Baumwollspinnerei: the Konsum headquarters by Fritz Höger. Built between 1929 and 1932 of dark red brick, the office and retail complex is a masterpiece of modernism by one of Germany’s foremost brick specialists – Höger also designed Hamburg’s iconic Chilehaus and Hanover’s Anzeiger high-rise.

Whether brick, porphyry or spruce wood, Saxony’s regions and towns are still shaped by traditional, locally sourced materials. And their importance is far from historical. “Architects who engage with these local characteristics can develop a unique signature from them,” explains Thaut, emphasizing their relevance for today’s architecture. “The art lies in preserving local identity while at the same time incorporating global influences.”

Elements of Saxony

This text has first been published in the printed edition of 30 Grad. You can subscribe here for free.