All right - look left. You’re now face-to-face with MAERZ, one of Linz’s most... let’s call it consistently rebellious residents. On the outside, it might look like a converted civic building - which is exactly what it is, standing in what used to be the Linz Volksküche, the old public kitchen, now filled with the aroma of fresh paint and the quiet hum of artistic debate.
To really get this place, you’ve got to picture Linz in 1913. It’s a city with a foot firmly planted in tradition, but a handful of young artists - Franz Brosch, Klemens Brosch, Franz Sedlacek, Anton Lutz, and Heinz Bitzan - are feeling stifled by the local art club’s, let’s say... glacial pace. Imagine the conversation: "Great watercolors, Otto - but what about Dadaism?” So, they decide to split, founding their own group and calling it “MAERZ.” The name? Inspired by the idea of “ver sacrum,” meaning “sacred spring.” Not a poetry class, but the idea was to signal a real, radical new beginning.
Right from the start, they drew in the rebels and experimenters. Later, during the rumbling years between the world wars, artists like Alfred Kubin and Vilma Eckl joined in, stirring the pot even more. By the way, if you ever see Kubin’s drawings, don’t do it alone at night. Just a tip.
But that streak of independence didn’t go over too well with the authorities when the wrong folks came to power. In 1939, after the Nazis took over Austria, the MAERZ association was flat-out banned. For over a decade, local culture lost a strong pulse - no public shows, no concerts, none of those night-long readings arguing over the merits of modernism.
Then, after World War II, MAERZ re-emerged like that friend who skips a decade of parties but picks up right where they left off. Egon Hofmann, the president from 1921 - back in the saddle and more determined than ever. For years, they had no physical address, staging shows wherever they could - in borrowed halls, cafés, even cross-border collaborations. They managed all this at a time when “funding for the arts” meant scraping together the Austrian schilling equivalent of what today would hardly cover your phone bill. Still, somehow, the exhibitions and gatherings got bigger, flashier.
Finally, in 1968, MAERZ secured its very own gallery - right on the bustling Taubenmarkt. For 35 years, it became the go-to place to see everything from wild experimental sculpture to readings of literature that made the local critics clench their jaws. But like any proper artist, MAERZ refused to settle down. In 2003, they moved here, to this inviting but no-nonsense spot in Eisenbahngasse, where the ethos remains “out with the old, in with the - well, whatever nobody’s seen yet.”
Inside today, you’ll find exhibitions that could be painting, video, sound installations, even architecture. Literature still finds its voice here - especially of the kind that twists language into strange contortions. The list of members runs like a who’s-who of Austrian avant-garde, from Oscar-winning sculptors to writers with cult followings, and even a couple of internationally famous artists like Richard Serra and Valie Export. If you’re wondering, yes, you WILL occasionally see something genuinely confusing. That’s half the fun.
There’s a real sense that every generation reclaims MAERZ a little differently. Around here, “tradition” means starting something entirely new... again and again. So when you leave, if you overhear a heated debate about abstract art at the café, don’t be surprised - Linz wouldn’t be Linz without its MAERZ.
