Lucia Moholy (1894–1989), a photographer and writer associated with the Bauhaus movement. She produced many of the iconic photographs that documented Bauhaus design, but much of her work was published under her husband’s name—or unattributed altogether.
Dessau, 1926
The light is nearly perfect.
Lucia adjusts the angle of the lamp and steadies the tripod. The teapot on the pedestal catches a precise sliver of shadow along its handle—clean, geometric, balanced. It will photograph well.
She checks the exposure settings again. The room is silent but for the hum of the bulb and the slow tick of the shutter timer.
Her husband’s latest design sits in the corner—unfinished, metal rods leaning like questions. He’ll show it in Berlin next month. Her photographs will go with him. Without her name.
She knows how this works.
She opens the shutter. Waits. Closes it.
In the darkroom, the image blooms.
Lines. Contrast. Absence. Proof.
She pins the print beside the others—metal chairs, wall lamps, woven tapestries. All the things the Bauhaus wants the world to remember. She captured them before anyone else thought to.
She writes “L.M.” in pencil on the back.
Not for credit. For memory.
Someday, someone might wonder who saw these objects before they became icons. Who lit them. Who chose the angle. Who held her breath while time passed over glass and silver.
She doesn’t need recognition. Not today.
But she signs all the same.
—Sal