Latest news with #Bavaria
ArabGT
11 hours ago
- Automotive
- ArabGT
How BMW's Sub-Brands Saved the Day in 2025
BMW has always stood tall as a beacon of German engineering, elegance, and automotive performance. Yet, the second-quarter 2025 results delivered a curveball that few anticipated. Contrary to what many might assume, it wasn't the core BMW brand that carried the Bavarian empire forward—it was the power of its sub-brands that injected new life into the group's performance. Leading this charge were BMW M, MINI, and Rolls-Royce, each carving out a unique path to customer loyalty and sales dominance. M Division: Where Performance Translates into Sales BMW M continues to be a force to reckon with, redefining how performance cars connect with the market. The M4, M3, and the recently introduced M2 have seen a notable surge in demand, driven by their ability to blend dynamic handling with cutting-edge technology. This sub-brand has transcended its traditional niche audience, becoming a desirable badge across demographics that value precision, speed, and digital sophistication. MINI: Compact, Iconic, and Electrified While many automakers chase bigger dimensions, MINI thrives by staying true to its roots—compact cars with bold personality. Its design heritage and the evolution into electrification, particularly with the MINI Cooper SE, have helped rejuvenate its global footprint. The latest generation, featuring sleek digital interiors and forward-thinking styling, has resonated with younger, urban buyers eager for both character and eco-friendliness. Rolls-Royce: Resilience in Ultra-Luxury Rolls-Royce remains untouched by economic tides. Despite premium pricing, models like the electric Spectre and the stately Cullinan continue to find eager buyers—especially across high-net-worth regions like the Middle East and North America. The brand's unwavering commitment to craftsmanship and exclusivity ensures it remains a cornerstone of BMW Group's prestige and profit. The BMW Brand Stumbles—For Now In contrast, the core BMW brand experienced a mild decline in sales during the same quarter, sparking questions about its direction in an increasingly crowded premium market. Though it has introduced standout models such as the electric iX and the redesigned 5 Series, intense rivalry from Tesla, Audi, and Mercedes appears to be dampening momentum. Geographic Shifts: China Rises, Europe Retreats Regional dynamics paint an intriguing picture. Sales dropped sharply in Europe—where regulatory shifts and cost pressures drive consumers toward electric options—while China and North America offered bright spots. China, in particular, is proving to be a vital growth engine for the brand's EV offerings. EVs Quietly Fuel the Charge Electric vehicles are becoming the unsung heroes of BMW's evolving portfolio. Models like the iX1, iX3, and i4 have played a pivotal role in expanding the customer base, especially in markets where demand for cleaner, connected vehicles is growing rapidly. Collectively, EV sales surged by over 35% year-on-year—an indicator that the brand's electric strategy is gaining serious ground. Looking Ahead: A Strategic Turning Point What these results underline is a quiet shift in power dynamics within the BMW Group. Sub-brands are no longer secondary—they're becoming the key drivers of performance. Will BMW rethink its strategy to reflect this change? Could the next phase be led by the likes of MINI, M, and Rolls-Royce? Or does the core brand still hold a revolutionary EV ace up its sleeve?
The Guardian
13 hours ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
Women born in East Germany have lived between two worlds. That's why we're shaking up art and politics
In February 1990, the German news magazine Der Spiegel ran the headline 'Why are they still coming?', adding: 'In West Germany, hatred for immigrants from the GDR could soon reach boiling point.' That year, resentment towards so-called newcomers from the east erupted without restraint. East Germans were insulted in the streets, shelters were attacked and children from the former GDR were bullied at school. There was a widespread fear that the weekly influx of thousands of people would overwhelm the welfare system and crash the housing and job markets. The public consensus? It needed to stop. That same year, Kathleen Reinhardt and her parents moved from Thuringia in the former GDR to Bavaria. She was in primary school, and her new classmates greeted her with lines such as: 'You people come here and take our jobs. You don't even know how to work properly.' It was a formative shock. Reinhardt, who was recently appointed curator of the German pavilion at the 2026 Venice Biennale, has an eye for imbalance, for what is missing, for who is not being considered. That she will represent Germany at one of the art world's most prestigious exhibitions is – against this backdrop – not just remarkable, it's historic. Thirty-five years after reunification, a different kind of German story is being heard. At a time of polarisation, when supposedly stable institutions and even the global order itself are faltering, figures such as Reinhardt – someone who understands 'otherness' and has lived between two worlds – are exactly what is needed. In her career, Reinhardt is known for going where things are uncomfortable, for entering terrain that is politically fraught or typically avoided by curators. She thrives in the difficult – and confronts it. Perhaps this is because she was born in a small GDR town in the early 1980s and was raised under socialism, but then grew up in Bavaria – the very embodiment of West German order. Reinhardt studied American literature (with a focus on Black writing), art history and international management in Bayreuth, Amsterdam, Los Angeles and Santa Cruz. She speaks four languages and holds a PhD on the American conceptual artist Theaster Gates. She has managed the studios of the South African artist Candice Breitz and the Kosovar artist Petrit Halilaj, and has curated high-profile exhibitions at the Dresden state art collections. In 2022, she became director of the Georg Kolbe Museum in Berlin. Located on a quiet, tree-lined street in what still smells like old West Berlin, the museum was once sleepy and conformist. But it now attracts curators, artists and critics with its radical reprogramming. Reinhardt's exhibitions there aim to reveal ambivalences, focusing on fracture rather than polish. But it's not just her CV that points to something worth noting about millennial Germans shaped by the GDR. I interviewed Reinhardt a few weeks ago, and I came away realising that women like her play in a league of their own. She wants to understand how it all connects – who we are today and the past we emerge from – while keeping a healthy scepticism towards grand narratives. That in itself feels almost avant garde in a time when stories from then and now are being instrumentalised, appropriated, bent or simply glossed over. On one of her first walks through the museum's garden, Reinhardt encountered The Dancer's Fountain by Georg Kolbe – a 1922 commission from the Jewish art collector Heinrich Stahl, who was later deported to Theresienstadt and murdered. The fountain had vanished during the Nazi era, resurfaced in the 1970s and was reinstalled with no explanation. At the top: a graceful, dancing female figure. At the base: stylised Black male bodies supporting the basin. Reinhardt's reaction? She started to dig. Working with art historians and provenance researchers, she traced the fountain's journey, uncovered records and identified a likely model whom Kolbe had used. She brought to light the complex and violent histories of the 20th century inherent in this object, becoming the first director in the museum's 75-year history to refuse to look away. Earlier this summer, she invited Lynn Rother to the museum to take part in a panel discussion on provenance research, its current status and future potential. Like Reinhardt, Rother has an East German background. Born in 1981 in Annaberg-Buchholz, she now lives between Berlin, Lüneburg and New York. She is the Lichtenberg-professor of provenance studies at Leuphana University and the founding director of its Provenance Lab. Last year, the Museum of Modern Art in New York created a new position just for her: its first curator for provenance. Rother's work is also about the stories behind objects. Who owned them? Who lost them – and why? Her research lays bare the darker infrastructures behind museum collections: looting, coercion, legal grey zones. She exposed the largest art deal of the Nazi era and now leads two major digital research projects backed by €1.8m in funding, exploring how machine-readable data can help trace – and eventually close – gaps in provenance. Sign up to This is Europe The most pressing stories and debates for Europeans – from identity to economics to the environment after newsletter promotion Art, as Rother told me, has always been a mobile asset in times of war and crisis. Museums and the art market have benefited, directly and indirectly, from the tragedies of the 20th century. Some works in today's collections were acquired through murky channels in moments of extreme horror. The great challenge of Rother's work is to recognise and document those entanglements. You could say it's a dirty job. Provenance researchers are seen as troublemakers. Their work sometimes leads to restitution, and with it, uncomfortable questions about national narratives and institutional pride. Rother's team recently ran a computational analysis of provenance records and found a striking pattern: married women were systematically erased. Even when a work had belonged to a woman, her husband was listed as the owner. 'That's not a clerical error,' she said. It shows that structural discrimination and patriarchal mechanisms are just as present in the art market as anywhere else. Like Reinhardt, Rother has spent years inside global institutions. I haven't shared their stories just to chart the rise of two exceptional women, but because it's been a hard-fought road since German reunification in 1990. We, the women from the East, have come a long way. For years, we were ridiculed, overlooked and reduced to stereotypes. Even Angela Merkel was first seen as a quiet little girl, then branded a Mutti, a motherly figure, a term simultaneously condescending and comforting and used to downplay her authority. But we're no longer a punchline. Today, women from the East – not just in politics and culture, but now also in the global art world – hold some of the most influential positions. To me, the stories of Reinhardt and Rother show how exclusion and institutional rigidity can – slowly, painfully – become insight. How memory, for those shaped by the GDR, is rarely linear. And how power, when approached from the margins, can be exercised more critically, and with greater care. In Bavaria, Reinhardt often felt she wasn't in – but not completely out either. 'What I had was school. Education. That was my little step up.' Her parents, a factory worker and a utility clerk, provided support but no privilege. It was similar for Rother, who was driven from early on. After studying art history, business and law, she earned a traineeship at Berlin's state museums in 2008. There, she came to see that it wasn't only about hard work – her origins suddenly mattered. She was constantly asked: 'Are you from East or West?' The hierarchy was obvious. Westerners ran the institutions. Eastern directors were deputies – at best. Even the art mirrored this: East German works were written off as second-rate. Both women have long rejected the patronising West German gaze. The 'east', Reinhardt argues, is not a special case, but a prism – a way to look at broader geopolitical lines and ask bigger questions about how we approach history and transformations in societies. Or in Rother's words: 'With artworks, labels matter. But we as people shouldn't be bound by them.' What these women offer isn't nostalgia. It's clarity. A resistance to simplification. A belief that history is not a finished room. In Reinhardt's office, there's a poster that reads: 'You don't have to tear down the statues – just the pedestals.' Both of these millennials are doing just that – carefully, insistently, telling it all again. We need more like them. Carolin Würfel is a writer, screenwriter and journalist who lives in Berlin and Istanbul. She is the author of Three Women Dreamed of Socialism
The Guardian
a day ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
Women born in East Germany have lived between two worlds. That's why we're shaking up art and politics
In February 1990, the German news magazine Der Spiegel ran the headline 'Why are they still coming?', adding: 'In West Germany, hatred for immigrants from the GDR could soon reach boiling point.' That year, resentment towards so-called newcomers from the east erupted without restraint. East Germans were insulted in the streets, shelters were attacked and children from the former GDR were bullied at school. There was a widespread fear that the weekly influx of thousands of people would overwhelm the welfare system and crash the housing and job markets. The public consensus? It needed to stop. That same year, Kathleen Reinhardt and her parents moved from Thuringia in the former GDR to Bavaria. She was in primary school, and her new classmates greeted her with lines such as: 'You people come here and take our jobs. You don't even know how to work properly.' It was a formative shock. Reinhardt, who was recently appointed curator of the German pavilion at the 2026 Venice Biennale, has an eye for imbalance, for what is missing, for who is not being considered. That she will represent Germany at one of the art world's most prestigious exhibitions is – against this backdrop – not just remarkable, it's historic. Thirty-five years after reunification, a different kind of German story is being heard. At a time of polarisation, when supposedly stable institutions and even the global order itself are faltering, figures such as Reinhardt – someone who understands 'otherness' and has lived between two worlds – are exactly what is needed. In her career, Reinhardt is known for going where things are uncomfortable, for entering terrain that is politically fraught or typically avoided by curators. She thrives in the difficult – and confronts it. Perhaps this is because she was born in a small GDR town in the early 1980s and was raised under socialism, but then grew up in Bavaria – the very embodiment of West German order. Reinhardt studied American literature (with a focus on Black writing), art history and international management in Bayreuth, Amsterdam, Los Angeles and Santa Cruz. She speaks four languages and holds a PhD on the American conceptual artist Theaster Gates. She has managed the studios of the South African artist Candice Breitz and the Kosovar artist Petrit Halilaj, and has curated high-profile exhibitions at the Dresden state art collections. In 2022, she became director of the Georg Kolbe Museum in Berlin. Located on a quiet, tree-lined street in what still smells like old West Berlin, the museum was once sleepy and conformist. But it now attracts curators, artists and critics with its radical reprogramming. Reinhardt's exhibitions there aim to reveal ambivalences, focusing on fracture rather than polish. But it's not just her CV that points to something worth noting about millennial Germans shaped by the GDR. I interviewed Reinhardt a few weeks ago, and I came away realising that women like her play in a league of their own. She wants to understand how it all connects – who we are today and the past we emerge from – while keeping a healthy scepticism towards grand narratives. That in itself feels almost avant garde in a time when stories from then and now are being instrumentalised, appropriated, bent or simply glossed over. On one of her first walks through the museum's garden, Reinhardt encountered The Dancer's Fountain by Georg Kolbe – a 1922 commission from the Jewish art collector Heinrich Stahl, who was later deported to Theresienstadt and murdered. The fountain had vanished during the Nazi era, resurfaced in the 1970s and was reinstalled with no explanation. At the top: a graceful, dancing female figure. At the base: stylised Black male bodies supporting the basin. Reinhardt's reaction? She started to dig. Working with art historians and provenance researchers, she traced the fountain's journey, uncovered records and identified a likely model whom Kolbe had used. She brought to light the complex and violent histories of the 20th century inherent in this object, becoming the first director in the museum's 75-year history to refuse to look away. Earlier this summer, she invited Lynn Rother to the museum to take part in a panel discussion on provenance research, its current status and future potential. Like Reinhardt, Rother has an East German background. Born in 1981 in Annaberg-Buchholz, she now lives between Berlin, Lüneburg and New York. She is the Lichtenberg-professor of provenance studies at Leuphana University and the founding director of its Provenance Lab. Last year, the Museum of Modern Art in New York created a new position just for her: its first curator for provenance. Rother's work is also about the stories behind objects. Who owned them? Who lost them – and why? Her research lays bare the darker infrastructures behind museum collections: looting, coercion, legal grey zones. She exposed the largest art deal of the Nazi era and now leads two major digital research projects backed by €1.8m in funding, exploring how machine-readable data can help trace – and eventually close – gaps in provenance. Sign up to This is Europe The most pressing stories and debates for Europeans – from identity to economics to the environment after newsletter promotion Art, as Rother told me, has always been a mobile asset in times of war and crisis. Museums and the art market have benefited, directly and indirectly, from the tragedies of the 20th century. Some works in today's collections were acquired through murky channels in moments of extreme horror. The great challenge of Rother's work is to recognise and document those entanglements. You could say it's a dirty job. Provenance researchers are seen as troublemakers. Their work sometimes leads to restitution, and with it, uncomfortable questions about national narratives and institutional pride. Rother's team recently ran a computational analysis of provenance records and found a striking pattern: married women were systematically erased. Even when a work had belonged to a woman, her husband was listed as the owner. 'That's not a clerical error,' she said. It shows that structural discrimination and patriarchal mechanisms are just as present in the art market as anywhere else. Like Reinhardt, Rother has spent years inside global institutions. I haven't shared their stories just to chart the rise of two exceptional women, but because it's been a hard-fought road since German reunification in 1990. We, the women from the East, have come a long way. For years, we were ridiculed, overlooked and reduced to stereotypes. Even Angela Merkel was first seen as a quiet little girl, then branded a Mutti, a motherly figure, a term simultaneously condescending and comforting and used to downplay her authority. But we're no longer a punchline. Today, women from the East – not just in politics and culture, but now also in the global art world – hold some of the most influential positions. To me, the stories of Reinhardt and Rother show how exclusion and institutional rigidity can – slowly, painfully – become insight. How memory, for those shaped by the GDR, is rarely linear. And how power, when approached from the margins, can be exercised more critically, and with greater care. In Bavaria, Reinhardt often felt she wasn't in – but not completely out either. 'What I had was school. Education. That was my little step up.' Her parents, a factory worker and a utility clerk, provided support but no privilege. It was similar for Rother, who was driven from early on. After studying art history, business and law, she earned a traineeship at Berlin's state museums in 2008. There, she came to see that it wasn't only about hard work – her origins suddenly mattered. She was constantly asked: 'Are you from East or West?' The hierarchy was obvious. Westerners ran the institutions. Eastern directors were deputies – at best. Even the art mirrored this: East German works were written off as second-rate. Both women have long rejected the patronising West German gaze. The 'east', Reinhardt argues, is not a special case, but a prism – a way to look at broader geopolitical lines and ask bigger questions about how we approach history and transformations in societies. Or in Rother's words: 'With artworks, labels matter. But we as people shouldn't be bound by them.' What these women offer isn't nostalgia. It's clarity. A resistance to simplification. A belief that history is not a finished room. In Reinhardt's office, there's a poster that reads: 'You don't have to tear down the statues – just the pedestals.' Both of these millennials are doing just that – carefully, insistently, telling it all again. We need more like them. Carolin Würfel is a writer, screenwriter and journalist who lives in Berlin and Istanbul. She is the author of Three Women Dreamed of Socialism
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Sport
- Yahoo
Bayern Munich learn asking price for summer target Christopher Nkunku
Bayern Munich are among the clubs keen on signing Chelsea's out-of-favour forward Christopher Nkunku. With Thomas Muller's exit and Jamal Musiala's long-term injury, the Bavarians are looking to recruit a top-quality attacking midfielder in the transfer window. Advertisement They have set their sights on Nkunku, whom they tried to sign in the winter transfer window earlier this year. The Frenchman has made himself available for the grabs after enduring a difficult spell at Stamford Bridge since his transfer from RB Leipzig in a deal worth €60 million. After being plagued by injuries in his debut campaign, Nkunku struggled to nail down a starting role last term. He started in only nine out of 27 games in the Premier League but played a key role in the UEFA Conference League title victory, bagging five goals and three assists in the tournament. Chelsea are open to selling the former Paris Saint-Germain star, who is understandably not in manager Enzo Maresca's plans Advertisement Nkunku is likely to be pushed further down the pecking order with the arrivals of Liam Delap and Joao Pedro. According to L'Equipe, the Blues are demanding at least €35 million for Nkunku, whose departure could help trim their bloated squad. Manchester United and Liverpool are also monitoring Nkunku's situation but haven't initiated any concrete talks. Bayern are willing to provide an escape route for Nkunku, who wants to reignite his career in a bid to secure a place in France's squad for next year's World Cup. The Bavarians have been prioritising a new winger in this window, but so far their search has proved to be futile. After missing out on Nico Williams, the Bundesliga champions are planning to splurge on Luis Diaz, but Liverpool have rebuffed their proposals.
Malay Mail
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Malay Mail
Germany's fairytale Neuschwanstein castle gains Unesco World Heritage status alongside Ludwig II's other Bavarian residences
BERLIN, July 13 — The Neuschwanstein castle in Germany's Bavaria, perhaps best known for inspiring Walt Disney's fairytale castles, has been named a World Heritage site, the UN cultural agency announced yesterday. Three other royal residences, also constructed in the late 19th Century under the famously arts-obsessed King Ludwig II of Bavaria, were also added to the coveted list: Herrenchiemsee, Linderhof and Schachen. Neuschwanstein, perched on a rocky, 200m-high Alpine crag, is Germany's most visited castle, with almost 1.5 million people flocking there every year. 'A fairytale comes true for our fairytale castles: We are #WorldHeritage!' Bavaria's governor, Markus Soeder, wrote on X after the announcement. Neuschwanstein combines an idealised medieval exterior with architectural techniques considered cutting-edge at the time. Its main rooms are adorned with paintings of German and Nordic legends, the same stories that inspired composer Richard Wagner, for whom Ludwig was a generous patron. Peter Seibert of the Bavarian Castles Administration (BSV) told AFP that the Unesco listing 'is a very great responsibility, but also recognition... for the work we have done so far in preservation'. Philippe, a 52-year-old visitor from Canada, was surprised that the castle was not already a World Heritage Site. 'We're lucky to still be able to experience this,' he said, calling the listing 'a very good idea'. Herrenchiemsee meanwhile evokes a Versailles in miniature on a lake between Munich and Salzburg, an homage to absolute monarch Louis XIV of France, whom Ludwig admired. Indeed Ludwig nicknamed Herrencheimsee 'Meicost-Ettal', an anagram of Louis XIV's alleged aphorism 'L'Etat, c'est moit' ('I am the state'). 'Part of Bavarian identity' The third site in the Unesco listing is the small castle of Linderhof, completed in 1878, the only one to have been finished in Ludwig's lifetime. It mixes elements of French Baroque architecture from the reign of Louis XIV with touches of the Rococo style developed in southern Germany. Its park boasts an artificial cave inspired by Wagner's opera Tannhaeuser, 90 metres long and up to 14 metres high, which houses a grotto of Venus and was designed as a personal retreat for Ludwig. The electric lighting system used in the cave was state of the art at the time, with glass discs used to illuminate the grotto in different colours. The last of the four sites on the list is Schachen, a royal house in the style of a large Swiss chalet, where Ludwig liked to celebrate the saint's day of his namesake St Louis on August 25. It is located at 1,800 metres above sea level, not far from Neuschwanstein. The four castles have become 'part of Bavarian identity' says Seibert, 'iconic and perfectly embedded in a beautiful landscape'. Ironically, while Ludwig's architectural legacy is today a source of pride in Bavaria—not to mention tourist revenue—they were part of the reason for his own downfall. The ruinous construction costs of the lavish residences led the Bavarian government to depose him, declaring him insane. Interned in Berg Palace, he died shortly afterwards in mysterious circumstances at Lake Starnberg. — AFP
