The Other Futurism: Futurist Activity in Venice, Padua, and Verona 9781442681989

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THE OTHER FUTURISM: FUTURIST ACTIVITY IN VENICE, PADUA, AND VERONA

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WILLARD BOHN

The Other Futurism Futurist Activity in Venice, Padua, and Verona

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com © University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2004 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-8816-3

Printed on acid-free paper Toronto Italian Studies

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Bohn, Willard, 1939– The other futurism : futurist activity in Venice, Padua and Verona / Willard Bohn. (Toronto Italian studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-8816-3 1. Futurism (Art) – Italy. 2. Futurism (Literary movement) – Italy. 3. Arts, Italian – 20th century. 4. Italian literature – 20th century. – History and criticism. 5. Venice (Italy) – History – 20th century. 6. Padua (Italy) – History – 20th century. 7. Verona (Italy) – History – 20th century. I. Title. II. Series N6918.5.F8B64 2004

709’.45’09041

C2003-903628-6

This book has been published with the assistance of a grant from the Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

For my two muses, Anita and Heather, who constantly inspire me

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Contents

list of illustrations acknowledgments

Introduction

ix

xi

3

1 Futurism in Venice 8 The First Phase 9 La Galleria d’Arte Moderna 15 Synthetic Theatre 20 Lunatics and Madmen 24 The Second Phase 29 Alberto Vianello 30 Renzo Bertozzi 37 The Theatre of Surprise 38 Arabau BARU 41 La Nuova Venezia 46 The Aftermath 49 2 Futurism in Padua 52 The First Phase 52 Synthetic Theatre 54 The Second Phase 57 Il Gruppo Futurista Padovano Vampe 65 The Third Phase 72

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Contents

La Prima Mostra Triveneta 77 Nino Burrasca 81 Futurist Artists 84 Canta giovinezza 87 Il Gruppo Futurista Savarè 94 Aeropoets and Aeropainters 95 The Last Days 98 3 Futurism in Verona 101 The First Phase 101 Giorgio Ferrante and Diego Costa 103 Lionello Fiumi 109 The Second Phase 115 Il Gruppo Futurista Veronese Boccioni 118 Piero Anselmi 124 Lyrical Experiments 129 4 Major Figures in Verona 141 Ignazio Scurto 141 Bruno Aschieri 152 Renato di Bosso and Alfredo G. Ambrosi Other Figures 179 5 Coda

notes

183

187

bibliography index

209

201

161

Illustrations

1 Arturo Martini, Bust of Omero Soppelsa 18 2 Fortunato Depero, locomotive costumes for Anihccam del 3000 3 Enrico Prampolini, costumes and scenery for Psicologia delle macchine 40 4 Nelson Morpurgo, ‘Caserma + Strada’ 42 5 Ottorino dalla Baratta, Danza-sensazione 74 6 Carlo Maria Dormàl, Soletudine mistica 75 7 Nello Voltolina, Sintesi veneziana 85 8 F.T. Marinetti, free-word poem from Canta giovinezza 91 9 Barbara, L’aeroporto abbranca l’aeroplano 150 10 Alfredo G. Ambrosi, Volo su Vienna 163 11 Renato di Bosso, Agello, pilota campione 165 12 Verossì, Profughi nell’ S. 81 176

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Acknowledgments

The following study was supported primarily by the Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation, which awarded me a grant initially to conduct research at the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana in Venice and a number of other libraries in the Veneto. In addition, the Foundation generously agreed to underwrite most of the expenses connected with the publication of the present volume. Additional research was funded by two grants from Illinois State University, which allowed me to examine numerous documents in the Research Library at the John Paul Getty Center in Los Angeles and the Beinecke Manuscript and Rare Book Library at Yale University. I am grateful to both institutions for permission to publish various documents in their collections. Special thanks go to Cheryl Elzy, Dean of Milner Library at Illinois State University, who literally went out of her way to help me obtain some of the illustrations. Thanks as well to Joan Winters and the staff in the Circulation Department, who, like their counterparts in Interlibrary Loan, were consistently helpful as the project progressed.

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THE OTHER FUTURISM: FUTURIST ACTIVITY IN VENICE, PADUA, AND VERONA

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Introduction

Inaugurated in 1909, Italian Futurism was the first major avant-garde movement of the twentieth century, one that was destined to have numerous repercussions. And since F.T. Marinetti and his colleagues continued to be active until 1944, it enjoyed a much longer life than most of the other movements. Ironically, in view of its obvious importance, the history of Futurism’s reception has been rather frustrating. Despite the provocative manifestos and outrageous public performances that earned its members international fame, their achievements have received relatively little recognition. The fact that Futurism provided an important model for many later movements, which adopted its clever strategies and successful tactics, makes this situation even more ironic. Although several Futurist artists have earned a place in the history of modern art, dozens of their equally talented colleagues remain totally unknown. History has been even more unkind to Futurist writers who, with the exception of Marinetti, have been forgotten altogether. The reasons for Futurism’s ignoble fate, for which its members were partially responsible, are not difficult to discern. After 1918, the Futurists aligned themselves with the Italian Fascist party – which they supported more in principle than in deed – and wound up on the wrong side of the Second World War. If political history is generally written by the victors, as historians are fond of proclaiming, this applies to literary and artistic history as well. Following the war, Futurism was regarded as a political embarrassment in Italy and thus was conveniently forgotten. Elsewhere it was tarred with the Fascist brush and condemned as a product of Mussolini’s corrupt regime. As Cinzia Sartini Blum notes, the perceived affinities between Futurism and Fascism

4

Introduction

‘have provoked facile condemnations of the movement, leading to an all too hasty dismissal of its historical and cultural significance.’1 Thus analyses focusing on Futurist politics have tended to ignore the movement’s artistic and literary accomplishments. The problem is especially acute among Anglo-American critics, who insist on considering Futurism as a textbook example of what Andrew Hewitt calls ‘Fascist modernism.’2 While this is not the place to consider the complex relationship between Futurism and Italian Fascism, which has already engendered several book-length studies, a few brief remarks are in order.3 Significantly, critical hostility to Futurism has been largely directed towards Marinetti rather than towards the Futurist movement itself. Although the Futurists eventually numbered in the hundreds, critics have concentrated almost exclusively on their leader. Indeed, Blum adds, Marinetti’s allegiance to Fascism has received far more attention than the Fascist leanings of other major modernists. ‘This is almost certainly a consequence of his brash, violent rhetoric,’ she concludes, ‘and of the clamorous, belligerent style of action he advocated and displayed.’4 Since Marinetti delighted in antagonizing his audience – inaugurating an important avant-garde trend in the process – this critical response is perfectly understandable. What it appears to indicate, among other things, is that the affinities between Futurism and Fascism were largely stylistic and to a lesser extent thematic. Except that they were animated by patriotic idealism, the two movements did not share ideology. Despite their apparent similarities, their aesthetic and political positions were actually quite distinct. Thanks to Günter Berghaus, who has exhaustively investigated the subject, we now know that a great deal of friction existed between Futurism and Fascism.5 Marinetti was never able to reconcile the demands of art with those of politics and vice versa. He resigned from Mussolini’s Fasci di Combattimento on 29 May 1920 for precisely that reason. After a brief period when the two movements seemed to share similar goals, he realized they were headed in opposite directions. ‘There can be no doubt,’ Berghaus concludes, ‘that Marinetti feared that Futurism was going to be increasingly marginalized in Fascist Italy. He had to think about his own and his movement’s survival under a Fascist regime and to rescue what he could of an artistic movement which he had built up and promoted for more than a decade.’6 And in fact, Marinetti’s fears were far from imaginary. At Mussolini’s instigation, the Fascist government used censorship and other mea-

Introduction

5

sures to marginalize the Futurist movement as long as they both existed.7 Following the unspeakable atrocities of the Second World War, the term Fascist immediately evokes images of Jewish persecution. Significantly, although the Futurists continuously proclaimed their loyalty to Mussolini’s government, they were not anti-Semitic. To the contrary, Marinetti had the highest regard for the Jewish people and resisted attempts to impose Nazi-style measures in Italy. On at least one occasion, he protested to Mussolini himself, for which the Jewish community was extremely grateful.8 While the degree of ideological commitment varied from one Futurist to the next, as we will see, Marinetti and his colleagues continued to be loyal citizens.9 Unlike later avant-garde movements, which were hostile or indifferent to the political states in which they operated, Futurism was motivated by patriotic sentiments from the very beginning. Its members were proud of Italy, which had only recently been unified, and strove to forge a brand-new national identity. In addition to revolutionizing Italian literature and art, the Futurists sought to effect similar changes in dance, music, drama, and a host of other disciplines. As long as Italy continued to venerate the Renaissance and ancient Rome, they believed, neither modern art nor modern society could ever develop freely. Before either could completely embrace the present, it was necessary to bury the past, whose (admittedly magnificent) accomplishments were an impediment to progress. Not only ancient masterpieces but also old-fashioned themes and traditional motifs were subjected to the Futurists’ scorn. The First Manifesto proclaimed that a modern racecar was more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace. Similarly, the Futurists preferred industrial Milan (where the movement was headquartered) to decadent Venice and claimed that modern airplanes were more inspiring than the boring old moon. Recently invented by Guglielmo Marconi, wireless telegraphy played an important role in Futurist poetry as well, which soon began to resemble modern posters. Accompanied by a seemingly endless series of manifestos, the Futurist movement underwent two distinct phases. Extending from 1909 to 1919, the first, ‘heroic,’ period witnessed the elaboration of Futurist principles and the creation of its principal genres. The second, ‘popular,’ phase covered the period from 1920 to 1944 and represented a panItalian phenomenon. Whereas the first group consisted of several dozen

6

Introduction

members, their heirs and disciples numbered in the hundreds and inhabited every town of any importance on the Italian peninsula. As Claudia Salaris observes, ‘Nessun altro movimento artistico-letterario ha avuto un così largo sèguito con gruppi e sottogruppi proliferati nel tempo’ (No other artistic and literary movement has had such a large following, with groups and subgroups proliferating from one year to the next).10 In contrast to his earlier role, which has been described as ‘incendiary,’ Marinetti’s function during this period was largely ceremonial. Hoping to make Futurist art the official art of Italy, he tried repeatedly to reconcile Futurism and Fascism. However, his efforts were largely unsuccessful, and he spent much of his time fighting to survive in an environment that was becoming increasingly hostile.11 Although the initial Futurist phase has received a certain amount of critical attention, much research remains to be done. Previous studies of Futurism have tended to focus on Milan, Rome, and Florence, for example. Few critics have surveyed Futurist activity outside the major cities. For the most part, moreover, previous writers have concentrated on Marinetti and a handful of artists: Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà, Luigi Russolo, Ardengo Soffici, Gino Severini, and Giacomo Balla. The artists and writers who came after them are almost completely unknown. Although Fortunato Depero gained a certain amount of fame by designing advertisements for Campari and other products, the other artists have been relegated to obscurity. ‘Gli ormai noti vizi ideologici,’ Maurizio Scudiero explains, ‘hanno penalizzato in particolare tutta quella cerchia di artisti che oggi va raggruppata sotto la etichetta di “Secondo futurismo”’ (Their well-known ideological vices ... have penalized those artists in particular who have been grouped together under the label ‘Second Futurism’).12 Because the Futurists supported the Fascist government, few critics have studied the second phase at all. The present volume attempts to redress the balance. As the title indicates, it is concerned with the ‘other’ Futurists – those individuals who resided outside the major urban centres from 1909 to 1944 but who were committed to the Futurist cause. More precisely, since a comprehensive survey would require a dozen books, the volume focuses on three cities in particular. Combining literary history with critical analysis, it describes Futurist activities in each and analyses their principal manifestations. The first chapter documents the different guises Futurism assumed in Venice and examines its impact on local institutions. The second chapter investigates Futurist activity in Padua, where it

Introduction

7

underwent three phases, and retraces its development. The last two chapters trace the evolution of Futurism in Verona and examine its major contributions. One of the purposes of this volume is to attempt to reconstruct Futurism’s reception in the Veneto, whose inhabitants did not always sympathize with the brash young artists and writers. Since the latter went to great lengths to provoke the audience during their scandalous performances, this is not terribly surprising. For although the Futurists sought recognition for their important accomplishments, they also enjoyed shocking the hapless public. In addition, the book seeks to determine how closely the provincial Futurists adhered to mainstream theory and practice, thus raising a number of questions. How extensive were the contacts between the provincial Futurists and their colleagues in the major urban centres? Were they relatively isolated, or did they collaborate with Futurists elsewhere? How accurately did they understand what Marinetti was trying to accomplish? How did the Futurist leader view these young upstarts, and how did they regard his numerous pronouncements? These and other questions will be explored in the following chapters.

1

Futurism in Venice

Following the publication of the first Futurist manifesto in February 1909, Marinetti focused his attention on two antiquated symbols that stood in the way of aesthetic progress. In a second manifesto, ‘Uccidiamo il chiaro di luna!’ (Let’s murder the moonlight!), published one month later, he recounted how he and a band of Futurist supporters (supposedly recruited from an insane asylum) managed to vanquish the moon with hundreds of dazzling light bulbs. In order to realize the program that Futurism envisioned, this and other symbols exploited obsessively by previous poets needed to be abolished. Like the symbol of moonlight, which the invention of electricity had rendered obsolete, they needed to be rejuvenated or, preferably, to be abandoned altogether. Together with Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà, and Luigi Russolo, Marinetti issued a third manifesto on 27 April 1910, which attacked another prominent symbol. In ‘Contro Venezia passatista’ (Against Venice mired in the past) he denounced the city for its slavish devotion to the past, proposed burning all the gondolas, recommended destroying the crumbling palaces, and suggested filling in the canals with the resulting rubbish. ‘Venga finalmente il regno della divina Luce Elettrica,’ he concluded, ‘a liberare Venezia dal suo venale chiaro di luna da camera ammobigliata’ (Let the divine reign of Electric Light finally commence, liberating Venice from its venal moonlight of furnished rooms). Accompanied by a number of Futurist colleagues, Marinetti returned to the attack on 8 July 1910. From the top of the campanile overlooking St Mark’s Square, they dropped thousands of copies of the preceding manifesto – signed by thirteen individuals – on the startled crowd below. Marinetti later claimed the famous pigeons were afraid to return to the tower for days afterwards.

Futurism in Venice

9

The First Phase The aerial assault on Venetian sensibility was intended to generate publicity for an important show by Umberto Boccioni at the Galleria (now Museo) d’Arte Moderna. Consisting of forty-two paintings, watercolours, and drawings, the exhibition opened at the Palazzo Pesaro on the Grand Canal on 16 July and ran until 20 October. Receiving widespread coverage in the local press, it attracted the attention of the Corriere della sera in Milan and La Voce in Florence, which, however, published unfavourable notices. Boccioni and two other artists sent a strong protest to the Corriere, while the Futurists dispatched a ‘punitive expedition’ to Florence the following year to confront Ardengo Soffici about this and other insulting articles. If Boccioni was undoubtedly delighted at the prospect of exhibiting his works, Marinetti was ecstatic. Writing to Aldo Palazzeschi, he exclaimed, ‘Questo è una della prime vittorie concrete del Futurismo’ (This is one of Futurism’s first concrete victories).1 In addition to organizing the dropping of the leaflets, which were apparently printed in several languages, Marinetti contributed an introduction to Boccioni’s catalogue.2 Praising the artist for endowing his paintings with maximum light and maximum dynamism, he introduced the rest of the Futurist painters and summarized the ‘Manifesto dei pittori futuristi’ (11 February 1910). The Futurists sought to destroy the cult of the past, he explained, to exalt originality, and to deprecate imitation. They dismissed traditional subjects and themes, rejected concepts such as ‘harmony’ and ‘good taste,’ and depicted modern life – which science was constantly transforming. Marinetti also wrote to Aldo Palazzeschi that he was thinking of staging a serata futurista (Futurist evening) in Venice before the end of the month. ‘Se si farà, tu non devi mancarci. La battaglia sarà importantissima’ (If this occurs, you should not miss it. The battle will be extremely important). Pleased at the reception accorded Boccioni’s pictures, he composed a lecture entitled ‘Discorso futurista ai Veneziani,’ which he delivered to some two hundred people at the Teatro La Fenice on 1 August 1910. According to a publicity flyer, he was accompanied by Boccioni, Palazzeschi, Carlo Carrà, Luigi Russolo, Libero Altomare, Gian Pietro Lucini, Paolo Buzzi, Enrico Cavacchioli, and Armando Mazza. Marinetti apparently began by reading a text entitled ‘Che cos’è il futurismo?’ (What is Futurism?) and then praised Nino Barbantini for organizing Boccioni’s exhibition.3 Launching into his prepared speech, he excoriated the Venetians for turning their backs on

10

The Other Futurism

progress, portraying the city as a prostitute and its inhabitants as pimps of the past. Paddling through liquid excrement, he announced, their precious gondoliers looked like gravediggers in a flooded cemetery. Following Marinetti’s remarks, other Futurists delivered additional speeches. When Carrà attempted to denounce Ugo Ojetti, Vittorio Pica, and Primo Levi, whose criticism he detested, members of the audience created an uproar and drowned him out. Boccioni was treated similarly during his lecture on Futurist painting, which was interrupted by catcalls and rude remarks. ‘Your imbecility does not merit any response,’ he retorted at one point. ‘It is impossible to continue,’ Marinetti interjected; ‘we are faced with the usual cretins.’ These and other choice insults were not well received by the spectators, who protested vociferously. According to Marinetti, a series of fights erupted, which prompted Armando Mazza to demonstrate his pugilistic talents. The fighting spread to St Mark’s Square, he claimed rather improbably, and had to be quelled by the police. According to a reviewer in L’adriatico, the audience simply dwindled away. Those that were left burst into a popular Venetian folk-song as the Futurists returned to their hotel. From that day on, Marinetti had little difficulty attracting a crowd in Venice. Despite the hostile reception accorded the Futurists, which Marinetti frankly enjoyed, not everyone was opposed to their presence. On the contrary, they received an enthusiastic welcome from a group of poets and painters who were sympathetic to their cause. Centred on the director of the Galleria d’Arte Moderna, Gino Barbantini, who is generally credited with bringing modern art to Venice, it included Oreste Licudis and the two artists who protested to the Corriere della sera with Boccioni: Teodoro Wolf Ferrari and Tullio Garbari.4 Boccioni mentions all three of them in subsequent letters sent to Barbantini.5 Indeed, although only this correspondence has survived, he seems to have exchanged letters with all four men until the outbreak of the First World War. While Licudis remains a rather shadowy figure, we know he was a sculptor who, like the others, exhibited regularly at Ca’ Pesaro. A former student at the Accademia Belle Arti di Venezia, Wolf Ferrari was profoundly influenced by German Romanticism and, somewhat later, by the Viennese Secession.6 Primarily a landscape artist, he also excelled at painting decorative panels. Like him, Garbari began his career as a landscapist but developed a Metaphysical style during the war like Giorgio de Chirico and Carlo Carra.7 ‘Uno dei più validi ed interessanti del ventennio tra il 1910 ed il 1930’ (One of the

Futurism in Venice

11

most worthwhile and interesting artists during the period 1910–1930), according to Nunzio Carmeni, he was also an accomplished poet.8 Boccioni’s companions were also pleased at the warm reception they received and discovered they had much in common with the Venetian artists. Like Boccioni, several of them developed close ties to members of the Ca’ Pesaro group. Carrà struck up a friendship with Tullio Garbari, for example, which he renewed when he returned to Venice in 1913 and which intensified when Garbari moved to Milan two years later.9 Delighted with Marinetti’s outrageous performance at the Teatro del Fenice, Barbantini and other members of the group urged him to return one year later to offer a second Futurist serata. Writing to Palazzeschi the following spring, Marinetti declared, ‘Parto oggi per Venezia, dove per invito d’un gruppo di veneziani (Venezia me ridomanda, come vedi) terrò conferenza e declamazione alla Fenice’ (I am leaving for Venice today where, at the invitation of a group of Venetians – Venice is asking for me again, as you can see – I will give a lecture and a poetry reading at the Fenice).10 Fortunately, a manuscript in the Beinecke Library at Yale University enables us to partially reconstruct this event, which took place on 7 May 1911. Entitled ‘Preambolo Seconda Serata Venezia,’ it reveals that Marinetti’s lecture assumed the form of a brief preface rather than an extended commentary. Designed to introduce the poetry reading, which occupied most of the evening, it was much more conciliatory than his previous lecture. Assured of attracting an audience but fearing they would disrupt the proceedings, Marinetti sought to defuse the potentially volatile situation. Voi siete già al corrente di tutto ciò che noi pensiamo di Venezia, da noi a lungo, sapientemente amata e sognata, ma che vorremmo brutalmente ringiovanita dal progresso. Voi sapete ugualmente tutto il disprezzo che noi nutriamo per quella maggioranza della popolazione veneziana, disgraziatamente incancrenita nella religione della muffa, delle pietre vecchie, e nel piccolo o grande traffico dei forestieri. Questi, con l’autorità prepotente del loro denaro e coll’egoismo della loro sfaccendataggine, collaborano assiduamente a quello che io chiamo la putrefazione dei Veneziani, ben più grave, a mio avviso, che la tanto lamentata ‘mort de Venise,’ di cui parla Barrès. Io non voglio oggi polemizzare con voi su queste nostre convizioni, che sono fortunatamente quelle di tutti gli artisti italiani coscienti, ispirati da

12

The Other Futurism quella febbre antitradizionale che caratterizza lo spirito creatore. Io oggi vi parlerò specialmente di letteratura e della nostra rinnovata sensibilità poetica futurista, con rapide sintesi e visioni luminose, e terminerò col declamarvi alcune fra le più significative poesie del gruppo futurista, dimostrandovi con la voce e col gesto la bellezza e la necessità del verso libero che si afferma dovunque, in Francia, e mercè nostra in Italia, determinando l’abbandono delle metriche fisse. Anzitutto, ci occorre spiegare le ragioni per le quali noi, figli dei grandi simbolisti francesi, ci sentiamo costretti a odiarli oggi cordialmente dopo averli immensamente amati. Noi, poeti futuristi, noi glorificatori dell’eroismo quotidiano e propagandisti da un ottimismo anche artificiale – accusiamo di pessimismo cronico ed avvilente i grandi geni simbolisti Baudelaire, Mallarmé et Verlaine. Noi serbiamo loro rancore, oggi, di aver nuotato nel fiume del tempo tenendo continuamente rivolta indietro la testa, verso la lontana sorgente. You already know what we think of Venice, which for many years we cherished and dreamed of but which we would like to see brutally rejuvenated by progress. You are also familiar with the contempt that we harbour for most of the Venetian population, which has succumbed to the gangrenous religion of mould, old stones, and tourism, whether great or small. Immersed in the arrogant authority of their money and lazy selfishness, these individuals contribute assiduously to what I call Venetian putrefaction, much more serious in my opinion than the greatly lamented ‘death of Venice’ proclaimed by Barrès. I do not want to engage in a polemic with you today concerning our convictions – which fortunately are shared by every serious artist in Italy – inspired by the antitraditional fever that characterizes the creative spirit. I want to speak to you today about literature and about our poetic sensibility, which Futurism has renewed with rapid syntheses and luminous visions, and I will conclude by reciting some of the most important poems by the Futurist group, using my voice and various gestures to demonstrate the beauty and the necessity of free verse, which is becoming popular everywhere: in France, and thanks to us in Italy, causing fixed metrics to be abandoned. Above all, it is necessary to explain why we – the descendants of the great French Symbolists – feel compelled to heartily loathe them today after having loved them so much. We Futurist poets, we glorifiers of daily heroism and propagandists of an artificial optimism – we accuse the great Symbolist geniuses Baude-

Futurism in Venice

13

laire, Mallarmé, and Verlaine of chronic and demoralizing pessimism. We despise them today for having bathed in the river of time while continually gazing at the distant spring of the past.

As Marinetti well knew, anti-Futurist sentiments could assume a violent form at any moment. At some point in the program, he announced that a painting by Boccioni entitled La risata (Laughter) had recently been slashed with a razor blade by an unknown assailant at the Mostra di Arte Libera in Milan.11 Apparently, however, his plan to introduce the Venetian populace to Futurist poetry proceeded without a hitch. In contrast to the previous serata, the second occasion elicited an enthusiastic response from the audience that left the Futurist leader feeling triumphant. ‘Ebbi grande successo a Venezia,’ he wrote to Palazzeschi upon his return to Milan, ‘dove feci applaudire freneticamente il tuo “Orologio”’ (I had great success in Venice ... where my reading of your ‘Clock’ received frenetic applause.)12 Although Palazzeschi’s poem seems a little dated today, it retains much of its original power. Filled with anguish by the ineluctable passage of time, which he notes each day on his bedroom clock, the Promethean narrator devises a final solution. What really bothers him is the thought that the clock knows the exact hour of his death, which he will not discover himself until the last moment. Angered at the clock’s refusal to impart this crucial information, he addresses it as follows: Io mi faccio una torre sopra il monte, la più alta del mondo, su tutti i tuoi minuti tutti i suoi mattoni, e vi salgo all’ora mia, l’ora scelta da me. Mi fermo per sentire il battito di tutti gli orologi del mondo, cuori inutili e vili, e ti grido: ‘orologio, guarda, mi getto!’ E faccio l’atto. ‘Ah! Ho sentito uno scatto. Sei stato tu, tu che hai segnata l’ora gia, hai creduto che fosse quella.

14

The Other Futurism Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! No, non era quella, è quella che so io, sono io che comando, sono io che darò l’ora a te, Ora.’ Trovar nella mia gola, far salire dal mio ventre le più folli, le più oscene risate, i lazzi più sconci, i gridi di scherno più acuti, e farti aspettare altri cinque minuti. I’ll build a tower on the mountain, the highest in the world, with all its bricks resting on all your minutes, and I’ll climb to the top when I choose. I’ll pause to listen to the clocks ticking around the world, vile, useless hearts, and I’ll cry: ‘Look, Clock, I’m going to jump!’ And I will. ‘Ah! I heard a click. Be still, you already struck the hour, you thought that was it. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! No, it was not. I know when. I’m in charge now. I’ll tell you when, Clock.’ Crazy, obscene laughter, filthy jokes, mocking sneers will erupt from my throat, from the depths of my belly, and I’ll make you wait five minutes more.13

Marinetti liked his final introductory sentence so much that he used

Futurism in Venice

15

it again five months later, in an article published in French, and included it in Le futurisme the same year.14 As he told his audience, Venice had occupied a special place in his heart during his early years. The Beinecke Library possesses two drafts of a prose poem entitled ‘Venise,’ for example, in which Marinetti compares the city to a swimmer surprised by the incoming tide. Another box of early manuscripts contains copious notes on Venetian subjects such as ‘I gondolieri,’ ‘I motoscafi,’ and ‘I vaporetti’ (The gondoliers, The water taxis, and The water buses). That one text is entitled ‘Il sole maestro di dinamismo plastico’ (The sun, master of plastic dynamism) suggests they date from Marinetti’s visit in 1910 or even from 1912, when he again visited the city. Returning from the Italo-Turkish war in Libya, where he served as a correspondent for L’intransigeant in Paris, he published a collection of lyrical descriptions entitled La battaglia di Tripoli (26 Ottobre 1911). Invited by the newspaper Il mare nostro, which was seeking to raise funds for the families of soldiers killed or wounded in the war, Marinetti read excerpts to audiences in a number of cities, including Venice on 24 January 1912. ‘La mia Battaglia di Tripoli,’ he informed Palazzeschi shortly thereafter, ‘da me ripetuta con vittorioso e clamoroso successo due volte a Milano, alla Fenice di Venezia, a Padova, a Rovigo et a Treviso, ha conciliato al futurismo una quantità di simpatie nuove e di entusiasmi’ (My Battle of Tripoli, ... which I repeated with triumphant and clamorous success twice in Milan, at the Fenice in Venice, in Padua, in Rovigo, and in Treviso, has elicited a certain amount of enthusiasm and new sympathy for Futurism).15 La Galleria d’Arte Moderna Indeed, as a series of letters to Nino Barbantini reveal, the Futurist artists were doing so well by 1912 that they could not keep up with the demand for their paintings. Marinetti met with Barbantini at the Caffè Florian in St Mark’s Square on 23 June 1910, where the two men discussed the introduction to Boccioni’s catalogue. Early in 1912, probably in March, the director of the Galleria d’Arte Moderna wrote to him to ask the Futurists to participate in an exhibition he was planning the same year. Marinetti replied that unfortunately they could not accept his kind invitation. Not only had Boccioni and his colleagues sold all their paintings, he explained, but they were feverishly preparing for exhibitions in Rome and in Rotterdam. He especially regretted having to refuse, he added, ‘perché voi foste il primo in Italia a sostenere, a

16

The Other Futurism

difendere e a glorificare un pittore futurista’ (because you were the first person in Italy to support, to defend, and to glorify a Futurist painter).16 In response to renewed attempts to obtain even a few paintings for the show, Carlo Carrà and Luigi Russolo wrote to the director on 30 April, and again on 3 June, to explain the regrettable situation.17 Undoubtedly for similar reasons, the Futurists did not participate in a blockbuster show that took place at Ca’ Pesaro the following year. For better or for worse, they were heavily overcommitted. Barbantini’s contract with the Galleria d’Arte Moderna called for him to support the efforts of young artists in particular, which coincided with his own interests. Beginning in 1909, he sponsored a number of one-man shows by local painters in order to provide them with valuable exposure and to encourage them to perfect their art. The wisdom of this policy was demonstrated by the Mostra Giovanile d’Arte (Young artists’ exhibition) in May 1913, by which time the amount of artistic talent had expanded to form a critical mass. Barbantini described what happened as follows: E poi a procurarci una notorietà insperata, arrivò la Mostra del ’13, dove Rossi, Martini e Garbari, che s’erano messi d’impegno, fecero miracoli, suscitando tra i ben pensanti uno scandolo tale che in città non si parlava d’altro e se ne parlò molto anche fuori. Nelle sale non si respirava, tant’era la folla. I giornali polemizzavano, i pittori e i clienti dei caffè, chi per noi, chi contro di noi, se ne dicevano di tutti i colori. S’arrivò qua e là a vie di fatto. Il Consiglio Comunale ci dedicava una seduta, deplorando che in casa del Comune e all’insegna del leone in moleca se potesse vedere quello che se vedeva. Fu proposta la chiusura immediata della Mostra in questione, che sarebbe stata attuata di sicuro, si taluni artisti belgi che figuravano quell’anno nel padiglione della Biennale non si fossero raccolti a prendere partito per noi, chiedendo di poter esporre d’allora in poi tra i vivi de Ca’ Pesaro invece che tra i morti dei Giardini. And then, causing an unexpected notoriety, the Exhibition of 1913 took place during which Rossi, Martini, and Garbari, who had carefully prepared for it, performed miracles, provoking such a scandal among the staid citizens that throughout the city people talked of nothing else, and talked of it a lot elsewhere. In the exhibition rooms there was such a crowd that one couldn’t breathe. The newspapers engaged in polemics; the painters and those who frequented cafés exchanged all sorts of colourful remarks, some for us, some against us. Here and there they came to

Futurism in Venice

17

blows. The Municipal Council devoted a session to us, deploring that in a municipal building adorned with the Venetian lion one could see what one could see. It was suggested that the show be closed imediately, which would certainly have occurred if some Belgian artists who were exhibiting in the Biennial’s pavilion that year hadn’t chosen to take our side, demanding to exhibit henceforth with the living at Ca’ Pesaro rather than with the dead in the Gardens.18

As Barbantini states, news of the uproar surrounding the Mostra Giovanile rapidly spread throughout the country. Prompted by an article published in the Corriere della sera, Boccioni wrote Barbantini on 19 May that young people in Milan were greatly excited by the exhibition. ‘La nuova battaglia che Lei conduce è una consolazione,’ he added, ‘per un artista che ormai ha ineluttabilmente deciso di vivere in Italia’ (The new battle that you are waging is a consolation for an artist who has unavoidably decided to live in Italy henceforth).19 Most of the artists who exhibited at Ca’ Pesaro in 1913 had participated in prior shows there. Besides the aforementioned Garbari, Licudis, and Wolf Ferrari, the article included Ubaldo Oppi and Felice Casorati. A former student of Gustav Klimt’s in Vienna, Oppi was then living in Paris, where he was associated with the Galerie Paul Guillaume. Also influenced by Klimt, Casorati adopted a style that was simultaneously decorative and dreamlike before joining the Metaphysical school a few years later.20 At that point he was living in Verona, where he founded a journal called La via lattea (The milky way) in 1914. Like Luigi Scopinich and Umberto Moggioli, who also participated in the show, Gino Rossi lived in an artists’ colony on the island of Burano. Inspired by the early paintings of Gauguin and Van Gogh, he possessed ‘una straordinaria passione per l’arte’ (an extraordinary passion for art) and an uncommonly pure style.21 ‘Era il nostro Piero della Francesca,’ (He was our Piero della Francesca), recalled Arturo Martini, who contributed fourteen works to the exhibition.22 If Rossi revolutionized modern painting in the Veneto, Martini was destined to become ‘il “rigeneratore” della scultura italiana.’23 Although the exhibitors were repeatedly identified as ‘Futurists’ by the newspapers, their works bore little if any resemblance to those of Boccioni and his colleagues. The most important exception concerns several sculptures by Martini, which were the source of much of the scandal that ensued. While only the bust of Omero Soppelsa (figure 1) survives, sketches of two other works published in a local newspaper

18

The Other Futurism

Figure 1. Arturo Martini, Bust of Omero Soppelsa, 1913, plaster, dimensions and present whereabouts unknown.

Futurism in Venice

19

make it clear that they were conceived, in Guido Perocco’s words, as ‘un omaggio al futurismo’ (a homage to Futurism).24 The influence of Boccioni is readily apparent. For that matter, Perocco continues, the movement’s revolutionary ideas seem to have always tempted Martini and, to a lesser extent, the Ca’ Pesaro group. Reflecting the widespread outrage engendered by the 1913 show, which closed in October, no exhibitions were held at the Palazzo Pesaro the following year. This situation continued until the end of the First World War. Although the local artists organized occasional exhibitions during this period, they were forced to look elsewhere for moral and financial support. In 1914, for instance, Tullio Garbari exhibited a series of paintings at the Istituto Francese in Florence, where he participated in activities sponsored by the review La Voce. On 1 November he published a letter in Lacerba (the official Futurist journal) refuting a previous statement by Prezzolini that the Trentino was a backward region infested with reactionaries. While Casorati, Wolf Ferrari, and Umberto Moggioli exhibited at the Venice Biennial in 1914, they did not do so again until well after the war. Together with Martini and Rossi, Moggioli particpated in the Mostra della Secessione Romana the same year. In addition, the first two artists contributed several works to the Exposizione Libera Futurista Internazionale, also situated in Rome. Throughout this period they continued to correspond with Boccioni, who, until his untimely death in 1916, encouraged them in their various projects and provided whatever aid he could. In 1914, for example, he sent Martini a copy of his first and only book, Pittura scultura futuriste (Dinamismo plastico), containing fifty-one illustrations by six different artists. In the first of four letters that have survived, Martini thanked him for the gift, complained that he was poor and isolated, and indicated he would like to join him in Milan.25 ‘Il tuo libro segna in me un’epoca di ricerche nuove,’ he confided; ‘ha messo in corpo una febbre nuova’ (Your book has prompted me to undertake a series of new investigations ... It has innoculated me with a new fever). In a letter sent the following year, Martini proposed that they exhibit together sometime and announced he had invented a marvellous new art form. Judging from his Contemplazioni (1918), in which page after page is filled with diamonds and vertical bars, it was a kind of abstract notation. Drafted into the army in 1916, Martini continued to experiment with this idea while he served in the artillery. Writing to Boccioni, who had sent him a column he had published in Gli avvenimenti, he enclosed several compositions

20

The Other Futurism

and asked him to discuss them in a future issue.26 Unfortunately, Boccioni was killed a few months later, before he had a chance to mention his friend’s experiments. Synthetic Theatre When the First World War erupted in August 1914, the Futurists were dismayed that Italy elected to remain neutral. During the next nine months, they engaged in numerous interventionist demonstrations, hoping to exert pressure on the Italian government and to convince their compatriots to declare war on the Austro-Hungarian empire – which finally occurred in May 1915. During this period, a Futurist sympathizer named Andrea Busetto published two books in Venice that paralleled the efforts of Marinetti and his colleagues.27 Consisting of one hundred pages, Nazionalismo, guerra e democrazia (1914) sought to prove that war was a social necessity. Filled with Irredentist propaganda, Gli Italiani dell’altra sponda (Venice: L’Avanguardia Nazionalista, 1915) evoked ‘la tenace, angosciosa e tragica lotta’ (the persistent, grievous, and tragic fate) of Italians living in areas controlled by AustroHungary. Dedicated ‘al mio grande amico F.T. Marinetti’ and his heroic companions, it featured a preface by the Futurist leader organized around the same themes. Entitled ‘Trieste, la nostra bella polveriera’ (Trieste, our lovely powder-keg), the preface expressed solidarity with the city’s inhabitants, who were living in what was essentially occupied territory, and urged Italy to declare war on Austria. Representing a mini-manifesto, the back cover was plastered with phrases such as ‘Viva la guerra’ and ‘Marciare non marcire’ (March don’t mildew) – destined to become one of Futurism’s best-known slogans. Inspired by Guillaume Apollinaire’s Antitradition futuriste (1913), Busetto awarded flowers and kisses to Antonio Salandra (Italy’s president) and Giorgio Sonnino (minister of foreign affairs), who embraced the Irredentist cause and rained spit and kicks on Giovanni Giolitti, a former president who strove to preserve the country’s neutrality. In addition to engaging in vociferous demonstrations, the Futurists experimented with a new kind of theatre whose purpose, they announced, was to embue the Italian people with a more warlike spirit. According to a manifesto entitled ‘Il teatro futurista sintetico,’ dated 11 January and 18 February 1915, each play would be very brief, compressing innumerable situations, sensations, ideas, and symbols into a few minutes. Authored by Marinetti, Emilio Settimelli, and

Futurism in Venice

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Bruno Corra, the document added that eleven sintesi had already been performed in crowded theatres all over the country. Writing to Francesco Cangiullo on 17 February, Marinetti confided that the theatre troupe had visited five cities: Ancona, Bologna, Padua, Venice, and Verona.28 Their performances attracted ‘molte centinaia di giovani, difensori entusiasti, che tutti ti conoscono e ti ammirano’ (hundreds and hundreds of young people, enthusiastic supporters, all of whom know you and admire you). Besides his own plays, he added, their repertoire included works by Settimelli and Corra and a composition by Balilla Pratella entitled L’amante delle stelle (The star-gazer). Writing to Pratella the same day, Marinetti evoked the crowds of enthusiastic supporters and mentioned that L’amante delle stelle had generated considerable discussion in Bologna, Venice, and, the day before, in Verona. ‘Declamazione di parole in libertà dovunque,’ he continued, ‘in molte sale e specialmente a Venezia all’Hotel Victoria, dove attualmente c’è un’Esposizione del piccolo gruppo degli Avanzati e Semifuturisti Rossi (di Burano), Cavallini, ecc.’ (Declamation of free-word poetry everywhere, in many halls and especially in Venice at the Hotel Victoria, where there is an exhibition by the little group of Advanced Thinkers and Semi-Futurists Rossi [from Burano], Cavallini, etc.).29 Despite the bellicose tone of the manifesto’s initial paragraphs, the plays themselves reveal remarkably little concern for the cataclysmic events then taking place. Indeed, the theme of war is conspicuously absent. Conceived not as propaganda pieces but as radical experiments, they sought to revolutionize the theatre more than anything else.30 In keeping with the Futurist love of provocation, they were also totally outrageous. Pratella’s play, which at some point was retitled Notturno (Nocturn), revolves around a married couple who live in utter poverty. While the husband gazes rapturously out the window at millions of stars, his wife complains about their condition and his lack of concern. When three thieves break into the house, beat him up, and steal his wife (who gladly joins them), he merely returns to the window to gaze at the stars. Billed as ‘a drama of objects,’ Marinetti’s Vengono (They are coming) is the only play mentioned in the manifesto. Situated midway between Maurice Maeterlinck’s The Intruder (1890) and Eugène Ionesco’s The Chairs (1955), it features two servants who continuously rearrange a number of chairs in expectation of visitors who never arrive. Cowering in a corner, they watch unbelievingly as the chairs file out of the room by themselves, propelled by a mysterious force.

22

The Other Futurism

We know from the manifesto that the sintesi were performed by several touring companies, headed initially by Ettore Berti and later by Luigi Zoncada and Ettore Petrolini, among others. Judging from the traces that remain, they generally gave a single performance in each of the towns on their itinerary. Complementing the plays and the music, Futurist paintings were habitually exhibited on the stage. In preparation for the Venetian performance, which took place at the Teatro Rossini on 12 February 1915, the Gazzetta di Venezia devoted a lengthy article to the recent manifesto.31 The first detailed analysis of Synthetic Theatre to appear anywhere, it was basically a mixed review. Authored by Gino Damerini, who claimed to be sympathetic to the Futurist cause, it examined the document point by point. The latter, Damerini declared, was ‘uno dei migliori manifesti futuristi’ (one of the best Futurist manifestos) to appear to date – clear and well organized. Despite several internal contradictions, many statements were extremely reasonable and echoed what drama critics had been saying for hundreds of years. Indeed, Damerini continued, the Futurists were not nearly as revolutionary as they proclaimed. Many of the weapons they were using to combat traditional theatre, for example, were simply borrowed from their adversaries. Citing a phrase from the manifesto, ‘tutto è teatro quando ha valore’ (everything of any value is theatre), he objected that the reactionary dramatist Edmond Rostand had uttered virtually the same words. Despite the fundamental myopia that plagued Marinetti and his colleagues, Damerini added, they persisted in gazing into space and hence managed to see nothing at all. Like Futurist propaganda, Futurist dynamism was useful to the extent that it stimulated artists to re-examine their art. Otherwise, he concluded, ‘mi sembra conato sterile destinato a perdersi nel niente’ (it seems to me to be completely useless). Il problema della riforma teatrale è un problema di contenuto, non un problema di tecnica ... Ripeto: non credo all’arte futurista, ma credo a una funzione dinamica del futurismo ... L’esperimento sintetista di questa sera non creerà un diritto di cittadinanza alle battute in libertà fatte di parole in libertà. Ma se riuscisse – come si propone – a ‘eliminare il preconcetto della ribalta,’ a ‘sinfonizzare la sensibilità del pubblico,’ ad ‘abolire nel pubblico il pregiudizio della tecnica,’ ce sarebbe da concludere con un elogio al sintetismo teatrale. The problem with theatrical reform is related to content rather than tech-

Futurism in Venice

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nique ... I repeat: I do not believe in Futurist art, but I beleve in Futurism’s dynamic function ... The synthetic experiment planned for tonight will not legitimize the libertarian aspirations of the parole in libertà. But if it managed – as it proposes – to ‘eliminate the preconception of footlights,’ to ‘symphonize the audience’s sensibility,’ to ‘abolish the audience’s obsession with technique,’ one would have to conclude with a eulogy of theatrical synthetism.

Unfortunately, owing to circumstances beyond anyone’s control, the eulogy envisioned by Damerini had to be postponed. An anonymous review of the performance in the Gazzetta di Venezia the next day explained why.32 The hall was packed to the rafters, the writer reported, especially the balcony, even though the seats were more costly than those on the ground floor. Most of the crowd simply wanted to see what the Futurists were up to. ‘Ma una minoranza ... s’era munita di argomenti che con le idee e col cervello hanno poco di comune: carote, patate, gettoni, stelle filanti, trombette, zufoli, ecc.’ (But a minority ... had supplied themselves with arguments that have little in common with ideas or with the brain: carrots, potatoes, tokens, coloured streamers, toy trumpets, tin flutes, etc.). While a number of spectators attempted to discourage their rowdy neighbours, they eventually gave up. In brief, pandemonium reigned from the beginning of the performance until its conclusion two and a half hours later. The real spectacle, the reporter declared – one that was far from comforting – took place not on stage but among the audience. Having encountered similar receptions previously, the actors remained unperturbed and performed the eleven works on the bill. But their words were lost in all the commotion, which made it difficult to appreciate the performance. Eppure qualcuno dei drammetti per ciò che richiamava alla memoria, per ciò che di evidente recava con sè, per le sue derivazioni, per le sue intenzioni avrebbe meritato un uditorio ed un esame spassionati ... La serata è terminata con uno scambio di invettive tra Marinetti ed i cancaneggianti. Nessun incidente grave. La Questura aveva prese misure straordinarie di precauzione ... per tutelare il vicino consolato di Germania! And yet in view of their evocative qualities, their merits, their origins, or their intentions, some of the playlets would have deserved to be examined by an impartial audience ... The evening ended with an exchange of abuse between Marinetti and

24

The Other Futurism the rowdies. No serious incidents. The police had taken special precautionary measures ... to protect the neighbouring German consulate!

Cangiullo recalled that despite the hostile reception, the box office receipts were excellent and the Futurists had several vociferous supporters. Returning to Venice ten years later, he could still see where someone had painted ‘Viva Marinetti!’ and ‘Viva Cangiullo!’ on the front of the theatre.33 Lunatics and Madmen ‘Poche sere addietro, in uno dei teatri cittadini,’ a spectator reported on 22 February 1915, ‘il nostro amico Marinetti, in collaborazione di E. Settimelli e B. Corradini, ci diede il godimento di una prima prova del teatro futurista sintetico’ (A few nights ago, in one of the local theatres, our friend Marinetti, in collabortion with E. Settimelli and B. Corradini, gave us the pleasure of experiencing synthetic Futurist theatre for the first time). After enumerating the principles of this startling new genre, he added that those spectators who were privileged to witness the event completely failed to appreciate it. Entitled ‘Il teatro futurista sintetico’ and authored by someone called Breda, who, like most of the contributors, gave only his last name, the article appeared in a journal called I pazzi (The madmen). Like Marinetti in ‘Uccidiamo il chiaro di luna!,’ who compared his colleagues to an army of lunatics, Breda and his friends wore this term of opprobrium as a proud badge. Among other things, it testified to the strength of their convictions, to their determination to break with the accepted order. At the same time, they seem to have enjoyed a certain amount of support in the Venetian community, for the journal was filled with advertisements. Emblazoned in huge letters, the title (like the numerous illustrations) was printed in bright green ink. Published by the Ca’ Pesaro group, which by this time included additional artists and writers, the journal resembled a four-page newspaper. Whereas formerly the group had merely flirted with Futurism, by 1915 its members not only supported the Futurist cause but considered themselves Futurists as well. Eager to proclaim their allegiance, they appended a quote by Marinetti to the journal’s masthead. La Guerra, futurismo intensificato, non uccidera mai la Guerra, come sperano i passatisti, ma uccidera il passatismo ... La Guerra esautorera

Futurism in Venice

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tutti i suoi nemici: diplomatici, professori, filosofi, archeologhi, critici, ossessione culturale, greco, latino, storia, senilismo, musei, biblioteche, industria dei forestieri. The War, exacerbated Futurism, will never destroy War, as those who are obsessed with the past hope, but will destroy the obsession with the past ... The War will discredit all its enemies: diplomats, professors, philosophers, archeologists, critics, cultural obsessions, Greek, Latin, history, senilism, museums, libraries, foreign industry.

While Perocco claims I pazzi was published in June, an article by an anonymous reviewer appears to confirm the February date printed on the journal’s masthead.34 Discussing an art exhibition at the Hotel Vittoria the same month, the author mentioned that it included pictures by members of ‘il nostro gruppo giovanile di avanguardia’ (our young avant-garde group), who rejected rancid academic painting in favour of new and more acute artistic sensations. These included Gino Rossi, (Attilio) Cavallini, De Giudici, (Pietro) Morando, Springolo, (Vittorio) Zanetti Tassis, and the sculptor-painter (Bartolomeo) Sacchi. In addition, we know that Teodoro Wolf Ferrari participated in the show as well. The article also printed a bizarre exchange that took place between Rossi and the exhibition’s organizers, who seem to have had little sympathy for the Futurists. Convinced the latter were trying to humiliate him, Rossi refused to sell two works (a painting and a sketch), for which he would have received 200 lire. Drawings by four of the artists, which may have been included in the exhibition, were reproduced in the same issue of I pazzi – destined to be the only issue. Morando contributed a picture of a prizefighter in action entitled Simultaneità Boxeur, Rossi a drawing of two women in long robes, Gigi de Giudici a sketch of a dancer, and Sacchi a drawing of a squatting woman. Unfortunately, very little is known about most of the journal’s collaborators, who were rendered even more anonymous by suppressing their first names. Besides Rossi, the chief exception is Nino Springolo, a poet and painter who exhibited at Ca’ Pesaro as early as 1908.35 A former student of Cesare Laurenti’s, he was an especially gifted landscape painter who adopted a Fauvist style four years later. Incredibly, although their paths crossed at various points, Rossi and Springolo did not actually meet until after the war, when they became close friends. Writing in 1923, Rossi praised the sensitivity, subtlety, and delicacy of the latter’s paintings.36

26

The Other Futurism

Written by Morando, the first article in I pazzi bore the provocative title ‘Contro i vecchi’ (Against old people). Young artists, it maintained, have always encountered fierce opposition from the older members of their community – who represent their worst adversaries. In a companion piece entitled ‘Liberiamoci’ (Let’s liberate ourselves), Sacchi insisted they needed to free themselves from the influence not only of older people but of older art. Marinetti, il meraviglioso agitatore che vuol innalzare l’arte nostra al disopra di quella degli altri paesi, e venuto nella nostra città in un momento di risveglio e ha trovato gente che lo aspettava e che lo ha capito. L’arte vecchia è morta; una nuova e nata, rude primitiva. Marinetti, that marvellous agitator who wants to elevate our art to the topmost level of art in other countries, came to our city at a moment when it was experiencing a revival and found people who were waiting for him and who understood him. Old art is dead; a new, rough, primitive art has been born.

The last page included an article by Zuffelato devoted to ‘Musica,’ two visual poems, and a drawing by Cavallini entitled – in the best Futurist manner – Donna + Caffè Riche. Composed by Paolo Buzzi, the first poem was taken from his Poema dei quarant’anni – a much longer work that, as the editor assured his readers, was ‘inedito’ (unpublished). In fact, it would not appear in print until 1922. Since Buzzi was a charter member of the Futurist movement, his presence in I pazzi, like that of Marinetti, underscored the journal’s commitment to Futurism. And since the text was unpublished, the Ca’ Pesaro group may have developed a personal relationship with its author, whose influence in any case is evident in the second poem. Scattered across the page, Buzzi’s text consisted of the following six words, which were enclosed in a rectangular frame: ‘Sceghi, una Stella, chiamala, futurismo, viaggera’ (Fragments, a Star, call it, futurism, it will go far).37 Complementing the central metaphor, each word was juxtaposed with a large asterisk that symbolized the Futurists’ stellar accomplishments and the brilliant future awaiting them. Composed by Cavallini, the second poem was entitled ‘Restaurant notturno’ and consisted entirely of infinitives and nouns, as Marinetti advocated on numerous occasions. In order to free the modern imagination, he explained in the ‘Manifesto tecnico della letteratura futurista’ (1912), one must destroy syntax, ‘dis-

Futurism in Venice

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ponendo i sostantivi a caso, come nascono’ (scattering the nouns at random, just as they are born). Dated ‘Paris, 12 decembre 1914 Montmartre,’ the composition evokes the hustle and bustle of a crowded restaurant and the arrival of several ladies of the evening. Luce 2000 candele Tintinnio ..... Fruscio

‘Odore Sapore’

Brulicare ‘Occhi Brillanti’ Guardare Correre gridare cercare Andare Venire COCOTTES!!! Light 2000 watts Tinkling ..... Murmuring ‘Odours Flavours’ Swarming ‘Shining Eyes’ Watching Running shouting searching Going Coming COURTESANS!!!

One week earlier, while I pazzi was probably still at the printer’s, the Futurist movement was rocked by a major defection. Signed by Giovanni Papini, Aldo Palazzeschi, and Ardengo Soffici, an article entitled ‘Futurismo e Marinettismo’ appeared in Lacerba that served as a decla-

28

The Other Futurism

ration of independence. Writing to Boccioni a few weeks later, Gino Rossi hastened to assure him that the Venetian group was still loyal. ‘La gesuitica campagna di Lacerba,’ he declared, ‘non fa che accrescere la nostra ammirazione per Marinetti ed il valoroso gruppo futurista’ (The Jesuitical campaign waged by Lacerba only increases our admiration for Marinetti and the valiant Futurist group).38 He and his friends, he continued, were well aware of the latter’s revolutionary accomplishments, which contrasted with the Florence group’s pale imitations. In addition, Rossi thanked Boccioni for sending him a copy of a letter by Luigi Russolo – one of many documents engendered by the ongoing dispute. Angered by the audacity of Papini and his colleagues, who proclaimed they were the only true Futurists, Russolo sent them a strongly worded protest. According to all indications, copies of this letter were mailed to the other Futurists in order to solicit their support. Although Rossi’s copy has not survived, it was undoubtedly identical to the one Gino Severini received dated 30 March 1915.39 If the Futurists had no objections, Rossi continued, he would publish the letter in a forthcoming issue of I pazzi, which would be more artistically satisfying than the first, hastily assembled issue. In addition to various texts by Marinetti, which would be useful for propaganda purposes, he wanted to include selections from Boccioni’s Pittura scultura futuriste, ‘al quale devo molte nuove e preziose cognizioni’ (to which I owe many new and precious insights). Adding that he hoped to see Boccioni before long, he urged the artist to send him some Futurist poetry and some pamphlets on painting and sculpture. Italy’s entry into the war three months later prevented Rossi and his colleagues from publishing a second issue of I pazzi. Many if not most of them were drafted into the army, where they remained for the next four years. By May 1916, when Annibale Ninchi’s company performed a new group of sintesi at the Teatro Rossini, few if any Venetian Futurists were present. Now that Italy was officially at war, many of the plays were filled with patriotic fervour and/or anti-German sentiment. In Marinetti’s Il soldato lontano (The distant soldier), for example, a draft dodger attempts to seduce a soldier’s fiancée, who remains faithful to his memory while he is absent. Entitled La camera dell’ufficiale (The officer’s room), a second play is situated at the front itself, where a hastily vacated room is blown to smithereens. In a third play by Marinetti, L’arresto (The arrest), a bunch of cowardly critics claim to know more about war than the soldiers in the room. When one of them is accidentally killed, he is arrested by the police for creating a big

Futurism in Venice

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stink. Davanti all’infinito (Faced with the infinite), by Corra and Settimelli, attacks the nihilistic foundations of German philosophy. In the face of the infinite, a philosopher from Berlin complains, all things are equal. Convinced there is no difference between reading a newspaper and firing a gun, he picks up a revolver and blows his brains out. The company’s repertoire also included Remo Chiti’s Giallo e nero (Yellow and black), Cangiullo’s Pancia del vaso (The bulge in the vase), Boccioni’s Kultur, and two works by Settimelli: Kaiseriana and Tricolore. On leave from the front, Marinetti himself recited dramatic poems filled with explosive onomatopoeia about life on the battlefield. Instead of throwing things at the performers, audiences everywhere responded enthusiastically. The Second Phase Artistic activity did not resume in Venice until July 1919, when most of the original Ca’ Pesaro group exhibited at the Galleria d’Arte Moderna. Eager to attract outside talent, Barbantini invited Carrà and Soffici to participate and tried to obtain some architectural drawings by Antonio Sant’ Elia, who had been killed in the war.40 However, both Carrà and Soffici – who were no longer Futurists – declined the invitation, and the drawings never materialized. Despite this and other attempts to revive the initial Venetian avant-garde, 1920 witnessed its rapid dissolution. Outraged at various changes imposed by the commission governing Ca’ Pesaro, Rossi and the others boycotted the annual exhibition and held their own show at the Galleria Geri Boralevi in St Mark’s Square. At the same time, perhaps as a result, many artists left Venice for other cities or other countries. Like Leonardo Dudreville and Lucio Venna, who had moved to Milan and Florence respectively during the previous decade, Giovanni Korompay divided his time between Ferrara and Bologna. Arturo Martini settled in Milan, Felice Casorati in Turin, and several other painters in Paris. The artists who remained in Venice exhibited at Ca’ Pesaro occasionally and at the Biennial, but as individuals rather than as members of a group. In 1920, a retrospective exhibition was held at the Venice Biennial in honour of Umberto Moggioli, who had died the preceding year. During the next two decades, Teodoro Wolf Ferrari, Casorati, Sacchi, Pio Semeghini, Springolo, Cavallini, and Morando participated in the Biennial on a regular basis. By contrast, pictures by Rossi and Garbari appeared much less frequently. Satisfied to let others carry the avant-

30

The Other Futurism

garde banner, the members of the earlier group continued to paint and received increasing recognition. Casorati was awarded a one-man show at the Biennial in 1924, while Martini received the same honour in 1942. Springolo and Semeghini won important prizes in 1928, Wolf Ferrari in 1930, Martini in 1936, and Casorati in 1938. When the Prima Quadriennale Nazionale d’Arte opened in Rome in 1931, Venetian artists also fared exceptionally well. Martini was awarded first prize for sculpture, while Casorati and Semeghini received third and fourth prizes respectively for painting. As the 1920s wore on, Futurism gradually acquired increasing momentum in Venice. The beginning of the decade witnessed an attempt to revitalize Futurist drama, which Marinetti felt had grown somewhat stale, and the creation of the Theatre of Surprise. Conceived largely by Francesco Cangiullo, the new genre borrowed elements from previous theatrical forms, including the serate, and was performed by professional entertainers. Debuting in Naples on 30 September 1921, Rodolfo de Angelis’s Compagnia del Teatro della Sorpresa performed in nearly two dozen cities throughout Italy. Following appearances in Florence, Genoa, Turin, and Milan, the company performed in Venice in November before concluding its tour in February 1922. ‘In most cities,’ Berghaus reports, ‘mirth and hilarity prevailed in the audience. Some numbers were given serious attention, others were greeted with a shower of vegetables. The dances won unanimous applause (especially a Futurist foxtrot, a parody of the latest society dances, and a tango danced to Marinetti’s onomatopoeic battle poems), but a great many sintesi were drowned out by the general hubbub.’41 Adding to the confusion, the Futurists also played tricks on the spectators, such as reversing the normal ticket prices or selling multiple tickets to the same seat. Similarly, one of the plays called for an actor to be thrown off the balcony during a fight. Only later did the unsuspecting audience discover that a dummy had been substituted at the last moment. Alberto Vianello In 1922, Alfredo Trimarco (who lived in Salerno) published a book of poetry entitled Stelle (Stars) in Venice. Featuring an artistic cover by the painter Dellazorza, it received favourable publicity not only locally, where it was reviewed in Tricolore in June, but farther afield. Marinetti was particularly impressed by the volume and predicted a brilliant

Futurism in Venice

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career for the poet. ‘Lo considero un magnifico libro parolibero,’ he proclaimed; ‘questo, per me, è uno dei più grandi elogi che si possano fare al libro di un giovane (I consider it a magnificent free-word book which, for me, is one of the greatest accolades I can bestow on a book by a young author).42 The first Venetian writer to attract widespread attention was Alberto Vianello, whose name appeared in a list of Futurist poets in Nelson Morpurgo’s Il fuoco delle piramidi (The fire of the pyramids) in 1923. The following year, he attended the Primo Congresso Nazionale Futurista in Milan, where he delivered a lecture entitled ‘Gli spazi sensitivi – Creazione di una tavola dei sensi’ (Sensory spaces – The creation of a painting of the senses). Vianello contributed a poem to Originalità (Reggio di Calabria) the same year, participated in the Futurist assault of Bologna, and discussed the aesthetic role of the senses in several Futurist journals, including La scintilla (The spark) published in Cremona.43 In 1925, Marinetti included two of Vianello’s poems in an important anthology, I nuovi poeti futuristi: ‘Luci fischi spilli anidride carbonica’ (Lights whistles pins carbon dioxide) and ‘Pittura descrittiva’ (Descriptive painting). Conceived essentially as monologues, the two texts are quite different. Presenting fragmented and distorted impressions, the second evokes an encounter with an ‘elegant individual.’ Here and elsewhere, Michele Ruele remarks, Vianello tries to re-create the world and his own sensations.44 By contrast, the first text consists of a violent diatribe directed against an anonymous woman. Unlike its companion poem, it is filled with sadomasochistic images and erotic fantasies. cricricricricristalli freddi frivoli di trilli di bimbi penetrare di aghi infiltrare stringere di lacci grigrigrigrigio perla – ho desiderato la tua morte ti odio impreco il destino che non ti fa udire questi accordi di settima di striscie di grigi – i tuoi brillanti di vetro striato mi bruciano non grillare il coltello sul piatto t’imprecherò fino a quando girando girando non si spezzino le corde del tuo mandolino timpano come una pioggerella di marzo

32

The Other Futurism sui miei nervi batte la grandine del rimorso se fossi scoperto confonderei il grido di disperazione col piacere di sentire le mie dita asportate da un’elica furiosa o col torcermi le unghie o col tuffarmi tra la neve coi denti smaltati per respirare il dolore – e tu donna mi perdonerai il viscido umore della mia barba rasa contro la tua pelle bianca ch’io afferrerei ch’io torcerei con la mia tenaglia se acutizzando il mio pensiero non riuscissi ad acciuffare il limite – nuda ti vorrei davanti ad uno speccho sgangherato ... cold frivolous crycrycrycrycrystals of children’s trills needles stabbing penetrating nooses squeezing pearl grgrgrgrey – I desired your death I detest you I curse the fate that prevents you from hearing these seventh chords of grey streaks – your jewels of striated glass are burning me don’t sizzle your knife on the plate I will curse you until winding winding your mandolin’s strings do not break kettledrum like a March drizzle a hail of remorse beats against my nerves if I were discovered I would confuse my cry of desperation with the pleasure of feeling my fingers amputated by a furious propeller or with twisting my fingernails or with plunging my enamelled teeth into the snow in order to breathe the pain – and you woman you will forgive the slippery sap

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of my close-cropped beard against your white skin which I want to clutch which I want to pinch with my pliers if sharpening my thought I didn’t manage to grasp the limit – I want to see you naked before an unhinged mirror ...

The next fifty lines explore the love/hate relationship that binds Vianello to the mysterious woman in greater detail. What makes the poem so unusual is the extent to which it draws on the poet’s unconscious. It is filled not only with signs of his amorous passion but with violent impulses that emerge from the depths of his psyche. Unexpectedly, Vianello seems to have become a Surrealist. The Futurist element reasserts itself in the final section, however, where the woman assumes her true identity. Little by little, as Glauco Viazzi notes, she becomes ‘assimilabile alla macchina intesa come entità mitologica’ (assimilable to the machine considered as a mythological entity).45 Although human machines play a prominent role in Futurism, beginning with Gazourmah in Marinetti’s Mafarka le futuriste (1909), they are invariably male. While Vianello’s Donna-Macchina possesses the same superhuman strength, the fact that she is female complicates the situation in interesting ways. It introduces an erotic element, for example, that motivates the poet to record his sexual and mechanical ambivalence. That a Futurist should doubt the value of machines comes as a considerable surprise. What finally allows Vianello to embrace the Woman-Machine is the realization that she is a repository of language, whose origins are inextricably involved with her own. il tuo odore è pesce bruciato e marcito è acido solfidrico il tuo senso è carta vetrata sulla carne viva come il rimorso allume di rocca – non parlo fremo sei la velocità la macchina creatrice di sillabe trituratrice

34

The Other Futurism macchina così ti voglio ed i figli saranno apparecchi di precisione. your odour is of burnt, rotten fish is of sulphuric acid your mind is sandpaper on living flesh like remorse rock alum – I am not speaking I am trembling you are speed machine creator of pulverizing syllables thus I want you machine and our children will be precision devices.

Vianello continued to play an active role in Futurist circles for many years thereafter. Writing in Futurismo in 1933, he proclaimed his passion for machines once again. ‘E certo,’ he declared, ‘che il contatto con le macchine è oggi assai più intimo di quello che era ieri il contatto con i panorami o con i resti di un pranzo cosidetti nature morte’ (Our contact with machines today is much more intimate than our former contact with landscapes or with those sad leftovers known as still lifes).46 For this reason, he explained, mechanical aesthetics have superseded traditional aesthetics. The new heroes are men who work with machines – like the lathe operator who turns a block of wood into a work of art. At the same time, Vianello’s poetry continued to appear in L’impero (The empire) and other Futurist reviews. Apparently in 1932, he won a Futurist poetry contest in Verona, whose judges were Marinetti and Renzo Bertozzi, which qualified him to participate in the national finals in Milan the following year. In 1932, Vianello also contributed a poem to a volume edited by Fortunato Depero in honour of the Futurist leader: Futurismo 1932 Anno X, S.E. Marinetti nel Trentino (S.E. stands for Sua Eccellenzia, an honorific title bestowed on members of the Accademia Italiana). Located at the intersection of perception and cognition, ‘Bicchiere d’acqua’ illustrates an additional aspect of his poetics. Conceived as a ‘pittura descrittiva,’ like the second poem in I

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nuovi poeti futuristi, it records Vianello’s thoughts and impressions as he contemplates a glass of water. Analysing the subtle interplay of lines and reflections, which strike him as curiously insubstantial, he decides to order something else to drink. Lunghe corde di luci segate da coni di ombre scorgere la linea dell’ellisse il cerchio le immagini allungare decifrare le vibrazioni dei riflessi tagli di lampade non bevo la sete è a punte come la geometria delle forze vettori non bevo schioccare delle labbra asciutte deciditi non bevo non c’è il volume è troppo forte il senso tagliente piuttosto mi pungerei la gola col ghiaccio ma bere quell’acqua in quel bicchiere non è per me non vedo non vedo non bevo voglio l’ombra il volume fischi accaniti contro il reale rimpicciolito piccolo piccolo di parole e di forme sprezzate tagliate non bevo non sento il peso del senso rotondo gonfiato di forze il colmo: non distinguono la linea dell’acqua

36

The Other Futurism non bevo piuttosto un bicchiere di vino. Long strings of lights sliced by cones of shadow perception of the elliptical line the circle the images become elongated deciphering the reflections’ vibrations slices of lamps I do not drink my thirst is at its highest point like the geometry of vector forces I do not drink cracking of my dry lips make up your mind I do not drink it isn’t the volume the sharp sensation is too strong I would rather stab my throat with an icicle drinking that water in that glass is not for me I do not see I do not see I do not drink I want shadow volume persistent whistles against diminished reality tiny tiny sliced despicable words and forms I do not drink I cannot feel the weight of the cylindrical sensation swollen with forces worst of all: I can’t discern the water’s surface I do not drink

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rather a glass of wine.

Renzo Bertozzi In contrast to Vianello, who strove to achieve national visibility, Renzo Bertozzi was the chief animator of Venetian Futurism during the 1920s. Despite his focus on regional events, he received letters, cards, and telegrams from virtually all the Futurists at one time or another.47 Shortly after joining the movement in 1922, he contacted Marinetti about organizing an exhibition of Futurist art in Venice. Considerable time seems to have elapsed before Marinetti replied, on 15 September, that he had not forgotten the project. With his letter he enclosed a copy of his latest book, Gli amori futuristi: Programmi di vita con varianti a scelta (Futurist loves: Programs for living with selected variations). Bertozzi devoured this collection of curious stories, which sought to ‘[sprovincializzerare] lo spirito del lettore con un sana ginnastica extralogica’ ([deprovincialize] the reader’s spirit with healthy extralogical gymnastics), and dashed off the following note four days later: Caro Marinetti, grazie del vostro ‘Amori futuristi,’ letto – entusiasta – avete schiacciato tutto il sentimentalismo nostalgico-erotico che si crogiolava dei amori e avete sviscerato tutta l’incomparabile bellezza della comprensione futurista della vita. Voi siete un inarrivabile creatore. Renzo Bertozzi Dear Marinetti, thank you for your Amori futuristi, which I have read – enthusiastically – you have completely smashed the nostalgic-erotic sentimentalism in which love was wallowing and you have analysed the incomparable beauty of the Futurist understanding of life. You are an exceptional creator. Renzo Bertozzi48

Marinetti discussed the Venetian exhibition with several painters in the fall, including Enrico Prampolini, who began corresponding with Bertozzi himself. At some point, the artist persuaded Marinetti and Bertozzi to devote the show entirely to his own paintings. Comprising 150 paintings and drawings, Prampolini’s one-man show was held at the Lido di Venezia from 24 August to 30 September 1923.

38

The Other Futurism

The Theatre of Surprise Another Futurist event took place in November, when Rodolfo de Angelis’s Compagnia del Teatro della Sorpresa performed at the Teatro Goldoni. Marinetti and Cangiullo had two years before published a manifesto, ‘Il teatro della sorpresa,’ which grouped their previous theories together under a single heading. ‘Il nostro Teatro della Sorpresa,’ they proclaimed, ‘si propone di esilarare sorprendendo, con tutti i mezzi, fatti idee contrasti non ancora portati da noi sul palcoscenico’ (Our Theatre of Surprise proposes to astonish and exhilarate the public by every means, deed, idea, contrast not yet performed on stage). Besides various sintesi (including Vengono) belonging to the company’s repertoire, the Venetians may have seen a sketch entitled Giardini pubblici (Public gardens), in which two lovers kiss on a park bench while six actors pretend to go for an automobile ride. Or Musica da toletta (Boudoir music), by Marinetti and Gianni Calderone, in which two chambermaids and a child dust and polish a piano whose legs rest in elegant women’s shoes. Or they may have heard Marinetti declaim ‘Battaglia nella nebbia’ (Battle in the fog), while a bass drum imitated exploding bombs and a couple danced a languid tango. The following year, de Angelis toured twenty-eight Italian cities with Il Nuovo Teatro Futurista and a repertoire of some forty works. On 25 January 1924, the troupe gave a memorable performance at the Teatro Goldoni consisting of various sintesi, several ‘drammi tattili’ (tactile plays), free-word poetry by Cangiullo and Marinetti, and three mechanical ballets. Berghaus reports that a double cordon of police collected a sackful of vegetables from people entering the theatre.49 Despite their precautions, a huge cabbage landed in front of Marinetti either during this performance or the previous one. Interrupting his dramatic reading, the Futurist leader angrily demanded, ‘Quel signore ha lanciato ai miei piedi il prodotto del suo cervello?’ (Which gentleman has thrown the product of his brain at my feet?).50 Written and costumed by Fortunato Depero, with music by Franco Casavola, the first ballet bore the enigmatic title Anihccam del 3000 (macchina spelled backwards plus the year 3000).51 Also known as Anikam del 2000, it took place before a backdrop depicting a mechanized metallic city in multiple perspective. Gliding into a train station on imaginary rails, two locomotives began a dance that revealed they had fallen in love with the flag-waving stationmaster (figure 2). While an onomatopoeic song simulated their conversation, their rhythmic movements were punctuated by the sound of a piccolo and the roar of a motorcycle.

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Figure 2. Fortunato Depero, locomotive costumes for Anihccam del 3000, 1924.

Figure 3. Enrico Prampolini, costumes and scenery for Psicologia delle macchine (Psychology of machines), 1924.

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Authored by Silvio Mix with scenery and costumes by Prampolini, the second ballet was equally inventive and equally outrageous.52 Entitled Psicologia delle macchine, it was danced by two individuals in horseshoe-shaped masks and silver-and-black costumes (figure 3), whose precise movements suggested gears and pistons. Framed by various trees and plants, the stylized set depicted the interior of a house. Despite the loud, brassy music that accompanied the dance, most audiences reacted enthusiastically. Created by Prampolini and Casavola, La danza dell’elica employed the same set and featured a single female dancer dressed as a gigantic silver propeller. This brief ballet consisted of four parts: (1) preparations for the flight, (2) the flight itself, (3) enjoyment at flying through the air, and (4) confusion when the propeller suddenly shatters. Special sound effects were achieved by adding a metal sheet and a wind machine to the orchestra. Some reviewers reported that gasoline fumes were introduced into the theatre. Arabau BARU Hoping to generate some publicity for the performance, Bertozzi and Paolo Foscari published a journal called Arabau BARU shortly before de Angelis and his troupe arrived.53 Umberto Carpi speculates that the single issue was sold or distributed free at the theatre door. The mysterious title was taken from a ritual greeting employed by the Venetians, who sought to emulate other Futurists elsewhere: ‘Arabau baru / Arabau baru / Arabau baru / A / A / A / Ui.’ By printing each of the letters in progressively larger fonts, the editors transformed the phrase into a kind of battle cry. Complementing the enigmatic title, a subtitle proclaimed the journal’s allegiance: Argomento dei futuristi veneziani. Consisting of four oversized pages, the publication resembled a newspaper more than a journal. Judging from the last page, which was entirely devoted to advertising, Bertozzi and his friends enjoyed a surprising amount of community support. Several merchants even seem to have entered into the spirit of the game. One advertisement urged readers to drink ‘bibite esotiche, fantastiche, futuriste’ (exotic, fantastic, Futurist soft drinks), while another extolled the Futurist virtues of a local beer. An advertisement for a photographer’s studio even attributed the triumph of photography to the Futurist movement. The front page featured a painting of Capri by Prampolini, framed by the slogans marciare non marcire and tutto il futurismo, and an announcement that the Nuovo Teatro Futurista would perform at the

42

The Other Futurism

Figure 4. Nelson Morpurgo, ‘Caserma + Strada’ (Barracks + street).

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Teatro Goldoni on 25 January. In addition, the editors published a copy of the evening’s program and listed the members of the Futurist movement. The next two pages were occupied primarily by original compositions. Entitled ‘Caserma + Strada’ (Barracks + street) and ‘Il cuore in bocca’ (Heart in mouth), two free-word poems by Nelson Morpurgo appeared on the second page, following an excerpt from ‘Il teatro futurista sintetico.’ Like its companion, which was equally adventurous, ‘Caserma + Strada’ (figure 4) employed a series of visual effects to evoke a specific stato d’animo: 1:30 SILENNCE goood

bye

my

beautygoodbYe

the yooung men

sangastheydeparted

SILENT BARRACKS ding dingaling

dingalingaling

the street the street

is SINGING drowsy soldiers

children

bivouacked sleepwalkers

singing annoying songs

singing hoarse songs

and rolling around

in the immense burnt

in the dusty

courtyard of the

street

SUN

SUMMER

Printed in boldface type, an anonymous text appeared elsewhere in Arabau BARU, devoted to Giulio Salom, who, in contrast to Morpurgo, was a Venetian Futurist: Il futurismo trae ispirazione dalle scoperte più gigantesche della umanità ... dalle onde

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The Other Futurism radiotelegrafiche si sprigiona la musica dell’avvenire ... tutte le sinfonie celesti sono condensate nella bocca magnifica e mostruosa dell’altoparlante ... fili + antenne + lampi × baci lunghi sulle nuvole ... velocità ++++ il futurismo veneziano conta un gran maestro delle onde in giulio salom Futurism draws inspiration from humanity’s most gigantic discoveries ... the music of the future is emitted by radio waves ... all the heavenly symphonies are condensed in the loudspeaker’s magnificent and monstrous mouth ... wires + antennas + lightning flashes × long kisses on the clouds ... speed ++++ Venetian Futurism recognizes a great master of the waves in Giulio Salom

Unfortunately, little more is known about Giulio Salom, who apparently failed to live up to his artistic promise. Despite the grandiose claims expressed above, he dropped from sight and, with one interesting exception, was never heard of again. Three years later, he published a book entitled Le radiocommunicazioni nel diritto internazionale e nel progetto di convenzione di Washington (Padua: Milani, 1927). The convention in question, which sought to regulate the international transmission of radio waves, took place the very same year. One gathers that Salom was either a lawyer who was interested in international law or an engineer who worked in the field of radiocommunication. The remainder of the page was occupied by two Venetian versions of Synthetic Theatre: Paolo Foscari’s ‘Rompimento’ (Rupture) and a composition entitled ‘La rivolta’ (Revolt), authored by someone called Ghisa. In contrast to the first text, which was divided into ‘two surprising-synthetic-theatrical movements,’ the second was essentially allegorical. Juxtaposing ‘Il Giovane’ (The youth) with characters such as ‘Il Sofista’ (The sophist), ‘Il Barbogio’ (The senile man), and ‘La Morale,’ the author evoked the Futurists’ opposition to bourgeous institutions. Much of the third page was occupied by two historical documents: ‘Contro Venezia passatista,’ authored by Marinetti, Boccioni, Carrà, and Russolo in 1910, and the ‘Discorso futurista ai Veneziani,’ which Marinetti delivered at the Teatro La Fenice the same year. Hoping to convert the Venetian public to their cause, the editors tactfully retitled the first document ‘Manifesto futurista ai Veneziani.’ These pronouncements

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were followed by an article by Bertozzi, entitled ‘Cose e persone da prendere a calci’ (Things and people that deserve a kick), which denounced the Venice Biennale for consistently excluding avant-garde works. The rest of the page was devoted to Futurist poetry. Authored by someone called Svenni, ‘Virilità’ celebrated the dynamic beauty of modern machinery and ‘la cubica nudità’ (the cubic nudity) of Futurist architecture. By contrast, Paolo Buzzi’s ‘I bersaglieri’ (The sharpshooters) and ‘La lavandaia’ (The washerwoman) and Foscari’s ‘L’organetto’ (The barrel organ) were much more subdued. Like most Futurist publications during this period, Carpi observes, Arabau BARU exhibited both advanced and retrograde tendencies. Like their colleagues elsewhere, moreover, the Venetian Futurists were increasingly convinced that modern politics and modern aesthetics were interrelated, that they promised to restore the nation’s past glory. il fascismo conquista il mondo, one of the journal’s slogans proudly proclaimed, attraverso un’italia sempre piu futurista (fascism is conquering the world as italy becomes more and more futurist). Like Bertozzi, Marinetti was outraged by the Biennale’s conservative policies and by its refusal to recognize Futurism’s contributions to modern art. Returning in April for the annual exhibition, he delivered a scathing attack that disrupted the opening ceremonies and caught the organizers by surprise. Writing to Cangiullo from Milan on 24 April 1924, Marinetti gleefully described what happened. Carissimo Avrai ricevuto. Vengo da Venezia. Tu immagini certamente il parapiglia veramente futurista provocato dal mio discorso contro la Biennale. Ti saresti divertito un mondo in quella crema di donne sbattuta dal terrore. Metà della sala mi prese per un anarchico. La sera, acclamazione in Piazza San Marco, e nuovo discoro, mentre in teatro si dava l’Aida alla presenza del re, con un pubblico che aspettava agitato un mio secondo intervento!!! Maremoto veneziano! Ti abbraccio con affetto F.T. Marinetti My Dear Friend, You must have heard the news. I have just returned from Venice. You can imagine the truly Futurist commotion that my speech against the Biennale caused. You would have had a great time among all those society ladies, who

46

The Other Futurism were pale with terror. Half the audience took me for an anarchist. That night: general acclamation in Saint Mark’s Square and a new speech, while Aida was being performed before the king in a nearby theatre, with an audience anxiously expecting me to cause a second disruption!!! A Venetian tidal wave! Affectionately, F.T. Marinetti54

La Nuova Venezia The next day, Bertozzi and Foscari published the first issue of a review called La Nuova Venezia (New Venice). Conceived as a successor to Arabau BARU, whose newspaper format it continued, the journal was destined to have eleven issues in all. Unlike the former, which was simply a vehicle for Futurist expression, it proclaimed it was the Giornale di battaglia dei futuristi veneziani (Combat journal of the Venetian Futurists). From the beginning, La Nuova Venezia adopted a more aggressive stance than its predecessor and sought to influence contemporary events. The editors mounted a campaign to, among other things, remove a royal commissioner named Giordano, who was a member of the municipal council. ‘L’audacia e la violenza del contenuto [del giornale] mi entusiasmano,’ Prampolini wrote to Bertozzi on 28 July. ‘La polemica oltranzista è la più efficace per raggiungere gli obbiettivi. Hai visto? La vostra campagna ha ottenuto il massimo dei successi, il becchino di Venezia s’è dimesso’ (I am delighted with [the journal’s] audacity and violence. Extreme polemics are the most effective way to attain any objective. Have you seen the news? Your campaign has been wildly successful: Venice’s gravedigger has resigned).55 Sometime later, Prampolini received the news that a duel had taken place between Foscari and a local Fascist official. Pleased at the outcome, which was apparently in Foscari’s favour, he wrote on 4 August to recommend another official who deserved to be punished as well. However, he advised Bertozzi that it would be wise to develop good relations with the party secretary in Rome so the journal might receive a monthly subsidy. Prampolini also discussed several projects, including an article he had sent Bertozzi previously, and offered to contribute an essay on the Futurist architect Virgilio Marchi. Entitled ‘Paesaggi femminili: Le nuove creazioni plastiche’ (Feminine landscapes: New plastic creations), the first article appeared in La Nuova Venezia on 22 August, accompanied by several photographs. Prampolini’s ‘feminine landscapes’ turned out to be

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twelve wooden sculptures that he had recently exhibited at the Mostra del Ritratto Femminile in Monza. Several photographs appeared in the August issue of the Gazzetta di Venezia as well. Published on 12 September and 21 October, the next two numbers contained relatively few items related to Futurism. A painting by Giorgio Carmelich (who lived in Trieste) appeared in the October issue, together with an announcement that the Florentine Futurists were planning a program in Siena. On 6 November, Bertozzi received a letter from Prampolini concerning the Primo Congresso Futurista, scheduled for the end of the month, during which Marinetti was to be formally honoured. Urging him to devote a special issue of La Nuova Venezia to the Futurist leader, as other reviews were doing, Prampolini advised him where to find materials he could use. In a subsequent letter, he included a photograph of Marinetti and invited Bertozzi to borrow material from his own journal Noi (We). The final issue of La Nuova Venezia – a double issue – appeared on 22 November 1924, the day before the congress opened in Milan. Featuring Prampolini’s picture of the Futurist leader, the entire front page was devoted to the national convocation.56 Written by Marinetti himself, one of the articles celebrated the Futurist movement and invited members everywhere to attend the congress. In a long article entitled ‘F.T. Marinetti “animatore d’italianità,”’ Bertozzi sang the latter’s praise, emphasized his patriotism, and recalled the history of the movement. Every act of Marinetti’s turbulent existence, he announced, represented a hymn to Italy and a glorification of the Italian nation. Thanks to men like Marinetti – ‘il Grande Italiano, il Grande Animatore, il Precursore’ – Italy would manage once again to impose its intellectual supremacy on the rest of the world. The first paragraph set the tone for most of what followed. Domenica 23 corr. Milano, la città più futurista d’Italia, tributerà a F.T. Marinetti solenni onoranze. I grandi imbecili, i rammolliti classici, i tardigradi nati, i rifiuti dell’Italia giolittiana, e parecchista dell’anteguerra, grideranno allo scandalo: il Corriere della sera, l’organo massimo della cancrena passatista e antinazionale non ne parlerà neppure o appena si degnerà di scrivere poche righe di cronaca. Che importa! On Sunday, 23 November, Milan, the most Futurist city in Italy, will grant solemn honours to F.T. Marinetti. The worst imbeciles, senile morons, hopeless sloths, the refuse of Giolitti’s pre-war Italy, will scream their heads off: the Corriere della sera, that massive organ of passatista and anti-

48

The Other Futurism nationalist gangrene, will say nothing or will scarcely deign to devote a few lines to it. So what?

Subsequent pages included a visual poem by Bruno G. Sanzin entitled ‘bora + polvere’ (north wind + dust), an article by Bertozzi on ‘Futurismo e politica,’ and numerous photographs of works by Prampolini, Carmelich, and Antonio Marasco. In addition, the editors reprinted a manifesto that Prampolini had published in Noi in March. Entitled ‘L’atmosfera scenica futurista,’ it proposed to revolutionize stage technique by creating a ‘teatro poliespressivo.’ The problem with traditional theatre, Prampolini complained, was that it created an opposition between man and his environment, between synthesis and analysis. Polyexpressive theatre would eliminate this devisive dualism, he explained, by adopting synthetic and dynamic principles: ‘Come la plastica d’avanguardia volge la propria aspirazione verso le forme create dall’industria moderna, la lirica verso la telegrafia, così la tecnica teatrale s’orienta verso il dinamismo plastico della vita contemporanea, l’azione’ (Just as avant-garde art draws its inspiration from forms created by modern industry, just as poetry is inspired by telegraphy, so theatrical technique orients itself towards the plastic dynamism of contemporary life, action). By creating a four-dimensional space in which the actor would be reduced to a simple agent, the new theatre would concentrate on the play of abstract forces. Every work would dramatize the eternal transcendence of matter, becoming a magical revelation of a spiritual and scientific mystery. Marinetti seems to have returned to Venice in February 1926 during yet another lecture tour. Like that in Padua, his talk was probably devoted to Futurism’s putative relation to Fascism (see chapter 2). The Futurists’ vociferous campaign to be admitted to the Venice Biennial finally met with success the same year. Beginning in May 1926 and continuing until 1942, an entire room was reserved for Futurist artists at this prestigious exhibition. Throughout most of this period, Bertozzi played a crucial role in organizing the annual event. He not only decided which paintings would be exhibited, after lengthy consultation with the artists in question, but also supervised their actual installation as well. Writing on 2 February 1926, Prampolini suggested that Bertozzi devote a single issue of La Nuova Venezia – which had been defunct for over a year – to this landmark exhibition and added that he was coming to Venice himself on 20 February. On 18 April, he wrote again to announce that he and Marinetti would arrive a few days later

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and asked Bertozzi to find him an inexpensive room in the centre of the city. Other Futurists arrived for the opening of the exhibition, which represented the movement’s latest triumph. Instead of reviving his former journal, Bertozzi convinced the editors of Le Tre Venezie (The Three Venices) to let him edit a special issue. Entitled I futuristi italiani alla XV Biennale Veneziana, it included copious illustrations and several articles on Futurist art. The Aftermath While Futurists from all over the country continued to exhibit at the Biennial each year, Venetian Futurism itself experienced something of a decline. In 1931, the performance of Marinetti’s play Simultanina in Venice and Verona caused a considerable uproar. In both instances, Ruele reports, Bertozzi was involved in protracted battles that ensued.57 The same year, however, he moved to Verona and became involved with another Futurist group – which left his former associates without any effective leadership. According to Scudiero, three Venetians exhibited paintings at the Mostra Futurista in Mantua during 14–30 April 1933: Virgilio Valle, Arturo Cussigh, and Luigi Tollotti.58 The show opened at the Galleria Pesaro in Milan subsequently, where it was retitled ‘Omaggio futurista ad Umberto Boccioni.’ Valle and Tollotti also participated in the Grande Mostra Nazionale Futurista in Rome in October, together with Bertozzi and a certain Marchesani. Although Nello Voltolina (also known as Novo) belonged to the Futurist group in Padua, in 1935 he published a single issue of a journal in Venice entitled L’ascensore (The elevator). Subtitled Arciquaderno Goliardico (Great student notebook), it was noteworthy for the quality of its typography and graphics, which were clearly influenced by Futurism. A talented artist, Voltolina depicted an airplane pulling an elevator through the night sky on the cover. Threading its way between huge stylized letters, the flying machine and its cargo ascended higher and higher on the path to glory. Following his appointment to the Accademia d’Italia on 18 March 1929, Marinetti published a document that was to profoundly affect the nature of Futurist research thereafter: the ‘Manifesto della aeropittura’ (Manifesto of Futurist aeropainting). When the Second World War erupted ten years later, the Futurists were engulfed by the hostilities like everyone else in Italy and the rest of Europe. Although many if not most of the Futurists were drafted, a surprising amount of

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The Other Futurism

activity took place during the war. In 1940, following in Depero’s and Prampolini’s footsteps, Tullio Crali (from Gorizia) was honoured with a one-man show at the Venice Biennial. Marinetti was so impressed by Crali’s pictures, which consisted of aerial views seen from warplanes, that he lectured about them on the radio.59 He also published a booklet with the impressive title ‘Alla XXII Biennale internazionale d’arte trionfa la mostra personale di Crali: Nuova grande vittoria dell’aeropittura italiana primato plastico sopravanzante le pitture estere e primato nella glorificazione aeropittorica della veloce bombardante guerra aerea’ (Triumph of Crali’s one-man show at the XXII Biennale: Great new victory of Italian aeropainting, plastic supremacy surpassing foreign painting, and supremacy in the aeropictorial glorification of aerial warfare’s rapid bombardments) (Venice, 1940). In a lengthy preface, in which he quoted parts of the original manifesto, Crali recounted the birth and evolution of aeropainting. The airplane is a natural creature, he insisted, which incorporates the mystery of ‘cosmic motion.’ It draws us inexorably upward, higher and higher every day, so we may experience God’s purity more intimately and forcefully. Besides the preface, the booklet included ten illustrations and numerous reviews of Crali’s remarkable paintings, approximately half of which were authored by Marinetti. ‘La mostra dei futuristi italiani,’ a reviewer noted in Le Tre Venezie in July, ‘curata da F.T. Marinetti, s’impernia sopratutto sulla mostra personale di Tullio Crali, campione della aeropittura dotato di talento, di gusto e di abilità tecnica’ (Curated by F.T. Marinetti, the Italian Futurists’ exhibition revolves primarily around the one-man show by Tullio Crali, a champion of aeropainting endowed with talent, taste, and technical ability). The booklet concluded with two aeroparole in libertà, apparently by Crali, dated 1938 and 1939. Employing copious onomatopoeia and typographical effects, they evoked a flight over the Dalmatian Islands and another flight over the Cyclades. In 1941, Marinetti and Ignazio Scurto declaimed a number of aeropoems at the Istituto di Cultura Fascista in Venice, which was duly reported in Il gazzettino on 24 April. Although the Futurist leader was nearly sixty-six years old and in poor health, he volunteered to fight on the Russian front the following year, where he apparently served for six or seven months. In October 1943, following Italy’s capitulation on 8 September, he and his family settled in Venice, where he continued to direct the Futurist movement from his apartment. According to Shinrokuro Kidaka, who visited him in 1944, the latter was situated in the

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‘Casa dell’Aretino’ on the Grand Canal with a nice view of the Rialto Bridge. However, memos preserved in the Getty Center Library (like Kidaka’s memoir) reveal that Futurist meetings took place initially at a different address: 5662 Cannaregio. Antonio Farbin (Padua), Nello Voltolina (Padua), Franco Zullio Roffare (Venice), Renzo [Briarlellona?] (Venice), and Krimer (Venice) attended the gathering on 22 January 1944. Tullio Crali (Gorizia), Cesare Andreoni (Milan), and Andrea Busetto (Venice) were present on 23 January 1944; Andreoni (Milan), Giuseppe (Turin), Voltolina (Padua), and another person on 24 January; and Franco [Celebritaxca?] on 25 January. During this period, Marinetti and Crali also found time to collaborate on two manifestos: ‘Manifesto dell’illusionismo plastico’ and ‘Manifesto delle parole musicali.’ Supported by his German allies, Mussolini had created the Repubblica di Salò in September 1943, where, in a burst of patriotism, Marinetti and his family joined him in August 1944. Perceiving that the situation was desperate, Marinetti’s wife, Benedetta, published a tiny volume entitled Volontà italiana (Italian will-power) (Venice and Milan, 6 October 1944), which exhorted the Italian people to continue fighting. ‘Un popolo non depone mai le armi e vanga,’ she insisted, ‘se vuole gloria e pane’ (A nation never lays down its arms and its spades if it wants to receive glory and bread). Two months later, on 2 December, Marinetti experienced a fatal heart attack. On 28 April 1945, Mussolini was executed by Italian partisans. For better or for worse, the end of the Futurist movement coincided with the end of the war.

2

Futurism in Padua

The First Phase Like their Venetian neighbours to the east, the residents of Padua witnessed considerable Futurist activity. Returning to Milan following their initial triumph in Venice, the Futurists organized a serata in the ancient university town on 3 August 1910. Besides Marinetti, they included Umberto Boccioni – who had studied art in Padua previously – Paolo Buzzi, Carlo Carrà, Enrico Cavacchioli, Armando Mazza, Aldo Palazzeschi, and Luigi Russolo.1 Situated in the Sala della Gran Guardia, the performance was similar (if not identical) to that which took place in Venice.2 The evening began with Marinetti reading his ‘Discorso futurista ai Veneziani’ (see chapter 1), which, despite its inflammatory rhetoric, was politely received by the audience. Rising to the defence of the Venetians, who were portrayed as pimps of the past, a certain Professor Bolzoni ventured to disagree with Marinetti and gave an impromptu speech that elicited applause and laughter. Following this introduction Marinetti declaimed several poems, and Boccioni, Carrà, and Russolo read the ‘Manifesto dei pittori futuristi,’ which they had drafted with Giacomo Balla and Gino Severini in February. Complaining that the cult of the past was strangling Italy, they demanded that artists draw their inspiration from modern life and concluded, ‘Largo ai giovani, ai violenti, ai temerari! (Make way for youth, for violence, for daring!). In several speeches that followed, the Futurists attacked art critics, gallery owners, and patrons for continuing to promote old-fashioned art. When a member of the audience attempted to disrupt the proceedings, the others, incensed at his discourteous behaviour, forced him to leave auditorium. The evening

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concluded with more Futurist poetry, one newspaper reported, which incited ‘a few uneducated troublemakers [to disturb] those who serenely followed the polemical art event.’ In contrast to previous serate, the performance in Padua seems to have proceeded remarkably smoothly. Eager to prove they were enlightened and open-minded, the audience uttered scarcely a word of protest. Despite (or perhaps because of) this courteous reception, Marinetti did not visit the city again until two years later. Returning from Libya, where he served as a correspondent for L’intransigeant in Paris, he participated in a campaign to raise money for the families of soldiers who had been killed or wounded in the Italo-Turkish war. On a whirlwind tour through the Veneto, he read excerpts from La battaglia di Tripoli (26 ottobre 1911) in Padua (where the volume was initially published) on 26 January 1912. Combining journalistic reportage and Futurist prose, La battaglia di Tripoli became the model for a number of subsequent works that were even more successful. Following the creation of this hybrid genre, Marinetti composed a ‘Manifesto tecnico della letteratura futurista’ in May, in which he attempted to systematize his recent discoveries. Modern poetry should consist of an uninterupted series of images, he declared, since imagery constitutes the very lifeblood of poetry. These images should be linked together in turn to form a series of vast analogies. ‘Quando, nella mia Battaglia di Tripoli, ho paragonato una trincia irta di baionette a un’orchestra, una mitragliatrice a una donna fatale,’ Marinetti explained, ‘ho introdotto intuitivamente una gran parte dell’universo in un breve episodio di battaglia africana’ (When I compared a trench bristling with bayonets to an orchestra in my Battle of Tripoli, and a machine gun to a femme fatale, I intuitively introduced a large part of the universe into a brief episode of the African battle). A glance at the second passage will demonstrate Marinetti’s method: Eh sì! voi siete, piccola mitragliatrice, una donna affascinante, e sinistra, e divina, al volante di un’invisibile centocavalli, che rugge con scoppî d’impazienza. Oh! certo, fra poco balzerete nel circuito della morte, verso il capitombolo fracassante o la vittoria! ... Volete che io vi faccia dei madrigali pieni di grazia e di colore? A vostra scelta, signora ... Voi somigliate, per me, a un tribuno proteso, la cui lingua eloquente, instancabile, colpisce al cuore gli uditori in cerchio, commossi ... Siete in questo momento, un trapano onnipotente, che fora in tondo il cranio troppo duro di questa notte ostinata ... Siete, anche, un laminatoio, un tornio elettrico, e che

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The Other Futurism altra? Un gran cannello ossidrico che brucia, cesella e fonde a poco a poco le punte metalliche delle ultime stelle! ... Ah yes! Little machine gun, you are a fascinating, sinister, and divine woman, at the wheel of an invisible hundred-horsepower automobile, roaring and bursting with impatience. Oh, certainly! Soon you will spring forward on death’s racetrack, towards a shattering somersault or towards victory! ... Would you like me to write you some graceful and colourful madrigals? As you wish, lady ... You resemble a passionate tribune, whose tireless, eloquent tongue strikes his circle of listeners to the heart, moving them profoundly ... At this moment you are an omnipotent drill making holes around the obstinate night’s rock-hard skull ... You are also a rolling mill, an electric lathe, and what else? A great welding torch that burns, chisels, and slowly melts the metal points of the last stars! ...

Synthetic Theatre Following the invention of Synthetic Theatre early in 1915, the Futurists found themselves with no way to produce their striking new plays. In order to remedy this situation, Ettore Berti, Giuseppe Masi, and Emilio Settimelli organized a travelling theatre company.3 Beginning in Ancona, where the performance was a huge success, they travelled to Bologna, Padua, Venice, Verona, Genoa, Savona, and San Remo in that order. Depending on the circumstances, the actors performed between ten and twelve sintesi in each town. Half of the plays were written by Marinetti. Illustrating the irrational forces that traverse our lives, L’improvvisata (The surprise) emphasizes the role of coincidence. After a drunken husband accidentally strangles one of his drunken friends, a hearse conveniently passes by and whisks the body away. In Simultaneità, two different stories unfold on the stage at the same time: that of a beautiful courtesan and that of a bourgeois family. Although each drama intrudes into the other’s physical space, the two sets of characters ignore each other throughout most of the play. Like Vengono (They are coming), encountered in the previous chapter, Il teatrino dell’amore (The little theatre of love) was conceived as a ‘drama of objects.’ While a married woman dallies with her lover, two pieces of furniture comment on the weather, various people, and themselves. In Un chiaro di luna (Moonlight), two lovers embracing on a park bench remain oblivious to a huge man seated next to them. The latter represents the lovers’ vision of the future, Marinetti explained, their fear of what it may

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bring, the coolness the evening, and the solitude of the setting. All we see of the actors in Le basi (The feet) is their lower extremities. Although each of the seven scenes employs different characters, the actors all appear on stage at the same time. While the audience cannot see their faces, they hear fragments of different conversations as the play progresses. In addition to Balilla Pratella’s L’amante delle stelle, discussed in the preceding chapter, the company’s repertoire included Il guinzaglio (The leash) by Paolo Buzzi and a delightfully nonsensical composition by Settimelli and Remo Chiti, Pazzi girovaghi (Vagrant madmen). As the latter play opens, we see a young lunatic muttering to himself and counting pebbles in a public garden. After an old lunatic appears on the scene, they engage in an absurd and totally incoherent conversation. Piling nonsense on top of nonsense, the second character complains that the first is ‘provoking his gangrene.’ When the young lunatic advises him to ‘torment the hankerchief immediately,’ he inexplicably strangles him. Settimelli and Bruno Corra’s Verso la conquista (Towards victory) parodies heroic conventions and illustrates the ironic vagaries of fate. Following an emotional tug of war between the hero and his female companion, who tries to restrain him, the former insists on embarking on an epic journey. Setting off on his important mission, he slips on a fig skin, falls down a flight of stairs, and breaks his neck. Divided into three identical scenes, Passatismo (Mired in the past) criticized those members of Italian society who were resistant to change. Having succumbed to habit, two characters repeat the same banal words and go through the same motions day after day. When death surprises them fifty years later, they are still following the same meaningless routine. Set in the thirteenth century, Dissonanza, also by Settimelli and Corra, satirizes another genre: the historical romance. Wearing medieval costumes, a lady and her page profess their love for each other in progressively flowery phrases. Dressed in modern clothing, a man crosses the stage and asks the latter for a match. When the page resumes speaking, his overblown rhetoric now seems curiously deflated. Although the directors of the Berti-Masi company strove to promote Synthetic Theatre, they also wanted the tour to be a commercial success. In order to increase the box office receipts, they normally held two performances: one devoted to Futurist plays, the other to conventional potboilers. Usually performed the night before the sintesi, the latter were guaranteed to attract a large audience. While this procedure

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solved the troupe’s financial problems, it discouraged the audience from appreciating the experimental works. By the same token, the presence of old-fashioned plays in the company’s repertoire undermined its commitment to Futurism. The first performance in Padua, at the Teatro Garibaldi, probably took place on 8 February 1915. La porta chiusa (The closed door) by Marco Praga was followed by two additional crowd pleasers: Gabriele d’Annunzio’s Il ferro (The iron) and Sem Benelli’s La cena delle beffe (Dining on jeers).4 In preparation for the Futurists’ arrival, La Provincia di Padova published an interview with Marinetti the same day, describing the glorious welcome the company had received in Ancona.5 If Marinetti had hoped to repeat this success on 9 February, when the Synthetic pieces were performed, he must have been rudely awakened. Prefiguring the reception the troupe would receive three days later in Venice, the audience’s response was far from sympathetic. ‘Da vari anni si va gridando dai nostri nemici che siamo dei pazzi,’ Marinetti announced; ‘invece da sei anni siamo nell’anticamera del manicomio e in manicomio non siamo ancora entrati’ (For years our enemies have been crying that we are madmen. On the contrary, we have been on the threshold of the madhouse for six years, but we haven’t been admitted yet!). Discussing the performance in La Provincia di Padova the next day, the anonymous reviewer summarized Synthetic Theatre’s principles and commiserated with the Futurist leader. Povero amico Marinetti, come non ha saputo comprenderti iersera la ... muffa padovana! Di mele, aranci, patate, rape ... di tutta insomma la varietà di verdura e di frutta che la stagione e la piazza offrono, fosti fatto bersaglio, e fischi e urla e ululati di tromba furono commento prevedibile ai parti della tua scuola! Più che lo spettacolo era interessante osservare l’effetto che le ‘marinettinate’ producevano sul pubblico. V’era chi seguiva lo scendere del sipario con occhio sbalordito; chi invece aveva subitanei ampi gesti esasperati di commento, chi ... gridava alla truffa e voleva restituito il denaro. V’era, o meglio fingeva di esservi, anche chi ammirava e plaudiva ... Quel che è certo si è che Marinetti – tirate le somme – fu abbastanza contento dell’esito. Mentre infatti era tutto occupato fra le quinte a togliersi dalla giacca la macchia d’una disapprovazione un po’troppo fracida giuntagli in forma di mela, il duce futurista ci spegava come ai fini

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del movimento egli sia più che soddisfatto di poter gettare la semente e di poter partire da una città colla persuasione che qualche anima giovanile sia stata convinta o anche solo turbata. Naturalmente, Marinetti poco si cura dei suoi nemici ostruzionisti, degli erbivendoli – come egli li chiama. Poor Marinetti, my friend, how little the ... mouldy citizens of Padua appreciated you last night! You were the target of apples, oranges, potatoes, turnips ... of every kind of fruit and vegetable the season and the public square had to offer, and the products of your school were greeted – predictably – with whistles and shouting and blasts of horns! More than the performance, it was interesting to observe the effect that the ‘Marinettiana’ produced on the public. Some of the spectators watched the curtain descend with a bewildered look; others indulged in numerous exasperated gestures; some ... complained they had been cheated and wanted their money back. There were also some who, perhaps pretending, admired the performance and applauded ... On the whole, Marinetti was quite pleased at the success. While he was busy in the wings removing a soggy, apple-shaped stain of disapproval from his jacket, the Futurist leader explained he would be more than satisfied by the end of the performance at having sown his seed and at leaving the city persuaded some young soul had been convinced or perhaps disturbed by what he had witnessed. Naturally, Marinetti pays little attention to his obstructionist enemies – whom he calls ‘the greengrocers.’6

The Second Phase Like the reviewer, many of the spectators supported the Futurists’ attempts to renovate the theatre and believed their method contained as much genius as madness. However, Italy’s decision to enter the war a few months later prevented – or at least delayed – Marinetti’s seeds from sprouting. Futurist activity did not resume in Padua until May 1920, when Roberto Marcello Baldessari received a one-man show at the Prima Esposizione Nazionale d’Arte. Originally from Rovereto, the artist was apparently living in Padua at the time. Associated with the Florentine Futurists, he helped Marinetti organize an important exhibition in Milan the previous year. Baldessari participated in the Seconda

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Esposizione Nazionale d’Arte the following May, which was again located in the Palazzo della Ragione. As before, he was given a room of his own, which he shared with two other Futurists: Giovanni Dandolo and Carlo Minotti. Unfortunately, virtually nothing is known about these two artists, each of whom exhibited two paintings. Timed to coincide with the exhibition’s opening, the first issue of a journal entitled Cervello (Brain) appeared on 15 May. Subtitled Rivista illustrata d’arte, letteratura, critica, ecc., it contained photographs of the art show, four poems by Dario de Tuoni, and numerous advertisements. In addition, it contained an illustrated article about a Greek Revival movement in Syracuse that was attracting more and more attention. Centred on the city’s magnificent Greek amphitheatre, the latter was organized and promoted by the critic Ettore Romagnoli. Appearing on 24 September, the second issue of Cervello was approximately half the size of the first. Whereas the journal was originally eclectic in nature, it had become affiliated with the Futurist movement in the interim. The change in orientation was explained by a change in editors, Dario de Tuoni having replaced Luigi Mazza during the previous four months. The author of several books on Renaissance art, the new director also possessed a lively interest in the contemporary avant-garde. Besides a short preface, he contributed an article on the poet, novelist, and critic Theodor Daübler, who played a prominent role in German Expressionism. The remainder of the issue included poetry by Ferdinando Pasini and Arnaldo Biavati, a short story by Alberto Bertolini, several book reviews, and a note on the cinema in Treviso. In addition, the first two pages were partially occupied by a manifesto entitled ‘Contro il teatro greco’ (Against Greek drama), authored by Marinetti and originally published in Sicily. Not surprisingly, the Futurists were strongly opposed to Romagnoli’s attempt to revive Greek tragedy, which offended their nationalistic sensibilities. Futurist opposition came to a head in Syracuse on 16 April 1921, prompted by the revival of Aeschylus’ Choephoroe, and expressed itself in demonstrations, proclamations, and numerous newspaper articles. Joining the fray two days later, Marinetti delivered a series of lectures in all of the island’s major cities. Published in the Cronache d’attualità in June, the manifesto railed against the Greek tragedians and called for plays to be performed by Sicilian authors such as Luigi Capuana, Giovanni Verga, Nino Martoglio, and Luigi Pirandello. In particular, it demanded ‘che ... sia annualmente rappresentato un dramma moderno pittoresco, adatto all’aria aperta, che utilizzi gl’infiniti fascini

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estetici che offrono i coloratissimi costumi della Sicilia’ (‘that ... a modern picturesque drama be performed annually, adapted to the open air and employing the endless aesthetic charms offered by Sicily’s brightly coloured costumes’). Towards the end of 1921, probably in December, Rodolfo de Angelis’s Compagnia del Teatro della Sorpresa paid a visit to Padua in the middle of a tour that criss-crossed the entire country. Employing professional entertainers, the troupe had a repertoire of more than thirty works, which allowed a different combination to be performed in each city. As Berghaus declares, the Theatre of Surprise ‘retained the uninhibited music-hall and café-concert atmosphere, the vitalizing force of the serate, the unbridled energy and carnivalesque fun of Variety Theatre, and the absurdist humour of Synthetic Theatre.’7 By this date, the political and artistic battles of the previous decade had largely been won. Marinetti’s campaign to modernize Italian culture had been widely adopted and had thus entered the mainstream. More than anything, therefore, the Theatre of Surprise celebrated Futurist energy and dynamism. While anything could – and did – happen during a performance, audiences tended to be much less hostile. Although the ‘greengrocers’ continued to throw fruits and vegetables, it was increasingly from a desire to participate in the festivities. Indeed, their actions were seen as a kind of homage to Marinetti and his company, who often received a round of applause at the end of a performance. As noted previously, Alfred Trimarco published a collection of poetry, Stelle (Stars), in Venice in 1922. At least one copy soon reached Padua, where a journal called Numero Unico printed a favourable review in July. Unfortunately, nothing is known about this journal, whose unusual title suggests it may only have had one issue. On 11 January 1924, Rodolfo de Angelis launched a second theatrical tour that was even more ambitious – and more profitable – than the first. In addition to a longer itinerary, Il Nuovo Teatro Futurista possessed a larger repertoire than the previous company. As we saw in the first chapter, the latter included various Synthetic plays, several Tactile dramas, and three mechanical ballets: Anihccam del 3000 by Depero and Casavola, Psicologia delle macchine by Prampolini and Mix, and La danza dell’elica by Prampolini and Casavola. Following an unpleasant experience in Trieste, where the actors were constantly interrupted by noises and rude comments, the troupe performed in Padua on 24 January. Complementing the plays that were selected, the performance undoubtedly involved a free-word poetry recital and the reading of

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one or more manifestos. Judging from an article in a local newspaper, the experience must have constituted one of the high points of the tour. Un indescrivibile entusiasmo studentesco si è manifestato in città per la grande serata d’arte futurista. Il De Angelis ha conseguito uno schietto e grande successo nella interpretazione dei drammi astratti e tattici [sic for ‘tattili’] di Marinetti e Cangiullo. Alla fine dello spettacolo Marinetti acclamato matricola di onore è stato portato in trionfo alla testa di un corteo di duemila persone. An indescribable outburst of student enthusiasm greeted the great artistic evening organized by the Futurists. De Angelis’s interpretation of abstract and tactile plays by Marinetti and Cangiullo was a great and genuine success. At the conclusion of the performance, Marinetti was proclaimed an honorary student and was carried in triumph at the head of a procession of two thousand people.8

Il Gruppo Futurista Padovano With its huge student population, Padua was a natural place for Marinetti’s movement to find supporters. Futurism’s disdain for the past, love of dynamism, and insistent call for change appealed to young people in particular. The seeds planted repeatedly by the Futurists finally germinated on 23 November 1925, when Dino Vittor Tonini, Pilade Gardini, and Tomaso Albano founded the Gruppo Futurista Padovano.9 To increase the group’s visibility, they adopted a special stationery (designed by Giuseppe Alessio) with its name printed in dynamic, bright orange letters.10 In addition, they drafted, printed, and distributed five thousand copies of a ‘Manifesto del Gruppo Futurista Padovano,’ which was signed as well by Alessio, Umberto Girsella, Antonio Carretta, G. Favero, Molinari, and Attilio Signori. Since Signori owned the Bar della Borsa (Stock Exchange Bar), the others elected to use his establishment as their headquarters. Before long the group had expanded to include Giuseppe Aliprandi, Mario Battista Bai, Paolo Enriques, A. Favero, F. Pancrazio, Attilio Graziani, Dante Ongaro, L. Trentini, and Bruno Cossaro, a medical student who chose the nom de guerre ‘Cossar.’ According to Maurizio Scudiero, Rizzardo Rizzetto, Carlo Cojazzi, and Paolo Businari were also members.11

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Tullio Crali adds the names of Pini, R. Battistella, A. Pisani, and Bruno Tano.12 In contrast to the rest of his colleagues, who were relatively recent converts, Businari had been a Futurist for nearly ten years. Although little is known about his activities, he published a poem in L’Italia futurista in 1916 entitled ‘Amore di gioventù’ (Young love).

Bende di sangue scottttante di fuoco elettrico di mille candele – ANIME + plasma arrotolata di D SI IO E DER che coRRE corre corrrrrrrrre senza fissa meta. Atroce dubbio quale frase? TI AMO? SIGNORINA VOI....? VORREI ESSERVI......? quale frase???? un nodo serrato da titanica forza stringe con punture di LAme di vetro arse da 5 ore di SOLE tutte gialle sangue sangue sangue al CERVELLO che gira cozzando contro duri macigni della REALTÀ i m p i i a i i i i r i i i c i i di verità all'orizzonte scacciati dal calore dei sessi riccioli biondi che penetrano per gli occhi che imprigionano 100000000 verità AMORE – parola con zampe di rose sempre fresche che scivola per ripide chine di anime anime chiuse anime fra sbarre d'ignoto (?) Catene di fiori sorti da un mare fluttuante avvince CUORE CUORI CUORI

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The Other Futurism Headband of blood burning with the electric fire of a thousand candles – EMOTIONS + concentrated plasma of D S RE E I flowING flowing flowwwwwwwwwwing with no definite goal. Terrible doubt which phrase? I LOVE YOU? YOUNG LADY YOU....? I WOULD LIKE TO BE YOUR.......? which phrase???? a noose squeezes with titanic force with SHards of glass stabbing heated 5 hours in the SUN all yellow blood blood blood in the whirling BRAIN butting against hard rocks of REALITY s m p s s a s s s s r s s c s s of truth on the horizon dispersed by sexual ardour blond curls which enter through the eyes which imprison 100000000 truths LOVE – a cool rosy-fingered word that slides down the steep slope of emotions emotions imprisoned emotions by unknown bars (?) Chains of flowers from an undulating sea bind together HEART HEARTS HEARTS.

As Marinetti advised, the poet banished punctuation (except for question marks), adopted expressive typography, and suppressed definite and indefinite articles. In addition to expressive orthography, he used mathematical symbols, Arabic numerals, and several analogie disegnate (visual analogies). Although its language is occasionally difficult to follow, the poem deals with a familiar subject. Finding himself attracted to a young woman, Businari experiences an awkward conflict

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between his natural shyness and his desire to make love to her. While he is completely captivated by the woman, whose blond curls make her something of a rarity in Italy, he agonizes over what to say. Although he is pulsating with desire, as the spatialization of ‘desiderio’ reveals, his head feels as if it is gripped in a vise. Or rather, to use his own metaphors, as if it were encircled by a bloody headband or tightened in a painful noose. The poet manages to portray himself not only as a helpless victim, therefore, but as a martyr to love. In a sacrilegious gesture worthy of the Dadaists, he wears a crown not of thorns but of broken glass. On 9 February 1926, the Paduan Futurists organized a celebration of Carnevale in the Sala della Croce Rossa. While Cossar, Trentini, and Carretta set about providing Futurist decorations, Gardini and Tonini published a journal, Il radiocorriere di mezzanotte (The midnight radiomessenger). Also containing contributions by Albano, Alessio, and Girsella, it consisted of a single issue that was intended to advertise the festivities. In particular, it invited celebrants to enjoy the Futurist setting created especially for the occasion: ‘Atmosfera fantastica! Atmosfera irreale! Atmosfera gioiosa! Turbinio di colori! Vita’ (Fantastic amosphere! Dreamlike atmosphere! Joyous atmosphere! A whirlwind of colours! Life). During these years, Claudia Salaris points out, life itself was conceived as a celebration.13 Interestingly, the gathering was not limited to the Futurists and their friends but was designed to attract the general public. It gave Tonini and his colleagues the opportunity to publicize the local movement and to develop good relations with the townspeople. Those who attended the celebration, Il radiocorriere di mezzanotte declared, could expect to encounter a signorile serata di danze che desse al pubblico che non sa e non s’interessa dei problemi d’arte, specialmente se questa arte batte vie eccezionali e mai percorse, se l’arte è intesa tutta come canzone fremente e turbinante, arte in continuo superamento, nel raggiungimento d’un ideale luminosissimo, la sensazione che in Padova Antenorea vi sono giovani di coraggio e di ardimento refined evening of dancing that will give the public who knows and cares nothing about artistic problems – especially if that art strikes exceptional lives yet to be lived, an art in a continual state of struggle, in the achievement of a glorious ideal – the sense that Antenorean Padua contains young people who are courageous and daring.

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Shortly thereafter Tonini, Cossar, Trentini, and Carretta travelled to Venice, where Marinetti was apparently speaking, to tell him about the Gruppo Futurista Padovano and to invite him to lecture in Padua. Always eager to spread the Futurist gospel, Marinetti agreed to give a talk at the Teatro Eden on 28 February. On the night in question, the theatre was packed to the rafters with people wanting to know more about ‘Fascismo e Futurismo.’ The general themes of Marinetti’s lecture were taken from his book Futurismo e Fascismo, published in Foligno two years before. Dedicated to Mussolini, it retraced the evolution of the putative partnership between Futurism and Fascism and concluded with a list of eleven demands. Calling for increased participation of Futurist artists in national and international exhibitions, Marinetti insisted that art academies be abolished and that financial institutions be created ‘ad esclusivo beneficio degli artisti creatori italiani’ (for the exclusive benefit of Italian creative artists). Marinetti’s lecture was such a great success that Tonini and his colleagues accompanied him to Rovigo the next day, where he probably delivered it again. In addition, they contacted other Futurist groups in the Veneto and initiated a series of exchanges. Several of the artists participated in regional exhibitions, including one in Venice, and several writers lectured at the Teatro Eden and elsewhere. Tonini gave talks both in Castelfranco Veneto and in Padua, for example, while Gardini addressed the members of the Movimento Futurista Giuliano in Gorizia. In return, Sofronio Pocarini and Emilio Furlani came to Padua and spoke to the Futurists there. Riding the wave of Marinetti’s popularity, the Futurists occupied four rooms when the Quarta Esposizione d’Arte delle Tre Venezie opened in May 1926. As before, the exhibition was held in the Palazzo della Ragione. Curated by Tonini, who also wrote the relevant section of the catalogue, the Futurist contribution was devoted in part to Umberto Boccioni. Occupying two of the rooms, the posthumous retrospective featured twenty-seven drawings and twelve paintings by the artist, including Testa di donna (Head of a woman) (1911), Materia (Matter) (1912), Dinamismo di un corpo umano (Dynamism of a human body) (1913), and three Stati d’animo (Moods) from 1911. This was Boccioni’s first exhibition in the Veneto since his show at Ca’ Pesaro in 1910 (see chapter 1). The other two rooms housed sixty-three works by a dozen Futurists from Padua and elsewhere in the Veneto. The artists belonging to the first category consisted of Enriques, Carretta, and Cossar – whose Ritratto di mio padre (Portrait of my father) seems to have won first prize. Besides Ivan Cargo, Luigi Spazzapan, and Mario Vucetich,

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those in the second category included Alma Fidora, Vera Cekunova, and Gottardo. In addition to paintings by Roberto Baldessari, who by this time had become a familiar face, the exhibition featured two oneman shows. That by Fortunato Depero consisted of decorative wall hangings, while Enrico Prampolini contributed paintings and theatrical designs. Vampe In June, while the Quarta Esposizione d’Arte was in full swing, Pilade Gardini and Giuseppe Alessio published a journal entitled Vampe (Bursts). Subtitled Prima esplosione del gruppo futurista, it sported a large magenta cover with a stylized drawing (by Cossar) of an explosion. Revealing considerable community support, the inside back cover was plastered with advertisements for businesses or professional services. The first page was dominated by Marinetti, who sent an encouraging message. ‘cari futuristi padovani,’ he wrote, ‘sono lieto di glorificare dovunque il vostro dinamico spirito futurista. Vi auguro – partendo per l’America del Sud – di vincere in ardore ed in colore tutti gli orizzonti equatoriali’ (dear paduan futurists, I am happy to praise your dynamic Futurist spirit everywhere. About to depart for South America, I hope you will surpass the entire equatorial horizon in heat and in colour). The remainder of the journal consisted of contributions by members of the Gruppo Padovano. The second page featured articles by Tonini and Aliprandi in praise of the Futurist movement. The third page contained an article by Pancrazio, ‘Scintille oratorie’ (Rhetorical sparks), and a discussion of ‘Pittura musicale’ by Carretta. On the next page, Girsella discussed Futurist architecture, while Enriques attacked modern architects who constructed ‘pseudo-antique’ buildings. Only painters and architects who reflected their own period deserved to be considered authentic. Evoking the frescos in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, he proclaimed, ‘Giotto fu, al suo tempo, futurista’ (In his own day, Giotto was a Futurist). A free-word poem by Gardini, ‘Al canton del gallo’ (In the rooster’s province), appeared on the fifth page: Estasi acrobatica di sensazioni ottiche tensione femminiltà FRRRAAAA – SGSGRRRR brividi lieve slittamento automobili lussuose portanti volubilità donne bocche muliebre avide baci maschi via CRCR –

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The Other Futurism CRRRR guardia-semaforo osservare-dominare crocevia tram scivolare rotaie denn-denn-denn da sud-nord TRANTRANTRAN sobbalzare sul ferro aspro levigato da est-ovest TRANTRANTRAN TLANTLANTLANN profumo primavera viola nella scia leggera d’una bionda non abbordabile eleganze pro-vin-cialis-si-me drin drin drin: volgarità d'una bicicletta bistrati occhioni ladri d'una demi....appassita sonnolenza d'ombre dei palazzi sbadiglianti fra il sole ubbriaco sdraiato sulla strada poltrire la mia follia ah! sì, sì, prenderla per i capelli d'ebano ELICARLA FORTE, RUDEMENTE ZZZZANNZANN avanti avanti a vivere per l'iridescenza della vita morire per l'incantesimo della morte SUL CALEIDOSCOPIO DEL GIRO UNIVERSO. Acrobatic ecstasy of optical sensations tension femininity FFRRRAAAA – SGSGRRRR shivers slight skidding luxurious automobiles carrying fickleness women eager feminine mouths masculine kisses away CRCR – CRRRR guard-stoplight watching-dominating crossroad streetcar gliding rails clang-clang-clang running north-south TRANTRANTRAN jolting along harsh polished iron running east-west TRANTRANTRAN TLANTLANTLANN perfume violet springtime trailing after an unapproachable blonde elegant manners pro-vin-cial-i-s-m-s ding ding ding: the vulgarity of a bicycle large dark eyes thieves of a faded demi.... drowsy shadows of the palaces yawning in the drunken sun lying in the street lazing about my madness oh! yes, yes, seize her by her ebony hair TWIST HER AROUND ABRUPTLY, ROUGHLY ZZZZANNZANN proceed proceed to live through life's iridescence to die through

Futurism in Padua death’s incantation ON THE KALEIDOSCOPE UNIVERSAL CIRCUIT.

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OF THE

Among other things, the poem reveals that Gardini was familiar with the ‘Manifesto tecnico della letteratura futurista’ (1912) and related manifestos. According to Marinetti’s instructions, he abolishes punctuation, eliminates active verbs, introduces several pairs of analogies, and employs at least two kinds of onomatopoeia. The first problem is what to make of the titulary rooster, who appears nowhere else in the poem. Not only are barnyard animals conspicuously lacking, one discovers, but the scene takes place in a large city. Little by little it becomes apparent that the work describes a recent trip to Paris. The rooster in question is not just any bird but the coq gaulois, the national symbol of France. At the same time, since gallo also means ‘Gaul,’ the title alludes to France’s original inhabitants as well. Unexpectedly, the composition turns out to have two different titles. Introduced at the very end, the image of the ‘caleidoscopio’ explains the work’s fragmentary perspective. Consisting of a kaleidoscopic cluster of images, the latter evokes the poet’s impressions of life in the French capital. Gazing enviously at the stylish Parisians, he experiences both frustration and yearning. Like the luxurious cars speeding by, the beautiful women riding in them are completely unattainable. As a darkhaired beauty comes towards him, Gardini can only embrace her in his imagination. On the sixth page of Vampe, together with two poems by Mario Batista Bai, the editors recounted the formation of the Gruppo Futurista Padovano and its initial activities. The seventh page contained a prose poem by Alessio, ‘Alpinismo: quadro sensitivo impressionistico a quattro dimensioni’ (Mountain climbing: A sensory, impressionistic painting in four dimensions), and an article by A. Favero on Futurism and woodworking. The latter was accompanied by a photograph of Futurist furniture constructed by Favero and his brother. Juxtaposed with a survey of Futurist activities around the world, an article by Graziani appeared on the next page, entitled ‘Volgarizziamo un po’’ (Let’s popularize a little). Page 9 was occupied by a group poem addressed ‘Ai pionieri, ai piloti della fiera campionaria’ (To the pioneers, to the pilots at the trade fair). Tenebre antenoree opprimenti. Pace di quieto vivere.

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The Other Futurism Generazioni vegetanti nell’acqua morta delle consuetudine. Dissolvimento di anime ansianti e nuove mete. Così ora!!! Squarcio improvviso. Fascio LUCE! – FIAMME!! Dinamismo travolgente. Ruggine passatista scalpellata Puro metallo scintillante.. Fiera! Fiera! Vernice festaiola. Essenza costruttrice. inizio timidio..... Critica oleosa. TENACIA METALLICA. Balzo avanti... avanti... sempre più avanti Sminuzzamento ostacoli. Proiezione fuori città..... Regione! Patria!! Mondo!!! Vertigine dell' avvenire!!!!! Afferrare pionieri, piloti Indri Cigana – Sinigaglia Dal Molin – Palamidese – De Col Pistorelli – Croce – Marzolo storia!!! nella scagliarli Oppressive Antenorean shadows. Peace of tranquil living. Generations vegetating in the stagnant water of habit. Dissolution of anxious souls and new goals. Like this!!! A sudden rip. Sheaf LIGHT – FLAMES!!

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Breathtaking dynamism. Outmoded rust excised Pure dazzling metal.. Fair! Fair! Festive inauguration. Constructive essence. timid beginning..... Oily criticism. METALLIC TENACITY. Forward leap... forward further and further! Fragmentation obstacles Projection beyond city..... Region! Country!! World!!! Dizziness of the Future!!!!! Grasping pioneers, pilots Indri Cigana – Sinigaglia Dal Molin – Paladmidese – De Col Pistorelli – Croce – Marzolo history!!! into them hurling.

The fiera campionaria was a fair where orders were taken for various products, samples of which were on display. According to Scudiero, the poem was composed for the Ottava Fiera Campionaria di Padova, at which the Futurists had their own booth.14 Judging from the description in the text, the fair seems to have been accompanied by an air show.15 At any rate, nine pilots (whose names are recorded at the end of the poem) and their flying machines were present for spectators to observe. Although the work’s visual effects are fairly rudimentary, they manage to give it a distinctly modern appearance. Written in a telegraphic style like the preceding text, ‘Ai pionieri’ is practically a manifesto. The first stanza depicts a Padua hopelessly immersed in the past, which casts its oppressive Antenorean shadow over the entire town. One of the wisest men in Troy, Antenor was spared by the Greeks when the city fell and later supposedly sailed to Italy, where he founded Padua. The rest of the poem celebrates Futurist principles,

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incarnated in the dynamic pilots and their marvellous airplanes, which promise to revitalize the entire country. The dismal shadows give way to images of light symbolizing Italy’s radiant future. In addition to dazzling metal, these include a flaming sheaf (‘fascio’), whose patriotic associations were not lost on the readers. Overcoming every obstacle, the heroic pilots fly off into the future, where they will receive fame and fortune, and into history where they will become immortal. The tenth page of Vampe featured a photograph of an orphanage called the Colonia Benito Mussolini, juxtaposed with a group poem about the same institution. A second photograph of the Colonia graced the following page, together with miscellaneous news items about Marinetti. Accompanied by two illustrations, an article on Depero’s art appeared on pages 12 and 13, authored by Marinetti. The next two pages were devoted to assorted texts and to poems by Gardini and Dante Ongaro. The final page contained an ambitious poem by Tomaso Albano entitled ‘Corto circuito’ (Short circuit). Besides expressive typography, numerical notation, and multiple metaphor, the poem incorporated three visual analogies. YY + – √√ gioco infinito di numeri che torna Dacappo Si – no si – no – si – SI – SI – SI BUIO P R O ? F O N D O NO Lampi a Zig Zag TENEBRE La vergine Carta + 13 lame di dura grafite diventano 30 + 300 + 3000 pesci guizzanti come lame d'accaio in un mare di spuma. Un minuto due lunghi inesauribili minuti Ecco che il tenue filamento metallico imprigionato nel

Futurism in Padua fragilissimo scrigno DIVENTA DI RAME DI OTTONE LUCENTE POI D’ORO SPLENDENTE Il piccolo globo è ora un piccolo sole con un capezzolo lungo = appuntito. Voci di bimbi inneggiano alla luce. Risa di bimbi che si rincorrono nel Polidimensionale Etera elettrica: pugno di sferici sassolini di lucentissima ghiaia gettati con violenza su una scala di cristallo poi cadere \ di rin cadere \ ndi cadere \ ndando YY + – √√ infinite whirling game of numbers Once again yes – no yes – no – yes – YES – YES – YES PROFOUND A R ?K N E S S NO Lightning Zig Zag SHADOWS The virgin Paper + 13 blades of hard graphite become 30 + 300 + 3000 darting fish like blades of steel in a foaming sea. One minute two long endless minutes Now the fine metallic filament imprisoned in the extremely fragile container BECOMES COPPER SHINING BRASS THEN BRILLIANT GOLD

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The Other Futurism The little globe is now a little sun with a long = sharp teat. Children’s voices extol the light. Laughter of children playing tag in the Polidimensional electrical Ether: handful of shiny spherical pebbles thrown violently onto a crystal staircase then falling \ over falling \ and falling \ over

Although it takes a moment to decipher, Albano’s composition is thoroughly charming. The poem describes an electrical outage that occurs during a thunderstorm, while thirteen children are doing their schoolwork. Where this activity takes place is difficult to say. If the children seem initially to be at school, the storm itself appears to occur at night. This fact points to another institutional setting, perhaps an orphanage like the Colonia Benito Mussolini. The poet begins by evoking the mystery of electricity that, although it can be reduced to mathematical symbols and formulae, still retains its fundamental magic. As the storm approaches, the light begins to flicker on and off. Suddenly the electricity fails, and the room is plunged into total darkness. Occasional flashes of lightning provide the only illumination and create an eerie effect. After two long minutes, the filament in the overhead light bulb begins to glow, changing from dull red to bright yellow and then to pure white. Judging from the description, the bulb is the oldfashioned kind with a point at one end. Relieved that light has been restored, the children chatter away excitedly. Their voices criss-cross the room, Albano declares, as if they were playing tag. At the same time, their pure tones remind him of pebbles tumbling down a crystal staircase. The Third Phase While Vampe represented Futurism’s high point in Padua during the 1920s, it also marked the end of Futurist activity. For reasons that are not entirely clear, the Gruppo Futurista Padovano ceased to exist after 1926. Most of its members seem to have dispersed to other parts of Italy or – as in the case of Cossar, who became a doctor in North Africa – to various Italian colonies. At the Quinta Esposizione d’Arte delle Venezie, which took place in Padua the following year, the Futurists

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occupied only a single room. Of the twelve artists who exhibited, Antonio Carretta and Mario Sanzovo were the only ones who lived in Padua. The year 1927 also witnessed the publication of books by two former Paduan Futurists, which appeared for some reason in Palermo. In L’arte fascista sarà l’arte futurista?, Tonini questioned whether Futurist and Fascist art shared the same goals. And Gardini collected his latest poetry in A le soglie de l’alba (On the thresholds of the dawn). Before sinking into total obscurity, like the other members of the group, he published one last volume of poetry, Sensibilità, at Udine in 1934. The third phase of Paduan Futurism began in 1930, when a law student and aspiring artist named Carlo Maria Dormàl created a portrait of Dino Vittor Tonini, who by that time had become a hydraulic engineer. Although Tonini was no longer involved with Futurism, he put Dormàl in touch with Marinetti, who invited him to exhibit with the Futurists in April at the Mostra dell’Animale nell’Arte in Rome. Dormàl also participated in the Venice Biennial, which opened the same month and which included contributions by forty Futurist artists. In October, apparently at the latter’s invitation, Marinetti delivered a lecture in the Sala della Gran Guardia that was devoted to machine aesthetics. The following month, Dormàl exhibited several paintings at the Mostra Universitaria d’Arte delle Tre Venezie in Treviso, where he met Tullio Crali, Quirino de Giorgio, and Giorgio Perissinotto (who used the pseudonym ‘Peri’). Together they decided to found the Movimento Futurista Padovano and to organize an exhibition of their paintings. Inaugurated by Marinetti, who lectured on Antonio Sant’Elia and Futurist architecture, the Prima Mostra Futuristi Padovani took place in January 1931. A surviving photograph shows Marinetti and a group of Futurists gathered in front of the Sindacati Fascisti Professionisti ed Artisti, where the exhibition took place.16 The show itself was accompanied by an illustrated catalogue entitled 7 futuristi padovani, which listed sixty-one works on display. Despite its reassuring title, only five of the artists actually resided in Padua. Crali, who exhibited four paintings, came from Gorizia, and Nello Voltolina, who contributed eight pictures, lived in Rovigo. In addition, the exhibition included five paintings and three decorative pillows by Ottorino dalla Baratta (figure 5), two architectural drawings by de Giorgio, a single painting by Peri, and ten wooden constructions by Lino Sgaravatti. Dormàl contributed nine drawings, including his portrait of Tonini, three wall hangings, seven pillows, and nine paintings (figure 6). Signed ‘Gli espositori’ (The exhibitors), the following statement appeared on the first page:

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Figure 5. Ottorino dalla Baratta, Danza-sensazione, 1930–31, oil on canvas, dimensions and present whereabouts unknown.

Figure 6. Carlo Maria Dormàl, Soletudine mistica, 1930, oil on canvas, dimensions and present whereabouts unknown.

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The Other Futurism Odiamo l’oleografia e l’accademismo fotografico, minuzioso e veristico ma dissentiamo anche dal puro astrattismo teorico ed estremista; dal primo perchè la fotografia rende ormai il vero con una evidenza molto più mirabile, dalla seconda tendenza perchè è risaputo che l’artista non può mai creare un’emozione feconda emancipandosi interamente dall’osservazione della realtà. We detest oil chromolithography and photographic academism, which is detailed and realistic, but we also disagree with pure abstraction, which is theoretical and extremist; we dislike the first because the clarity with which photography renders reality is much more admirable, the second tendency because it is well known that artists who divorce themselves from the observation of reality can no longer evoke fertile emotions.

As noted in the preceding chapter, Marinetti published a document on 22 September 1929 that was to determine the nature of Futurist research henceforth: the ‘Manifesto della aeropittura’ (Manifesto of Futurist aeropainting). In particular, he exhorted Futurist artists to exalt ‘l’immenso dramma visionario e sensibile del volo’ (the immense visual and sensory drama of flight) in their works. The publication of a ‘Manifesto dell’aeropoesia’ two years later exerted a similar effect on Futurist poets, who celebrated the heroic reign of the airplane in poem after poem. Responding to Marinetti’s initial call, Bruno Sanzin organized an exhibition of Futurist aeropainting in Trieste in March 1931. Besides works by more famous Futurists, it included contributions by Crali, dalla Baratta, Dormàl, Sgaravatti, Peri, Voltolina, de Giorgio, and a new convert Riccardo Müller-Denes. Following the exhibition, de Giorgio accompanied Marinetti to Paris and Brussels, where he met Le Corbusier. Dalla Baratta participated in a show in Gorizia in May, organized by Sofronio Pocarini, while Voltolina exhibited several works at the Prima Mostra Internazionale di Arte Coloniale in Rome. In May or June (the historians disagree), Padua hosted an Esposizione d’Arte Sacra Moderna Cristiana, at which some two thousand works were exhibited. Eager to contribute to the re-evaluation of Christian art, Marinetti issued yet another manifesto: the ‘Manifesto dell’arte sacra futurista’ (Manifesto of Futurist sacred art) on 23 June 1931. In addition, the exhibition included a Futurist section organized by Dormàl and Fillia (who lived in Turin). De Giorgio, Voltolina, MüllerDenes, and Nino Burrasca figured among the participants, as well as Dormàl himself and a member of the earlier group, Angelo Pisani. In

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October, Dormàl, de Giorgio, and Voltolina also took part in an exhibition of Futurist aeropainting and theatrical decors, hosted by the Galleria Pesaro in Milan. La Prima Mostra Triveneta Dormàl, de Giorgio, and Voltolina organized a second exhibition the following year, which included a poetry contest, and issued invitations to artists throughout the Veneto.17 Dormàl went to great lengths to ensure the show’s success, designing printed invitations and special stationery for the occasion. Among other things, he wrote to Renzo Bertozzi (see chapter 1), whom he urged to visit the exhibition, and asked him to encourage Piero Anselmi to enter the poetry competition.18 Installed in the former Cinema Esperia, the Prima Mostra Triveneta d’Arte Futurista was inaugurated by Marinetti on 10 February 1932. Not surprisingly perhaps, half the artists came from Padua. Burrasca exhibited five designs and architectural drawings, dalla Baratta three caricatures, and Müller-Denes seven works in all. Pisani contributed three paintings, Sgaravatti two, Voltolina three, and Giuseppe Tombola two architectural designs. While Dormàl exhibited thirteen works, one of which was a triptych, de Giorgio surpassed him with fourteen drawings of buildings and monuments. The catalogue itself was abundantly illustrated and contained a photograph of Marinetti with a handwritten dedication to Dormàl. In a brief introduction, Dormàl divided Futurism’s detractors into two groups (neither of whom mattered): those who opposed the movement in good faith and those who were simply prejudiced. The jury had eliminated polemical works from the show, he added, in order to avoid any impression of sensationalism. Unlike false artists, he continued, each of the exhibitors possessed a personal style of his own. The various illustrations were preceded by two poems celebrating the Futurist cause. Written by Sanzin, the first was ‘Programma di vita’ (Program for life): Avanti in gara vertiginosa velocità saettante scattare a imporsi distinguersi superare superarsi incessantemente

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The Other Futurism religione di lotta e di audacia ragione di vita. Chi vince è un vinto, qualora considera la posizione conquistata meta delle sue aspirazioni. Sostare è morte. Rallentare è agonia. Marciare compatti è deficenza. Individualità orgoglio dell’io esasperazione bisogno prepotente appiccare incendio bisogno prproprie idee onde concentriche lanciate alla conquista dell’infinito. IMPORRE, dunque ESSERE. Forward in dizzy competition darting velocity rushing to succeed to distinguish oneself surpassing constantly surpassing oneself religion of struggle and audacity the goal of life. Whoever wins is vanquished if he considers the position he has conquered as the goal of his aspirations. Halting is death. Slackening is anguish. Marching together is not enough. Individualism self-esteem exasperation

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the tremendous need to build a fire the tremenone’s own ideas concentric waves aspiring to conquer infinity. TO SUCCEED therefore TO BE.

Written in a telegraphic style, ‘Programma di vita’ succinctly summarizes the Futurist credo. Although it is hardly one of Sanzin’s best poems, it invokes the Futurists’ cult of speed and energy and underlines the need for constant struggle. Among other things, it also demonstrates why the Fascist government refused to take Marinetti and his colleagues seriously. Despite their patriotic sentiments, which they were fond of proclaiming, the Futurists were constitutionally incapable of ‘marching together.’ Their exaggerated individualism, their Promethean cult of originality, and their endless posturing inspired very little confidence. While Marinetti had a distinguished record as a soldier, the authorities regarded the rest of the Futurists as little more than anarchists. Ironically, their situation resembled that of the Surrealists in France, who experienced a similar rejection (for similar reasons) by the Communist party. The preceding remarks apply to the second poem as well, which exhibits the same individualism, the same audacity, and the same contempt for tradition as Sanzin’s poem. Written by Burrasca, ‘Vincere’ (Victory) is centred on the Futurist metaphor of vigorous conquest. Per non imputridire nella Fossilizzazione d’una natura morta Per non intombare lo spirito Nella convenzione Artificiale Ridicola Di tutte le tradizioni.

Individualmente Audacemente Violentemente Più in altro d’ogni realizzazione. Oltre ogni meta Liberamente Nell’infinito di tutte le concezioni.

ESTASI DI PROSEGUIRE = PREMIO D’OGNI RAGGIUNTA META Costruiamo per la Gioia Frantoiante ogni un usoneria.

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The Other Futurism Per ribellione d’ogni Lenta Pesante Vischiosa Nostalgica – debolezza – passatista

AVANTI! Nell’ebbrezza delle Continua

LOTTA CONQUISTA SUPERAMENTO RICERCA FUTURISTA To avoid rotting away into A fossilized still-life To avoid burying our spirit In tradition’s Ridiculous Artificial Conventions.

Individually Boldly Violently Unlike any other works. With no goals Freely In the infinity of ideas.

ECSTASY OF PURSUIT = REWARD FOR EVERY NEW GOAL Let’s create from Joy Crushing any attempt at unison. From revolt against Slow Heavy Viscous Nostalgic – passatista – weakness

FORWARD! In the intoxication of Continual

STRUGGLE VICTORY ACHIEVEMENT FUTURIST QUEST

Later in the evening, following the exhibition’s opening, the spectators were treated to a serata at the Teatro Garibaldi. Dressed in formal academic garb, with a tri-cornered hat and a ceremonial sword, Marinetti delivered a lecture on aeropittura. Following his address, Giannina Censi presented a series of interpretive dances inspired by five of Prampolini’s aeropaintings and several aeropoems by Sanzin, Burrasca, and Marinetti. The latter chose two of his works, ‘Volando su una città bombardata’ (Flying above a bombarded city) and ‘Volando sopra Milano’ (Flying over Milan). The evening concluded with a

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poetry competition that seems to have attracted as much attention as the art show. The Menin hat shop, whose advertisements appeared in local Futurist publications, even advertised the contest in its display windows.19 In honour of his fallen comrade, Marinetti selected the theme: ‘Boccioni and the Love of Modernity.’ The finalists were Piero Anselmi (from Verona), Bruno Aschieri (also from Verona), and Nino Burrasca, who was declared the winner after receiving the longest applause (three hundred seconds). Nino Burrasca This was the second major victory for Burrasca in fewer than twelve months. On 7 March 1931, he won the Primo Circuito Triveneto Aeropoesia in Trieste with a eulogy of another Futurist martyr, Antonio Sant’Elia.20 His ‘Plastica sonora’ and fourteen other poems were collected in Versi: Liriche futuriste, published in 1932 by the Edizioni Movimento Futurista Padovano. Dedicating the slim volume to ‘F.T. Marinetti centro motore del futurismo,’ to whom he also sent the manuscript (now in the Beinecke Library), Burrasca announced that two other works were in preparation: Vincere: Romanzo sintetico futurista and Velivolando: Aeropoesie. In addition, the volume included his prize-winning poem on Boccioni, which was simply called ‘Modernolatria’ (Love of modernity). Revolving around the metaphor of energetic conquest like ‘Vincere,’ it extolled the virtues of modern machines – epitomized by the airplane – and proclaimed the superiority of the modern imagination. In contrast to the former poem, which consisted largely of abstractions, it was filled with concrete images. Di raggi – riflessi luminosi ti vorrei vestire ALTA LUCIDA PURA in un pulviscolo di scintille umanamente bella MACCHINA! Non la gommosa pesante vischiosa strisciante Non la pigra monotoncontemplazione sedentaria io canto il ruggito – urlo trionfatore di macchine frantoianti il pacifismo, incubatrici del progresso,

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The Other Futurism la dinamica armonia di officine cullanti la civiltà. Non la pigra monotona ondulata pachidermica passeggiata Non la pigra monotondigestiva ma il volo violento tagliente inebriante IN ALTO! l’elica – amante trascina lunghissimo velo negli altari di nuvole; scaglïe dorate lembi di sole danzano sull’ali fremanti di aeree carezze. Non più misurare il tempo nel giro lento del sole, non segnare la spazio col corto compasso delle nostre Non la pigra monotongambe; unità di tempo: l’istante unità di misura: l’equatore e avanti! con la fantasia in lotta incessante per squarciare forare sfondare l’infinito; sentire la nullità del passato passato passato, creare imporre innalzare lanciare proiettare Non la pigra monotonell’avvenire. Per riposare la mente stanca, stanca per lungo lavoro planeremo in placido volo contempleremo la terra livellata sezionata vinta pronta Non la pigra monotoschiava della nostra genialità. Nel ritmo vorticosissimo d’eliche fiondate nelle vie del cielo Nel luccichio serpeggiante di pubblicità luminose: vene vivificatrici del successo. Nell’andare correre volare nella più veloce pista del mondo: il progresso ho visto te – BOCCIONI! sorridente nell’ebrezza della continua LOTTA – CONQUISTA – SUPERAMENTO – RICERCA FUTURISTA I love to see you dressed in bright beams – reflections EXALTED SHINY PURE in a shower of sparks as beautiful as any human

Futurism in Padua MACHINE! I sing not of heavy thick viscous servile sedentary not of heavy thick vcontemplation but of the triumphant roar – cry of machines crushing pacifism, of the incubators of progress, of the dynamic harmony of workshops cradling not of heavy thick vcivilization. Not of the lazy boring circuitous pachydermic not of heavy thick vpostprandial stroll but of violent penetrating intoxicating flight UPWARDS! the propeller – lover covers the clouds’ altars with a long veil; golden scales strips of sun dance on wings quivering from aerial caresses. No longer measuring time by the sun’s slow circuit, nor marking space by our legs’ brief compass; unit of time: the instant unit of measure: the equator and full speed ahead! with imagination struggling constantly to rip pierce rupture the infinite; realizing the insignificance of the past past past, creating imposing raising hurling launching into the not of heavy thick v future. Resting our weary minds, weary from constant toil, we will calmly glide through the air contemplating the earth levelled dissected fashioned not of heavy thick v vanquished enslaved by our genius! In the madly whirling rhythm of propellers catapulted down the sky’s paths In the electric billboards’ zigzag lights: vital veins of success. In walking running flying on the fastest racecourse in the world: progress I have seen you – BOCCIONI! smiling in the intoxication of the continual STRUGGLE – VICTORY – ACHIEVEMENT – FUTURIST QUEST

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Futurist Artists This was an exciting period for members of the Movimento Futurista Padovano, who engaged in a frenzy of activity. Following the Prima Mostra Triveneta, Dormàl and de Giorgio participated in the Venice Biennial in April 1932. In October, Dormàl and Voltolina exhibited works at the Terza Mostra d’Arte Triveneta in Padova, at which Marinetti delivered the opening speech. Together with a recent convert named Lorenzo Mazzorin, the three artists contributed to the Mostra d’Arte Futurista in Bologna in December. In May 1933, the same four sent works to the Mostra Futurista in Mantua, which, retitled Omaggio Futurista a Umberto Boccioni, was subsequently transferred to the Pesaro Gallery in Milan. By the time Dormàl received his law degree in November, he had participated in twenty-five art exhibitions (many of which are poorly documented), including shows in Paris and Athens.21 In October 1933, Dormàl, Mazzorin, Voltolina, Burrasca, de Giorgio, Tombola, and two recent recruits named Clemens and Episcopi took part in the Prima Mostra Nazionale Futurista in Rome, where Voltolina was honoured with a one-man show. Published in September 1929, the ‘Manifesto dell’aeropittura’ exhorted artists to celebrate the miracle of human flight in their works. Signed by Marinetti and eight Futurist painters, the manifesto envisioned three possible approaches: realistic, ‘spiritual’ (i.e., abstract), and kinetic. One of the chief representatives of the second approach, Voltolina (see figure 7) began to enjoy considerable success. Together with Peri, he exhibited at the Venice Biennial in 1934. In November of the same year, he participated in the Prima Mostra Nazionale di Plastica Murale in Genoa, in the Littoriali della Cultura e dell’Arte in Florence, and in the Seconda Mostra d’Arte Sindacale Polesana in Rovigo. In 1935, he edited L’ascensore in Venice (see chapter 1) which, like an earlier journal, Noi siamo le colonne ... (We are the pillars ...), consisted of a single issue. At the same time, he contributed articles to other journals such as Stile futurista, Artecrazia, and Sant’Elia. In February 1935, Voltolina and Mazzorin exhibited at the Seconda Quadriennale Nazionale d’Arte in Rome, where three rooms were reserved for the Futurists. In 1937, Voltolina contributed to the Mostra di Aeropittura Futurista organized by the Ministry of Aeronautics in Rome. In 1936, Mario Menin joined Voltolina at the Biennale di Venezia. The two artists participated in the Biennial again in 1938 and exhibited at the Terza Quadriennale Romana in 1939. In February 1938, Menin

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Figure 7. Nello Voltolina, Sintesi veneziana, 1934, oil on canvas, 50 × 40 cm, present whereabouts unknown.

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participated in a show entitled Aeropittura, Aeroscultura, Arte Sacra, Futuriste e Mostra Postuma Fillia, held in the offices of La gazzetta del popolo in Turin. Voltolina exhibited alone at the Venice Biennial in 1940, while Menin replaced him in 1942. Menin also participated in the Quarta Quadriennale Romana and contributed 146 drawings plus the cover to Marinetti’s Lo riprenderemo. Wir nehmen es uns wieder (Rome: Mediterraneo Futurista/CLET, 1943). When Alfredo G. Ambrosi and Renato di Bosso published Eroi macchine ali contro nature morte in 1942 (see the next chapter), they included Voltolina among the top ten Futurist painters. By this time, the artist had joined the Ministry of Aeronautics and was filming a movie entitled Gente dell’aria (Men of the air) in Rome. Besides participating in innumerable exhibitions, the Paduan Futurists were active in other spheres as well. In 1934, Dormàl co-authored, produced, and acted in Fiera di tipi (Model fair), a film inspired by contemporary American cinema. He also branched out into commercial advertising, designing displays for the Prima Mostra Corporativa in Italia, which took place in Padua the same year, and for the Fiera di Padova. The following year, he was commissioned to design the Italian pavilion at Expo 1935 in Brussels. In 1937, Dormàl edited a book about the Grenadiers of Savoy, illustrated with a series of photographic collages of his own devising. As on previous occasions, he issued an illustrated postcard designed to publicize his latest project. One of the original 7 Futuristi Padovani, Peri exhibited paintings at the Venice Biennial from 1934 to 1942. In 1935, he won the Grand Prize for decorative art at the Exposition Universelle in Brussels. A successful commercial artist as well, Peri displayed a number of posters at the Prima Mostra Nazionale del Cartellone in Rome in 1936. The next year, he exhibited several works in the Italian pavilion at the International Exposition of Decorative Arts in Paris. In addition, Peri enjoyed a successful career as an illustrator, contributing drawings to a long list of journals and to the Almanacco Letterario Bompiani in 1930 and 1932.22 Like Peri, Voltolina distinguished himself as an illustrator, designing covers for a number of books and for sheet music. Even de Giorgio tried his hand at illustration, fashioning a cover for a mechanical drama by the Sicilian playwright Ruggero Vasari, Raun: L’uomo e la macchina (Milan 1932).23 However, he was much more interested in architecture than in art. Trained as a professional architect, de Giorgio executed an endless series of innovative designs during the 1930s.

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Indeed, according to Giovanni Lista, he and Guido Mazzoni were the most active Futurist architects during this period.24 Like Giuseppe Tombola, who also completed several architectural projects, de Giorgio designed a number of major buildings and monuments for towns being constructed by the federal government. In June 1932, photographs of his projects for a Fiat Garage, a Sailors’ War Memorial, and a Flyers’ War Memorial appeared in Artecrazia, accompanying a manifesto by Prampolini.25 In 1937, de Giorgio edited Tre anni di marcia del futurismo padovano (Three years of Futurist activity in Padua), a book that contained photographs of all the projects actually completed. Like Dormàl, de Giorgio used illustrated postcards to publicize his latest projects. He even sent one to Marinetti (now in the Beinecke Library) with a drawing of a hotel by F. Tosato and himself. ‘Con l’ing[egnere] Tosato,’ he wrote, ‘sono capo gruppo degli urbanisti Padovani tutti passatisti che si stanno convincendo’ (Together with the engineer Tosato I am the head of a group of old-fashioned Paduan town planners who are slowly becoming convinced). Other postcards featured drawings for a Grand Hotel Malta, a Museum of the Revolution, and a fan-shaped lighthouse.26 The design for Vasari’s book cover also appeared on a postcard. Canta giovinezza Although the Paduan Futurists continued to be quite active during the 1930s, their impact was experienced primarily at the national level. Futurist activity in Padua itself tapered off towards the middle of the decade. The movement’s final achievement appeared in 1934, with the publication of a single issue of the journal Canta giovinezza (Sing of youth), whose title recalls the famous Fascist song ‘Giovinezza.’ Edited by Dormàl, whom Marinetti described on page 32 as ‘mio amico e capo del movimento futurista padovano’ (my friend and head of the Paduan Futurist Movement), the light-hearted publication appealed particularly to students and was filled with caricatures and local advertisements. Although it contained numerous Futurist contributions, the Futurists were far from the only contributors. While Dormàl submitted drawings and photographic collages, the volume was illustrated by other artists as well. Sandwiched in among the illustrations were several patriotic articles praising Mussolini and five works by Futurist poets, one of whom was Nino Burrasca. Leafing through the latter’s Versi, Dormàl chose his prize-winning poem ‘Sant’Elia.’

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The Other Futurism Al sole! al sole voglio legare il mio canto in onore a SANT’ELIA In alto! via per l’infinito azzurro Meta Vittoria Premio di Vita Archi audaci Veloci parabole lanciate conquistare spazio Gradinate di civiltà Torri luminose: vivide lame abbaglianti fendenti l’ombre bugiarde Le antenne lacerano – accarezzano il cielo con ronzii d’intrecciate armonie Piani pareti di fantasie coloristiche e fasci d’ascensori 10 100 sali scendi di magli possenti schiaccianti la contemplazione sedentaria di parassite decorazioni appicciate. Gioia Vivere Godere Creare nell’accarezzante luminosità di 1000 LUCI nell’ampio respiro di ampia città Andare Correre Volare nei piani del progresso premere premere l’elastica volta del cielo In alto! liberamente senza timore senza sforzo cuore in ascolto del canto di 1000 MOTORI Tu, primo architetto, ài inciso nel ritmo pulsante di macchine i comandi dell’architettura Tu, stroncato nello slancio conquistatore, ài segnato nell’aria la più bella via per San Giusto lo Ti vedo dinamico compositore di plastiche armonie geniale suonatore d’un IMMENSO ORGANO DI CEMENTO ARMATO. Tra squillanti note d’acciaio

Futurism in Padua componi e proietti musica di spazi e colori Gli echi rimbombano respondono SANT’ELIA! To the sun! To the sun I bequeath my song in honour of SANT’ELIA Upward! thrusting into azure infinity Goal Victory Life’s Prize Audacious arcs Parabolas rapidly conquering space Staircases of civilization Bright towers: dazzling swords slicing the deceitful shadows Antennas slash – caress the sky with Harmonic interwoven murmurs Surfaces walls of colourful fantasies and clusters of elevators 10 100 ascending descending smashing the parasites’ sedentary contemplation applied decorations with powerful hammers. Joy Life Happiness Creation in the luminous caresses of 1000 LIGHTS in the city’s vastness vast breathing Going Running Flying in the planes of progress pressing pressing against the sky’s elastic vault Upward! freely without fear or effort heart listening to the song of 1000 MOTORS You, prime architect, whose constructions echo the musical rhythms of vibrant machines You, struck down in your victorious dash, a victim of fate the loveliest route to San Giusto I see You

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The Other Futurism Dynamic composer of plastic harmonies brilliant performer on an IMMENSE ORGAN OF REINFORCED CONCRETE. Amid shrill notes of steel you compose and play music made of spaces and colours The echoes resound respond SANT’ELIA!

Antonio Sant’Elia was a visionary architect who joined the Futurist movement shortly before the First World War. Although he was killed at the front in 1915, before any of his projects could be realized, he exerted an important influence on modern architecture. Besides his manifesto ‘L’architettura futurista’ (1914), he left an intriguing collection of drawings which, as Jane Rye notes, ‘anticipate in a remarkable way the architecture of the twenties and thirties.’27 Using boldface type, Burrasca erects a thematic and metaphoric framework into which he inserts a list of Sant’Elia’s accomplishments. The frame’s principal themes – dynamism, power, speed, joy, and creativity – are drawn from the familiar Futurist repertoire – as are several of the metaphors. In contrast to the 1000 lamps and the 1000 motors, which connote brilliance and power respectively, the role of the sun is somewhat ambiguous. The source of energy and light, it serves both as a modern muse and as a Futurist emblem. Additional images are borrowed from Sant’Elia’s drawings and from ‘L’architettura futurista.’28 The civilized staircases refer to the architect’s fondness for stepped buildings – buildings that recede floor by floor as they rise. And the parallel between architecture and music, which is developed extensively towards the end, reflects his desire to create a harmonious urban environment (‘plastiche armonie’). Burrasca concludes by comparing Sant’Elia to a composer playing a monumental pipe organ. Since the architect insisted on using modern materials, the organ is made of reinforced concrete. Additional traces of the manifesto are evident throughout the poem. The audacious arcs and rapid parabolas reflect the architect’s belief that curved lines were especially dynamic. Similarly, the ‘fasci d’ascensori’ allude to his fondness for external elevators. ‘Gli ascensori non debbono rincantucciarsi come vermi solitari nei vani delle scale,’ he proclaimed, ‘[ma] debbono inerpicarsi, come serpenti di ferro e di vetro, lungo le facciate’ (Elevators should not hide themselves in staircases like tapeworms [but] should climb the facades like serpents of

Futurism in Padua

Figure 8. F.T. Marinetti, free-word poem from Canta giovinezza.

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iron and glass). The mechanical rhythms that Burrasca detects in Sant’Elia’s buildings evoke another section of the manifesto where he compared the Futurist city to a busy shipyard. Within the tumultuous enclave, he continued, each house should resemble a gigantic machine. Finally, the poem acknowledges Sant’Elia’s disdain for decorative elements and his obsession with smooth lines. ‘bisogna abolire il decorativo’ (the decorative must be abolished), he exclaimed in one place. Modern industrial society demanded a brand-new aesthetic that reflected its brand-new values. Like modern machines, modern architecture should be simple, functional, and streamlined. The authors of the next three poems, which were accompanied by two drawings by Dormàl, lived in other cities. In ‘Vorrei emanare,’ Farfa (from Trieste) proposed abolishing the notion of time by stopping all the clocks. In ‘Il duomo di Milano’ and ‘Un terremoto,’ Giovanni Gerbino presented amusing glimpses of Milan. Entitled ‘MARINETTI,’ the most interesting poem (figure 8) was reserved for another page. Composed by the Futurist leader himself, whose photograph appeared at the top, it featured copious visual effects and was situated in Padua. After conducting some business at the cattle market, Dormàl explained, Marinetti found he did not have enough money to take a taxi to the train station. Since he was urgently awaited in Abyssinia, where he was to lecture on ‘The Pressing Need to Cook Artichokes in the Futurist Manner,’ he hopped on a passing streetcar – with unfortunate results. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! A ROMAN SALUTE sciii sciii CRASH slish SLOSH slish SLOSH slish SLOSH Ahhh!: damn puddle! saved at laaaast. Train Station?: Grm! the ticket seller replies with a grunt. DONG DONG the incessant PEELING of a distant Bell tower.......... TOUGH men swaggering in the vulgar greenish space WE TURN AROUND and go back - rear platform – in 2 – – double saraband – – a ve-ry-hu-man satyricironicsardonicsuperiorscornful glance from the fellow who took my 4 pennies...sciii sciii sciii CRAAASH: annoying – alarming – tragic REARING UP with iron fastenings jangling – laborious ga-sp-ing from questionable lady

sciii

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HIGH tide washing us out to sea – a glance of scornful pity. The gallopppppp continues laboriously BRRRRR! –> change here! ....I ffflow onto

CRRRR-CRACK–> 1 the street AAAhhhh!!! I FOUNDER in the snow – I-NE-EX-OR-AB-LY: saved agaaain. Another streetcar – – the sound of bolts: shouuuuts / voicessss carters and drivers cursing – – Strive to interpret our desires with a piece of iron jammed in the rails – – wwwwild gallopppppp: fat belly expanding. Craaash! Slimy feminine coils move away from me in disgust Alleyyyy oooop flying through the heart of the city – A long line appears ahead ..........LARGE 8 the final curve: I rush forward.. Slish.. Slosh.. Slish.. Slosh.. ticket book DAMN.... steel monster disappearing on the horizon – belching smokeflashessparks in the sOlar waves As Dormàl’s tongue-in-cheek introduction intimates, this is intended to be a humorous tale. Supposedly notarized by Josè Schivo, whose ‘signature’ appears at the bottom, the poem recounts Marinetti’s epic journey to the train station, which in those days was located in the centre of town. According to the introduction, the ground was covered with a filthy blanket of wet snow. As streetcar number 3 rounds the corner, the clanging of its bell grows louder and louder – indicated by the first of many visual analogies: progressively larger type. Joking that his gesture resembles a Fascist salute, Marinetti holds up his arm and signals it to stop. Preceded by the sound of screeching brakes (‘sciii sciii sciii’), the streetcar grinds to a halt (‘BRUMM’). Sloshing through the wet snow, Marinetti steps in a puddle in his hurry to board the vehicle. The streetcar itself carries both a conductor and a ticket seller, neither of whom attempts to be polite. When Marinetti asks whether the car goes to the train station, the seller replies with an unintelligible grunt. Perceiving they are surrounded by a group of rough- looking men, Marinetti and his companion (who is never named) retreat to the rear platform, where they dance a kind

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of jig (‘sarabanda’) to keep warm. As the ticket seller casts a sardonic glance in their direction, the streetcar screeches to a noisy halt, scaring a female passenger half to death and generating another scornful glance. Like ‘G/IRIAMO,’ which is dislocated to form the streetcar’s rear platform, ‘IMPENNAR SI’ constitutes a visual analogy. Since Marinetti compares the vehicle to a rearing horse, he employs ascending typographical fonts. Resuming its awkward ‘gallop,’ which is also represented visually, the streetcar continues awhile before stopping with a mighty crash. Although it is plainly marked ‘Stazione’ (according to the introduction), Marinetti discovers he must transfer to a second car. Foundering in a snowdrift, he is saved by the appearance of an equally noisy streetcar that, after stopping to pick him up, takes off on a ‘wwwwild gallopppppp’ amid a hail of curses from other drivers. Thrown off balance at one point, Marinetti bumps against a fat woman next to him, who recoils in disgust. Flying through the town at breakneck speed, the streetcar negotiates a final series of curves and comes to a crashing halt. Ticket in hand, Marinetti hurries to the station, only to discover that his train has just left. As he helplessly watches it disappear, the sun (represented by another visual analogy) bathes the scene in brilliant light. The text concludes with a humorous signature, which, like Schivo’s, was probably added by Dormàl: ‘S. E. S. F. O. T. S. MARINETTI.’ As mentioned earlier, the first two letters stand for Sua Eccellenzia. Alternating with Marinetti’s first and middle initials, the remaining letters form an international signal of distress. Il Gruppo Futurista Savarè Following the publication of Canta giovinezza, Futurist activity in Padua basically ceased. On 12 July 1936, however, Corrado Forlin and Italo Fasullo founded a group in a neighbouring town that provided a certain amount of continuity. Named after Gioacchino Savarè, a war hero who had been killed in Eritrea, it was based in Monselice, situated halfway between Padua and Rovigo. Consisting of local artists and writers, the Gruppo Futurista Savarè soon attracted the attention of the Futurists in Padua, who began to participate in some of its activities. In January 1938, for example, Dormàl and de Giorgio exhibited a number of works at the Terza Mostra Futurista del Gruppo Savarè. Little by little, the group began to transfer its activities to Padua itself. In October 1940, the members mounted their seventh exhibition in Monselice, fea-

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turing seventy paintings by Forlin, Fasullo, and Leonida Zen, which motivated even Mussolini to pay a visit. The show travelled to Padua subsequently, where works by Achille Caviglioni (who lived in Bologna) were added and where it met with equal success. Aeropoets and Aeropainters Aeropoeti aeropittori di guerra, the Paduan catalogue, contained examples of poetry interspersed with the illustrations. While the Futurists had always cultivated nationalistic themes, this tendency was exacerbated when Italy entered the Second World War on 10 June 1940. Reflecting the general patriotic fervour, the cover featured a picture of Mussolini on horseback. Painted by Forlin, Il condottiero (1936) portrayed Il Duce as a man of steel – part robot and part medieval knight. Five of the six illustrations were also concerned with patriotic subjects. Continuing the theme enunciated on the cover, Zen depicted the Genio fascista di Mussolini (1940). Inspired by a similar muse, Fasullo chose to portray the Genio fascista di Marconi (1940). Although only three artists were represented in the catalogue, it included poems by seven poets, each of whom contributed a single composition. Interestingly, only two of the poets came from Monselice: Forlin and Riccardo Averini. While the former praised military bravery in ‘Medaglia d’oro sul campo’ (Gold medal on the battlefield), the latter celebrated the airplane in ‘Il decollo’ (Taking flight). Ugo Veronesi, who despite his name lived in Ferrara, contributed a work entitled ‘Quattro tempi’ (Four movements). Written by Maria Goretti in Bologna, another poem commemorated the date Italy entered the First World War – ironically on the other side – which had become a public holiday. Entitled ‘24 maggio,’ it began as follows: Immensificarsi azzurro dell’arco di cielo accogli accogli la rombante gioia dei trimotori in festa accogli accogli l’inno festoso del tuo nudo sole di guerra rosso pugnace ardente accogli accogli fra le tue braccia di eterno acciaio incorruttibile cielo di maggio accogli accogli la sposa che ti portò fiori de sangue primavera del ventiquattro maggio.

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The Other Futurism Magnify yourself sky blue vault welcome welcome the festive trimotors’ thundering joy welcome welcome your naked sun’s festive hymn, emblem of war red bellicose blazing welcome welcome incorruptible May sky with your eternal arms of steel welcome welcome the bride who brought you flowers of blood on this twenty-fourth day of May.

As the words ‘festa’ and ‘festoso’ make clear, the poem celebrates the annual holiday rather than the First World War itself. The airplanes flying overhead are not engaging in military manoeuvres, therefore, but are participating in the national celebration. Yet the fact that the bride is carrying ‘fiori di sangue’ complicates the situation. On the one hand, Goretti appears to have picked some scarlet poppies to place on a war memorial. Like the expression, on the other hand, this gesture reminds us of the awful bloodshed commemorated by that monument. And lest we forget the terrible sacrifice the war demanded, the bloody flowers are mirrored by a bloody kiss at the end of the poem. ‘Abbandono felice il mio destino immutabile,’ the speaker declares as dawn begins to break; ‘muoio felice creatura mortale / presso il tuo cuore d’oro / che seppe il bacio di sangue / ora saprà il mio lunghissimo bacio di luce!’ (I happily abandon my immutable destiny / I a mortal creature die happy / near your golden heart / which received the kiss of blood / now it will receive my long kiss of light!). At this point, one realizes the speaker is a star rather than an actual person. With this discovery comes the recognition that the death evoked in the final section is temporary and metaphoric. Since the sun is about to rise, the star simply prepares to fade away. Once again, however, the theme of death reminds us of former sacrifices on the battlefield. Sandwiched in among the poems and illustrations included in the catalogue was a page containing two columns of quotations. While one column documented Forlin’s critical reception, the other sought to establish a close relationship between Mussolini and Futurism. One of the quotes was from Il Duce himself – always an astute politician – who called Marinetti ‘il mio caro vecchio amico delle prime battaglie fasciste’ (my dear old friend from the earliest Fascist battles). Of the three remaining poets, Giuseppe Marcati (from Legnago) evoked the

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accidental sinking of a British submarine the previous year in ‘Naufragio del Thetis,’ and Alfonso Giglioli (from Rovigo) celebrated Italy’s military might in a poem entitled ‘Ala fascista’ (Fascist wing). Elio Morato (from Este) developed a similar theme in ‘Stormo in guerra (Spagna)’ (A swarm of war planes [Spain]), which related an episode from the Spanish Civil War. Since more than 50,000 Italian troops fought on Spanish soil, one suspects he witnessed the scene personally. Aragona acre afa di terra macerata dalla battaglia Sull’orizzonte lo stupore sanguigno di luna piena In cupo accordo di rombi uno stormo vola grave come squadra di carri d’assalto notturna parata innanzi alla luna sudosa di sangue agli aerei lenti Lo stormo passa Ed è alla nemica pianura tepore di sangue diafana schiera di croci. Aragon acrid sultriness of land wasted by war On the horizon the blood-red wonder of the full moon Throbbing in deep harmony a swarm of planes flies

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The Other Futurism as solemn as a squadron of assault tanks the nocturnal parade advances towards the moon whose blood drips on the lumbering airplanes The swarm passes And the enemy plain is bathed in a bloody warmth a pale array of crosses.

The Last Days In January 1941, the Savarè group organized an exhibition at the Castello Estense in Ferrara, devoted to the Futuristi Aeropittori di Guerra, which included several paintings by Mario Menin. The same year saw the publication of a book entitled Mario Menin camicia nera futurista e primo battaglista del mondo (Mario Menin Futurist black shirt and world champion soldier) by Edizioni Futuriste ‘Poesia’ in Rome. Spanning the period from 1935 to 1941, the twenty-four illustrations depicted numerous battle scenes, the artist’s family, farm life, and – rather unexpectedly – Christ’s Passion. In an introductory essay, Marinetti confided that they were painted while Menin was serving in the army and that one picture had been acquired by Il Duce. He and Menin had fought in Abyssinia together, he continued: in the 28 October Division composed of three thousand men, eight cannons, and fifty machineguns. As if to support this assertion, one of the illustrations portrayed the Futurist leader addressing a band of soldiers at the front. Menin met Marinetti at an art exhibition in 1916, he revealed in a second essay, where he sold him a drawing for 28 lire. Since this was his first commercial success, he remembered it fondly. Following his service in Abyssinia, Menin added, he fought in the Spanish Civil War and eventually re-enlisted in the Italian army. In a final essay, Luigi Scrivo praised the artist’s works, discussed his Futurist credentials, and listed his numerous exhibitions, including one-man shows in Rome, Naples, and Cagliari. Forlin had published a document entitled ‘Manifesto dell’ardentismo nell’aeropittura futurista’ (Manifesto of ardentism in Futurist

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aeropainting) in Monselice six months before.29 Dated 3 June 1940, it exhorted Futurist artists to adopt a ‘carnal’ approach to painting. In 1941, the artist published a pamphlet in Padua entitled ‘Futurismo ardentismo Forlin’ with reproductions of his works, reviews of previous exhibitions, and testimonials from various persons. Forlin coined the term ardentismo, Marinetti explained, to express ‘l’esuberanza di colore con cui spesso egli ottiene potenti dinamismi e decisive simultaneità nelle sue magnifiche e già celebri aeropitture’ (the exuberant colours in his famous aeropaintings, with which he achieves powerful dynamic and simultaneous effects). These remarks were illustrated by paintings depicting a new town called Carbonia, the Palio in Siena, and The Surprise of Flight. They were accompanied by a portrait of Mussolini, Ecco il Duce futurista, and a portrait of Italo Balbo, who had become a national hero following his transatlantic flight in 1931. Unfortunately, since the reproductions were in black and white, their dynamic effects were partially muted. The pamphlet’s back cover featured a photograph of Marinetti and Forlin addressing a large crowd. According to the caption, it depicted the two men ‘esaltan[do] la guerra Mussoliniana alla 10a Mostra di Aeropitture di Guerra a Milano’ (exalt[ing] the Mussolinian war at the 10th Exhibition of Aeropaintings of War, held in Milan). Judging from this photograph and a review by the journalist and prolific author Emilio Radius (reprinted in the pamphlet), the Castello Estense show must have travelled to Milan after it closed in Ferrara. Writing in the Corriere della sera on 8 February 1941, Radius explained how the Gruppo Futurista Savarè acquired its name and mentioned that the exhibition in Milan included works by Forlin, Fasullo, Caviglioni, Zen, and Magri. Coincidentally, another photograph belonging to the Beinecke Library suggests the show may have travelled to Padua after it closed in Milan. ‘A Padova,’ the caption proclaims, ‘il Poeta Marinetti e il pittore Forlin declamano aeropoesie di guerra a 10,000 Volontari del Littorio’ (At Padua, the poet Marinetti and the painter Forlin declaiming aeropoetry devoted to war to 10,000 Volunteers from the Fascist ranks). The photograph shows the artist and the Futurist leader, dressed in his military uniform, speaking into a microphone before a large crowd. According to all indications, Forlin and Marinetti accompanied the exhibition to Padua, where they repeated their earlier performance in Milan. This would explain why the painter decided to publish ‘Futurismo ardentismo Forlin,’ for example, which would have been sold or

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given away at the door. For that matter, a second pamphlet was probably available as well, which would have been distributed in the same manner. Published by the Gruppo Futurista Savarè in Padua, ‘Vincere’ (Victory) included an article by Marinetti addressed to the Combattenti italiani (Italian soldiers), a discussion of Futurism and Ardentism by Forlin, and texts by Maria Goretti, Riccardo Averini, Lia Pioli, Giuseppe Marcati, and Emilio Radius. In March 1942, the Savarè group organized its eleventh exhibition – at the circle Ernesto Capellozza in Padua. Invited to participate once again, Marinetti declaimed excerpts from his recent book of aeropoetry, Canto gli eroi e le macchine della guerra Mussoliniana (I sing the heroes and the machines of the Mussolinian war). Although we do not know which poems he chose, one suspects they included ‘Simultaneità della famiglia Savarè gara di eroismi’ (Simultaneity of the Savarè family’s heroic contest). On this occasion, Forlin recited ‘Gavetta’ (Messtin), an equally patriotic poem, dedicated to soldiers from Padua who were serving in the infantry. In June, eager to contribute to the war effort, Forlin and his colleagues founded a Centrale Futurista in Monselice, which was charged with a highly ambitious mission. According to a manuscript Forlin sent Marinetti (now in the Getty Center Library), they planned to send aeropoems to every member of the armed forces. Not only would soldiers read them to each other, they confidently announced, but every officer would recite them to his men. However, as Italy began to suffer serious reverses, the ‘vittoria presto sicura’ (certain victory) predicted by the same document proved to be illusory. Drafted into the army at the end of 1942, Forlin was killed fighting on the Russian front. Fasullo, captured by the Germans in 1943 (in Istria), suffered the same fate as his colleague.

3

Futurism in Verona

In contrast to the two previous cities, which experienced Futurist activity almost from the beginning, Verona encountered the movement somewhat later. Although Marinetti and his colleagues passed through the city repeatedly, on their way to Padua or Venice, they did not attempt to enlist its inhabitants in the Futurist cause. Perhaps they thought it would be a waste of time, or perhaps they were in too great a hurry. Whatever the explanation, Futurism did not arrive in Verona until after the First World War had begun. Between 1909 and 1914, the Futurists preferred to hold their exhibitions and their notorious serate elsewhere. Nor did Marinetti visit the city in 1912, when he toured the Veneto declaiming La battaglia di Tripoli (see chapter 1). Although the Futurists eventually succumbed to Verona’s attractions, they reserved their verbal pyrotechnics for other cities initially. The First Phase As the Futurist movement gained more and more momentum, attracting adherents from all over Italy, it finally arrived in Verona. With the creation of Synthetic Theatre, Futurism became not only increasingly visible but also increasingly mobile. Inspired by the manifesto’s visionary rhetoric, touring companies restlessly criss-crossed the Italian peninsula in search of new audiences. Although many spectators were hostile at first, they adopted a more tolerant attitude after Italy joined the war. Opening in Ancona on 1 February 1915, the Berti-Masi company travelled to Bologna three days later, where they appeared before a packed auditorium. Writing in L’arena the next day, an anonymous reviewer in Verona panned the company’s performance and described

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the unruly scene. ‘Una minoranza inferocita,’ he reported, ‘ha voluto ostinatamente far chiasso per tutta la serata, colpendo con patate, pomi ed altri proiettili esecutori e autori’ (A fierce minority persisted in making noise throughout the performance, pelting the actors and the authors with potatoes, apples, and other projectiles).1 However, most of the audience was willing to let the actors continue, he concluded wryly, since it would have represented an even worse punishment. Undaunted by this less than cordial experience, the company travelled to Padua and Venice subsequently, where they were subjected to more abuse. Judging from a contemporary newspaper report, a similar reception awaited them on 15 February, when they performed at the Teatro Ristori in Verona. Since taunting the actors had become a popular sport, the ‘greengrocers’ were supplied with plenty of ammunition. ‘I futuristi con a capo Marinetti fanno capolino al Ristori, accolti da una battaglia di mele e di aranci,’ a reviewer from Bologna reported in L’avvenire d’Italia. ‘Fu loro regalata anche una scopa che servirà alla raccolta dei proiettili’ (Headed by Marinetti, the Futurists appeared briefly at the Ristori, where they were welcomed by a barrage of apples and oranges. They even received a broom, which they can use to clean up all the missiles).2 While few traces remain of this event, it undoubtedly resembled the previous performances in Padua and Venice. Like them, the program in Verona would have consisted of ten to twelve plays taken from the company’s limited repertoire: Marinetti’s L’improvvisata, Simultaneità, Il teatrino dell’amore, Le basi, Un chiaro di luna, and Vengono; Emilio Settimelli and Bruno Corra’s Verso la conquista, Passatismo, and Dissonanze; Settimelli and Remo Chiti’s Pazzi girovaghi; Balilla Pratella’s L’amante delle stelle; and Paolo Buzzi’s Il guinzaglio. We know from reviews of other performances that the program lasted about two and a half hours. Ironically, it seems to have taken more time to change the scenery than to perform the plays themselves. Although each sintesi lasted only a few minutes, each apparently required extensive preparations. ‘The plays are very short,’ one reviewer complained, and ‘the intervals very long.’3 Writing to Pratella on 17 February, Marinetti reported that L’amante delle stelle had been well received in Bologna, Venice, and Verona.4 In addition, he added, the performances attracted hundreds of enthusiastic supporters. Since Futurism’s initial impact on Verona is poorly documented, reconstructing its evolution presents a considerable challenge. Despite the paucity of details, the performance appears to have been an effective catalyst, attracting a number of people to the Futurist cause. A let-

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ter written a few months later reveals the new disciples were not only enthusiastic but intensely loyal. Following the Florentine Futurists’ break with Marinetti in February 1915, Ardengo Soffici and others satirized the Futurist program in their journal Lacerba. Writing to Carlo Carrà on 21 May, Soffici maintained his remarks were simply a logical extension of Marinetti’s absurd doctrine.5 As proof, he added, a Futurist from Verona had written to accuse him of plagiarism! Convinced Soffici was trying to found a rival school, the irate disciple quoted from texts by Marinetti and Boccioni to prove his point. In the absence of additional details, one suspects this correspondent was either Diego Costa, who originally came from Rovereto, or Giorgio Ferrante, who was born in Ravenna. Although the two men seem to have been ardent Futurists, not a great deal is known about their activities in Verona. Giorgio Ferrante and Diego Costa According to Maurizio Scudiero, Ferrante was a good friend of Umberto Boccioni’s, whose artillery unit was assigned to the Austrian front not far from Verona.6 The young Futurist would pedal his bicycle out to the camp almost every night, bringing news of Boccioni’s sister and brother-in-law (who was Ferrante’s teacher at the liceo). On 16 August 1916, when the latter were unfortunately out of town, the artist suffered a fatal accident and died the next day. Accompanied by an honour guard, Ferrante, Costa, and Plinio Codognato (a poster designer) were the only mourners at his funeral. Costa commemorated this experience in a painting a few days later, which depicts a horsedrawn hearse slogging through the rain followed by three figures carrying umbrellas.7 Summoned by Ferrante, who telegraphed him immediately, Marinetti arrived the next day, looking extremely distraught and twenty years older. Although Ferrante was only eighteen years old, he was completely committed to Futurism. From his conversations with Boccioni, who had continued to paint at the front, he had acquired an excellent knowledge of Futurist theory and practice. In addition, Boccioni seems to have introduced him to a number of other Futurists, with whom he soon began to correspond. Encouraged by his mentor, Ferrante also began to experiment with Futurist poetry. Towards the end of 1916, he sent a free-word poem, ‘In treno’ (In the train), to Gino Soggetti, who, with Angelo Rognoni, edited La folgore futurista (The Futurist thunderbolt) in Pavia. The composition appeared in the February 1917 issue,

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together with works by Paolo Buzzi, Francesco Cangiullo, and others.8 Consisting almost entirely of sound effects, it evokes a journey by train across much of northern Italy. Gathering momentum as it leaves Verona, the engine speeds through the countryside, picks up passengers in Brescia and Treviglio, and eventually arrives in Milan. Sprinkled among the copious onomatopoeia, which include the sound of its Westinghouse brakes, are references to objects and people encountered along the way. In one station, we glimpse a porter (‘facchino’) standing beside several handcarts (‘curri’). As passengers hurry past a newstand advertising L’avvenire d’Italia, the conductor announces the train’s departure (‘Pronti ... parteenza’). creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – – – vultemtren – vultemtren – vultemtren – vultemtren – vultemtren – vultemtren – vultemtren – vulteamtraem – vulteamtraem – vulteam – traem – tran – tantron – tran – tantron – tran – tantron trantantron – trantrantron – trantrantrontrantrantrontrantrantrontrantrantrontrantran – trontrantrantrontrantrantrontrantrantrontrantrantron 1 cium – – cium – sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss 1 ciumciumciumcium 1 cium – – cium – freni Westinghoussssssssssssssssssss 1 cium cium cium 1 cium – – cium – fsssssSchirichirichirichirichirichirichiri – sssssss 1 ciumciumcium trec trac trec trec stum Verronaaaa traec treac truac traec vensvant bresciatrevigliomilanooo stom orsant oi oe ad la c vaistr versoeis man largheop id largheop di rg rr vell veartoi matrs ar cuorrieareeee da siacolaoeee oe he rr crainair crrrrrrrrrrrr facchainot facchinoooo juvenire Pronti – – – parteenza currrri avvenaire d'aitalia crrrr iiiill

Futurism in Verona fsss fsss fsss fsss fssss fssss fssss fssss fssss fssss fssss fssss fsss fsss fsss fsss

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ctrectranctrectraictretrave

fffu

ffu

ffu

fsss fsss fsss fssss fssss fssss ciuff–ciufff fssss fssss fssss fsss fsss fsss ciufff–ciufff–ciufff–ciufff–ciufff–ciuff – ciuffciuffciifciufciufciufciuf ciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciufciuf– fiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiufiu– fiufiusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciusciu –– sciusciuvultemtrenvultemtrenvultemtrenvultemtrenvultemtrenvultemtren – – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – creechkt – – creechkt – creechkt – – craimvultram – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – – creechkt – – craimvutram – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt – creechkt.

Ferrante published another poem three months later in L’Italia futurista, which was edited in Florence by Corra and Settimelli. Entitled ‘I rumori della primavera’ (The sounds of spring), it appeared in the 20 May issue with a dedication to the Futurist painter Giacomo Balla. Dizionario ingannare affermando silenzio significare stato di nessun rumore tutto è relativo nostra sensibilità auditiva microfona percepire nel silenzio minimi suoni rumori sorda umanità non sentire senso udito rudimentale imperfetto silenzio non essere mancare maAmcaAree maaAncaaAreeee – –

RIEMPIRE – SATURARE ruuuuuuuuuu – –

– – riiiiiiiiiii

– – moooooooooo – – in – – ter – –

– – spa – – – – zia

– – li miniiiimiiii

ronziii brulichiii brusiii formicoliii frusciii striiii–striii friiii–friiii pliiii–tliiii zzzz–iiiii rrrr–xxxx ftzzz–cssss prrrrr–tztztz aueaiiii eioueeee oaueaaaa ieuauuuu uaieooooo – –

SILENZIO i (aspirare) hshshshshrhshs-della radice che succhia r chetretretretretretretr del filo d’erba che spunta t flllllllflllllllflllllll della linfa che corre s e pt pt pt pt pt (sforzo) pttlecah ttleach (scoppio) p della gemma che s'apre m hiaeiiii–haeiiii (giorno) fleooooo–fleooooo (notte) a c della foglia che respira i r (sottovoce lentìssimo) sciacee del polline che cade o m bleaenaentlaonlaoptiaonloloeblaeentaeee del fiore u r che si colora 0 0 mluachtleaeplaiovloichtleomlaaaaa del frutto 0 che matura 1 frzrstrfrchrsfstrssztrzzzz di tutti gli insetti

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tutte queste inavvertite nullità rumoristiche unite trasformare in frastuono il cosiddetto silenzio dei campi – – eccitare spaccare nostri seensiibiliiissssss – sssimi timpani trasmettere impressione comunicare voluttà suprema nostri futurissssssssssimi centri nervosi acustici i quali godere godere fino al delirio questo incessantesasperante rumorismo minimo che chiama SILENZIO l’atona–grezza–fessa–fottuta–senza – nervi–invecchiata–rimbambita–arrugginita–eunuca barbagia pietrificata–pacifista–conservatrice–incosciente–cristia – nuccia–incallita–borghese–istupidita–balorda–avvelenata – isterilita–incancrenita–imputridita–afflosciata–snervata – incartapecorita–smidollata–incitrullita – PASSATISTA – moribonda–carcassa–UMANITÀ. Dictionary deceiving affirming silence signifying lack of sound everything is relative our auditory sensibility microphone perceiving in silence faint sounds noises deaf humanity not hearing rudimen– tary imperfect sense of hearing silence not being an absence an abBsenCee an abbBseeeNceeee – –

FILLING – SATURATING SILENCE miiiinuuuuute – – in – –

– – spa – –

– – ter soooooo – –

–– tial

–– dssssss

– – uuuuuuuun – – murmuring swarms buzzing swarms rustling striiii–striiii friiii–friiii pliii–tliii zzzzz–iiiii rrrr–xxxx ftzzzz–cssss prrrrr – tztztz aueaiiii eioueeee oaueaaaa ieuauuuu

d n u o s

s (breathing) hshshshshrhshs–of roots sucking chetretretretretretr– of a blade of grass sprouting fllllllfllllllllflllllll – of sap running pt pt pt pt pt (force)

pttlecah ttleach (bursting)

of a bud opening y hiaeiiii–haeiiii (day) fleooooo fleooooo (night) r t of a leaf breathing n u (slowly whispering) sciaceee – of pollen falling o c bleaenaentlaonlaoptiaonloloeblaeentaeew of a flower blushing 0 mluachtleaeplaiovloichtleomlaaaaa of fruit 0 ripening 0 frzrstrfrchrsrfstrssztrzzzz of all the insects 1

all these noisy anonymous worthless things transforming the fields’ supposed silence into a racket stimulating splitting our sensiitiiivvvvvvvve eardrums transmitting impressions communicating enormous pleasure our futurissssssssst acoustic nerve centres enjoy-

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ing enjoying deliriously these tiny ceaselessexasperating noises which atonic–crude–idiotic–godamned–insensitive–oldfashioned– dotty–rusty–castrated– blockheaded– petrified– pacifist–conservative–thoughtless–christian– callous–bourgeois–stupid–dullwitted–embittered–sterile– gangrenous– rotten–flabby–exhausted–wizened– spineless– ridiculous–HOPELESSLY OUTMODED–moribund carcass–HUMANITY calls SILENCE.

While Ferrante’s thesis is relatively simple, the poem itself is much more ambitious. Emanating from his ‘wireless imagination,’ it is written in the telegraphic style that had become a Futurist hallmark. In addition to occasional word pairs, it contains synoptic tables, copious onomatopoeia, numerous typographical effects, and a primitive visual analogy or two. Ferrante was clearly an accomplished poet familiar with the principles governing free-word poetry. Comprising three movements, the composition revolves around a central paradox: that silence is noisy. Attempting to prove this startling assertion, Ferrante focuses on the arrival of spring. He begins by attacking the dictionary definition of silence, which Il Nuovo Zingarelli defines as ‘[la] mancanza completa di suoni’ ([the] complete absence of sound). If we listen intently, he insists, we can detect a number of sounds – which are magnified by the silence. In fact, the silent countryside reverberates with numerous noises, which are enumerated in the second section. Since spring is the season of rebirth and renewal, the fields are humming with activity. Plants and animals alike participate in the universal dance of life. For listeners equipped with a Futurist sensibility, the poem concludes, these sounds seem positively deafening. Unappreciated by the rest of humanity, whom Ferrante excoriates at considerable length, they are a source of enormous joy. Unfortunately, we know even less about Diego Costa’s activities in Verona than Ferrante’s. Scudiero reports that the Costa family settled in Verona in 1915, where they remained until the end of the war.9 Trained as an artist, Diego found temporary employment in several other cities, including Milan, where he met Marinetti and fell in love with Futurism. Following the death of Boccioni, whom he knew as well, Costa and Ferrante attempted to found a Futurist circle in Verona. They even invited several acquaintances from Mantua to join the group. One would love to know more about this project, which was ultimately unsuccessful. Forced to abandon their plans, the two men

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moved to Milan and joined a Futurist group that included Mario Dessy, Mario Carli, the Cangiullo brothers, and Armando Mazza. On 4 May 1917, Costa published a text in Freccia futurista (Futurist arrow), edited by Alk Giàn and Pietro Negri. An unpretentious little poem, it relates the speaker’s impressions as he gradually falls asleep. Savouring the delicious moment, which is all too brief, he feels his fatigue draining away like sand in an hourglass.

CAMERA BIANCO Tomba bianca avvolta nel manto B elettrico della pateI tica sfumatura notturna. A Sentirmi midollo svolgersi N su duro tavolaccio – legato C imbavagliato – impresso nell'inO finito svolto nella giornata. Godo della fatica clessidra che mi porta precipitosamente al sonno. DORMO

THE ROOM White tomb shrouded WHITE in the poignant W nocturnal shadow's H electric cloak. I Feeling my being unwinding T on the hard plank bed – bound E and gagged – imprinted on the day's infinite unfolding. I savor my fatigue hourglass rapidly bearing me off to sleep. I FALL ASLEEP

While he was living in Milan, Costa developed a colourful and highly original style of Futurist painting that he explored in a number of works. Curiously, although he was primarily an artist, his poetic compositions seem to have received more attention than his paintings.

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When the Esposizione Nazionale Futurista was held in Milan in 1919, for instance, he contributed a single free-word composition entitled ‘Mare’ (Seas). By this date, Costa’s commitment to the Futurist enterprise had basically evaporated. Scudiero speculates that he was frustrated by the lack of artistic recognition. Whatever the explanation, Costa abandoned Futurism following the exhibition, returned to Rovereto, and became a realistic painter specializing in alpine scenes. Like Costa, Ferrante left Milan after a few years and moved back to the Veneto, where he spent the rest of his life. During the next thirty years, he published a number of prose works, several volumes of literary criticism, and at least four books of poetry. At the same time he became a prolific journalist, contributing numerous articles to newspapers in Verona and elsewhere. Although nothing is known about Costa and Ferrante’s relationship to Lionello Fiumi, who is the subject of the following section, at some point Ferrante developed a passion for his poetry. Between 2 February 1924, when he reviewed Occhi in giro in L’arena, and the end of his life, he published several books and some three dozen articles devoted to Fiumi’s works.10 Lionello Fiumi Besides Costa and Ferrante, another inhabitant of Verona developed a keen interest in Futurism as well. Whereas they actively participated in Futurist activities, Lionello Fiumi preferred to remain on the sidelines. A Futurist sympathizer rather than an official member, he actually declined Marinetti’s invitation to join the movement.11 Between 1913 and 1925, as Ferrante later noted, Fiumi adopted an aesthetic stance midway between that of the crepuscolari and that adopted by the Futurists.12 Destined to become a major literary figure, he revolted against the former’s melancholy poetry, which was extremely popular, and embraced the latter’s optimistic dynamism. Although he thought many of the parole in libertà were frivolous, Fiumi later confided, he consistently supported the Futurist movement. ‘I poeti futuristi,’ his first article about Futurism, appeared in L’Adige (Verona) on 20 and 22 April 1913. It was followed by a review of Luciano Folgore’s poetry the following year. A poet as well as a critic, Fiumi attempted in 1914 to found an avantgarde movement of his own. He also published a book of poetry entitled Pòlline (Pollen), hoping to attract other poets to his cause. In an ‘Apello neoliberista’ (Neo free-verse manifesto), which preceded the poems, he

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contrasted his poetry with that of the Futurists.13 Although he was not a Futurist himself, Fiumi announced, he supported the movement’s attempts to revolutionize Italian poetry. While he admired the Futurists’ ingenuity and imagination, he regarded some of their experiments as clearly absurd. And although their theoretical pronouncements were frequently impressive, they suffered from serious defects. In particular, Fiumi objected to the Futurists’ insistence on juxtaposing disparate images and to their monumental disdain for the past. He complained that the Futurists were too regimented and that their objective descriptions left no room for subjective impressions. Stressing the need for common sense, Fiumi called on other free-verse poets to join him in the pursuit of beauty. Together they would create a movement devoted neither to the past nor to the future but to the present. Despite the reservations enumerated above, Fiumi admired what the Futurists were trying to accomplish. He also appreciated much of their poetry – especially that written by Paolo Buzzi. Wishing to make Buzzi’s acquaintance, he sent him a copy of Pòlline together with an article he had written earlier – probably ‘I poeti futuristi.’ In a letter dated 2 December 1914, Buzzi thanked him for the volume, which contained a handwritten dedication, and for publicizing his poetry.14 He was already familiar with Fiumi’s work, he declared, which displayed ‘qualità sensitive di primo ordine’ (sensitive qualities of the highest order). He added that he was experimenting with visual poetry and promised to send him a Symbolist poem for his ‘album.’ While Buzzi’s experiments appeared in L’ellisse e la spirale (The ellipse and the spiral) the following year, it is not known whether Fiumi ever received the promised poem or what he planned to do with it. Following this initial exchange, Fiumi concentrated on a number of other projects. Eager to learn more about Synthetic Theatre, he attended the performance in Verona on 15 February 1915, where he met Marinetti, Emilio Settimelli, and Bruno Corra.15 In April, he contributed articles on Corrado Govoni’s poetry to both L’Adige and the Gazzetta Ferrarese. In July, he published a poem, ‘Il primo’ (The first), in La Diana (Naples) – the first of fourteen contributions that would appear over the next two years. Fiumi also began writing a book about Govoni, whom he visited in Ferrara in May 1916. At the same time, Buzzi’s poetry continued to interest him as well. When Giuseppe Ravegnani visited him during the summer, Ravegnani later reported, much of their conversation centred on the Futurist poet.16 In addition Fiumi received a letter from Giovanni Papini, the co-editor of Lacerba,

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complimenting him on the publication of Pòlline.17 The editor of La Diana, Gherardo Marone, was equally impressed and published an article on Fiumi in September. As 1915 drew to a close, Fiumi sent Buzzi his best wishes for the new year. The latter responded on 7 January 1916, thanking him for his card and praising his previous poetry. In addition, he urged him to send some poems to Gli avvenimenti, whose poetry editor he had recently become. Since Fiumi failed to respond, he devoted his column of 13 February to three poems recently published in La Riviera Ligure. Following the publication of an essay on Luciano Folgore in La Diana on 25 January Fiumi decided to write an article about Buzzi’s works. Three months later, he sent the Futurist poet a preliminary version for his approval. On 14 March Buzzi replied that he was greatly touched by the study and enclosed a copy of his ‘ultimo volumetto’ – probably a curious musical experiment entitled Bel canto. When the article appeared in La Diana two weeks later, he thanked Fiumi again in a telegram. While Fiumi praised all of Buzzi’s works, including a novel written ten years earlier, he reserved most of his enthusiasm for two books in particular.18 In L’ellisse e la spirale, he remarked, ‘il delirio metamorfico spuma come un’effervescenza frenetica per tutte le pagine’ (a metamorphical frenzy bubbles with enthusiastic effervescence on every page). He especially liked the way that realistic sections combined with flights of abstraction to create a kaleidoscopic fantasmagoria. By contrast, Fiumi continued, Versi liberi celebrates the dynamism and mechanical aspects of modern life. Endowed with a geometric and metallic soul, Buzzi’s poetry si esalta per l’energia e pel rischio. Si sente nuova, staccata ‘dal tallo putrido dei millenni,’ in una Rigènesi quasi, sotto un cielo fuligginoso, quando la Macchina levigatrice e dentata pulsa nella febbre del lavoro e raffina gli zuccheri e manifattura i tabacchi e ordisce i tessuti ... Adora il porto ove l’orizzonte è abolito dai ventri delle dreadnoughts, dalle ciminiere fumanti, dall’alberame esile che reticola il cielo. finds energy and risk exciting. It feels renewed, detached ‘from the rotten millennial stalk,’ practically Reborn, beneath a sooty sky, when the toothed Machine pulsates feverishly as it refines sugar and processes tobacco and weaves fabrics ... It adores the harbour, where the horizon is abolished by battleships’ bellies, fuming smokestacks, and slender masts reticulating the sky.

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On 7 April 1916, Buzzi wrote Fiumi to thank him a third time and to request a favour. He enclosed several poems by Armando Mazza, ‘un siculo dal torace poderoso e dall’anima soave’ (a Sicilian with a powerful chest and a gentle soul), who hoped to publish them in La Diana. Since Fiumi had such excellent connections, Buzzi asked if he would be willing to intervene on Mazza’s behalf. Fiumi seems to have agreed, for a poem by Mazza appeared in the 25 May issue and another on 31 July. Three more poems were included in the Antologia della Diana in 1918. A lively exchange occurred later in the year, following the death of Guido Gozzano (one of the crepuscolari), whose poetry Fiumi had always admired. Wishing to honour the late poet, he asked Buzzi to contribute to a special issue of La Diana and questioned his recent remarks in Gli avvenimenti about Corrado Govoni, whose poetry he also liked. Buzzi replied on 18 August and promised to send him something when he had time. He explained that his previous comments were aimed not at Govoni but at De Stefani, who was basically his disciple. Apparently replying to another letter, Buzzi wrote three days later to say he had already sent a note Gli avvenimenti about Gozzano. He didn’t care much for provincial poets, he confessed, but he enjoyed Gozzano’s works just the same. After Boccioni’s recent death, however, he was too upset to write about someone else’s demise. Thus the special issue of La Diana appeared in September without the contribution he had promised. On 17 October, Buzzi wrote to say that despite Gozzano’s reputation, he was not really a provincial poet at all – unlike Govoni, whose poetry was thoroughly mediocre. Writing in L’Italia futurista two days later, he included Fiumi in a list of twelve poets whom he felt were imbued with the Futurist spirit.19 During the next few years, Fiumi contributed poems and articles to a great many journals, including Cronache letterarie, Cronache d’attualità, Vela latina, La ruota, and Riviera Ligure. On 18 November 1917, he and twenty-one other authors reviewed Antonio Bruno’s Fuochi di Bengala (Bengal lights) in L’Italia futurista. The following year, he published a poem in the Antologia della Diana entitled ‘Le smemorate’ (The forgetful ones) and a book devoted to Buzzi’s nemesis, Corrado Govoni. ‘Noi italiani abbiamo un debito de gratitudine enorme verso Marinetti,’ Fiumi proclaimed, ‘che con la generosità del suo carattere di lava incandescente ha infaticabilmente propugnato propagandato imposto ... il nostro’ (We Italians owe a huge debt of gratitude to Marinetti who, with his innate, volcanic generosity, has tirelessly promoted advertised constructed ... our national character).20 Thanks to the Futurist leader,

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the Italian public was familiar with the poetry of Buzzi, Folgore, Cavacchioli, and D’Alba. Like them, Fiumi argued, Govoni – ‘questo grande misconosciuto’ (this greatly underestimated poet) – deserved to be better known. Among other things, the book elicited a sympathetic review by Giuseppe Prezzolini in La rivista di Italia (Milan) on 30 November 1919. In 1920, Fiumi published a second collection of poetry, Mùssole (Muslin sheets), which received excellent reviews – including one by Buzzi in Poesia in August. Like his Futurist colleagues, Fiumi drew his inspiration from modern life around him. Like them, he was a product of an urban environment, which he celebrated in a poem with the fanciful title: ‘Avancittà’ (Advancity). The first two stanzas focus on an abandoned area bordering the train tracks, which possesses a beauty of its own. Negli aridi terreni presso le stazioni ferroviarie, arcipelaghi di fuliggini vermiglione, oltrepassati gli scambi e le dighe di carbone, gli effervescenti scaricatoi, i semàfori a lame mobili come rasoi, vi colpiscono a tratti urli cubitali di cartelli brutali ch’esaltano specifici o saponi, ch’offrono lotti di terreno per costruzioni. Giù dalle rampe dei binarî divallano grinzosi, i terreni solitarî, su cui si rovesciano calcinose congerie di detriti e macerie, su cui l’erba stenta strinata e solo il soffione, tra scaglie verdemare di bottiglia tra luccichii di latta e schegge di stoviglia, pone il suo piccolo globo arioso ... In the arid terrain near the train station, archipelagos of vermillion soot, beyond the switches and the coal bins, beyond the sparkling dumps,

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beyond the semaphores’ flashing razor blades, brutal signs praising medicines or soap, offering plots of land for construction, strike one with loud cries Below the railroad tracks the vacant terrain slopes away, covered with whitish heaps of of rubbish and rubble, where the singed grass struggles and where the dandelion alone, amid the sea-green shards of bottles amid the flashes of cans and broken crockery, plants its little fuzzy globe ...

Chosen to direct Il gazzettino illustrato in Venice, Fiumi left Verona in January 1921 but continued to write poetry and articles on various subjects. In September 1925, he and his wife (who was French) left Venice and settled in Paris. During the next fifteen years, he got to know several literary figures and collaborated on a number of French projects. Together with Armand Henneuse, for example, Fiumi published an Antologie de la poésie italienne contemporaine in Paris in 1928. A comprehensive survey, the volume included poems by Buzzi, Folgore, Govoni, Marinetti, and Armando Mazza, among others. Although Fiumi and Buzzi occasionally exchanged letters, these became more and more infrequent as the years passed. Writing to the latter the same year, Fiumi noted that the Antologie was receiving good reviews and enclosed a copy of a French journal he had recently edited, which contained a poem by Buzzi. During the 1930s, the two men continued to write occasional articles about each other’s poetry. Thus Buzzi published a study of Fiumi in the Cronaca Prealpina (Varese) on 10 July 1931. And on 25 August 1934, Fiumi reciprocated with an essay entitled ‘Paolo Buzzi: sette lustri di poesia’ (Paolo Buzzi: Thirty-five years of poetry), which appeared in Il popolo d’Italia (Milan). In addition, Buzzi devoted two articles to Fiumi in Il resto del carlino (Bologna) on 1 December 1938, and 6 December 1939. Forced to leave Paris when the Second World War erupted, Fiumi and his wife spent their remaining years in Verona. In 1942, he dis-

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cussed Buzzi’s poetry not only in Il libro italiano (Rome) but in a chapter of Parnaso amico (Friendly Parnassus), which appeared the same year. By that time Fiumi had become a prolific author and a prominent man of letters. When Giorgio Ferrante published Poesia di moderni in 1944, he noted that more than four thousand articles had been written about his works, which had been translated into thirty-two languages.21 The Second Phase As noted previously, Futurist activity in Verona ceased when Costa and Ferrante moved to Milan. With Fiumi’s departure in 1921, the city was deprived of its last link with Futurism. Interest in the movement subsided until the end of the decade, when it experienced a sudden revival. Coalescing around Bruno Aschieri, who had graduated from the Accademia delle Belle Arti in Venice, a vigorous new Futurist group emerged that immediately attracted attention. Inspired by an encounter with Marinetti in Milan in 1928, Aschieri tried his hand at aeropainting and began to experiment with Synthetic Theatre. At the same time, he sought to mould a number of artists and writers into a cohesive group with a well-defined program. These included his brother Tullio, Alfredo G. Ambrosi, and Renato di Bosso. Their first act was to protest an exhibition by the Società Belle Arti in 1929, which they felt was hopelessly old-fashioned.22 Eager to call their group to Marinetti’s attention, Aschieri sent him a letter (or perhaps a newspaper clipping) stressing their commitment to Futurism and outlining the program he had instituted in Verona. However, Marinetti was far from pleased at the news and hastened to reply on 17 March. Instead of congratulating Aschieri, he chastised him for violating the Futurist spirit. Caro Aschieri, la creazione di statuti regionali futuristi con relative tessere e quote è assolutamente contraria alla essenza e al carattere tipico del nostro movimento. Il quale, non essendo stato mai un partito, esercita la sua propaganda senza tessere ne quote mensili, direttamente con la forza della opere futuriste create. Ti prego dunque di abolire statuti e quote. Un’augurale stretta di mano dal tuo F.T. Marinetti

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Dear Aschieri, the creation of regional Futurist regulations with membership cards and fees is absolutely contrary to the nature of our movement. Which, never having been a political party, carries out its propaganda directly without cards or monthly fees via the force of its Futurist compositions. I ask you therefore to abolish regulations and fees. A congratulatory handshake from yours truly F.T. Marinetti.23

Interestingly, Bruno Sanzin received a similar letter in Trieste during the same period. Giovanni Lista speculates that Marinetti was worried about offending the Fascist government and wanted Futurist activities to appear more spontaneous.24 However, the Futurist leader faced a more immediate problem at this point in his career. He was afraid Aschieri’s actions would jeopardize his induction into the Accademia d’Italia, which was scheduled for the very next day. Fortunately, everything transpired as planned, and a proud Marinetti joined the ranks of the ‘Immortali’ on 18 March 1929. Congratulations poured in from all over Italy, including a telegram from Alfredo G. Ambrosi dated 22 March. In the months that ensued, Aschieri and his colleagues repeatedly invited Marinetti to pay them a visit. At one point, Renato di Bosso and Albino Siviero (Verossì) sent him the following, rather enigmatic, telegram: ‘Considerando il tuo nemico già vinto i futuristi Veronesi ti vogliono a Verona’ (Considering that your enemy is now vanquished, the Veronesi Futurists want you to come to Verona).25 By this date, the group included at least fourteen members: Tullio Aschieri (an architect); Luigi Pesenti (a writer and film-maker); Ignazio Scurto (a poet and novelist); Bruno Aschieri (a poet, playwright, and artist); Ernesto Amos Tomba (a designer and architect); two poets, Piero Anselmi and Quirino Sacchetti; two journalists, Alberto Manca dell’Asinara and Renzo Bertozzi (previously active in Venice); and five artists, Renato di Bosso, Alfredo Ambrosi, Verossì, Giovanni Bonente, and Teobaldo Mariotti. When Marinetti finally accepted the group’s invitation, it proved to be a memorable occasion. Having completed a play entitled Simultanina, he engaged a theatre company to perform it in twenty-eight cities in only two months.26 As soon as the group learned that Marinetti and the troupe were planning to come to Verona, they organized a serata at the Teatro Ristori in May 1931. Conceived as a divertimento in 19 sintesi, according to its subtitle, the play featured overlapping

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scenes, simultaneous actions, and actors whose personalities changed continuously. Not unexpectedly, the performance in Verona caused a tremendous uproar. Eager to confront the rowdy audience, Bruno Aschieri, di Bosso, Ambrosi, and Bertozzi accidentally damaged part of the stage. In the ensuing melee, Marinetti later recalled, Aschieri received a wound in the leg, which they bandaged with strips of newspaper.27 Ma imperterrito declamava declamerebbe ancora senza fine l’aeropoeta futurista Ignazio Scurto fra pugilati e faccie spaventate mentre Ambrosi si ostina sfumare il tono delicatissimo di una sua vagolante ombra d’aeroplano per i pendii d’una lieta collina veronese. Renato di Bosso grida a Verossì Pesenti Bertozzi Tomba Sacchetti che per quanto re della sintesi deve riconoscere d’essere superato dall’impiantito del morente Teatro Ristori ormai maestro nel riassumere tutto il futurismo vincitore del passato e dei passatisti e aggiunge venga venga il maestro futurista Aldo Giuntini venga venga il maestro Carlo Brizzi e tu sul pianoforte e tu sul tuo stradivario in meno di un minuto sintetizzate furenti violinate con strappi e laceranti acuti del legname fradicio brutalizzato da una tremenda agonia di legni ottoni squarci di bocche e occhiate a strilli. Ridevano approvando l’architetto Tullio Aschieri il professore futurista Piero Anselmi e Giuseppe Grasso sdoganatore di libri futuristi. But the Futurist aeropoet Ignazio Scurto continued to declaim his poetry – and would still be declaiming it – completely unperturbed, surrounded by pugilists and frightened faces, while Ambrosi continued to imitate the delicate sounds of an airplane’s shadow crossing the quiet slopes of a Veronese hill. The king of the sintesi Renato di Bosso shouted to Verossì Pesenti Bertozzi Tomba Sacchetti that he could never equal what was taking place on the floor of the moribund Teatro Ristori, which marvellously summarized Futurism’s victories over the past and the passatisti, and you Futurist maestro Aldo Giuntini playing the piano and you maestro Carlo Brizzi slashing away furiously on your Stradivarius, amid the loud sounds of rotten wood cracking and breaking and the woodwinds and brasses shrieking in tremendous agony. The architect Tullio Aschieri laughed approvingly at the scene, together with the Futurist professor Piero Anselmi and Giuseppe Grasso, the douanier of Futurist books.

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Like Carlo Brizzi, Aldo Giuntini was a composer compelled to earn his living as a musician. By contrast Giuseppe Grasso was a scholar, a critic, and an enthusiastic reviewer of Futurist books. Since his articles enabled Giuntini to pass into the literary mainstream, Marinetti jokingly compared him to a customs official. Encouraged by the recent serata and eager to join the fray, Aschieri and his companions published an open letter to the Futurist leader in Oggi e domani (Rome) on 1 June. Verona had become so lethargic, they complained, that one could hear the city snoring. Alternating between zealous pronouncements and calls for messianic intervention, they begged Marinetti to help them jolt Verona out of its complacency. In addition to Ambrosi, Bertozzi, and the Aschieri brothers, the letter was signed by Pesenti, Scurto, Siviero (Verossì), Tomba, and Renato Righetti (di Bosso). Qui a Verona sarebbe necessaria, urgente, indispensabile, una nutrita mitraglia di cazzotti-ricordo per inculcare nelle sfere-benpensanti ... che il Futurismo è idea-azione superdinamica ... A noi basta una Tua parola per risvegliare monte e piano a tamburo battente ... Il Tuo verbo è sostantivo e lo faremo sacrosantamente pesare sul gruppo immondo del ruffianismo. Attendiamo il Tuo via! Eja!!! Here in Verona, a generous blast of souvenir-punches is necessary, urgent, indispensable in order to impress upon bourgeois circles ... that Futurism is superdynamic idea-action ... We only need a word from You to awaken the hills and plains with the beating of our drums ... Your word carries weight, and we will impose it religiously on that filthy bunch of pimps. We are waiting for Your signal to begin! Hurrah!!!

Il Gruppo Futurista Veronese Boccioni Despite their pleas for Marinetti’s help, Aschieri and his friends were already active in Verona and the surrounding region and had even designed their own letterhead.28 Among other things, Ambrosi, di Bosso, Verossì, and Tomba had participated in the Prima Esposizione Veronese del Sindacato Fascista Belle Arti the month before. Reviewing the exhibition in Oggi e domani, Pesenti praised the artists for abolishing traditional formulae and for exploring uncharted domains.29 In addition, Ambrosi exhibited several paintings at the Esposizione d’Arte Sacra Moderna Cristiana, which opened in Padua a few days later, and at the Mostra Futurista di Aeropittura e Scenografia in Milan

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in October. Finally, he and di Bosso contributed to an exhibition of aeropaintings in Lione. A talented illustrator, Tomba was equally active during this period. In 1931, for example, he designed commemorative postcards for the Fiera dell’Agricoltura in Verona and for the lyric opera season.30 In subsequent years, he created posters for these two events, for the Teatro Filarmonico, and for the tourist bureau. Trained as an architect, Tomba also designed pavilions for various fairs in Italy and abroad. Responding at last to the open letter, Marinetti returned to Verona on 8 October, where he presided over the group’s official inauguration. In honour of Umberto Boccioni, Il gazzettino (Venice) reported the next day, Aschieri and the others had decided to adopt his name. During the next few years, the members of the group engaged in one Futurist activity after another. In 1932, for instance, they hosted a poetry competition in which five men vied for the right to represent Verona at the national finals in Milan: Aschieri, Anselmi, Scurto, Nino Burrasca (from Padua), and Alberto Vianello (from Venice). Following a public reading in the Loggia di Fra Giocondo, the judges (Marinetti and Bertozzi) awarded the prize to Vianello, whose poem received the longest applause. The first members of the Gruppo Futurista Veronese to receive widespread recognition were those with artistic talents, who constituted approximately half its members. In February 1932, Ambrosi, di Bosso, and the Aschieri brothers exhibited a number of works at the Prima Mostra Triveneta d’Arte Futurista in Padua. Together with Verossì, they commissioned a number of postcards with reproductions of their pictures in blue, green, and brown.31 These were presumably sold at the exhibition or given away. In March, an exhibition of works by Enrico Prampolini and the Futurist aeropainters took place in Paris, at the Galerie de la Renaissance, which included several paintings by Ambrosi. The latter also contributed to a similar exhibition (centred on Fortunato Depero) at the Venice Biennial in April. ‘Ambrosi è l’umanizzatore del cielo,’ Marinetti wrote shortly thereafter, ‘capace di fondere con sorprendente abilità la carne meccanizzata della donna con l’apparecchio fatto carne come nel suo magnifico quadro Maternità aeronautica’ (Ambrosi manages to humanize the sky with astonishing ability, blending woman’s mechanized flesh with the airplane made flesh, as in his magnificent painting Aeronautical Maternity).32 In addition, Ambrosi and di Bosso participated in two shows towards the end of the year: the Terza Mostra d’Arte Triveneta, held

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in Padua in October, and the Mostra d’Arte Futurista, which took place in Bologna in December. The latter show included paintings by Verossì and Scurto. In February 1933, Ambrosi contributed several pictures to an exhibition of Futurist aeropainting and sacred art in Athens. At the same time, he and his colleagues prepared to participate in two blockbuster shows scheduled to take place later in the year. Opening in Mantua in April, the first featured some 250 works by seventy Futurist artists, including Ambrosi, Verossì, di Bosso, Mariotti, Tomba, and the Aschieri brothers.33 When the doors closed at the end of the month, the exhibition continued on to Milan, where it was housed in the Galleria Pesaro. The second show, which opened in Rome in October, was even more ambitious. The members of the Verona group who participated in the Grande Mostra Nazionale Futurista included Albertini, Tomba, Mariotti, Bonente, Verossì, San Marzano, Anselmi, Ferrero, Pesenti, Scurto, Sachetti, and Bruno and Tullio Aschieri. In recognition of their impressive accomplishments, Ambrosi and di Bosso were both given one-man shows. Di Bosso also received a one-man show at the Padiglione Fascista degli Ingegneri in Rome and participated in numerous other exhibitions in 1933. These included a Futurist show in Nice, the XXIV Mostra Bevilacqua La Masa (Venice), a national competition to design a monument for the Duca d’Aosta (Rome), and the Seconda Esposizione d’Arte del Sindacato Fascista Belle Arti (Verona). Scurto and Anselmi reviewed the last exhibition in Futurismo (Rome) and the Corriere padano (Padua) respectively, while Scurto discussed the sculpture competition in Il gazzettino (Venice).34 Finally, di Bosso won a prize in an unusual contest in La Spezia. Each of the four hundred artists who participated was required to depict the Gulf of La Spezia on the spot. Nineteen thirty-four witnessed a similar flurry of activity by artists from Verona. In February, Ruggero Vasari organized an exhibition of Futurist aeropainting, including works by Ambrosi and di Bosso, which travelled to Berlin and Hamburg. Three months later Ambrosi, Bonente, di Bosso, and Mariotti exhibited a number of paintings at the Venice Biennial.35 In November, the four artists were invited to participate in the Prima Mostra Nazionale di Plastica Murale in Genoa, organized by Fillia and Enrico Prampolini. At some point during the year, they also participated in the Prima Mostra d’Avanguardia in Lonigo (near Vicenza), organized by Bruno Aschieri.36 At his request, the exhibition was inaugurated by Marinetti.

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While these exhibitions alerted the rest of Italy to the group’s existence, other activities reminded the citizens of Verona of their presence. Since the city was blessed with a splendid Roman amphitheatre, known to locals as the Arena, this provided a convenient focal point. Opera fans who came to hear Meyerbeer’s L’africana and Verdi’s Un ballo in maschera (A masked ball), between 28 July and 15 August 1932, received a program with a magnificent silver cover designed by Ambrosi. When they opened the program, they discovered that the text was accompanied by paintings of important squares or monuments in Verona. Complementing his drawing of the Arena on the cover, Ambrosi contributed portraits of the Piazza delle Erbe, the Castelvecchio, and the Piazza Brà. By contrast Tomba chose to depict the Castel San Pietro, while di Bosso portrayed the Roman theatre and the Chiesa S. Libera. Inspired by the influx of opera fans in August, the group also issued a manifesto entitled ‘Manifesto futurista per la scenografia del Teatro Lirico all’aperto all’Arena di Verona,’ which was reprinted in Futurismo on 9 October 1932.37 Scurto later claimed that fifty thousand copies had been distributed to summer visitors.38 Consisting of a four-page leaflet, the manifesto was signed by Marinetti, Ambrosi, Anselmi, Aschieri, Bertozzi, di Bosso, Scurto, and Tomba. Of the eight signatories, only Bruno Aschieri and Tomba had any experience with stage design. In 1924, for example, the latter had proposed the creation of inflatable scenery in ‘Proposta per una scenografia pneumatica’ (Proposal for pneumatic scenery).39 And a year before the manifesto appeared, he addressed some of the same issues in Oggi e domani.40 The manifesto itself consisted of a lengthy introduction followed by a list of ‘synthetic proposals’ and a list of ‘dynamic proposals.’ Complaining that the Arena had succumbed to intellectual apathy and rampant commercialism, the authors called for new production techniques that would enable ‘scena e musica [di unirsi] per formare un tutto armonico inscindibile’ (staging and music [to unite] to form an indivisible, harmonious whole). It was time to bannish realism, they insisted, in favour of more imaginative, ‘polydimensional’ solutions. Unified perspective was hopelessly old-fashioned and should be replaced by multiple points of view. Since the unities of time, place, and action were similarly obsolete, multiple events should be depicted simultaneously. Additional proposals called for complex lighting effects, which would be coordinated with the music, and for scenery changes to take place during the performance.

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On 27 March 1933, Scurto and di Bosso issued a second manifesto, ‘Manifesto futurista sulla cravatta italiana,’ which sought to reform contemporary fashion. Like Marinetti, who had urged men to stop wearing hats (whose sombre uniformity offended him), they targeted an indispensable article of masculine attire. ‘Ogni uomo porta appeso al collo’ the manifesto announced, ‘il desiderio nero o colorato di una fine ingloriosa, la allusione in tela panno o seta alla propria servilità sociale’ (Every man wears a black or coloured desire for an ignominious fate around his neck, a cotton, linen, or silk allusion to his own social inferiority). Since a man’s character is reflected by his necktie, it continued, the Futurists have invented an ‘anticravatta’ that symbolizes the wearer’s flexibility, strength, intelligence, common sense, and creative Italian spirit. Constructed of aluminum like the wing of an airplane, the anti-necktie ‘riflette tutto il sole e l’azzurro di cui noi italiani siamo ricchissimi e leva la nota malinconica e pessimista dal petto dei nostri uomini’ (reflects the sun and the sky that we Italians have in such abundance and replaces that melancholy and pessimistic symbol on the masculine chest). Juxtaposed with a photograph of the authors, Verossì, and Sacchetti (who were identified as collaborators), a notice on the front page stated that the invention’s practicality had been demonstrated in numerous cities. Manufactured by the Cavalleri company in Verona, which was identified as an ‘industria futurista,’ the anti-necktie was available in several different designs and metals.41 Entitled ‘Manifesto futurista per la città musicale,’ a third manifesto appeared on 11 April. Conceived partly as a musical homage to Guglielmo Marconi, it was signed by Ambrosi, Anselmi, Manca, Tomba, di Bosso, Scurto, Pesenti, and the Aschieri brothers.42 Music exerts an enormous influence on the human spirit, the document began, inspiring us to laugh or to cry, to love or to hate as the situation dictates. A bugle call suffices to send troops into battle, for instance, while a victory is celebrated with a solemn hymn. Thus the authors proposed to place powerful radios in Verona’s principal streets, which would broadcast music at three different times. From 6:00 to 10:00 a.m., listeners would be exposed to ‘musica incitatrice per la conquista della giornata’ (inspirational music for tackling the day ahead). Between noon and 4:00 p.m., as the day’s tasks began to grow tiring, they would hear music that was optimistic and invigorating. From 7:00 p.m. to midnight, they would listen to ‘musica allegra-riposante per la conquista della notte’ (joyfulrestful music for enjoying the evening). By applying Marconi’s inven-

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tion in this manner, the manifesto concluded, the citizens of Verona would become healthier, happier, and more vigorous. In June, Scurto and di Bosso distributed thirty typewritten copies of another manifesto at the Convegno Nazionale Futurista in Milan, which was organized around the theme ‘L’aldilà futurista’ (Futurist concepts of the other world). Entitled ‘Il macchinesimo,’ it proposed to perpetuate life after death by incorporating human remains into machines.43 What the authors envisioned was not a political program or an aesthetic solution but rather a new ideology. For this reason Scurto entitled his essay ‘La nuova religione.’ ‘Frutto purissimo di questa lucida civiltà meccanica,’ it began, ‘il MACCHINESIMO spingerà irresistibilment gli uomini a raggiungere la perfezione meccanica assoluta’ (The purest fruit of our brilliant mechanical civilization, MACHINISM will drive men to attain absolute mechanical perfection). It will lead to the creation of a brand-new civilization, di Bosso added, spelling the end of the world as we know it. When a person dies, he explained, he or she will be transported to a Metalizatorium or Mechanical Temple, where the deceased’s last wishes – recorded on a phonograph record – will be played over a loudspeaker. As the sound of humming motors increases, the body will be carried down a long, dark corridor until it is lost from sight. Infine il corpo del MACCHINANTROPO scorrendo su di un piano inclinato andrà ad immergersi in un crogiuolo di metallo ardente dentro il quale la materia inutile si dissolverà in pochi istanti, mentre l’essenza metallica dello scomparso verrà catalizzata nel nuovo metallo. A questo punto il METALARMONIO SONORIZZERA con un urlo massimo il culmine della cerimonia di fusione spegnendosi poi lentamente fino al silenzio. Finally the MECHANICAL MAN’S body will slide down a ramp into a crucible of molten metal, where the useless matter will dissolve in a few seconds, while the few ounces of metal present in every human body will be incorporated into the new metal. At this point, a METALARM WILL SIGNAL the ceremony’s culmination with a tremendous shriek slowly fading away to silence.

Since the metal will be used to make new machines, di Bosso concluded, the deceased will accompany his or her fellows into the future. As an added benefit, the space formerly reserved for cemeteries will be available for other purposes.

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Piero Anselmi Although the Gruppo Futurista Veronese was dominated by artists, several of whom achieved national recognition, poetry played an important role from the beginning. In 1931, shortly after the group was founded, Scurto, Sacchetti, di Bosso, Marcello Gallian, and Alfio Coccia began to frequent a cabaret called Il Covo di Poesia (The den of poetry) – situated on the via XX Settembre and decorated by Verossì – where they read their poems to each other. The following year, Anselmi, Bruno Aschieri, and Scurto were finalists in a Futurist poetry contest in Verona that determined who would represent the city in the national finals. They also participated in a similar competition in Padua on 10 February 1932, following the opening of the Prima Mostra Triveneta (See chapter 2). Scurto was eliminated during the preliminaries, but Anselmi and Aschieri made it to the (regional) finals once again.44 Entitled ‘Boccioni e la MODERNOLATRIA,’ a typescript of Anselmi’s poem is preserved in the Beinecke Library. Divided into three parts labelled ‘Cervello,’ ‘Volontà,’ and ‘Creazione,’ it praises Boccioni’s intelligence, strength, and artistic talent. The final section evokes his ability to activate the fourth dimension and envisions the creation of a unique monument. creare paesaggi dinamici visti attraverso spessori d’atmosfera di Balla Anatomie veloci lanciate attraverso il tempo-spazio Compenetrazioni cosmiche Transcendenze fisiche Scomposizioni euritmiche Stilizzazioni in velocità Liriografie cromatiche dinamiche Addizioni di materia idealizzata Volumi in movimento

Futurism in Verona Stati d’animo plastici ASPIRAZIONE prolungata oltre i limiti del tempo-spazio Un monumento? Il primo razzo siderale che scalerà i vertici del macrocosmo si chiamerà UMBERTO BOCCIONI CREATING dynamic landscapes viewed through Balla’s atmospheric layers Swift anatomies projected across space-time Cosmic interpenetrations Physical transcendencies Eurhythmical decompositions Swift stylizations Dynamic chromatic lyriographs Additions of idealized material Volumes in movement Plastic states of soul ASPIRATIONS projected beyond the boundaries of space-time A monument? The first rocket

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that scales the microcosm’s heights will be named UMBERTO BOCCIONI

Anselmi was first exposed to Futurism in 1927, when he encountered a copy of Giovanni Papini’s L’esperienza futurista (1919), which was reedited the same year. During the next fifteen years, he signed Futurist manifestos, participated in serate, and competed in various poetry contests. In addition, he published articles on art and other subjects in journals such as Dinamo futurista (Rovereto), Futurismo (Rome), and +2000 (Bari). Additional articles appeared in the Corriere di Napoli, the Corriere padano, and other newspapers. At one point, Anselmi wrote a devastating review of Alfredo Galletti’s Il novecento (The twentieth century), which he sent to Marinetti.45 Galletti’s book was of no use to anyone wishing to learn about Futurism, he concluded, since the author hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about. A great admirer of Ambrosi’s paintings and sculptures, Anselmi collaborated with Luigi Pesenti in 1933 on a four-page pamphlet devoted to this artist: ‘5 opere futuriste di A.G. Ambrosi’ included five poems and essays as well as a reproduction of Aerofecondità, which the Ministry of Education had acquired at the Venice Biennial. With one exception, each text was inspired by a single work of art. Thus Pesenti chose to discuss Aerosintesi di Verona, while Anselmi concentrated on a painting entitled Aerosensualità. In addition, each man presented a separate tribute to a statue of the Madonna di Loreto. Finally, Pesenti devoted an article to Ambrosi’s pictures of the Piazza Brà and the Arena. Published originally in Futurismo (on 12 February 1933), ‘Aerosensualità’ received considerable publicity and contributed to Anselmi’s growing reputation. In addition to being reprinted in Ambrosi’s pamphlet, it was circulated separately as a broadsheet. An example of Futurist ekphrasis, the poem sought essentially to bring the original painting to life. Lasciare la terra, Addolcire l’addio con la carezza ascensionale del decollagio. Innalzarsi. Inseguire le quote civettone, con questo meraviglioso apparecchio di sogno.

Futurism in Verona Nella fusoliera, scoppiano gli entusiasmi del motore. Alla sua appendice, l’elica trattiva, trapana la diafana resistenza di un’atmosfera irreale, mulinando una gamma iridescente di ideali scottanti, alogici, futuristi. Ed ecco, che la lancetta-danzatrice dell’amperometro, inizia le sue elettrodanze ritmate, sulla ribalta bianca del quadrante, all’orchestra scomposta dei circuiti. Sotto i baci medianici delle pressioni, una seconda lancetta tituba, saliscendendo sullo schermo torturato di quote dell’altimetro. Due bollicine d’aria impazziscono, nei tubetti vetro che le racchiudono, per le voluttà geometriche delle inclinazioni. La carta di volo, è un tracciato esaltante d’un itinerario celeste. Uomo e apparecchio s’ubriacano di sensazioni, sono ustionati d’ardore. Carne e apparecchio sublimano odori d’un erotismo complesso, nuovissimo. Pulsa il motore come un cuore irrequieto. Scoppia il cuore come un motore spaziale. L’elica, è un’aspirazione amorosa. L’aspirazione è un’elica trattiva di sogno. L’atmosfera s’infiamma. Brucia come un’alcova. Ora, l’apparecchio, non è che un lirismo erotomane, sovreccitato da una dose troppo abbondante di sogni; una convulsione di sensi metalli nubi. Infatti: una nuvola azzurra, due nuvole azzurre, mille nuvole azzurre. L’elica è un pollice nuovo per una plastica nuova. Il suo turbinare scolpisce l’azzurro. Ne ricava due corpi perfetti. Nudi. Di donna. E il richiamo della terra nei cieli I timoni sfioccano i loro rigidi fazzoletti di metallo nell’atmosfera violenta creata nella velocità. La bussola tentenna sorniona, come un uomo canuto alle follie dei nipoti.

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Leaving the ground, The air’s rising caress softening the goodbyes. Climbing. Pursuing the seductive heights with this marvellous dream machine. The motor bursts with enthusiasm in the fuselage. The propeller penetrates the atmosphere’s invisible resistence, whirling a shiny series of scorching, alogical, Futurist ideals. Now the amperometer’s needle-dancer begins its rhythmic electrodance, on the dial’s white stage, accompanied by the electrical circuits’ fragmentary orchestra. Responding to the air pressure’s ephemeral kisses, a second needle wavers back and forth on the altimeter’s tortured dial. Two air bubbles go crazy with geometrical delight, in the glass tubes that enclose them, as the angle changes. The flight map outlines an exciting celestial itinerary. Burning with ardour, man and airplane grow intoxicated from the myriad sensations. Flesh and airplane emit unique, complex erotic odours. The motor pulsates like a restless heart. The heart bursts like an airplane motor. The propeller yearns with amorous desire. Its desire is a whirling blade propelled by dream. The atmosphere bursts into flame like a bedroom. The airplane dissolves in a burst of erotic lyricism, stimulated by an overdose of dreams; a convulsion of senses metals clouds. A blue cloud, two blue clouds, a thousand blue clouds. The propeller becomes moulds the clay with its trowel. The whirling blade carves the blue, sculpting two perfect bodies. Nude. Of women. The memory of earth suffuses the heavens. The rudders’ stiff metal scarves fray in the fierce wind.

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The compass needle nods slyly, like an old man at his grandchildren’s follies.

Despite the obvious differences between the two genres, the poem is remarkably faithful to Ambrosi’s painting, which depicts the view from an airplane’s cockpit. Surrounded by a semicircular instrument panel, which Anselmi describes, the pilot is not visible. While the scene is viewed through his eyes, it is presented objectively, in keeping with Futurist doctrine. As the airplane speeds through the air, a subjective element manages to intrude nevertheless: the clouds coalesce to form two naked female torsos, which are also evoked in the poem. Like the original painting, the text insists that flying is a sensual experience. Or rather, capitalizing on an implicit metaphor, it declares that flying is as delightful as making love. Whereas the painting provides only a momentary glimpse, the poem re-creates the experience from beginning to end. As the airplane climbs higher and higher, the pilot’s ardour increases proportionately. Caressed by the loving breeze, pilot and machine penetrate the alluring heights, succumb to overwhelming passion, and lose themselves in an orgasmic conclusion. On the one hand, ‘Aerosensualità’ illustrates the Futurists’ love of flying, which intensified during the 1930s. On the other, it dramatizes their continuing love affair with the airplane itself, with which they strongly identified. Lyrical Experiments Complementing their other projects, the Gruppo Futurista published an anthology in 1933, 16 liriche ardite (16 daring poems). In addition to texts by seven authors, it included two block prints by Ernesto A. Tomba and a postcard with a painting by Verossì depicting Visioni sintetiche di Verona. Manufactured by the Cartoleria Erpigi, an advertisement proclaimed, the latter could be purchased at fine stationery stores everywhere. Other advertisements exhorted readers to patronize a clothing shop, a sporting goods store, and the Albergo Colomba d’Oro, which was described as ‘a first-class hotel.’ Besides the sixteen poems mentioned in the title, the volume included four prose compositions on assorted subjects. Authored by Alberto Manca and addressed ‘Ai giovani di Mussolini,’ the initial (prose) text sought to interest Fascist youth in the Futurist cause. Arranged to form a schematic airplane, whose propeller consisted of the circular title, it was divided into four sections. The

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left wing exhorted young people to love Futurism, the right wing encouraged them to defend the movement, and the fuselage explained why they should do so. Insisting that Futurism and Fascism were identical, it listed principles they supposedly shared and stated that the Futurists had supported Il Duce from the beginning. The conclusion, which was reserved for the tail section, was inescapable: patriotic young people should become Futurists. ‘Chi non è futurista non è giovane,’ Manca announced with a paradoxical flourish, ‘e chi è giovane e non è futurista non è degno di vivere nel clima Mussoliniano del 1933’ (Whoever is not a Futurist is not young, and whoever is young but not a Futurist does not deserve to live in the Mussolinian climate of 1933). Although the anthology opened amid protestations of loyalty to the Fascist cause, the patriotic atmosphere was dispelled almost immediately by the second text, which portrayed the Futurists as drug addicts. In ‘Sogno alla cocaina’ (A cocaine dream), Manca recounted how he had performed an operation on himself with a penknife. Cutting off the top of his head, he removed his brain, cleansed it of impure emotions, and then replaced it. He managed to rid himself not only of envy, he reported, but of feelings of anguish, resentment, yearning, anger, and regret. Manca’s fanciful account was followed by a poem by Bruno Aschieri entitled ‘Visita a Boccioni,’ which had nearly won the Circuito di Poesia Futurista the previous year.46 Inspired by a visit to the painter’s grave, it consisted of three movements and a brief interlude.

crisantemi cipressi tetri ALTI tanti andaaare andaaare zigzagante confusi di veli di ceri di abiti neri (i vivi dai morti i morti non vengono AMMENOCHÉ morti immortali) motore – sinfonia rrrRRRRrrrrRRRR che sale che scende a spirale nel cielo –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– ti cerco ti chiamo BOCCIONI su quale velivolo voli portami con te lontano dove? non importa lontaaano viaaa viaaa sfuggire la città tradizionalista sputacchiare dall’alto la calvizie passatista ridere cantareee infischiarmene

Futurism in Verona rasentando i cubi asimmetrici audaci della metropoli futurista sei troppo in alto per udirmi? continua il tuo volo fra le nubi onde spumeggianti del cielo sereno IO depongo il mio sogno esaltato innanzi il tuo altare di morto–VIVO –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– impalpabili strani inebrianti violenti continui cangianti nauseanti tenui s'incrociano si aggregano si disgregano profumi di fiori MILLE esalano Ffff tumuli monumenti Altari vicini lontani NON SI VEDONO TUTTI –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– IO PENSO piani – volumi astratti trascendentalismo fisico lirico atmosfera modellata antilogico– assurdo – irreale – astratto – concreto – antianatomico M A plastico tradizionalismo al rovescio simultaneità sintesi compenetrabilità dinamismo uccidere il moderno vestito invariabilmente d’antico il TUO pugno – argomento BOCCIONI v i v e HA VINTO TRIONFA creare CREARE C R E A R E i giovani cervello – macchina futurista abbattono rinnovano salgono op–là CREANO CRE–A–NO –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– GLORIA chrysanthemums many TALL gloomy cypresses waaalking waaalking zig–zagging confusion of veils of candles of black clothes (the dead's descendants the dead don't rise UNLESS they are immortal) motors – symphony rrrrRRRRrrrrRRRR rising descending in a spiral in the sky –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– I search for you I call you BOCCIONI where is your airplane take me with you far away where?

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no matter faaar away far far fleeing the conservative city spitting on all the obsolete bald heads laughing siiinging ignoring them altogether brushing the bold asymmetrical cubes of the Futurist metropolis are you too high to hear me? continue your flight through the clouds the serene sky’s foaming waves I lay my exalted dream before your altar of LIFE–death –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– impalpable strange intoxicating violent continuous changing nauseating tenuous a THOUSAND flowery perfumes criss-cross intermingle dissolve exhaling Ffff mounds monuments altars near distant NOT ALL ARE VISIBLE –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– I THINK abstract planes – volumes physical lyrical transcendentalism shaped atmosphere antilogical – absurd – unreal – abstract – concrete – antianatomical BUT plastic conservativism overturned simultaneity synthesis interpenetrability dynamism synthesis murdering the modern synthesis dressed invariably in ancient clothing YOUR fist – argument BOCCIONI l i v e s HAS WON TRIUMPHS create CREATE C R E A T E the young people Futurist brain – machine are destroying renewing ascending alley–oop CREATING CRE – A – TING –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– GLORY

Entering the cemetery where Boccioni is buried, Aschieri observes bouquets of chrysanthemums, towering cypresses, and mourners dressed in black. As he searches for Boccioni’s tombstone, he imagines a Futurist heaven inhabited by gifted individuals and pictures them ascending in airplanes. Calling on Boccioni to take him with him in the

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second movement, leaving his reactionary contemporaries behind, Aschieri lays his most important possession on the artist’s grave – his personal dream. The final movement, following an interlude in which the poet looks around the cemetery and records the oppressive smell of flowers, consists of a meditation on Boccioni’s art. Invoking the principles that animated his aesthetics, it stresses the artist’s forcefulness and creativity. The fact that Boccioni’s lesson has been adopted by succeeding generations of Futurist artists, Aschieri concludes, constitutes his ultimate triumph. Despite his untimely death, he continues to live through the efforts of his disciples. The next three poems were by Sandro Baganzani, a prolific poet and journalist who was well known in Verona. Beginning with Chiari e scuri (Lights and shadows) (l907), he published volume after volume of poetry, short stories, and essays during the next forty-three years. Baganzani appears to have greatly admired Lionello Fiumi, whose poetry he reviewed in some three dozen articles.47 In turn, Fiumi wrote articles about his fellow poet and included six of his poems in Anthologie de la poésie italienne contemporaine (1928). Following Baganzani’s death in 1950, Fiumi also edited a volume of his selected poetry.48 As the following (untitled) poem will demonstrate, Baganzani was far from a Futurist. An admirer of the crepuscolari, he preferred the quiet countryside to the bustling city, the woods and meadows to noisy machines. Per diletto, mi lambicco il cervello acchiappo vane parole farfalle fissate con uno spillo. Per diletto, ti stringo a farti male sul mio cuore senza baciarti la bocca che non sa che mentire. Per diletto, vorrei stendermi e dormire dove più nera è la terra, ora che rampolla la primavera. For pleasure, I rack my brain useless words caught in midflight butterflies impaled on a pin. For pleasure, I snatch a cool flowery cloud from an almond tree scattering the annoying wasps.

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For pleasure, I clasp you against me until you hurt without kissing your lips so skilled at lying. For pleasure, I would stretch out and sleep where the earth is darkest, now that spring is sending forth shoots.

By contrast, Ferruccio Carmagnani contributed two poems that were clearly inspired by Futurist models. Accompanied by one of Tomba’s block prints, the first text celebrates the beauty of spiral forms – singled out for praise in several manifestos. Entitled ‘Il ferro,’ the second celebrates the manifold virtues of iron, which was responsible for the industrial revolution. After evoking its molten ‘birth,’ the poet praises the strength and malleability of the solid metal. By facilitating the invention of machines, he declares, iron has enabled mankind to overcome the traditional limitations of space and time. In view of its great utility, he predicts a glorious future for the metal. In multiforme docile schiavitù ti rende l’Uomo a la potenza sua e domandoti ti dona la fiamma del Genio suo. Dinamico pulsi vibri e fremi lucido preciso veloce nella macchina, e vivi; tuo lo Spazio, tuo il Tempo!

Futurism in Verona Insita in te la valenza si fa satura con acri fumanti acidi, e in nuovo ordine gli atomi tuoi in geometrici sali vibrano. Per te l’ardire per te la Potenza la Violenza la Fede il Mito, per te la Gloria, per te l’Avvenire! Man subjects you to docile protean slavery but of necessity bestows the flame of his Genius upon you. Precisely lucidly rapidly you pulsate vibrate and quiver dynamically in machines; Space is yours, Time is yours!

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Your natural valence is saturated with acrid fuming acids, and rearranged your atoms vibrate in geometric crystals. Daring is yours Power Violence Faith Myth, Glory is yours, and the Future!

Although Lionello Fiumi was living in Paris by this date, he contributed three poems to the anthology. ‘Jazz-Band’ portrays a black musician, ‘Panorama a due dimensioni’ describes a bedroom, and ‘Corrispondenza’ evokes the night sky. Recalling Mallarmé’ s sonnet in ‘–yx,’ the last work juxtaposes the twinkling constellations with a classroom geometry exercise on a blackboard. Associated with Fiumi’s second phase, the poems are more conservative than his earlier works. However, since he was a prominent native son, the editors felt he should be included. Authored by Manca, the next three poems belong to different traditions and are written in radically different styles. One text satirizes misanthropic old people, who detest everything and everyone about them. Dismissing romantic love as sublimated sexual desire, another portrays marriage as a form of prostitution. Contrasting with this cynical world view, a third text celebrates a man presented as humanity’s saviour: F.T. Marinetti. By redeeming mankind’s sins, Manca asserts, he is destined to preside over a bright new era. F. T. MARINETTI ascia

Futurism in Verona ferro e martello, schianto urlo uragano, scroscio di tutte le cascate italiche, sibilo di tutti i venti boreali, spirito policromo dalle mille colorazioni floreali ed eteree: ROSSO FIAMMANTE di vampe distruttrici, AZZURRO COBALTICO di stupendi voli stratosferici, BIANCARGENTEO di profumate liriche sensuali che diffondono avide carezze sulle piccole curve mammellari. Eretto come un faro, con le quadrate mascelle possenti, con i feroci denti taglienti, con i gloriosi pugni roteanti, sembri un demone bello issato

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su tutti i peccati per gridare agli uomini malati di luna, malinconia e d’amore, il tuo grido sgominatore: FUTURISMO! FUTURISMO! FUTURISMO! F. T. MARINETTI an axe a sword and a hammer, a crash a shout a hurricane, every italian waterfall roaring, all the north winds blowing together, a polychrome spirit with a thousand floral and ethereal colours: FLAMING RED of destructive blasts of heat, COBALT BLUE of stupendous stratospheric flights, SILVERWHITE of fragrant sensual

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poems eagerly caressing pliant breasts. Erect as a lighthouse, with a powerful square jaw, with ferociously sharp teeth, with glorious fists flailing, you resemble a benevolent devil risen above sin in order to cure men whom the moon, melancholy and love have sickened, with your triumphant cry: FUTURISM! FUTURISM! FUTURISM!

The next two poems were by Quirino Sacchetti, who contributed a seascape and a description of a sunset. Although they contain several original touches, they were far from revolutionary. Beginning ‘Io sono l’amante dell’onda’ (I am the wave’s lover), the first text compares the sea to a voluptuous blond woman. Like a seductive siren, the waves beckon enticingly in the distance. The second text compares the fiery sky to burning silk ignited by the emerging stars. Amid the sound of church bells, it concludes with a glimpse of the poet blowing smoke rings at passing fireflies. These works were followed by two poems by

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Ignazio Scurto who, although born in Verona, had been living in Milan. In 1933 he moved to Novara, where he edited an avant-garde journal called Novara novecento and authored several articles on Futurism in Verona.49 Despite his commitment to the Futurist cause, ‘La terra’ (The earth) and ‘Angoscia’ (Anguish) were surprisingly old-fashioned. Both works were conceived essentially as dramatic monologues. In the first, an anonymous speaker recounts his return to his original country home, where he joyfully embraces peasant life. In the second, an equally anonymous speaker comforts a former lover who despairs at growing old. The anthology concludes with two prose compositions that counterbalance those at the beginning. Authored by Luigi Pesenti, the first takes the form of a letter to Manca. Lamenting his lack of poetic talent, Pesenti amusingly describes the first and only time he tried to publish a poem. The final text is by Manca himself, who contributed a short story ‘Omicidio colposo’ (Manslaughter). Written in the first person, it recounts how he advised his friend Franz – who was unlucky in love – to drink copious amounts of wine, which would make him witty and irresistable to women. This strategy meets with great success, and Franz is rewarded by a long series of amorous conquests. Unfortunately, he also becomes an alcoholic, loses his mind, and tries to commit suicide.

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Ignazio Scurto Ironically, Scurto was a much better poet than his contributions to 16 liriche ardite would suggest. Indeed, Claudia Salaris calls him the most interesting writer of the whole group.1 Published in Futurismo in 1932, the following poem is much more typical. Flying over the Dalmatian port of Trogir (Traù in Italian), Scurto hears church bells ringing and observes his airplane’s reflection in the shiny metal structures below. Responding to what he fondly imagines to be the town’s greeting, he dips his wings in a quick salute.

V O L O S U TRAU (aeropoesia) volare sui tubi infiam mati del sole cromo alluminio amplifica tori del mio saluto 3000 HP Fiat all’in sopprimibile

diritto biancorosso verde delle generazioni dalmate

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motore succhiare dalle mie vene che contengono tutto

l’ a d r i a t i c o l’incontenibile ruggi to contro i

MERCANTI DI PORCI tramutandolo nel suo rombo italianis simo TRAU TRAUTRAU TRAUTRAUTRAU TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU

TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU raccolto religio samente dai C A

M PA NI LI — — veneti che sguscia no verso di me cer cando di avvinghiar si alla mia carlinga fascista Q U A N D O ? campane sonorizza re grida dalmate in occasione del pas saggio in cielo del futurista – dalmata SCURTO QUANDDD DODO QUAND ND DO? TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU

TRAUTRAU

Major Figures in Verona

1933 TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU

FLIGHT OV ER TROGIR (aeropoem) flying over pipes lit by the sun chrome aluminum amplifi ers of my greeting 3000 HP Fiat with the irrepressible redwhite green

claim of dalmatian generations motor drawing an irresistible roar from my veins which con tain the entire

a d r i a t i c directed against the

HOG BUTCHERS transforming it into a totally ital ian throbbing TRAU TRAUTRAU TRAUTRAUTRAU TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU

TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU carefully gathered from the venetian O W

E

T

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R S — — that reach toward me seek ing to cling to my fascist cockpit W H E N ? dalmatian bells celebrating the celestial passage of dalmatian – futurist SCURTO WHEEEE ENEN WHEN N NN? TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU

TRAUTRAU

1933

TRAUTRAUTRAUTRAU Scurto was born and raised in Verona, so how could he possibly claim to be a Dalmatian Futurist? Eventually it is clear that he is speaking not as an individual but in his capacity as an Italian citizen. Like the Adriatic that pulses in his veins, Trogir belongs to Scurto because it belongs to Italy (represented by the red, white, and green flag). More than anything, the poem dramatizes Italy’s desire to annex the Dalmatian coast. Trogir itself was part of the former Venetian empire, of which numerous traces remain. Both Kamerlengo Castle and St Mark’s Tower (evoked in the poem) survive from this period. But the poet is not simply asserting Italy’s right to reacquire former lands. He is thinking of the Treaty of London (1915), which promised to cede Northern Dalmatia and other territories to Italy in exchange for joining the Allies. Although this promise was forgotten after the war, Scurto insists that Italy has a legitimate claim (‘diritto’) to occupy Trogir. Indeed, the Christian population would welcome such a move, he declares, since the Muslim invaders (curiously vilified as hog butchers) would be expelled. Amid a flurry of rhetorical questions, the poem concludes on a militant note. Insisting that the time is ripe, Scurto urges the Italian government to occupy Trogir without delay.

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Like the previous text, ‘Squadriglia in volo notturno’ (Squadron on night flight) is a patriotic composition that seeks to glorify the airplane. Published in the Gazzetta del popolo della sera on 2 November 1936, it celebrates the men and the machines that constitute the Italian air force. If Scurto’s poetry generally possesses ‘il senso di una esperienza diretta,’ as Glauco Viazzi remarks, the experience recounted in the present poem is not only indirect but impersonal.2 It is related not by an autobiographical voice but by an anonymous third-person narrator. Although the latter witnesses the action, he does not participate in it himself. E la voce di Dio che s’impone dal cielo se la squadriglia accende nella città l’eco dei motori. Lumi bianchi, lumi rossi: gli astri muovono in formazione. E i bimbi non cedono al sonno senza favole di piccole stelle che gli Invicibili portano sulle strade dell’Impero. La notte rende più grande lo spazio ed ogni pilota vi scruta le sue chimere. Per tanto scrutare non v’è tenebra che l’elica non spezzi. Vagano le stelline sugli occhi chiusi dei bimbi, e passano i nudi muscoli tra gli alterni chiarori. Fu sogno giovanile regnare sulla notte e adesso si avvera, e lo accompagna una solenne musica di orizzonti, ampia cavata di motori. God’s voice sounds from on high as echos of the squadron’s motors fill the city. White lights, red lights: the stars fly in formation. And children ask for bedtime stories about the stars bearing the Heros throughout the Empire. Night enlarges space’s boundaries and each pilot scrutinizes his illusions. As he peers intently at the unknown, the propeller chops the darkness to pieces.

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The stars wander across the children’s faces and illuminate their bare arms. The childhood dream of dominating the night is being fulfilled, accompanied by the horizon’s solemn music: the vast harmony of throbbing motors.

Nineteen thirty-six also witnessed the publication (in Novara) of a volume entitled Magica sirena d’ogni mare (Magic siren of every sea), which contains some of Scurto’s best poetry. Dedicated to Marinetti, whom he proudly called his ‘maestro ed amico,’ it included a preface by Eugenio Barisoni, an introduction, and fourteen lengthy poems. One of these, ‘Cantico di Lydia,’ commemorated a woman named Lydia Maffioli Rocca, who died at her husband’s side during Italy’s Eritrean campaign. Adorned with a photograph of the colonial heroine, it was reprinted separately the following year by the Women’s Fascist Delegation in Novara. Other poems evoke life in various cities (including Verona), depict the sinking of a submarine, or celebrate Italian aviation. One of the more interesting works describes the first time Scurto parachuted from an airplane. Although ‘Aeropoesia del paracadute’ is too long to quote entirely, the following excerpts capture some of its flavour.3 Senza incertezze senza languori sboccia il grosso fiore d’argento dalla lucente serra della rimessa e respira questo desiderio mattinale di spazi e di altezze Freme come una libellula al primo sole Freme alle lunghe carezze d’amore e di gioia dell’atmosfera date con lunghe dita d’ambra Grande fiore acceso dallo spazio degli orizzonti tu ardi anche della mia gioia folle ... Intanto attendo il segnale del pilota prima di lanciarmi nel vuoto ... Il cuore s’arresta inchiodato dal piccolo raggio ritmico del cronometro Lancioooo!

Major Figures in Verona Vuooooto ebbrezza strade prati cielo monti valli fiumi cielo il bel cielo italiano che s’allontana ... Le strade le case le valli hanno concluso la sarabanda sotto il sole Io scendo con dolcezza alla terra mentre in alto molto in alto il mio aeroplano mi fa cenni con l’elica lustra Scendo nel gorgo dei verdi degli azzurri e degli ori che la terra ha rubato all’infinito degli aviatori Swiftly confidently the great silver flower emerges from the hangar’s metal hothouse breathing a fresh desire for space and height It quivers like a dragonfly in the morning sun It quivers beneath the atmosphere’s long amber fingers which caress it lovingly Great flower lit by the horizons you glow with my intense joy as well ... Meanwhile I await the pilot’s signal before jumping into the void ... Riveted to my watch’s rhythmic dial my heart skips a beat I juuuump! Vaaaacuum inebriation streets meadows sky mountains valleys rivers sky the lovely Italian sky receding ... The streets the houses the valleys have ceased dancing beneath the sun

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I float to earth while my airplane signals me high above with its shiny propeller I am engulfed by an earthly maelstrom of greens blues and golds stolen from the aviators’ infinity.

Citing this text and other works by Futurist poets, Viazzi identifies what appears to be a crucial difference between Futurism’s initial phase and its later manifestation. Whereas poets like Carlo Carrà and Francesco Cangiullo strove to impose a mechanical vision on nature, he explains, Scurto and his companions perform the opposite operation. In contrast to earlier writers, they privilege natural phenomena over machines.4 As proof, Viazzi points to ‘Aeropoesia del paracadute,’ where the initial hierarchy is intentionally reversed. This procedure produces two striking metaphors. The airplane is compared not only to a dragonfly but also to a flower bursting into bloom. The latter image does not evoke a parachute, as Noëmi Blumenkranz-Onimus contends, but the airplane emerging from a hangar.5 A similar hierarchical reversal occurs in ‘Squadriglia in volo notturno’ where the aircraft flying over the city are compared to stars. Unfortunately, further investigation fails to corroborate Viazzi’s hypothesis. In reality, secondgeneration Futurists do not always employ this procedure. For one thing, the fact that Scurto’s flower is silver suggests that nature has also been subordinated to the machine. For another, the poet reverts to the traditional Futurist hierarchy in ‘Poema della risaia’ (Poem of the rice paddy), published in the same volume, which begins as follows: Alberi schierati fronte al sole incidono con le baionette delle loro punte questa cupola troppo celeste sopra di noi Marciano a battaglioni decimati dall’assoluta vastità che prorompe da ogni specchio Unò, duè unò duè nel silenzio sembra una parata di moschettieri impazziti unò duè unò duè ... Lined up before the sun the trees scratch the celestial dome above us with the tips of their bayonets They march in battalions decimated by the huge vastness bursting from every mirror One two one two silently like a parade of mad musketeers one two one two ...

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Following the publication of Magica sirena d’ogni mare, Scurto wrote several articles for various newspapers and began work on a novel. Although his journalistic activities are poorly documented, we know he reviewed a book by Lionello Fiumi in L’Italia giovane (Novara) on 25 September 1937, and another on 30 April 1938.6 Published by Edizioni La Prora in Milan, Scurto’s novel appeared in 1938 with the following dedication: ‘A F.T. Marinetti con affetto di amico e di discepolo’ (To F.T. Marinetti affectionately from his friend and disciple). Despite its provocative title, Quei pazzi (What lunatics), it contained few overt references to Futurist doctrine. The same remarks apply to a second novel, also published by Edizioni La Prora, which appeared the following year. Entitled L’aeroporto, it featured a magnificent cover by Scurto’s wife, Barbara, who was not only a Futurist painter but also a certified pilot. Reproducing the painting L’aeroporto abbranca l’aeroplano (The airport grabs the airplane) (figure 9), it portrays an airplane climbing steeply into the air while geometric shapes and wedges of light strive to restrain it. ‘For physical courage,’ Bentivoglio and Zoccoli declare, ‘no woman Futurist surpasses Barbara, painter and aviatrix; her element was the sky, her bliss sailing in the air, indifferent to all dangers.’7 Despite some superficial efforts to disguise the novel’s protagonists, L’aeroporto was highly autobiographical. Recounting a love affair between an introverted writer and a female pilot, it enjoyed a certain amount of popularity. According to a footnote, the book received the Premio Letterario-Aeronautica at the Fiera di Padova the previous year. Although it appealed to the Futurist imagination, it seems to have been intended for a general audience – like Quei pazzi. Eager to promote Scurto’s novel, Marinetti praised him in the introduction for situating the action in an airport.8 Ignazio Scurto ... ha goduto negli aeroporti la squisita e sorprendente novità d’istinti sentimenti passioni ire sensualità ambizioni veramente impensati e in armonia con le nuvole divenute ormai pavimento Pensò di dinamizzare le sue osservazioni creando un’azione alata e sorvolante e raggiunse così lo scopo di arricchire la letterature con un nuovo ambiente da verbalizzare poeticamente ... Come [gli aeropittori futuristi] Ignazio Scurto crede indispensabile oggi una glorificazione delle nostre macchine aeree e dei nostri piloti talmente affascinanti ed agili da sedurre i più umili cittadini anziani e ragazzi inalzando le piazze in cielo e imbevendo di vita celeste le piazze per assicurare le vittoriose battaglie di domani

Figure 9. Barbara, L’aeroporto abbranca l’aeroplano (The airport grabs the airplane), 1938, oil on canvas, 78 × 118 cm, present whereabouts unknown.

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Ignazio Scurto ... delights in the airport’s exquisite surprising and unique instincts feelings passions anger sensuality ambitions that are so unusual and that harmonize with the clouds beneath our feet His dynamic observations contribute to the soaring action and he has managed to endow literature with a new poetic dimension ... Like [the Futurist aeropainters] Ignazio Scurto feels compelled to celebrate our airplanes and our skilful fascinating pilots appealing to the humblest citizens both young and old elevating the public squares and imbuing them with celestial life in preparation for the victorious battles of tomorrow

On 25 December 1939, Marinetti, Luigi Scrivo, and Piero Bellanova published Il romanzo sintetico in the Giornale d’Italia, which promised to revolutionize the traditional novel.9 Appealing to all five senses, the manifesto proclaimed, Synthetic novels would be brief, inventive, current, futuristic, optimistic, heroic, lyric, and dynamic at the same time. Authored by Bellanova, the first example appeared a few months later with a cover designed by Ambrosi. Entitled Picchiata nell’amore (Diving headfirst into love), it was enthusiastically received by numerous critics, including Scurto. In 1941, Geppo Tedeschi published a second Synthetic novel, Gli adoratori della patria (Admirers of our native land), with an introduction by Marinetti in which he quoted some of the earlier reviews.10 After summarizing the manifesto’s main points, Scurto declared: Picchiata nell’amore è un ottimo squarcio lirico di un poeta che sa manipolare con audacia la cronaca banale. Bellanova mostra genialità, gioia di vivere, desiderio di combattere, abilità tipografica, passione alla velocità e al rischio, in una parola l’autore mantiene costantemente all’opera un tono più elevato di quello che per solito troviamo negli ordinari romanzi. Diving into love is a splendid lyrical exercise by a poet who knows how to boldly manipulate the banal chronicle of daily events. Bellanova displays originality, a joyful nature, a combative temperament, typographical skills, a passion for speed and risk. In short, the author continually maintains a more elevated tone than that which we usually find in ordinary novels.

In 1937, Tedeschi published ‘Il manifesto della poesia sottomarina,’ in which he urged the Futurists to celebrate the beauty and terror of

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the world beneath the sea. Heeding his message, Scurto returned to poetry in 1940 with a volume entitled Erbe del fondo (Seaweed from the ocean depths) – published, like his earlier books of poetry, in Novara. Drawing his inspiration from the drama of the sea, which had begun to rival the drama of the air, he composed a series of poems that, as Blumenkranz-Onimus notes, reveal his increasing anxiety.11 The title poem depicts the poet suspended in the void harvesting seaweed on the ocean floor. With lapis-lazuli flames flickering all around him, he rises to the surface clutching bunches of ‘fili amari’ (bitter ribbons), which soon shrivel and die in the sun. Despite Scurto’s attempts to expand his poetic repertoire, his colleagues continued to prefer his aeropoetry, which appeared in four separate anthologies over the next few years.12 As the Second World War loomed on the horizon, the Futurists preferred patriotic poetry to cosmic musings, heroic themes to intimations of mortality. Bruno Aschieri Like some of his colleagues, Aschieri earned his living as a journalist, serving, among other things, as art critic for L’arena. In his spare time, he coordinated the Gruppo Futurista’s activities and pursued various projects of his own. A talented writer as well as an accomplished artist, Aschieri published poetry, plays, and prose texts in numerous journals. In addition, he participated in art exhibitions, designed theatrical scenery, and devoted more and more of his time to commercial art – which finally absorbed him completely. Published when he was only nineteen, Aschieri’s first book was Montebaldina: Canto della mia terra (Montebaldina: Song of my land) (Verona: La Scaligera, 1925). Writing in the local dialect, he celebrated his native soil as had countless other poets before him. Following his conversion to Futurism, which provided the inspiration he needed, Aschieri engaged in a whirlwind of artistic and literary activity. In 1930, he managed to place two collections of poems in important journals. Published in L’impero, which was edited in Rome, one collection bore the title ‘Per esser bella’ (How to be beautiful). Entitled ‘Stati d’animo in dodici rate’ (Selected moods in twelve instalments), the other appeared in Mediterraneo futurista, also edited in Rome. At the same time, Aschieri developed a keen interest in Synthetic Theatre, which allowed him to use his artistic and his literary talents simultaneously. Influenced by Tomba’s theories, he designed sets with

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inflatable scenery for several plays. Interestingly, to judge from the few surviving drawings, the scenery was not supposed to look as if it were inflated.13 Instead of plump sausages, it was composed of angular shapes arranged to form geometrical patterns. In addition, Aschieri created a number of Synthetic plays himself, most of which were presumably performed during the group’s serate. The earliest piece that can be dated with any accuracy was published in Naples in 1933.14 Entitled Il reduce italiano (The Italian survivor), it is also one of Aschieri’s shortest plays. In keeping with Synthetic conventions, the plot is extremely simple. An exhausted soldier returns from the First World War with his uniform in tatters and covered with mud. When his son describes a movie he saw showing French, English, and American troops fighting the Germans, he walks away shaking his head in disgust. Not only do the media insist on ignoring Italy’s role in the conflict, but the younger generation is receiving a distorted view of history. Many, if not most, of the other plays also involve the juxtaposition of competing perspectives. One of the pieces is even entitled Punti di vista (Points of view). This time the conflict is not between different generations but among three characters: Icarus, a pilot, and a suicide. Their varied perspectives are symbolized by a Greek temple, an airplane hangar, and an apartment house in the background. Unlike the first two characters, who have miraculously survived aerial accidents, the third jumped to his death from his third-storey balcony. Icarus laments that he did not have an airplane, the pilot protests that he had an airplane but it crashed, and the pessimistic suicide complains that his airplane would have crashed if he’d had one! The audience is left to make what it can of this nonsensical exchange. Dramma siciliano features a conflict of another sort that proves to be quite funny. The competing perspectives are divided not between the characters, in this instance, but between the characters and the audience. While the curtain is still lowered, a shot rings out, and a Sicilian woman rushes across the stage screaming ‘Hanno ammazzato compare Turiddu!’ (Neighbour Turiddu has been murdered). Oddly enough, this is the final line of Mascagni’s opera Cavalleria rusticana, which in this context evokes a mafia hit or a local vendetta. When the curtain goes up, however, it reveals a cyclist immersing an inner tube in a basin of water in order to locate a puncture. Instead of a shotgun blast, the noise that precipitated the drama turns out to have been a simple blowout. A similar metamorphosis takes place in Ploff! where, thanks to a revolving stage, a toilet is miraculously transformed into an airplane.

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In Intermezzo parolibero (Free-word intermission), by contrast, the audience’s expectations undergo a sudden metamorphosis. As in Dramma siciliano, the fact that characters and spectators view the action from different perspectives allows Aschieri to create an elaborate joke. Announcing that he is a famous speaker, an actor appears on stage and begins to declaim Marinetti’s La battaglia di Adrianopoli. Responding to frantic gestures from offstage, the speaker interrupts his reading, excuses himself, and disappears into the wings. He returns with an exciting announcement: a famous Persian lady (‘Persiana’) has just been spotted in the theatre. As the audience begins to buzz, the spotlight picks out the famous celebrity – who turns out to be a window shutter (‘persiana’) painted a typical pea green! Involving a gioco di parole (play on words), the conflict in this instance is between competing interpretations of the same word. In Ping-Pong, which examines interpersonal conflict, Aschieri compares the war of the sexes to a table tennis match. Comprising a series of exchanges between a man and a woman, each of whom tries to best the other, it ends in a draw. Although Umberto Artioli emphasizes the role of machines in Aschieri’s plays, mechanical figures are present in only two works.15 And while he draws a neat contrast between Futurism’s first phase, during which he claims machines played metaphorical roles, and its second phase, when they were permitted to be themselves, this distinction does not hold up on examination. It is true, nevertheless, that Aschieri was fascinated by machines viewed purely as machines. In each of the plays, he insists on their fundamental identity as autonomous inventions with lives of their own. As in another play, L’organo di barberia (The barrel organ), most of the characters in I destituiti (The destitute ones) are played by puppets, who open their robes to spell out the title letter by letter. Bristling with rigid arms, a machine appears at this point and slaps the leader, causing the whole row to topple over backwards like dominos. Thanks to modern machines, Aschieri seems to be saying, mankind need no longer live in poverty. Whereas I destituiti juxtaposes the machine with humanity, whose saviour it is destined to become, L’attaccapanni (The hat stand) opposes the machine to art. Projected onto an illuminated screen, several shadow puppets (consisting of a wig, a top hat, a straw hat, and the hat stand itself) engage in a series of antics. Suddenly a robot enters, tears down the screen, and reveals a complicated machine busily whirring away. The moral is plain to see. Henceforth, art will be subordinated to mechanical inventions, which are far more marvellous.

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From time to time – mostly out of curiosity – some of the Futurists experimented with drugs. In their avid search for new sensations, especially those that were ultramodern, they sampled cocaine, hashish, and opium. And since Futurism had attempted to recreate various stati d’animo from its inception, they evoked these experiences in their writings. On 10 August 1924, for example, Sofronio Pocarini (one of the Julian Futurists) published a poem entitled ‘Cocaina’ in Originalità, edited in Reggio Calabria.16 And in 1933, as we saw earlier, a text by Alberto Manca entitled ‘Sogno alla cocaina’ appeared in 16 liriche ardite. Not to be outdone, Aschieri described his experience with the drug in a booklet that bore an identical title: Sogno alla cocaina (Verona: Arena, 1933). Together with Ottavio Carlotta, Aschieri published a book in Milan the following year entitled Tomaso dal Molin: Sintesi di una scia azzurra (Tomaso dal Molin: Syntheses of an azure wake). The victim of an unfortunate accident, Molin was the pilot of a military seaplane (which explains the subtitle). Conceived as a memorial to the intrepid flyer, the book featured a cover by Ernesto Tomba depicting a seaplane spiralling away from land. In addition to a text eulogizing the dead aviator, the volume included a number of photographs of Molin and extensive quotations from his diary. It also contained a moving dedication: Ai morti ed ai vivi che nella luce della stella d’Italia hanno dominato lo spazio ed il tempo per il trionfo dell’ala tricolore. TOMASO DAL MOLIN! Presente! Non lo dice più la bocca sigillata da morte, ma lo grida l’eroica giovinezza immolata, lo sente in compianto ed orgoglio l’Italia tutta. To those living and dead who, bathed in Italy’s starry light, have triumphed over space and time in their tricolour airplanes. TOMASO DAL MOLIN! Present! His mouth sealed by death, he can no longer answer, but the heroic youth that he sacrificed proclaims his presence, which Italy feels with sorrow and pride.

As this text reveals, Aschieri was not only a gifted poet, playwright, and artist but a patriotic citizen as well. Like Futurists all over Italy, he was proud of his country’s achievements. With a few prominent exceptions, the Futurists reserved their admiration for the Italian nation rather than the Italian government. As Günter Berghaus has shown, most of them simply paid lip service to Mussolini’s regime in order to

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gain access to publishing houses, theatres, and exhibition spaces.17 In contrast to the majority of his colleagues, Aschieri was totally committed to Mussolini’s goals. A Fascist sympathizer from an early age, and later a member of the Fascist Party, he avoided expressing his political views in print until 1934. That year he published in Milan a booklet entitled ‘Squadrismo veronese in miniatura nel 1921,’ in which he recalled his early right-wing activities in Verona. In addition to a cover by his brother, Tullio, the volume featured a preface by Italo Bresciani, who was a deputy in the Italian parliament. According to a brief note, it was exhibited at the Esposizione Aeronautica di Milano in June 1934 at the invitation of the Ministry of Aeronautics. Recalling Aschieri’s experiences with a right-wing youth group at the beginning of the 1920s, the booklet was dedicated ‘per l’Italia, per il Duce come allora e per sempre!’ (to Italy, to Il Duce now as then and forever!). It included photographs of the author dressed in a military uniform and five of the group’s members (which numbered several dozen). By early 1921, vicious fighting had broken out between the various right-wing and left-wing parties. Fascist action squads (‘fasci di combattimento’) sprang up in many cities, which burned the leftists’ headquarters and beat up or killed their leaders. Aschieri’s faction, which was not officially sanctioned, operated independently of the Fascist youth group in Verona and seems to have been much less virulent. Like Aschieri, who was only fifteen years old at the start, its youthful members were more prone to ideological demonstrations than to violence. By the mid 1930s, most of Aschieri’s artistic talents were devoted to commercial advertising. We know he exhibited several posters at the Seconda Mostra Polesana d’Arte in Rovigo in 1936, for example, which were reproduced on picture postcards.18 In addition, he developed a passionate interest in the Spanish Civil War, which erupted the same year. Widely regarded as a showdown between Communism and Fascism, the war prompted the Soviet Union, Germany, and Italy to contribute men and matériel. In 1937, Aschieri volunteered for the Italian contingent and was sent to fight near Guadalajara. While at the front, he wrote a number of poems describing this experience, including a seven-page composition that he sent to Marinetti (now in the Getty Center Library). Entitled ‘Poema simultaneo del giornalismo fascista,’ it assumed the guise of a radio-communiqué supposedly sent by Aschieri to the Futurist leader. Proclaiming his boundless faith in Il Duce, whom he regarded as the Supreme Journalist, Aschieri pro-

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claimed at one point, ‘Mussolini ha sempre ragione’ (Mussolini is always right). In fact, this statement reflects official government policy during Mussolini’s reign, which was founded on a cult of authority. Borrowed verbatim from Article 8 of the Decalogo delle milizie (Ten military commandments), it was a common refrain during the Fascist era. The poem itself began as follows: Murmurio solenne del convoglio hertziano trapanante sublimi spazi cosmici percettibile soltanto dall’orecchio esperto dal micro-orecchio simultaneamente migliaia d’eroismi su ogni fronte febbrili veglie preziose possenti petti d’adolescenti costanza cocciuta di veterani DI QUI NON SI PASSA vent’anni dopo bolscevizzati illusi NO PASARAN e son passati ... Solemn murmuring of the Hertzian procession sublime boring cosmic spaces perceptible only to the micro-ear’s expert ear simultaneously thousands of heroic deeds on every front feverish armed watches adolescents’ powerful chests veterans’ stubborn perseverence NO ONE GETS BY THEM twenty years later bolshevized deceived THEY SHALL NOT PASS but they have passed ...

no pasaran was the slogan of the Republican forces, who were determined to resist Francisco Franco’s troops to the last man. Although the poem implies that the Italian troops managed to overrun

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the Republican defences, this was purely wishful thinking. Commanded by Gen. Mario Roatta, thousands of Italian ‘volunteers’ (including Aschieri) mounted an attack on Guadalajara from 8 to 18 March 1937 that was savagely repulsed. Not only did Roatta’s troops fail to capture the town, but they were also forced to retreat and eventually to run for their lives. While ‘Poema simultaneo del giornalismo fascista’ was probably written before the Battle of Guadalajara, Aschieri composed another, longer poem following the battle, which he also sent Marinetti. The latter was so impressed by L’aeropoema futurista dei legionari in Spagna that he broadcast it over Italian radio on 19 June 1937. Published and distributed at Marinetti’s expense in 1938, the poem was reprinted several times thereafter.19 A German translation appeared in Berlin the same year. Featuring a red cover made of thin cardboard, the large square booklet was both elegant and typographically adventurous. In the 1938 edition, the text was printed in black on yellow paper, and the titles were printed in red. In the 1941 edition, each word or group of words in the text was printed in a different colour: black, grey, blue, or yellow. According to the cover, Aschieri and Luigi Scrivo had previously declaimed the poem in Milan, Rome, and a number of other cities. Marinetti contributed a preface in which he recalled the origins of Futurism in Verona and how he and his colleagues had fought to renew modern poetry.20 Embodying ‘un concetto quasi plastico della collocazione delle parole’ (an almost plastic concept of the placement of words on the page), the parole in libertà played a central role in the latter campaign. Thanks exclusively to the Futurists, Marinetti boasted, words had reacquired their former splendour. Although Aschieri’s poem recounts his personal experience in Spain, it describes what his fellow soldiers endured as well. Written in the impersonal, telegraphic style favoured by the Futurists, it documents the campaign in general. Although Italy had a hand in the Spanish Civil War from the very beginning, Italian involvement escalated dramatically in January 1937, when Mussolini sent 10,000 soldiers (including Aschieri) to fight alongside Spanish troops. L’aeropoema futurista dei legionari in Spagna recounts what transpired once they reached the Iberian peninsula. The first section traces their journey by boat to Cadiz, where they disembarked, and by train to their preliminary destination. Judging from the second section, Aschieri and his companions bivouacked on the grounds of the Spanish Naval Academy in Cadiz.

Major Figures in Verona SMISTAMENTO DI TAPPA A 200 METRI ACCADEMIA MARINERA CASSETTA D’ORDINANZA FIASCHETTA COGNAC COPERTA MOSCHETTO TASCAPANE COCCI DI VETRO NELLA BOTTIGLIA-TERMO – tutto in ordine signor tenente NATURALMENTE SPOGLIARSI SOMMARIAMENTE 38 VIRGOLA 5 DI FEBBRE STANCHEZZA PER UN SECOLO GIUSTO IL TEMPO SENZA TOGLIERE LE SCARPE CHIODATE INZACCHERATE INZUPPATE SDRAIARSI 2 FUNI 2 UNCINI NEL MURO AMACA AEREA NUMERO 21 Fernando Morena y Reina CADETTO CHE FU PRESTAMI QUALCHE SOGNO GODUTO NELL’ALCOVA - ALTALENA UNA NOTTE SOLA QUELLA IRRIMEDIABILMENTE NERA. SWITCHYARD 200 METRES AWAY NAVAL ACADEMY BOX OF AMMUNITION COGNAC BOTTLE BLANKET CARBINE HAVERSACK PIECES OF GLASS IN MY THERMOS ‘everything in order lieutenant’ NATURALLY THROWING OFF MY CLOTHES 38.5 DEGREE FEVER

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UNBELIEVABLE FATIGUE JUST IN TIME WITHOUT REMOVING WET MUDDY HOBNAILED SHOES STRETCHING OUT 2 ROPES 2 HOOKS IN THE WALL AERIAL HAMMOCK NUMBER 21 Fernando Moreno y Reina CADET WHO WAS LEND ME A DREAM TO ENJOY IN MY BEDROOM - SWING FOR ONE INCREDIBLY BLACK NIGHT.

From Cadiz the troops were transported to Cifuentes, depicted in the third section, to prepare for the assault on Guadalajara. The next two sections describe the preparations of the Hurricane Regiment, in which Aschieri served, and anticipate a glorious victory culminating with the capture of Madrid. Aschieri’s confident prediction supports Marinetti’s claim (in the introduction) that the poem was written at the front as events occurred. The battle of Guadalajara, evoked in the final section, ended with the Italians’ humiliating defeat at the hands of the city’s defenders. While Mussolini had hoped to impress the world with Italian military might, his plan exposed him to international ridicule instead. Following his return to Italian soil, Aschieri continued to write both poetry and prose. In 1939, he contributed a poem to a special issue of P.E.N. devoted to 24 giovanni aeropoeti futuristi.21 In 1941, he published a (visual) poetic portrait of Marinetti and an enigmatic play entitled Parallelismo divergente.22 Like his previous plays, it derives its effect from the juxtaposition of competing perspectives – belonging in this case to two persons: an idle fool and a busy clockmaker. As the first character tries repeatedly to stand an egg on end, the second struggles desperately to fix a broken clock. In the second scene, we see the same characters many years later, when they have become old men. The fool is drumming his fingers aimlessly on the table, and the clockmaker is feverishly trying to

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repair a clock. When Death suddenly bursts onto the scene, the latter flees in terror while the former continues to amuse himself. With an idiotic laugh, he stands up and throws himself into Death’s arms. In the long run, Aschieri appears to say, the artist will always triumph over the engineer, since he is more in tune with natural forces. Renato di Bosso and Alfredo G. Ambrosi Renato di Bosso came from a long line of sculptors, including his father, who practised their art in Verona.23 Trained at the Scuola d’Arte Decorativa N. Nani and the Accademia di Belle Arti Cignaroli, he was an accomplished artist as well as a sculptor. In 1930, di Bosso was inspired by Boccioni’s Pittura scultura futuriste (1914) to create his first Futurist work: Violinista, a wooden sculpture, which he exhibited at the Quarta Esposizione di Arti Decorative in Monza the same year (where it was reproduced on a postcard). Resembling a bird in flight, a streamlined figure with extended arms evoked both the violinist and the soaring music emanating from his violin. As Scudiero remarks, di Bosso’s art possesses ‘un generale afflato mistico che lo rende pressoché unico ed immediatamente riconoscibile’ (a general mystical inspiration that makes it virtually unique and immediately recognizable).24 Indeed, many of his early paintings were concerned with religious themes. Where he differs from his Futurist brethren, Scudiero continues, is in his ‘distacco lirico dalle contingenze terrene’ (lyrical detachment from earthly concerns). In contrast to many other aeropaintings, whose interest is primarily documentary, di Bosso’s pictures are concerned with flying in general. Conceived as artistic exercises, they are filled with large blocks of colour and possess a greater degree of abstraction. Unlike di Bosso’s life and works, which are well documented, Alfredo G. Ambrosi’s achievements have received little attention. Despite the critical obscurity that has enveloped his works, he was as talented as di Bosso and equally interesting. ‘Ambrosi è aeropittore completo,’ Scudiero declares; ‘in lui convivono appieno le componenti technologica e spirituale. Le sue tele spaziano infatti dalla documentazione epica di vittorie dell’aria a momenti di grande lirismo cosmico’ (Ambrosi is a complete aeropainter; technological and spiritual elements coexist in his work simultaneously. His canvases range from the epic documentation of aerial victories to moments of great cosmic lyricism). Although he continued to participate in the Gruppo Futurista’s activities, Ambrosi lived from 1935 to 1943 in Rome, where the wealthy

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industrialist Gianni Caproni served as his patron. Together with various paintings commemorating transatlantic flights, his aerial views of Verona and other cities brought him considerable fame. Painted in 1933, Ambrosi’s most famous picture was Volo su Vienna (Flying over Vienna) (figure 10). Surrounded by circling biplanes, a dozen aerial views (painted in violet hues) are superimposed to form a kaleidoscopic portrait of the Austrian capital. Viewed through the eyes of one of the pilots, the scenes alternate in rapid succession as the aircraft circles the city. On closer examination, the airplanes seem to be engaged in some sort of propaganda mission. Adorned with Italian insignia, they are bombarding Vienna with leaflets bearing the image of the Italian flag. The painting received numerous enthusiastic reviews, which were collected in a booklet entitled ‘Il volo su Vienna di A.G. Ambrosi, 1933–1936. Principali giudizi della stampa’ (Verona: Massagrande Del Quadrato, n.d.). Di Bosso and Ambrosi continued to be extremely active during 1935. In January, a picture of a skier by the former appeared on the cover of Verona magazzino, edited by Alberto Manca.25 In June, a painting by the latter appeared in Stile futurista, published in Turin by Fillia and Enrico Prampolini. In addition, both men participated in the Seconda Mostra di Plastica Murale in Genoa and the Seconda Quadriennale Nazionale d’Arte in Rome. In preparation for the latter exhibition, Ambrosi issued a postcard with a reproduction of his Ritratto fisico-psichico del duce (Physical-psychic portrait of Il Duce). Marinetti did not review the Quadrennial exhibition (which opened in January) until April, when he published an article on di Bosso in Verona magazzino.26 Di Bosso è fra noi futuristi il re, delle sintesi intense e vaporose poichè, sempre originale e ardente nella concezione e nella composizione, eccelle nell’organizzare simultaneità di concreto-astratto, veduto-sognato, lontano-vicino, con una affascinante varietà di trasparenze, compenetrazioni evanescenti e quarti di profili. Il veronese di Bosso è presente a questa Mostra con un’opera di scultura e una di aeropittura. La sua aeropittura Agello, pilota campione, per impeto lirico ed efficacia pittorica appassionò dal punto di vista tecnico un gruppo di aviatori e costruttori di aeroplani, tanto questa aeropittura rivela una vissuta conoscenza dell’aviazione. L’aeroscultore di Bosso sintetizza inoltre con un potente complesso plastico in acciaio brunito, un Milite della rivoluzione (ora proprietà dello Stato).

Figure 10. Alfredo G. Ambrosi, Volo su Vienna (Flying over Vienna), 1933, oil on canvas, 151 × 192 cm, present whereabouts unknown.

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Of all the Futurists, di Bosso is the king of ephemeral yet intense syntheses because, possessing an ardent and original talent, he excels in balancing simultaneous qualities such as concrete-abstract, real-imaginary, and distant-close, utilizing a fascinating variety of superimpositions, evanescent interpenetrations, and silhouettes. A native of Verona, di Bosso has contributed a sculpture and an aeropainting to this exhibition. The lyrical force and visual economy of his aeropainting Agello, champion pilot greatly impressed a group of pilots and aeronautical engineers, who marvelled at the artist’s familiarity with aviation’s technical aspects. The aerosculptor di Bosso has also created a powerful plastic synthesis in polished steel: Soldiers of the revolution (acquired by the State).

Discussing these two works in Verona magazzino in January, Manca concentrated on di Bosso’s sculpture: Milite della rivoluzione fascista (its full title), which in his opinion contained the seeds of a brand-new architecture.27 Existing photographs show a single stylized figure, vaguely recalling Alexandre Archipenko’s sculptures, whose military identity is far from evident. Writing in the same journal in February, O. Pallotta concentrated on di Bosso’s painting (figure 11), which was also known as Esaltazione plastica della Scuola di Alta Velocità (Plastic celebration of the School of High Velocity). Although the picture simply appears to celebrate the joy of flying, in reality it commemorates an important historical event. On 23 October 1934, Francesco Agello set a world record of 700 km/h in his pontoon plane over Lake Garda. Amazingly, his record still stands as the fastest speed ever achieved by a piston-engined waterplane. The second title (or subtitle?) refers to a flying school Agello operated in Desenzano sul Garda, where he taught pilots the basics of high-speed flight. Once again, we view the scene through the eyes of an anonymous pilot who, like the airplane in which he is flying, remains invisible. Zooming through the air above Lake Garda, we marvel at our ability to fly so high and so fast. However, the realistic premises underlying the picture prove to be largely illusory. The painting does not depict several airplanes, for example, but rather Agello’s aircraft seen from several different angles. And there is something strangely unsettling about the view immediately to the right. Unexpectedly, we glimpse the aviator’s head miraculously superimposed on the nose of the airplane in which he is flying. Like di Bosso, Ambrosi probably participated in the Terza Esposizione d’Arte del Sindacato Fascista Belle Arti, which, as before, was

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Figure 11. Renato di Bosso, Agello, pilota campione (Agello, champion pilot), 1935, oil on canvas, 17 × 100 cm, present whereabouts unknown. Also called Esaltazione plastica della Scuola di Alta Velocità (Plastic celebration of the School of High Velocity).

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held in Verona.28 In addition, they contributed to an exhibition marking the fortieth anniversary of the Venice Biennial, where two rooms were reserved for Futurist artists. Both were honoured with one-man shows on this occasion, which were reviewed by Marinetti in the Corriere padano.29 Di Bosso chose to exhibit five sculptures and six paintings. Besides statues of Il Duce and the Duca d’Aosta, the former included a Figura mistica made of polychrome wood. Complementing several aerial views, the latter included a picture of tennis players and another entitled Linee-forze di maternità mistica (Mystical maternity’s lines of force). Di Bosso also sent works to two international exhibitions during 1935: a Futurist show in Vienna and an exhibition of aeropainting in Paris. Like his friend and colleague, Ambrosi undoubtedly participated in these shows as well. During 1936, di Bosso took part in a show of Futurist aeropainting in Milan, an exhibition of avant-garde art in Bologna, and the Seconda Mostra di Plastica Murale in Rome. While one suspects these exhibitions also included works by Ambrosi, his contributions are more difficult to document. On one of these occasions, Ambrosi sent Marinetti’s wife, Benedetta, a photographic postcard dated 25 March (now in the Beinecke Library). Bearing the simple notation ‘Devoti Saluti,’ it shows Marinetti and two gentlemen identified as Doctor Vasari and Professor Fritsch standing before Volo su Vienna (see figure 10). According to the accompanying legend, it was taken at an exhibition of Futurist aeropainting in Berlin in 1934. Another photograph shows di Bosso at the Venice Biennial a few months later – where Ambrosi, Mariotti, and he exhibited – together with his wife, Marinetti, and a number of other Futurists.30 In addition, the two men contributed works to the Quarta Triennale in Milan. The next three years were characterized by similar activity. In 1937, di Bosso participated in an exhibition in Cremona, the Terza Mostra di Plastica Murale in Rome, and a show sponsored by ‘La Rotonda’ in Milan. Although he does not seem to have exhibited at the Venice Biennial the following year, we know Ambrosi sent a number of paintings to the show. Instead, di Bosso contributed several works to a travelling exhibition that toured Italy’s Adriatic coast and participated in a sculpture competition in San Remo devoted to ‘Dinamica dello Sport.’ Angered by a number of ‘misdeeds’ that marred the latter show, he denounced the organizers in an article published in Cine-Teatro (Milan) in May. Undeterred by this experience, di Bosso entered several sportsoriented works in a similar contest in Naples in 1939. He and Ambrosi

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also participated in the Quadrennial in Rome, where a group of his sculptures, Squadrismi imperiali (Imperial militants), was viewed by the king.31 On this occasion, however, di Bosso allowed his artistic judgment to be overruled by political concerns. Depicting a robot soldier goose-stepping past two uniformed children giving the Fascist salute, the sculptures seem ugly by today’s standards and frankly appalling. Delighted at di Bosso’s rising popularity, Marinetti published a profile of the artist in the Meridiano di Roma in August. Nineteen forty was a busy year for di Bosso, who participated in an exhibition of colonial art in San Remo, a competition in Cremona, the Seconda Mostra d’Arte Sportiva in Rome, and – together with Ambrosi – the Biennale di Venezia. As noted previously, Ambrosi also designed the cover of Piero Bellanova’s Synthetic novel Picchiata nell’amore, which was published in Rome by the Unione Editoriale d’Italia. Towards the end of the year, di Bosso and Verossì exhibited together in Verona. The show received considerable attention from the press, including a review by Sacchetti in L’avvenire d’Italia (Bologna) on 29 November. Di Bosso’s contributions consisted largely of aerosilografie (aerowoodcuts), which constituted the bulk of his artistic production during this period. His favourite subjects were athletic pursuits, such as skiing or tennis, and scenes from the horn of Africa. In 1941, an unknown gallery – perhaps the Casa d’Artisti in Milan – hosted an exhibition of pictures by Ambrosi that had been acquired by Gianni Caproni. A pioneer aircraft designer and manufacturer, Caproni had amassed a considerable fortune, which allowed him to become an important art collector. A slim catalogue, A.G. Ambrosi, aeropittore futurista nelle opere della ‘Raccolta Caproni,’ appears to have accompanied the exhibition. Published in Verona, it was the first in a projected series devoted to Italian Futurist artists (of which only two seem to have materialized). A photograph of Ambrosi presented by the Gruppo Veronese appeared on the first page, followed by a portrait of his patron, a message from Marinetti, and a list of twelve pictures. Besides a portrait of Caproni’s wife, and two more of Caproni himself, these included Maternità aerea, Madonna di Loreto, Forze fasciste di terramare-cielo, La disperata in A.O., Aeroritratto di Mussolini aviatore, I piloti, Aeropittura mistica, Sorvolando le nubi, and Volo di guerra. Marinetti’s copy (now in the Beinecke Library) is inscribed ‘A F.T. Marinetti con animo e cuore d’aeropittore futurista A.G. Ambrosi’ (To F.T. Marinetti with heart and soul from the Futurist aeropainter A.G. Ambrosi). Marinetti’s contribution itself was brief and to the point:

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Tra i 100 gruppi futuristi in piena efficienza per mettere l’aeropoesia e l’aeropittura a servizio della nostra guerra multifronte quello veronese ‘Umberto Boccioni’ brilla per le diverse potenti e concorrenti personalità originali e fiere della loro originalità ispirata e volitiva di Ambrosi Scurto Di Bosso Aschieri Verossì. Of the 100 Futurist groups working full time to dedicate aeropoetry and aeropainting to our war effort on multiple fronts the Veronese group ‘Umberto Boccioni’ excels owing to several powerful original and rival personalities who are proud of their inspired and hard-won originality, namely Ambrosi Scurto di Bosso Aschieri Verossì.

Milan also welcomed di Bosso in 1941. He received a one-man show at the Galleria Casa d’Artisti and also exhibited at the Terza Mostra Nazionale del Sindacato Fascista Belle Arti. Extending from 24 May to 2 June, the first exhibition assembled twenty-six woodcuts, sixteen paintings, six sculptures, and eleven drawings. Shortly thereafter, a second publication, Renato di Bosso, aeroscultore aeropittore e aerosilografo futurista, appeared in Verona. Belonging to the same series as the previous catalogue, which it closely resembled, it contained a photograph of the artist presented by the Gruppo Veronese, another of Marinetti inaugurating the show, and a list of di Bosso’s previous exhibitions. It also included the text of Marinetti’s speech, one paragraph of which echoed his remarks in Verona magazzino in 1935: Renato di Bosso è tra noi futuristi il Re delle sintesi intense e vaporose ed è indubbiamente uno dei più completi futuristi poichè manifesta nei suoi complessi plastici il massimo delle qualità creative e nelle sue pitture il massimo delle qualità espressive del paesaggio della figura umana e delle macchine in velocità. Of all the Futurists Renato di Bosso is the King of emphemeral yet intense syntheses and is undoubtedly one of the most complete Futurists because he manifests the utmost creative ability in his plastic compositions and the utmost expressive ability in his pictures of the human figure and of machines in motion.

Since the material was published after the exhibition in Milan, it was apparently never meant to serve as a catalogue. That role was reserved for a one-page document, ‘Aerosilografie aeropitture aerosculture

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futuriste di Renato di Bosso.’32 Besides the date and title, the front contained a list of the works on display and two woodcuts: Calcio (Soccer) and Tamburini della G.I.L. (Drummers in the G.I.L.). The first depicted a desperate goalie blocking a kick, the second a band of drummers from a Fascist youth group marching in a parade. The back was occupied by a manifesto entitled L’aerosilografia. Complaining that traditional woodcuts were rigid and inexpressive, di Bosso proposed to modernize the artform by introducing radical new techniques. Whereas oldfashioned woodcuts lacked spontaneity, he declared, he had discovered how to capture the plastic dynamism of figures in motion. Indeed, his woodcuts seemed a little too spontaneous to some observers, who accused him of copying photographs. In reply, di Bosso published a letter in Il gazzettino (Venice) on 7 October categorically denying this accusation. Although Italy entered the Second World War in June 1940, this event was not reflected in di Bosso’s paintings until a year and a half later. While some of his works portrayed Italian troops in Africa, these were associated with Italy’s earlier colonial adventure. By contrast, Ambrosi depicted subjects associated with the global conflict from the beginning. In 1942, di Bosso finally began to incorporate military themes into his pictures as well. In particular, images inspired by the war appeared in the paintings he exhibited at the Biennial in Venice. By the end of the year, when he and Ambrosi participated in an exhibition of war-inspired art at the Galleria San Marco in Rome, he had developed a brand-new style. The twelve-page catalogue, 6 aeropittori, futuristi di guerra, contained an introduction by Marinetti and a list of paintings by Ambrosi, Crali, di Bosso, Dottori, Prampolini, and Tato. In preparation for Venice, di Bosso, Ambrosi, and Verossì issued several postcards with reproductions of their works.33 In addition to hosting a Futurist exhibition, which by then had become a regular feature, the Bienniale’s organizers devoted an entire pavilion to aeronautical themes. Situated directly opposite the entrance, Room 3 was reserved for Futurist aeropainters. Besides di Bosso, Ambrosi, and Verossì, these included Giovanni Chetoffi and Tullio Crali.34 Of the twenty-five pictures on display, seventeen were painted by the trio from Verona, who clearly dominated the show. In Partenza su allarme con Macchi 202, which depicted a pilot responding to a sudden alert, di Bosso evoked several actions simultaneously. Hurried preparations for departure were juxtaposed not only with each other but with an image of the Macchi 202 fighter taking off. A

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second painting showed a gunner firing at enemy airplanes from a Caproni 311 (one of several light bombers in the Italian airforce). A third work portrayed an aerial battle through the eyes of a machinegunner. According to Enrico Castello, who contributed an introduction to the catalogue, it incorporated a fan-shaped pattern indicating the sweep of the gun’s barrel. Paracadutista lanciato, the fourth picture, was reproduced in the catalogue and showed a parachutist jumping out of an airplane. Viewed from inside the plane, the jumper was momentarily suspended in mid-air as he began his downward plunge. Discussing each of the artists in turn, Castello reserved his warmest praise for Ambrosi, who was represented by twelve paintings (three of which were reproduced in the catalogue). Uomini e macchine di guerra, one of the pictures, showed aviators climbing into their airplanes at the beginning of a mission. Two works portrayed aircraft streaking towards their destinations, while three others depicted preparations taking place inside the planes. The remaining paintings concentrated on the actual attack. While Guerra nel cielo showed several airplanes engaging in aerial combat, the others depicted aircraft bombing various targets. A well-known artist whose works included the famous Volo su Vienna (see figure 10), Castello declared, Ambrosi deserved to receive serious critical attention. If anything, the pictures in the present exhibition were more powerful than his previous ones. The artist had recently participated in several missions over the Strait of Messina, he added, and this experience had greatly enriched his art. Confirming this statement, two of the paintings were entitled Pronto per l’attacco – Canale di Sicilia and Allarme a bordo – Canale di Sicilia. Besides Volo su Vienna, Castello singled out two addtional works for praise: Nel suo Bombardamento di Malta la serie spettralizata delle bombe in caduta aiuta la prospettiva aerea; le geometrizzazioni del cielo lo approfondiscono e dànno velocità ai velivoli, quasi scie, strappi nel raso del cielo. E, nonostante qualche accentuazione cromatica di gialli troppo squillanti, la sua materia pittorica è sempre nobile, plastica ed armoniosa, tessuta su ampie composizioni equilibrate di large fattura, che rivelano, suo malgrado, la razza di veneto tiepolesco: esempio tipico Uomini e macchine di guerra che pare nato per l’affresco. In his Bombardment of Malta, the spectral series of falling bombs enhances the aerial perspective; the sky’s geometric structure deepens it and emphasizes the speed of the airplanes, which are reduced – or nearly so –

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to scratches across the satin sky. And although the yellows are a little too shrill, his paintings are always noble, plastic, and harmonious, executed in balanced compositions of ample proportions reflecting the Veneto’s enduring debt to Tiepolo. A typical example is Men and machines of war, which would have made a magnificent fresco.

Learning that Marinetti had volunteered for the Russian front, di Bosso and his wife sent him a postcard from Venice on 26 August 1942. Depicting the magnificent palazzo known as the Ca’d’Oro, it bore a brief message: ‘Salutiamo in te l’italiano inimitabile’ (We salute you, O peerless Italian).35 Shortly thereafter, di Bosso received a letter from Marinetti’s wife, Benedetta, who asked him to obtain some sweets and a military pass for her husband. On 10 September, he replied that he had applied for the pass and that Mariotti was looking for some chocolate. Three days (and three letters) later, he wrote that Military Train 12 had arrived and that he had entrusted his care package to a Major Podalini. In a letter sent to Marinetti the same day, di Bosso added that besides the pass, it contained chocolate, lemons, and three gifts from Mariotti: honey, caramels, and a vitamin concentrate. The remainder of the letter was devoted to recent artistic events. Di Bosso enclosed a flattering article by E. Cipelletti, for example, ‘Renato di Bosso aeropittore aeroscultore futurista,’ which had appeared in L’arte (Milan) in July. Adding that it was one of the best studies of aeropainting written by a non-Futurist, he advised Marinetti to send the author an appreciative note. Additional remarks were concerned with the Futurists’ campaign to abolish still-life painting (to be discussed shortly) and with the recent Premio Verona competition, in which the artist had entered several works. Writing to Marinetti on 29 September, di Bosso’s wife, Fatima, reported that although the top prizes went to hopelessly old-fashioned artists, one of his paintings had been purchased by the prefect. In a letter to Marinetti dated 17 September, di Bosso announced that the naturamortisti (still-life artists) were steadily losing ground. As proof, he cited the recent competition for the Premio Pergamo, in which they failed to receive a single prize. Following Marinetti’s lively discussion with Carrieri in Venice, he added, the journal Tempo had ceased publishing reproductions of still lifes as well. Apparently initiated by the Futurists in Verona, the campaign to eradicate still-life painting was in full swing by this time. Dating from the end of 1940, when Scurto published three articles condemning the

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venerable genre, it gained more and more momentum during the next few years.36 The problem with still lifes, the Futurists maintained, was that the items they portrayed were essentially lifeless. They were not just momentarily motionless, as the English term intimates, but completely dead – as the Italian expression natura morta implies. How could objects that appeared to be preserved in formaldehyde reproduce the rhythms of modern life? In order to register their growing indignation, di Bosso and Ambrosi resorted to a device they had successfully employed before: the manifesto. By comparing Futurist artists with their reactionary brethren, moreover, they would demonstrate their superiority once and for all. Fired with enthusiasm, di Bosso sent a note (now in the Getty Center Library) to Luigi Scrivo, who served as Marinetti’s secretary, asking for the addresses of potential Futurist collaborators). ‘Eroi macchine ali contro nature morte’ (Heroes machines wings against still lifes), the forty-eight-page booklet that resulted, appeared on 3 June 1942. Published in Rome by Marinetti (but printed in Verona), it spoke for the entire Futurist movement. Indeed, a statement condemning still-life painting on the first page was endorsed by two dozen Futurist groups. Following a general introduction by Marinetti, di Bosso contributed an essay, ‘Per una salutare e urgente bonifica della moderna arte pittorica italiana’ (For the salutory and urgent improvement of modern Italian pictorial art).37 Denouncing artists and critics alike, he declared that still-life painting was ‘nauseante per il desolato aspetto morale che ne traspare, ed assurda perchè, sostanziandosi fuori della vita è condannata in anticipo a rimanere fuori della storia’ (nauseating because of its woefully inadequate moral aspect and absurd because, cut off from daily life, it is automatically condemned to remain isolated from history). In point of fact, he asserted, the greatest Italian works of art did not include a single still life among them. Accusing contemporary painters of xenomania and crass commercialism, di Bosso dismissed still-life painting as ‘una volgare beffa che oltraggia il genio plastico ed inventivo degli italiani’ (a vulgar hoax that insults italian artists’ creative genius). In an essay bearing the telegraphic title ‘Clima di guerra ispiratore ideale’ (War climate ideal source of inspiration), Ambrosi continues the attack on still-life painting, which he denounces as a form of mental masturbation. We are living in a heroic age, he proclaims, endowed with sources of inspiration for every imaginable artistic sensibility. Since innumerable dynamic possibilities exist for the artist to choose

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from, passive still lifes have become hopelessly obsolete. Ambrosi’s remarks were juxtaposed with a letter from Marinetti on the opposite page describing an interesting encounter. Caro Ambrosi, Sono stato veramente lieto di presentarti al Duce nella Sale Futuriste della Quadriennale tanto più che ciò ha dato occasione al sempre geniale Fondatore dell’Impero di rispondere con precisione ad una mia frase illustrative del tuo quadro Tristezza della natura morta [which was reproduced above]. Io dissi ‘questo è il dinamismo aeropittorico degli aeroplani nel cielo.’ E il Duce aggiunse ‘e questa è la solita natura morta di pesci e carote.’ [This remark was juxtaposed with the head of a female statue.] Il Duce così glorificò questa tu magnifica opera. Tuo Marinetti Dear Ambrosi, I was very pleased to introduce you to Il Duce in the Futurist Rooms at the Quadrennial, especially since it gave the perennially clever Founder of the Empire the chance to address one of my remarks concerning your painting Sadness of the still-life [which was reproduced above]. I said, ‘Behold the aeropictorial dynamism of airplanes in flight.’ And Il Duce added, ‘And behold the customary still life of fish and carrots’ [this remark was juxtaposed with the head of a female statue]. This is how Il Duce praised your magnificent work. Yours, Marinetti

In addition to a woodcut by di Bosso, Marciare non marcire (March don’t mildew), the booklet also contained forty illustrations, half of which were painted by contemporary still-life artists and half by Futurist artists. Each of the former was emblazoned with an anti-stilllife quotation and juxtaposed with a dynamic aeropainting on the opposite page. Viewers were encouraged to compare the two pictures and to draw their own conclusions – which, the editors believed, would inevitably favour the Futurists. The painters in the first group included such important avant-garde figures as Giorgio de Chirico, Filippo de Pisis, and Giorgio Morandi, who by now were well established. The second group consisted of Tullio Crali, Ernesto Thayaht,

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Osvaldo Peruzzi, Tato, Fillia, Mario Menin, Enrico Prampolini, Fortunato Depero, Nello Voltolina, Gerardo Dottori, di Bosso, Marisa Mori, Cesare Andreoni, Verossì, Benedetta, Teobaldo Mariotti, Angelo Caviglioni, Corrado Forlin, and Ugo Pozzo. In 1943, di Bosso and Ambrosi participated in the Quarta Quadriennale Nazionale d’Arte. In addition, di Bosso contributed several works to an exhibition of aeropaintings at the Galleria di Roma – situated, like the first show, in the Eternal City. Exhausted by his experience at the Russian front, which had permanently undermined his health, Marinetti returned home the same year. While he was convalescing, he received a letter from Ambrosi wishing him a speedy recovery and expressing his profound admiration.38 Seeking a tranquil place to recuperate, Marinetti moved to Venice in October. Although his health was still frail, he invited his Futurist colleagues to attend a series of meetings. In an undated letter, di Bosso wrote that he had learned of a future meeting from Elio Balestreri. Despite a vicious cold that threatened to prevent him from attending, he promised to notify Ambrosi and Mariotti. He also enclosed a clipping in which the conservative critic Ugo Ojetti – who had never cared for Futurism – continued his anti-modernist campaign. Finally, di Bosso promised to bring a copy or copies (the syntax is ambiguous) of Eroi macchine ali contro nature morte to Venice or, if he were too ill, to entrust someone else with the task. Other Figures While some people left numerous records of their activities, other members of the Gruppo Futurista Veronese have disappeared without a trace. We know Mariotti regularly participated in the Venice Biennial and the Rome Quadrennial, for example, but not much else about him. And while Tullio Aschieri was extremely active during the 1930s, designing buildings and participating in numerous exhibitions, the names and dates of most of these have been forgotten. Since Aschieri immigrated to Venezuela, where he became a citizen, this is not terribly surprising. A similar fate was reserved for Verossì, who died in 1945 without leaving any records of how he had disposed of his paintings. Since most of these were purchased by private collectors, they have simply disappeared from sight. We know a few things about the artist – for example, that he created a poster for Verona’s 1936 opera season. Scudiero has discovered a series of postcards that Verossì designed to publicize his works.39 In addition, he participated in the

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Venice Biennial from 1938 to 1942 and in the Rome Quadrennial from 1939 to 1943. The few paintings that have surfaced reveal that Verossì embraced aeropainting’s second phase enthusiastically. While they mostly consist of realistic portraits of aviators and their machines, several depict monumental figures engaged in symbolic actions – like the mysterious being in L’aviazione (1942) who tosses airplanes about as if they were toys. Scudiero attributes the powerful effect of Verossì’ s pictures to ‘un grande colorismo e ... un sapiente gioco di compenetrazioni planari’ (a great colouristic sensibility and ... a judicious play of interpenetrating planes).40 Enrico Castello reached a similar conclusion in the catalogue of the aeronautics show at the Venice Biennial in 1942. In contrast to di Bosso and Ambrosi, who exhibited numerous paintings, Verossì contributed a single picture, Profughi nell’ S. 81 (Refugees in an S. 81) (figure 12), which was reproduced in the catalogue. Engaged in a humanitarian mission in the painting, the SIAI S. 81 Pipistrello was a medium-sized bomber usually employed for other, less altruistic, purposes. Compared to Tullio Crali, Castello declared, Verossì è più complesso e più audace di colore. Egli presenta una vasta tela Profughi nell’ S. 81. E’ un’opera di eccellente aeropittura futurista, nella quale si armonizzano, pure attraverso audaci contrasti di tinte e di forme, la visione interna della carlinga dove giacciono donne, bambini e vecchi, con l’alta immagine dell’equipaggio che ha una sua vìvida luce, e la visione esterna con apparecchi in combattimento e terra e cielo e mare. Verossì is a bolder and more complex colourist. He is exhibiting a large canvas entitled Refugees in an S. 81. An excellent example of Futurist aeropainting, it uses boldly contrasting shapes and hues to establish a harmony between the airplane’s interior where women, children, and old people are all heaped together [juxtaposed with an image of the crew in the cockpit] and an external view of airplanes engaging in combat, the earth, the sea, and the sky.

Writing in the Meridiano di Roma in May 1942, Marinetti paid homage to Verossì’ s exceptional talent as well.41 On the one hand, he praised the artist’s ability to immerse the viewer in his paintings, in accordance with the Futurist dictum: ‘Noi porremo lo spettatore nel centro del quadro’ (We will put the viewer in the centre of the painting)

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Figure 12. Verossì, Profughi nell’ S. 81 (Refugees in an S. 81), 1942, oil on canvas, dimensions and present whereabouts unknown.

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(‘Manifesto tecnico,’ 1910). On the other hand, he praised Verossì’s extraordinary technical skill, whose subtlety and precision allowed him to accomplish miracles. La virtù tutta sua d’innuvolare con disinvoltura e sicurezza la natura umana facendo del nuvolame l’abituale ambiente dell’uomo e della donna fuori da ogni contatto e paragone terrestre ciò contribuisce a fare di Verossì un grande aeropittore futurista pur quando dipingere il cielo ad olio egli dall’alto in velocità come fanno i trimotori dell’ammarare sa acquarellare con nuove grazie e inedite ingegnosità di acquarellista ... [Verossì possiede] una maestria eccezionale di disegno la cui sicurezza è tale da reggere scaldare e dirigere qualsiasi esuberante tripudio di colore e qualsiasi straripamento di sfumature e vaporosità. Questa maestria di disegno che gli meritò il titolo di re del disegno è da mostrarsi particolarmente negli aeroritratti simultanei dove favorisce le altre indagini ricerche audacie del suo spirito. His unique and effortless ability to engulf spectators in clouds, transforming clouds into our habitual environment with no hint of earthly ties, is partly what makes Verossì a great Futurist aeropainter. Depicting the sky from a vantage point high in the air, his paintings possess the exceptional grace and ingenuity of sea planes landing on the water ... [Verossì has] an exceptional mastery of drawing whose precision informs, supports, and motivates his paintings’ exuberant colours, effusive shadings, and subtle suggestiveness. Having earned him the title of ‘The King of Drawing,’ this mastery is especially evident in the simultaneous aeroportraits, where it enhances his audacious experiments.

Although Quirino Sacchetti was a charter member of the Gruppo Futurista Veronese, relatively little is known about him. A sensitive poet who participated in most of the group’s projects, he seems to have earned his living as a journalist – like several of his colleagues. In addition to publicizing the group’s activities in various newspapers, he published two books of poetry in Verona. Asteria (Starfish), the first volume, appeared in 1938 and contained a number of short lyric poems like those he had contributed to 16 liriche ardite five years before. Published in 1943 with a preface by Nicola Moscardelli, Strane stelle, stasera (Strange stars tonight) contained a series of similar poems, which were entirely traditional in appearance. Since Sacchetti employed neither Futurist techniques nor Futurist themes in his

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poetry, one wonders why he joined the Gruppo Futurista Veronese. A poem like ‘Verso la fiera’ (Going to the fair) reveals how far he deviated from the official model. Lenti rotolavano carri sull’umido asfalto. Nell’aria garrivano voli, alti, su casolari immoti. Bronzi cullavano preghiere sopite nell’alcova d’anima. Andavano i carri sotto il lembo grigio del cielo come schiavi fedeli di una fóla incompiuta. Alla fiera correvano i migratori di piazze con la mostra magata dei ninnoli. Era l’alba; e la terra sapeva di speranza. Carts roll slowly along the damp asphalt. High above, over the still cottages, flocks of birds twitter in the air. Bronze bells cradle drowsy prayers in the soul’s inner sanctum. The carts proceed beneath the sky’s gray border like faithful slaves in an evolving fairy tale. The migratory merchants hurry to the fair looking like enchanted toys. Day dawned, filling the earth with promise.

Although Maria Goretti resided in Bologna, where she belonged to the local Futurist group, she published a book in Verona in 1941 – La donna e il futurismo (Women and Futurism). Alternating between poetry, essays, and theoretical texts, it recounted her engagement with Futurism and sought to relate it to her role as a woman.42 Three sections were devoted to Futurist figures who exerted a lasting influence

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on her development: Benedetta, the French poetess Valentine de St Point, and Marinetti. Dedicated to the latter, who also contributed an introduction, the volume employed two quotations as epigraphs. The first was a statement by Mussolini: ‘La guerra sta all’uomo come la maternità sta alla donna’ (War is for men what motherhood is for women). In contrast to women, who were destined to become mothers, men were destined to become warriors. Borrowed from Benedetta, the second epigraph equated the female role with motherhood as well but introduced a metaphorical twist. The Italian woman was the generatrix not only of children, she declared, but ‘di sentimenti, di passioni, di idee’ (of feelings, of passions, of ideas). As Marinetti recognized in his introduction, the themes of motherhood and war form intermingled strands extending throughout the book.43 Singling out ‘La conquista della Somalia ex britannica’ (The conquest of the former British Somaliland), he praised its vivid imagery, telegraphic style, and use of metamorphosis. He was particularly struck by Goretti’s synthetic imagination, which allowed her to ‘lega[re] l’eroismo patriottico all’angoscia materna per un figlio ammalato’ (link heroic patriotism to maternal anguish occasioned by a sick child) rapidly and concisely. In turn, La donna e il futurismo examines the implications of women’s devotion to motherhood and men’s commitment to war. More precisely, it relates these themes to larger issues associated with male and female roles in general. The example cited above is paradigmatic of Goretti’s approach, which is essentially therapeutic. Striving to resolve the apparent conflict between mothers and warriors, she relates each to the other in ways that both can understand. Marinetti was fully aware of Goretti’s strategy and compared her to a Red Cross nurse ‘medicando ... la grande ferita spirituale di ogni donna’ (ministering ... to the spiritual wounds of every woman). Maria Goretti senza annoiare mai il lettore distratto ma constringendolo delicatamente a pensare risolve i massimi problemi della soavità non disgiunta dalla forza della maternità accesa d’amore e dell’indipendenza intenerita dall’affetto profondo per il maschio prescelto amante e padre Without ever boring the distracted reader but by gently forcing him or her to think, Maria Goretti resolves the massive conflict between gentleness stemming from maternal love and independence softened by deep affection for the masculine lover or father

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As Bentivoglio and Zoccoli observe, La donna e il futurismo is marked by ‘a profound lyrical-erotic charge’ that traverses the entire volume.44 ‘Colloquio col motore’ (Conversing with the motor), the first poem, begins as follows: Io t’amo pulsante cuore! Pulsante cuore meccanico avido cuore d’acciaio: in te battono ritmi ansiosi di avidissima vita spaziale in te s’accendono fremiti lucenti per verginità temporali da conquistare in te brucia la febbre ardente del tuo caldo e denso sangue tua pericolosissima vita la benzina! I love you throbbing heart! Throbbing mechanical heart eager heart of steel: in you beat anxious rhythms of eager spatial life in you ignite gleaming shudders conquering temporal virginity in you burns the ardent fever of your hot dense blood of your perilous life gasoline!

From the very beginning, the airplane engine is portrayed as a spatio-temporal Don Juan throbbing with desire. Reinforcing the erotic scenario, the insistent repetitions of ‘in te’ and the motor’s orgasmic shudders confirm our initial impressions. Here and elsewhere in the volume, Goretti compares the thrill of flying to sexual intercourse. Completing the erotic equation, she frequently assumes the role of the machine’s female partner. Eagerly awaiting her lover’s embrace in the following excerpt – which expresses her poetic credo – she dreams of their coming encounter: MIA AEROPOESIA = gioia di creare azzurri lirismi bruciati dalle velocità

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alte tensioni e la mia femminilità ammorbidisce accarezza fluidifica nell’onda magnetica del canto la dura asprezza dell’acciaio combattente. MY AEROPOETRY = joy of creating azure poems scorched by the hightension speed, while my femininity caresses and softens the combative steel’s rigid hardness, dissolving it in the magnetic wave of song.

Following these and other lyrical exercises, Goretti appended a lengthy theoretical text, ‘Manifesto della poesia aeroica femminile nel futurismo’ (Futurist manifesto of heroic feminine aeropoetry). As Sappho, Gaspara Stampa, and Ada Negri had abundantly proved, women could write immortal poetry as well as men. And yet, she was forced to confess, women (also not unlike men) had written an enormous amount of terrible poetry as well. Divided into two sections, the manifesto strove to account for this lamentable fact and to devise ways of overcoming it in the future. The first half examined bad female poetry, analysed its operative principles, and identified seven vices to avoid. The second half cited three female virtues, praised two women poets, and presented a series of recommendations. Women are not only exceptionally intuitive, Goretti declared, but highly moral and highly imaginative. Like Valentine de St Point and Benedetta, who understood that the flesh and the spirit were indissolubly linked, they are uniquely qualified to write great poetry. The manifesto concluded with a call to arms, a plan of action, and a list of poetic goals. In order to create a heroic female aeropoetry, Goretti proclaimed, women should 1 combat pedantic and analytic tendencies with intuition in order to create an intuitive art; 2 combat fragmentary and autobiographical tendencies by stressing the universal in order to create a synthetic art; 3 combat pessimism by transforming poetry into an act of faith in order to create an optimistic art; 4 combat nostalgia and regret by stressing the present in order to create an original art; 5 combat affectation and superficial grace in order to create a serious art; 6 combat intellectual abstractions with dynamic, concrete abstractions in order to create a passionate art;

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7 combat sloth, fatigue, and weakness with ‘an art as elastically graceful as an obstacle race, as improvisational as a caress, as aggressively surprising as a squadron of bombers, and as freshly imaginative as an aerial perspective.’

5

Coda

As we have seen, the evolution of Futurism followed different patterns in Venice, Padua, and Verona. Although Marinetti and his colleagues visited all three cities in the beginning, the seeds they planted grew at separate rates. While a Venetian group espoused the Futurist cause as early as 1910, artists and writers in Padua waited twelve years before founding a similar group. And while Verona witnessed some local Futurist activity beginning in 1915, the Gruppo Futurista Veronese did not emerge until the late 1920s. Despite Venetian Futurism’s robust appearance and precocious history, the movement dissolved in the early 1930s when Renzo Bertozzi left for Verona. Although the movement in Padua ended about the same time, the emergence of the Gruppo Futurista Savarè in Monselice provided a certain amount of continuity. Like the latter, the group in Verona endured as long as the Futurist movement itself and proved to be unusually prolific. Whereas Marinetti received a courteous reception in Padua, he was greeted with undisguised hostility in Venice and Verona. Following Italy’s entry into the First World War, which the Futurists celebrated in a number of works, the public began to view the movement more favourably. By the end of the 1920s, the Futurists in the Veneto and elsewhere enjoyed widespread popular support. Because of several superficial similarities, Marinetti has been compared to Mussolini by some of his detractors. Others have compared him to André Breton, who was labelled the Pope of Surrealism by his own detractors. While Marinetti governed the Futurist movement with a firm hand, he did not resemble either one of these men in the least. At no time did he attempt to impose his will on other Futurists by force, for example. Nor did he condemn and ‘excommunicate’ members who

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refused to toe the party line. While he expected them to observe the principles enunciated in various manifestos, he resisted any attempt at regimentation. Writing in 1929 to Bruno Aschieri, who had just founded the Gruppo Futurista Veronese, he protested that regulations and fees were contrary to the Futurist spirit. Although differences of opinion inevitably arose between Marinetti and others – leading the Florentine Futurists to resign in 1915 – these were few and far between. His letter to Aschieri reveals that he treated his colleagues with respect and that he preferred persuasion to threats. Marinetti owed his astounding success not to any dictatorial qualities but to the fact that he was a charismatic leader. As we have had ample opportunity to observe, his colleagues respected, admired, and loved him. Like their counterparts elsewhere, the Futurists in Venice, Padua, and Verona were in constant touch with Marinetti. Although they solicited his support for various projects, more than anything they sought his approval. Delighted to see so many newcomers attracted to Futurism, Marinetti welcomed them into the fold, participated in their serate, and sponsored many of their projects. While he continued to supervise their activities from afar, he encouraged them to explore new ideas and to develop their natural talents. Instead of being marginalized, the newcomers were integrated into the Futurist movement with scarcely a ripple. As a result, Futurist theory and practice in the Veneto was indistinguishable from mainstream Futurism. A dynamic relationship existed between the provincial Futurists and those in the major urban centres that benefited them both. Each contingent borrowed ideas from the other as the occasion demanded. Boccioni played a key role in Futurism’s evolution in the Veneto, for example. In return, the local Futurists influenced the development of Futurist art in general and authored several mainstream manifestos. Since these and other works have long been out of circulation, a number of misconceptions have arisen over the years. According to the prevailing myth, the Futurists concentrated on three subjects, which they explored almost exclusively: modern machinery, warfare, and the Fascist dream. Work after work supposedly praised modern inventions, glorified violence, and engaged in political propaganda. In actuality, Futurist creations were much more diverse – and much more interesting – than this caricature would suggest. Although military, mechanical, and patriotic themes occur in a number of works, the Futurist repertoire was a great deal larger. In addition to Symbolist exercises, for instance, it included radical experiments worthy of Dada

Coda

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and Surrealism. While the numerous manifestos seem to some critics to reflect an obsession with uniformity, nothing could be further from the truth. In reality, Marinetti and his colleagues employed many different styles, explored every conceivable subject, and were surprisingly creative.

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Notes

Introduction 1 Cinzia Sartini Blum, The Other Modernism: F.T. Marinetti’s Futurist Fiction of Power (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), p. vii. 2 Andrew Hewitt, Fascist Modernism: Aesthetics, Politics, and the Avant-Garde (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993). 3 See for example Futurismo, cultura e politica, ed. Renzo de Renzo (Turin: Fondazione Giovanni Agnelli, 1988), and Günter Berghaus, Futurism and Politics: Between Anarchist Rebellion and Fascist Reaction, 1909–1944 (Providence, RI, and Oxford: Berghahn, 1996). 4 Blum, The Other Modernism, p. 20. 5 Cf. Claudia Salaris: ‘Marinetti è un isolato, si è distaccato da Mussolini nel 1920, dopo una prima fase di alleanza, proprio per incompatibilità con la linea reazionaria dei fascisti’ (Marinetti was alone. He distanced himself from Mussolini in 1920, following their initial alliance, due to incompatibility with reactionary Fascist politics) (Bibliografia del futurismo, 1909–1944 [Rome: Vascello, 1988], p. 8). Günter Berghaus provides an excellent overview in Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), pp. 329–45 and examines the question in detail in Futurism and Politics. 6 Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, p. 333. 7 Giovanni Lista, Futurism, trans. Charles Lynn Clark (New York: Universe, 1986), p. 85. In addition, Mussolini ordered his secret police to keep an eye on Marinetti and to report to him periodically concerning his ‘anti-Fascist’ activities. See Berghaus, Futurism and Politics, pp. 281–90. 8 Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, p. 529. 9 While some of the Futurists were committed Fascists, others adopted a Marxist ideology and sought to imitate their Russian counterparts. See

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Notes to pages 6–11

Giovanni Lista, Arte e politica: Il futurismo di sinistra in Italia (Milan: Multhipla, 1980). 10 Salaris, Bibliografia del futurismo, p. 6. 11 Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, p. 523. 12 Maurizio Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista (Modena: Fonte d’Abisso, 1989), p. 1. 1 Futurism in Venice 1 F.T. Marinetti–Aldo Palazzeschi: Carteggio, ed. Paolo Prestigiacomo (Milan: Mondadori, 1978), p. 17. Besides the review published in the Corriere della sera, several reviews that appeared locally are reproduced in Ester Coen et al., Boccioni a Venezia (Milan: Mazzotta, 1985), pp. 83–8. See pp. 146–7 for the letter of protest by Boccioni, Garbari, and Wolf Ferrari, and p. 88 for part of Soffici’s review in La Voce. 2 F.T. Marinetti, ‘Mostra collettiva di Umberto Boccioni’ in Catalogo della Mostra d’Estate in Palazzo Pesaro a Venezia, anno MCMX, p. 9. Repr. in Maria Drudi Gambillo and Teresa Fiori, eds., Archivi del futurismo (Rome: De Luca, n.d.), vol. 1, p. 101. 3 These and other details are gleaned from a review published in L’adriatico on 2 August 1910 – summarized by Günter Berghaus in Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), pp. 102–3. According to Berghaus, Armando Mazza was somewhere else at the time. 4 For Barbantini’s role see Nino Barbantini a Venezia (Treviso: Canova, 1995) and La galleria internazionale d’arte moderna a Venezia (Milan: Fratelli Treves, n.d.). For the various artists see Coen et al., Boccioni a Venezia; Carlo Munari, Gli artisti di Ca’ Pesaro (Rovereto: Manfrini, 1967); and Guido Perocco, Le origini dell’arte moderna a Venezia (1908–1920) (Treviso: Canova, 1972). 5 Letters from Umberto Boccioni to Nino Barbantini, undated. Repr. in Gambillo and Fiori, eds., Archivi del futurismo, vol. 2, pp. 36 and 41. This volume contains additional letters from Boccioni to the director of Ca’ Pesaro as well. For another letter to Barbantini, see Coen et al., Boccioni a Venezia, p. 155, n61. 6 See G. Perocco, Opere giovanili de Teodoro Wolf Ferrari 1885–1919 (Venice: Azienda Autonoma Soggiorno e Turismo, 1968). 7 See, for example, Carlo Belli, L’angelo in borghese (Milan: Scheiwiller, 1986), and Fausta Villari Cataldi, Tullio Garbari, 1892–1931 (Trento: Comitato Trentino per la Diffusione della Cultura, 1971). 8 Nunzio Carmeni, Poeti e prosatori del Trentino (Trento: Innocenti, 1980), p. 15. See also Maria Garbari, Tullio Garbari poeta (Trento: Tipografia Editrice, 1971).

Notes to pages 11–19

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9 Carlo Carrà, ‘Mostre retrospettive: Tullio Garbari,’ L’ambrosiano, 1 February 1936. Repr. in Cataldi, Tullio Garbari 1892–1931, p. 31. 10 Paolo Prestigiacomo, ed., F.T. Marinetti–Aldo Palazzeschi: Carteggio, p. 49. 11 Gambillo and Fiori, eds., Archivi del futurismo, vol. 1, p. 475. 12 Prestigiacomo, ed., F.T. Marinetti–Aldo Palazzeschi: Carteggio, p. 49. 13 Aldo Palezzschi, Poesie, 1904–1914, 6th ed. (Florence: Vallecchi, 1949), pp. 226–30. 14 F.T. Marinetti, ‘Nous renions nos maîtres les symbolistes, derniers amants de la lune,’ Revue d’Europe et d’Amérique 14 (1 October 1911), and Le futurisme (Paris: Sansot, 1911). Le futurisme was not translated into Italian until 1915, when it received a new title: Guerra sola igiene del mondo. For the sentence in question, see F.T. Marinetti, Teoria e invenzione futurista, ed. Luciano de Maria (Milan: Mondadori, 1983), p. 302. 15 Prestigiacomo, ed., F.T. Marinetti-Aldo Palazzeschi: Carteggio, p. 62. 16 Letter from F.T. Marinetti to Gino Barbantini, n.d. Repr. in Gambillo and Fiori, Archivi del futurismo, vol. 2, pp. 43–4. 17 See Gambillo and Fiori, Archivi del futurismo, vol. 2, pp. 45–6. 18 Nino Barbantini, ‘La prima mostra di Ca’ Pesaro,’ Scritti d’arte inediti e rari, ed. Gino Damerini (Venice: Fondazione Giorgio Cini, 1953), p. 266. 19 Letter from Umberto Boccioni to Gino Barbantini, 19 May, 1913. Repr. in Gambillo and Fiori, eds., Archivi del futurismo, vol. 2, p. 48. Entitled ‘La mostra giovanile d’arte a Venezia. Un incidente futurista,’ the article appeared in the Corriere della sera the same day. 20 See the section on Casorati in Primo ’900: Partecipazione e solitudine dell’arte, ed. Calogero Panepinto and Marina Brezza (Milan: Fondazione Art Studio, 1991), pp. 128–35, which includes an excellent bibliography. 21 Nino Springolo, ‘Ricordo di Gino Rossi,’ Fiera letteraria, 11 March, 1956. Repr. in Perocco, Le origini dell’arte moderna a Venezia (1908–1920), pp. 369– 70. 22 Quoted by Guido Perocco in ‘Gino Rossi a Ca’ Pesaro,’ Gino Rossi, ed. Luigi Menegazzi et al. (Milan: Editrice, 1974), p. 21. 23 Paolo Rizzi, ‘La lezione di Gino Rossi,’ Momenti del realismo: Prima indagine critica nella Tre Venezie 1910/1965, ed. Mario de Micheli (Milan: Vangelista, 1971), p. 3, and Antonio Chiades, Vita di Gino Rossi (Montebelluna: Amadeus, 1991), p. 28, respectively. 24 Perocco, Le origini dell’arte moderna a Venezia (1908–1920), p. 177. The sketches are reproduced in Gambillo and Fiori, eds. Archivi del futurismo, vol. 2, p. 421. See also Il giovane Arturo Martini: Opere dal 1905 al 1921, ed. Eugenio Manzato and Nico Stringa (Treviso: Museo Civico, 1989). 25 For Martini’s letters to Boccioni see Perocco, Le origini dell’arte moderna a

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26 27

28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

Notes to pages 20–8

Venezia (1908–1920), pp. 377–8. In Colloqui con Arturo Martini, ed. G. Scarpa (Milan: Rizzoli, 1968), p. 128, the sculptor recalled a visit that Boccioni and Carrà paid him and Gino Rossi in Treviso. Boccioni published a column entitled ‘Arti plastiche’ in Gli avvenimenti during the first half of 1916. Although nothing more is known of Busetto, he seems to have retained a lifelong enthusiasm for the movement and its leader. A document preserved in the Getty Center Library records his presence at a Futurist gathering in Marinetti’s residence in Venice on 23 January 1944. Epistolario Cangiullo–Marinetti, ed. Ernestina Pellegrini (Florence: Vallecchi, 1989), p. 87. Lettere ruggenti a F. Balilla Pratella, ed. Giovanni Lugaresi (Milan: Quaderni dell’Osservatore, 1969), p. 51. Additional sintesi are discussed in chapters 2 and 3. See Michael Kirby, Futurist Performance (New York: Dutton, 1971), pp. 41–65. Many of the plays are included in Kirby’s appendix. Additional plays are available in Giovanni Lista et al., eds., Théâ tre futuriste italien: Anthologie critique (Lausanne: La Cité/L’Age d’Homme, 1976), 2 vols. See also Giovanni Lista, Lo spettacolo futurista (Florence: Cantini, 1988) and La scène futuriste (Paris: CNRS, 1989); Mario Verdone, Teatro del tempo futurista, 2d ed. (Rome: Bulzoni, 1988); Lia Lapini, Il teatro futurista italiano (Milan: Mursia, 1977); Giovanni Antonucci, Lo spettacolo futurista in Italia (Rome: Vita Nova, 1974) and Cronache del teatro futurista (Rome: Abete, 1975); and Il teatro futurista a sorpresa: Documenti, ed. Luciano Caruso and Giuliano Longone (Florence: Salimbeni, 1979). Gino Damerini, ‘Il sintetismo a teatro,’ Gazzetta di Venezia, 12 February 1915. Repr. in Antonucci, Cronache del teatro futurista, pp. 86–91. Repr. in ibid., pp. 91–3. Francesco Cangiullo, Le serate futuriste, romanzo storico vissuto (1930) (Milan: Ceschina, 1961), p. 317. Perocco, Le origini dell’arte moderna a Venezia (1908–1920), p. 56. See ibid., pp. 349–72, and Nino Springolo, Svaghi poetici (Treviso: Canova, 1960). Quoted by Perocco in ibid., p. 360. Buzzi’s poem is reproduced in Giovanni Lista, Le livre futuriste: De la libération du mot au poème tactile (Modena: Panini, 1984), p. 19. The letter is reproduced in Gambillo and Fiori, Archivi del futurismo, vol. 1, p. 353. Ibid., pp. 357–8.

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40 Perocco, Le origini dell’arte moderna a Venezia (1908–1920), p. 57. 41 Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944, pp. 363–4. 42 This information is taken from an advertisement for Stelle on p. 29 of another book by Trimarco, Liriche bleu: Liriche e parole in libertà (Salerno: Beraglia, 1923). 43 See Michele Ruele, ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree”’ in Futurismo Veneto, ed. Maurizio Scudiero and Claudio Rebeschini (Trento: L’Editore, 1990), p. 279. 44 Ibid. 45 Glauco Viazzi, ed. I poeti del futurismo, 1909–1944 (Milan: Longanesi, 1983), p. 528. The two poems are reprinted on pp. 529–32. 46 Alberto Vianello, ‘Maccanestetica dello spazio,’ Futurismo 2, no. 23 (March 1933). Cited in Ruele, ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree,”’ pp. 280–1. 47 Several postcards to Bertozzi are reproduced in L’art postal futuriste, ed. Giovanni Lista (Paris: Place, 1979); see especially pp. 22, 46, 50, 51, 52, 69, and 71. I am indebted to this volume and to Enrico Prampolini: Carteggio futurista (Rome: Carte Segrete, 1992) – also edited by Giovanni Lista – for many of the facts that follow. 48 Letter from Renzo Bertozzi to F.T. Marinetti dated 19 September 1922. The Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. Bertozzi added Vianello’s address in Verona, where he was living at the time. 49 Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944, p. 368. 50 Roberto de Angelis, ‘Il teatro della sorpresa,’ in Caruso and Longone, Il teatro futurista a sorpresa (documenti), p. 34. 51 The ballet is described in more detail in Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944, pp. 471–3. 52 For this and the following ballet, see ibid., pp. 447–9. 53 A detailed description of this extremely rare publication is provided by Umberto Carpi in ‘Venezia 1924: “Arabau Baru,”’ Studi novecenteschi, nos. 25–6 (1983), pp. 175–83. 54 Epistolario Cangiullo–Marinetti, p. 149. 55 Lista, ed., Enrico Prampolini: Carteggio futurista, p. 41. The volume includes an additional sixteen letters to Bertozzi written during 1924 and 1926. 56 For a photograph of the front page, see ibid., p. 62. 57 Ruele, ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree,”’ p. 307. 58 Scudiero and Rebeschini, eds., Futurismo Veneto, pp. 28–9. 59 Amedeo Astori, ed., Mostra antologica di Tullio Crali (Trieste: Azienda Autonoma di Soggiorno e Turismo, 1976), p. 96.

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Notes to pages 52–81

2 Futurism in Padua 1 Maria Drudi Gambillo and Teresa Fiori, Archivi del futurismo (Rome: De Luca, n.d.), vol. 1, p. 473. 2 See Günter Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), pp. 103–4. 3 For more information about the Futurists’ experiments with Synthetic Theatre, see chapter 1, n30. 4 Giovanni Antonucci, Lo spettacolo futurista in Italia (Rome: Vita Nova, 1974), p. 35. 5 ‘Il teatro futurista a Padova conversando con Marinetti,’ La Provincia di Padova, 8–9 February 1915. Partially repr. in Giovanni Antonucci, Cronache del teatro futurista (Rome: Abete, 1975), pp. 79–80. 6 La Provincia di Padova, 10–11 February 1915. Repr. in Antonucci, Cronache del teatro futurista, pp. 85–6. 7 Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944, p. 360. 8 Repr. in Luciano Caruso and Giuliani Longone, eds., Il teatro futurista a sorpresa: Documenti (Florence: Salimbeni, 1979), p. 228. 9 This date, like most of the following facts, is taken from Vampe, to be discussed in a moment. 10 The stationery is partly reproduced in Giovanni Lista, L’art postal futuriste (Paris: Jean-Michel Place, 1979), p. 44. 11 Maurizio Scudiero, ‘Futurismo Veneto: Un orizzonte allargato,’ in Futurismo Veneto, ed. Maurizio Scudiero and Claudio Rebeschini (Trento: L’Editore, 1990), p. 51. 12 Michele Ruele, ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree,”’ in ibid., p. 318. 13 Claudia Salaris, Storia del futurismo: Libri, giornali, manifesti, rev. ed. (Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1992), p. 167. 14 Scudiero, ‘Futurismo Veneto: Un orizzonte allargato,’ p. 52. 15 For a similar composition about an air show in Milan in 1914 see Willard Bohn, Modern Visual Poetry (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2000), chapter 4. 16 See Dino Barattin et al., eds. Parole in libertà: Libri e rivisti del futurismo nelle Tre Venezie (Monfalcone: Laguna, 1992), p. 21a. 17 See Giovanni Lista, Futurism, trans. Charles Lynn Clark (New York: Universe, 1986), p. 111, for a photograph of Burrasca, Dormàl, and de Giorgio at this exhibition – juxtaposed with an architectural drawing by de Giorgio. 18 The letter is reproduced in Lista, L’art postal futuriste, p. 50. 19 Undated photograph, F.T. Marinetti Collection, the Beinecke Rare Book and

Notes to pages 81–102

20

21 22

23 24 25 26

27 28 29

193

Manuscript Library, box 52, item 386. The artist Mario Menin joined the Futurist cause a few years later. See Ruele, ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree,”’ p. 313. Like the competition in Padua, this was a regional contest. The regional winners were subsequently pitted against one another in a national contest, held at the Galeria Pesaro in Milan. Burrasca competed in at least two national competitions: That entitled ‘Sant’Elia architetto futurista’ (31 October 1931), which was won by Farfa, and that devoted to ‘Boccioni e la modernolatria’ (15 July 1933), which was won by Pino Masnata. A flyer announcing the 1931 event and a photograph of the winner wearing the aluminum crown are reproduced in Giovanni Lista, Le livre futuriste: De la libération du mot au poème tactile (Modena: Panini, 1984), pp. 72 and 90. See p. 72 for a photograph of the (copper?) crown awarded in 1933, which employed a different design. See Voltolina’s work Oggi Carlo Maria Dormàl è dottore in legge (1933), reproduced in Scudiero and Rebeschini, Futurismo Veneto, p. 216. Ruele lists some of the products Peri advertised and journals in which his illustrations appeared in ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree,”’ p. 313. Two of Voltolina’s covers are reproduced in Lista, Le livre futuriste, pp. 82 and 85. Lista, Futurism, p. 106. Enrico Prampolini, Manifesto tecnico: L’atmosfera scenica futurista, in Artecrazia 1, no. 2 (15–30 June 1932), suppl. to Il futurismo. Four of de Giorgio’s postcards are reproduced in Maurizio Scudiero, Futurismi postali: Balla, Depero e la comunicazione postale futurista (Trento: Longo, 1986), pp. 98–9. Jane Rye, Futurism (London: Studio Vista, and New York: Dutton, 1972), p. 100. Sant’Elia’s manifesto is reprinted in Drudi Gambillo and Fiori, Archivi, vol. 1, pp. 81–5. Published in Corrado Forlin, L’ardentismo nell’aeropittura futurista (Monselice 1940).

3 Futurism in Verona 1 G.G., ‘F.T. Marinetti e C. al Corso di Bologna,’ L’arena, 5–6 February 1915. Repr. in Giovanni Antonucci, Cronache del teatro futurista (Rome: Abete, 1975), p. 81. 2 ‘Corriere veronese,’ L’avvenire d’Italia, 17 February 1915. Repr. in ibid., p. 93.

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Notes to pages 102–15

3 ‘Drammi futuristi a Teatro Vittorio Emanuele di Ancona,’ Corriere della sera, 2 February 1915. Cited by Günter Berghaus in Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909– 1944 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), p. 195. 4 F.T. Marinetti, Lettere ruggenti a F. Balilla Pratella, ed. Giovanni Lugaresi (Milan: Quaderni dell’Osservatore, 1969), p. 51. 5 Carlo Carrà Ardengo Soffici: Lettere 1913–1929, ed. Massimo Carrà and Vittorio Fagone (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1983), p. 86. 6 Maurizio Scudiero, ‘Futurismo Veneto: Un orizzonte allargato,’ in Futurismo Veneto, ed. Maurizio Scudiero and Claudio Rebeschini (Trento: L’editore, 1990), p. 47. 7 This painting is reproduced in Maurizio Scudiero, Diego Costa (Calliano: Manfrini, 1992), p. 9. 8 The manuscript, which is preserved in the Getty Center Library with the others, is reproduced in Giovanni Lista, Le livre futuriste: De la libération du mot au poème tactile (Modena: Panini, 1984), p. 18. 9 Scudiero, Diego Costa, p. 8. The following facts are taken from this impressive study as well. 10 See Giovanni Rossino, Bibliografia su Lionello Fiumi (Verona: Vita Veronese, 1962). 11 See Lionello Fiumi, ‘Aberrazioni imperdonabili,’ in Tavole parolibere futuriste (1912–1944), ed. Luciano Caruso and Stelio Maria Martini (Naples: Liguori, 1977), vol. 2, pp. 450–1. Originally sent to Pietro Gigli (who called himself ‘Jamar 14’), this document is also the source of the following remarks. 12 Giorgio Ferrante, Poesia di moderni: Saggi (Milan: S.T.E.L.I., 1944), p. 81. 13 Lionello Fiumi, Opere poetiche, ed. Beatrice Fiumi Magnani and Gian Paolo Marchi (Verona: Forini, 1994), pp. 3–8. 14 Paolo Buzzi, Futurismo: Scritti, carteggi, testimonianze, ed. Mario Morini and Giampaolo Pignatori (Milan: Palazzo Sormani, 1983), vol. 3, p. 348. Subsequent references to the Buzzi-Fiumi correspondence are to this volume. 15 Fiumi, Opere poetiche, p. xlv. 16 Ibid., p. 403. 17 Mostra del cinquantennio di attività letteraria di Lionello Fiumi (Verona: Biblioteca Civica, 1963), p. 23. 18 Lionello Fiumi, ‘Sagome. Paolo Buzzi,’ La Diana, no. 3 (25 March 1916). Repr. in Buzzi, Futurismo: Scritti, carteggi, testimonianze, vol. 4, pp. 455–64. 19 Paolo Buzzi, ‘I giovani poeti e la guerra,’ L’Italia futurista 1, no. 11 (19 October 1916). 20 Lionello Fiumi, Corrado Govoni (Ferrara: Taddei, 1918), p. 53. 21 Ferrante, Poesia di moderni, p. 105.

Notes to pages 115–20

195

22 Bruno Passamani, Di Bosso Futurista (Milan: All’ Insegna del Pesce d’Oro, 1976), p. 14. Ambrosi also published an article on di Bosso in the Corriere padano (Verona issue) on 18 September 1929, entitled ‘Lo scultore Renato Righetti.’ This and other valuable information about the group’s reception can be gleaned from Passamani’s bibliography (pp. 119–28), which lists many articles that appeared in the contemporary press. 23 The original letter is preserved in the Getty Center Library. 24 Lista, Le livre futuriste, p. 62. 25 Together with the telegram from Ambrosi, this document is preserved in the Beinecke Library. 26 See Mirella Bentivoglio and Franca Zoccoli, The Women Artists of Italian Futurism: Almost Lost to History (New York: Midmarch, 1997), pp. 45–6. 27 F.T. Marinetti, ‘Collaudo,’ L’aeropoema futurista dei legionari in Spagna, by Bruno Aschieri (Rome: Poesia, n.d.), pp. 2–3. Repr. in F.T. Marinetti, Collaudi futuristi, ed. Glauco Viazzi (Naples: Guida, 1979), pp. 149–52. 28 For an example of this letterhead, designed in 1931, see Maurizio Scudiero, Futurismi postali (Rovereto: Longo, 1986), p. 47. 29 Luigi Pesenti, ‘La I Esposizione Veronese del Sindacato Fascista di Belle Arti,’ Oggi e domani, 25 May 1931. An article by Pesenti also appeared in Futurismo (Rome) on 2 October 1932, entitled ‘L’attività del gruppo futurista di Verona.’ 30 The postcard for the Fiera dell’Agricoltura is reproduced in Scudiero, Futurismi postali, p. 166. 31 Giovanni Lista, L’art postal futuriste (Paris: Place, 1979), p. 60. Three postcards with paintings by Ambrosi are reproduced in Scudiero, Futurismi postali, p. 67. Ambrosi and di Bosso continued to publish picture postcards for a number of years; see Scudiero, Futurismi postali, pp. 68 and 124–5. 32 Marinetti’s remarks graced a postcard bearing a reproduction of Ambrosi’s Aerofecondità, also exhibited at the Biennial, which was purchased by the Ministry of National Education. Reproduced in Scudiero and Rebeschini, eds, Futurismo Veneto, p. 73. This volume contains additional pictures of works by Ambrosi and di Bosso. 33 Two photographs of the exhibition are reproduced in Maurizio Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista (Modena: Fonte d’Abisso, 1988), p. 161, together with a photo of Marinetti and the Gruppo Futurista Veronese. 34 Ignazio Scurto, ‘Il sindacale veronese: Di Bosso,’ Futurismo, 14 May 1933, and ‘A proposito dell’opera di un veronese nel Concorso per il Monumento al Duca d’Aosta,’ Il gazzettino, 7 February 1933. Piero Anselmi, ‘Alla Mostra Sindacale d’Arte: La sezione futurista,’ Corriere Padano, 18 April 1933.

196

Notes to pages 120–40

35 See Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, p. 159, for a photograph of Marinetti, di Bosso, and other members of the group at the Venice Biennial. 36 See ibid., p. 10, for a photograph of Marinetti and the Gruppo Futurista Veronese in Lonigo. 37 This document is reproduced in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, together with the next two manifestos. 38 Ignazio Scurto, ‘Scenografia veronese,’ Futurismo, 19 February 1933. 39 See Alberto de Angelis, Scenografi italiani di ieri e di oggi (Rome: Cremonese, 1938), pp. 228–9. Tomba seems to have revived this idea eight years later. See Walter Zettle, ‘Lo scenario pneumatico inventato da un pittore futurista,’ Gazzetta del popolo (Turin), 12 December 1933. In addition to his other activities, he participated in expositions of stage design in Florence, Parma, and Milan. 40 Ernesto A. Tomba, ‘La scenografia negli spettacoli lirici all’Arena di Verona: Osservazioni e proposi nuovi,’ Oggi e domani, 5 October 1931. 41 See Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, p. 32, for a photograph of four anti-neckties manufactured in 1933. 42 Manca also published an article in L’arena on 15 April 1933, entitled ‘La “Città Musicale” secondo i futuristi.’ 43 The manifesto was reprinted in Arbizzano di Valpolicella in 1975, together with photographs of five artifacts (including an altar, a temple, and a musical instrument) designed for the new religion. Di Bosso’s essay is reproduced in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista. 44 Entitled ‘Umberto Boccioni e la modernolatria,’ Scurto’s manuscript is preserved in the Getty Center Library. 45 Entitled ‘Contraddizioni Critiche sul Futurismo,’ the nine-page manuscript (on letterhead from the R. Istituto Superiore di Economia e Commercio Ca’ Foscari, Venezia) is preserved in the Getty Center Library. The review is difficult to date, since Galletti’s book went through numerous editions. 46 Signed and dated 7 November 1931, the manuscript is in the Marinetti Collection at the Beinecke Library. For a slightly earlier manuscript, see Caruso and Martini, Tavole parolibere futuriste, 1912–1944, p. 279. 47 Baganzani’s articles are listed in Rossino, Bibliografia su Lionello Fiumi. 48 Sandro Baganzani, Poesie scelte, ed. Lionello Fiumi (Verona: Vita Veronese, 1951). 49 Ignazio Scurto, ‘Centri d’avanguardia: Il Movimento Futurista Veronese,’ Italia giovane, 4 March 1933, and ‘Un grande artista futurista: Renato di Bosso,’ Novara 900, April 1933. Scurto published another article in

Notes to pages 140–52

197

Italia giovane on 21 June 1933, entitled ‘Le manifestazioni futuriste di Milano.’ 4 Major Figures in Verona 1 Claudia Salaris, Storia del futurismo: Libri, giornali, manifesti, rev. ed. (Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1992), p. 226. Dating from 1928, the manuscript of a poem entitled ‘Prontuario lirico-scientifico’ is reproduced in Giovanni Lista, Le livre futuriste: De la libération du mot au poème tactile (Modena: Panini, 1984), p. 17. 2 Glauco Viazzi, ed. Il poeti del futurismo, 1909–1914 (Milan: Longanesi, 1983), p. 654. 3 Together with ‘Poema della risaia’ and ‘Erbe del fondo,’ the poem is reproduced in ibid. The Getty Center Library possesses the manuscript of this and several other poems by Scurto, including ‘Il canocchiale,’ ‘Il tramway tran-tran,’ ‘Autoveloce brivido,’ ‘Amore mistico colorato,’ and a text entitled ‘K5 SOS,’ which according to Noëmi Blumenkranz-Onimus was published in Verona in 1931. See La poésie futuriste italienne (Paris: Klincksieck, 1984), p. 194. 4 Viazzi, ed. Il poeti del futurismo, 1909–1914, p. 654. 5 Blumenkranz-Onimus, La poésie futuriste italienne, p. 169. 6 Scurto’s reviews are listed in Giovanni Rossino, Bibliografia su Lionello Fiumi (Verona: Vita Veronese, 1962). The second article was reprinted in Cronaca Prealpina (Varese) two months later. 7 Mirella Bentivoglio and Franca Zoccoli, The Women Artists of Italian Futurism: Almost Lost to History (New York: Midmarch, 1997), p. 128. See pp. 128– 34 for more information about this talented painter. 8 Reprinted in F.T. Marinetti, Collaudi futuristi, ed. Glauco Viazzi (Naples: Guida, 1979), pp. 169–70. 9 Reprinted in F.T. Marinetti, Teoria e invenzione futurista, ed. Luciano de Maria (Milan: Mondadori, 1968), pp. 222–6. 10 Reprinted in Marinetti, Collaudi futuristi, pp. 213–23. 11 Blumenkranz-Onimus, La poésie futuriste italienne, p. 153. 12 24 giovani aeropoeti futuristi (special issue of P.E.N. 2, nos. 3–4 [June–July 1939], edited in Rome); Carlinga di aeropoeti futuristi di guerra, ed. Gaetano Pattarozzi (Rome: Mediterraneo Futurista, n.d. [1941]); Dal verso libero all’aeropoesia (1905–1942–XX), ed. Alberto Viviani (Torino etc.: Paravia, 1942); and Canzoniere futurista amoroso guerriero, ed. F.T. Marinetti et al. (Savona: Istituto Grafico Brizio, 1943). Accompanied by Marinetti, Scurto

198

13 14

15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22

23

24

Notes to pages 152–61

also declaimed several aeropoems at the Istituto di Cultura Fascista in Venice in April 1941 (see ‘Marinetti e Scurto esaltano con la poesia la guerra vittoriosa all’Istituto di Cultura Fascista,’ Il gazzettino, Venice, 24 April 1941). Three drawings are reproduced in Giovanni Lista, Lo spettacolo futurista (Florence: Cantini, 1988), p. 122. See Bruno Aschieri, Sintesi teatrali, 1923–1937, ed. Umberto Artioli (Rome: Arte-Viva, n.d. [1977]), p. 15. References to other plays by Aschieri are to this volume. Il reduce italiano originally appeared in Elettroni (Naples), which was published not in 1923, as Artioli mistakenly declares, but in 1933. Unfortunately, his title is doubly erroneous, since Parallelismo divergente (p. 7) was published in 1941. Umberto Artioli, ‘Le “macchine” di Bruno Aschieri’ in Aschieri, Sintesi teatrali, 1923–1937, pp. 5–6. Reprinted in Viazzi, I poeti del Futurismo, 1909–1944, p. 461. See Günter Berghaus, Italian Futurist Theatre, 1909–1944 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), pp. 334–5; also p. 339. Futurism’s political history is explored in greater detail in Günter Berghaus, Futurism and Politics: Between Anarchist Rebellion and Fascist Reaction (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Giovanni Lista, L’art postal futuriste (Paris: Place, 1979), p. 60. See Aschieri’s account in Claudia Salaris, Marinetti editore (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1990), p. 330. See chapter 3, n27. See n10. Reproduced in Aschieri, Sintesi teatrali, 1923–1937, p. 3 and p. 7 respectively. The play was originally published in F.T. Marinetti et al., Il teatro futurista (Naples: CLET, 1941). Marinetti volunteered for the Russian front in July 1942, which prompted Aschieri to send him a letter filled with praise on 27 September (preserved in the Beinecke Library). The following year he published a satirical work entitled Quaderno dell’amore 900 (Padua: Fiorenza, 1943) and an article on Tomba’s inflatable scenery: ‘Genitalità italiana: La scenopneumatica di E.A. Tomba,’ in Combattere (Bolzano) on 13 March 1943. For a detailed study of di Bosso’s works and an excellent bibliography, see Bruno Passamani, Di Bosso futurista (Milan: All’Insegna del Pesce d’Oro, 1976) and Maurizio Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista (Modena: Fonte d’Abisso, 1988). Maurizio Scudiero, ‘Futurismo Veneto: Un orizzonte allargato,’ in Futurismo Veneto, ed. Maurizio Scudiero and Claudio Rebeschini (Trento: L’editore, 1990), p. 50.

Notes to pages 162–72

199

25 Reproduced in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, p. 157. 26 F.T. Marinetti, ‘Di Bosso pittore-scultore futurista,’ Verona magazzino, April 1935. Repr. in ibid., p. 166. 27 Reproduced in ibid., p. 168, together with a photograph of di Bosso’s sculpture. 28 ‘La Terza Mostra Sindacale d’Arte solennemente inaugurata alla Gran Guardia,’ a review by Quirino Sacchetti, appeared in the Corriere padano (Ferrara) on 11 June 1935. Sacchetti also published an article, ‘Renato di Bosso inventore della verità aeropittorica,’ in the Ferrara edition of the Corriere padano on 18 May. 29 F.T. Marinetti, ‘Le personali di Ambrosi e di Bosso alla Mostra del Quarantennio,’ Corriere padano (Ferrara), 17 April 1935. Later in the year, on 29 September, di Bosso published his article ‘Di Bosso accusa!’ in the same newspaper. 30 Reproduced in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, p. 21. An article by Mariotti, ‘Artisti veronesi a Venezia alla XX Biennale,’ appeared in the Corriere padano (Ferrara) on 3 June 1936. 31 See the photograph in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, p. 170. In April, the sculptures graced the cover of Emporium, an illustrated magazine (reproduced on p. 171). 32 Reproduced in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, pp. 42–3. 33 Lista, L’art postal futuriste, p. 60. The Beinecke Library possesses a postcard with a picture of di Bosso’s aerosculpture Pilota stratosferico (1938), which Giuseppe Lipparini received with an illegible note from the artist and another from Marinetti. Simply dated 20 December, it was probably sent in 1943. 34 In addition, Peri exhibited two works, Lavori all’aeroporto and Aeroplano sul prato, in Room 2. See the special catalogue L’aeronautica alla XXIII Biennale di Venezia (Rome: Ufficio Editoriale Aeronautica, 1942). Although Mariotti also participated in the Biennial, he exhibited with the other Futurists. 35 The postcard is preserved in the Beinecke Library, together with the rest of the correspondence cited in this section. Writing to Benedetta later in the year, di Bosso enclosed a clipping describing the Mostra Italiana di Linz dated 20 October 1942. 36 Ignazio Scurto, ‘Le nature morte non sono di stile fascista,’ Le ultime notizie (Trieste), 16 December 1940; ‘Una esposizione scaligera di Verossì e Di Bosso contro le nature morte o comunque addormentate,’ Turismo (Novara), December 1940; ‘Nature morte o comunque addormentate non possono essere l’espressione dell’accesa vita contemporanea,’ Corriere del Tirreno (Livorno), 3 January 1941.

200

Notes to pages 172–80

37 The entire text is reproduced in Scudiero, Di Bosso futurista, p. 46. 38 Like the following letter from di Bosso, which is also undated, Ambrosi’s note is preserved in the Beinecke Library – which possesses two more letters from di Bosso to Marinetti. Simply dated 1 June, one mentions a sketch of Legionari in marcia (exhibited in Milan in 1941) that he had recently sent him. The other, which was also signed by Scurto, was accompanied by a newspaper clipping concerning a ‘mostra della spirale’ in which he was involved, suggesting that it dates from 1935 or 1936. 39 Four postcards are reproduced in Maurizio Scudiero, Futurismi postali (Rovereto: Longo, 1986), pp. 171–2. 40 Scudiero, ‘Futurismo Veneto: Un orizzonte allargato’ in Futurismo Veneto, p. 50. Several pictures by Verossì are reproduced on pp. 170–4. 41 The following passages are cited in Michele Ruele, ‘Vampe futuriste nelle “tenebre antenoree,”’ in Futurismo Veneto, pp. 316–17. 42 Three of the poems are reprinted in Viazzi, I poeti del futurismo 1909–1944, pp. 696–700. 43 The introduction is reprinted in Marinetti, Collaudi futuristi, pp. 241–3. Goretti and Marinetti also collaborated on Poesia della macchina (Rome: ‘Poesia,’ 1942). Marinetti agreed to write an introduction for a collection of poetry by Goretti, which was apparently never published. The fifty-three-page manuscript ‘Nozze futuriste: Campana di guerra con trimotore,’ is preserved in the Getty Center Library. 44 Bentivoglio and Zoccoli, The Women Artists of Italian Futurism, p. 70.

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Index

Aeschylus, 58 Agello, Francesco, 164–5 Alba, Auro d’, 113 Albano, Tomaso, 60, 63, 70–2 Albertini, 120 Alessio, Giuseppe, 60, 63, 65, 67 Aliprandi, Giuseppe, 60, 65 Altomare, Libero, 9 Ambrosi, Alfredo G., 115–22; and Renato di Bosso, 86, 161–74, 195n22; paintings and artworks, 118–20, 126–9, 151, 161–74, 195n31, 195n32 Andreoni, Cesare, 51, 174 Angelis, Rodolfo de, 30, 38, 41, 59–60 Annunzio, Gabriele, d’, 56 Anselmi, Piero, 77, 81, 116–17, 119, 120, 121, 122, 124–9 Antenor, 67–9 Aosta, Duca d’, 166 Apollinaire, Guillaume, 20 Archipenko, Alexandre, 164 Artioli, Umberto, 154, 198n14 Aschieri, Bruno, 81, 115–22, 124, 130– 3, 152–61, 168, 184, 198n22 Aschieri, Tullio, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122, 156, 174

Asinara, Alberto Manca dell. See Manca, Alberto Averini, Riccardo, 95, 100 Baganzani, Sandro, 133–4 Bai, Mario Battista, 60, 67 Balbo, Italo, 99 Baldessari, Roberto Marcello, 57–8, 65 Balestreri, Elio, 174 Balla, Giacomo, 6, 52, 105, 124–5, 129–30 Baratta, Ottorino dalla, 73–4, 76 Barbantini, Nino, 9, 10–11, 15–17, 29 Barbara, 149, 150 Barisoni, Eugenio, 146 Barrès, Maurice, 11–12 Battistella, R., 61 Baudelaire, Charles, 12–13 Bellanova, Piero, 151, 167 Benedetta, 51, 166, 171, 174, 179, 181, 199n35 Benelli, Sem, 56 Bentivoglio, Mirella, 149, 180 Berghaus, Günter, 4, 30, 38, 59, 155 Berti, Ettore, 22, 54, 55, 101

210

Index

Bertolini, Alberto, 58 Bertozzi, Renzo, 77; and the Venetian Futurists, 37, 41, 45, 46–9, 183, 191n47, 192n48, 192n55; and the Veronesi Futurists, 34, 116, 117, 118, 119, 121 Biavati, Arnaldo, 58 Blum, Cinzia Sartini, 3–4 Blumenkranz-Onimus, Noëmi, 148, 152 Boccioni, Umberto, 6, 8, 52, 64, 107, 112, 184, 189–90n26; and Venice, 9– 11, 13, 15, 17–20, 28, 29, 44; homage to, 49, 64, 81, 84, 119, 124–6, 130–3, 193n20 Bolzoni, 52 Bonente, Giovanni, 116, 120–1 Bosso, Fatima di, 171 Bosso, Renato di, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120–1, 122, 123, 124, 195n31, 195n32, 199n31, 199n33, 199n35, 200n37; and Alfredo G. Ambrosi, 86, 161–74, 175, 195n22 Breda, 24 Bresciani, Italo, 156 Breton, André, 183 Brizzi, Carlo, 117–18 Bruno, Antonio, 112 Burasca, Nino, 76, 77, 79–80, 81–3, 87–90, 119, 192n17, 193n20 Busetto, Andrea, 20, 51, 190n27 Businari, Paolo, 60, 61–2 Buzzi, Paolo, 9, 26, 45, 52, 55, 102, 104, 110–15; and Lionello Fiumi, 115–20 Calderone, Gianni, 38 Cangiullo, Francesco, 21, 24, 29, 30, 38, 45, 60, 104, 108, 148 Caproni, Gianni, 161–2, 167

Capuana, Luigi, 58 Cargo, Ivan, 64 Carli, Mario, 108 Carlotta, Ottavio, 155 Carmagnani, Ferruccio, 134–6 Carmelich, Giorgio, 47, 48 Carmeni, Nunzio, 10 Carpi, Umberto, 41, 45 Carrà, Carlo, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 16, 29, 44, 52, 103, 148 Carretta, Antonio, 60, 63, 64, 73 Carrieri, 171 Casavola, Franco, 38, 41, 59 Casorati, Felice, 17, 19, 29, 30 Castello, Enrico, 170–1, 175 Cavacchioli, Enrico, 9, 52, 113 Caviglioni, Achille, 95 Caviglioni, Angelo, 99, 174, 183 Cavallini, Attilio, 21, 25, 26–7, 29 Cekunova, Vera, 65 Censi, Giannina, 80 Chetoffi, Giovanni, 169 Chirico, Giorgio de, 10, 173 Chiti, Remo, 29, 55, 102 Cigana, 68–9 Cipelletti, E., 171 Clemens, 84 Coccia, Alfio, 124 Codognato, Plinio, 103 Cojazzi, Carlo, 60 Corra, Bruno, 21, 24, 29, 55, 102, 105, 110 Corradini, B. Ginanni. See Corra, Bruno Cossar, 60, 63, 64, 72 Cossaro, Bruno. See Cossar Costa, Diego, 103–9, 115 Crali, Tullio, 50, 51, 61, 73, 76, 169, 173, 175 Croce, Benedetto, 68–9

Index Cussigh, Arturo, 49 Damerini, Gino, 22–3 Dandolo, Giovanni, 58 Daübler, Theodor, 58 De Col, 68–9 Dellazorza, 30 Depero, Fortunato, 6, 34, 38–9, 50, 59, 65, 70, 119, 174 Dessy, Mario, 108 De Stefani, 112 Dormàl, Carlo Maria, 73, 76, 77, 84, 86, 87, 92, 94, 192n17 Dottori, Gerardo, 169, 174 Dudreville, Leonardo, 29 Enriques, Paolo, 60, 64, 65 Episcopi, 84 Farbin, Antonio, 51 Farfa, 193n20 Fasullo, Italo, 94, 95, 99, 100 Favero, A., 60, 67 Favero, G., 60, 67 Ferrante, Giorgio, 103–9, 115 Ferrari, Teodoro Wolf, 10, 17, 19, 25, 29, 30 Ferrero, 120 Fidora, Alma, 65 Fillia, 76, 86, 120, 174 Fiumi, Lionello, 109–15, 133, 136, 149 Folgore, Luciano, 109, 111, 113, 114 Forlin, Corrado, 94, 95, 98, 99, 100, 174 Foscari, Paolo, 41, 44, 45, 46 Francesca, Piero della, 17 Franco, Francisco, 157 Fritsch, Prof., 166 Furlani, Emilio, 64 Galletti, Alfredo, 126

211

Gallian, Marcello, 124 Garbari, Tullio, 10–11, 16, 17, 19, 29 Gardini, Pilade, 60, 63, 64, 65–7, 70, 73, 76 Gauguin, Paul, 17 Gerbino, Giovani, 92 Ghisa, 44 Giàn, Alk, 108 Gigli, Pietro, 194n11 Giglioli, Alfonso, 97 Giolitti, Giovanni, 20, 47–8 Giordano, 46 Giorgio, Quirino de, 73, 76, 77, 84, 87, 94, 192n17 Giotto, 65 Girsella, Umberto, 60, 63, 65 Giudici, Gigi de, 25 Giuntini, Aldo, 117–18 Goretti, Maria, 95–6, 100, 178–82, 200n43 Gottardo, 65 Govoni, Corrado, 110, 112–13, 114 Gozzano, Guido, 112 Grasso, Giuseppe, 117–18 Graziani, Attilio, 60, 67 Henneuse, Armand, 114 Hewitt, Andrew, 4 Ionesco, Eugène, 21 Kidaka, Shinrokura, 49–50 Klimt, Gustav, 17 Korompay, Giovanni, 29 Krimer, 51 Laurenti, Cesare, 25 Le Corbusier, 76 Levi, Primo, 10 Licudis, Oreste, 10, 17

212

Index

Lipparini, Giuseppe, 199n33 Lista, Giovanni, 87, 116 Lucini, Gian Pietro, 9 Maeterlinck, Maurice, 21 Magri, 99 Mallarmé, Stéphane, 12–13, 136 Manca, Alberto, 116, 122, 129–30, 136, 140, 155, 162, 164, 196n42 Marasco, Antonio, 48 Marcati, Giuseppe, 96–7, 100 Marchesani, 49 Marchi, Virgilio, 46 Marconi, Guglielmo, 5, 95, 122 Marinetti, Benedetta. See Benedetta Marinetti, F.T., 3, 4–6, 7, 20, 49–51, 62, 70, 79, 103, 126, 151, 156, 171, 172, 173, 174, 183–5; and Bruno Aschieri, 115–16, 118–20, 156, 158, 160, 198n22; and Alfredo G. Ambrosi, 118–19, 167–8, 172–3; and Renzo Bertozzi, 37, 47–8; and Renato di Bosso, 162–4, 167–8, 171–2, 199n33, 200n38; and Diego Costa, 107; and Tullio Crali, 50; and Carlo Maria Dormàl, 76–7, 87; and Lionello Fiumi, 109, 110, 112–13, 114; and Corrado Forlin, 98–9, 100; and Maria Goretti, 178– 9, 200n43; and Alberto Manca, 136–9; and Mario Menin, 98; and Benito Mussolini, 4, 51, 64, 96, 99, 172–3, 183–4, 187n5, 187n7; and Padua, 52–4, 60, 63, 73, 81; and Enrico Prampolini, 47, 48; and Gino Rossi, 28; and Ignazio Scurto, 50, 146, 149–51, 197–8n12; and Synthetic Theatre, 20–4, 54–7; and Theatre of Surprise, 30, 38, 59–60; and Alfredo Trimarco, 30–1; and

Venice, 8–15, 44–5, 47, 48–9; and Verona, 101–3, 115–18, 120, 121, 158; and Verossì, 175–7; homage to, 20, 34, 37, 47–8, 81, 112, 116, 136–9, 146, 149, 167, 178; performances, 29, 30, 80–1, 116–18 – Works: ‘Alla XXII Biennale internazionale d’arte trionfa la mostre personale di Crali,’ 50; L’arresto, 28–9; Le basi, 55, 102; La battaglia di Adrianopoli, 154; La battaglia di Tripoli, 53–4, 105; ‘Battaglia nella nebbia,’ 38; La camera dell’ufficiale, 28; Canto gli eroi e le macchine della guerra Mussoliniana, 100; ‘Che cos’è il futurismo?,’ 9; ‘Contro il teatro greco,’ 58–9; ‘Contro Venezia passatista,’ 8, 45; ‘Discorso futurista ai Veneziani,’ 9–10, 45, 52; ‘Fondazione e manifesto del futurismo,’ 8; Le futurisme, 189n14; ‘Futurismo ardentismo Forlin,’ 99; Futurismo e Fascismo, 64; Giardini pubblici, 38; Gli amori futuristi, 37; L’improvisata, 54, 102; Lo riprenderemo. Wir nehmen es uns wieder, 89; Mafarka le futuriste, 33; ‘Manifesto della aeropittura,’ 49–50, 76, 84; ‘Manifesto dell’arte sacra,’ 76; ‘Manifesto delle parole musicali,’ 51; ‘Manifesto dell’illusionismo plastico,’ 51; ‘Manifesto futurista ai Veneziani,’ 44; ‘Manifesto tecnico della letteratura futurista,’ 26–7, 53, 67, 177; ‘MARINETTI,’ 92–4; Musica da toletta, 38; I nuovi poeti futuristi, 31; ‘Preambolo Seconda Serata Venezia,’ 11–13; Il romanzo sintetico, 151; Simultaneità, 54, 102; ‘Simultaneità della famiglia Savarè gara di

Index eroismi,’ 100; Simultanina, 49; Il soldato lontano, 28; Il teatrino dell’amore, 54, 102; ‘Il teatro della sorpresa,’ 38; ‘Il teatro futurista sintetico,’ 20–1; ‘Uccidiamo il chiaro di luna,’ 8, 24; Un chiaro di luna, 54–5, 102; Vengono, 21, 38, 54, 102; ‘Volando sopra Milano,’ 80; ‘Volando su una città bombardata,’ 80 Mariotti, Teobaldo, 116, 120, 116, 171, 174, 199n30, 199n34 Marone, Gherardo, 111 Martini, Arturo, 16, 17–19, 29, 30 Martoglio, Nino, 58 Marzolo, 68–9 Masi, Giuseppe, 54, 55, 101 Masnata, Pino, 193n20 Mazza, Armando, 9, 10, 52, 108, 112, 114, 188n3 Mazza, Luigi, 58 Mazzoni, Guido, 87 Mazzorin, Lorenzo, 84 Menin, Mario, 84–6, 98, 174, 193n19 Meyerbeer, Giacomo, 121 Minotti, Carlo, 58 Mix, Silvio, 40–1, 59 Moggioli, Umberto, 17, 19, 29 Molin, Tomaso dal, 68–9, 155 Molinari, 60 Morandi, Giorgio, 173 Morando, Pietro, 25, 26, 29 Morato, Elio, 197–8 Morena y Reina, Fernando, 159–60 Mori, Marisa, 174 Morpurgo, Nelson, 31, 42–4 Moscardelli, Nicola, 177 Müller-Denes, Riccardo, 76, 77, 80 Mussolini, Benito, 70, 72, 87, 158, 160; and Alfredo G. Ambrosi, 162, 166,

213

173; and Bruno Aschieri, 156; and Renato di Bosso, 166; and Italo Fasullo, 95; and Corrado Forlin, 95, 99; and Maria Goretti, 179; and Alberto Manca, 129–30; and F.T. Marinetti, 4, 51, 64, 96, 99, 173, 183–4, 187n5, 187n7; and Futurism, 3, 4–5, 64, 94–5, 98, 130, 156; and Leonida Zen, 95 Negri, Ada, 181 Negri, Pietro, 108 Ninchi, Annibale, 28 Novo. See Voltolina, Nello Ojeti, Ugo, 10, 174 Ongaro, Dante, 60, 70 Oppi, Ubaldo, 17 Palamidese, 68–9 Palazzeschi, Aldo, 9, 11, 13–14, 15, 27, 52 Pallotta, O., 164 Pancrazio, F., 60, 65 Papini, Giovanni, 27, 28, 110–11, 126 Pasini, Ferdinando, 58 Peri, 73, 76, 84, 86, 193n22, 199n34 Perissinoto, Giorgio, see Peri Perocco, Guido, 19, 25 Peruzzi, Osvaldo, 174 Pesenti, Luigi, 116, 117, 118, 120, 122, 126, 140, 195n29 Petrolini, Ettore, 22 Pica, Vittorio, 10 Pini, 61 Pioli, Lia, 103 Pirandello, Luigi, 58 Pisani, Angelo, 61, 76 Pisis, Filippo de, 173 Pistoreli, 68–9

214

Index

Pocarini, Sofronio, 64, 76, 155 Podalini, Major, 171 Pozzo, Ugo, 174 Praga, Marco, 56 Prampolini, Enrico, 37, 40–1, 46–7, 48–9, 50, 59, 65, 80, 87, 119, 120, 162, 169, 174 Pratella, Balilla, 21, 55, 102 Prezzolini, Giuseppe, 19, 113 Radius, Emilio, 100 Ravegnani, Giuseppe, 110 Rizzetto, Rizzardo, 60 Rocca, Lydia Maffioli, 146 Roffare, Franco Zullio, 51 Rognoni, Angelo, 103 Romagnoli, Ettore, 58 Rossi, Gino, 16, 19, 21, 25, 28, 29 Rostand, Edmond, 22 Ruele, Michele, 31, 49 Russolo, Luigi, 6, 8, 9, 16, 28, 45, 52 Rye, Jane, 90 Sacchetti, Quirino, 116, 117, 120, 124, 139, 167, 177–8, 199n28 Sacchi, Bartolomeo, 25, 26, 29 Salandra, Antonio, 20 Salaris, Claudia, 6, 63, 141, 187n5 Salom, Giulio, 43–4 San Marzano, 120 Sant’Elia, Antonio, 29, 73, 81, 87–92, 193n20 Sanzin, Bruno G., 48, 76, 77–9, 80, 116 Sanzovo, Mario, 73 Sappho, 181 Savaré, Gioacchino, 94 Schivo, Josè, 93, 94 Scopinich, Luigi, 17 Scrivo, Luigi, 98, 151, 158, 172

Scudiero, Maurizio, 6, 49, 60, 69, 103, 109, 161, 174–5 Scurto, Barbara. See Barbara Scurto, Ignazio, 50, 116, 117–24, 139– 40, 141–52, 168, 171–2, 197n1, 197n3, 197–8n12, 200n38 Semeghini, Pio, 29, 30 Settimelli, Emilio, 20, 21, 24, 29, 54, 55, 102, 105, 110 Severini, Gino, 6, 28, 52 Sgaravatti, Lino, 73, 77 Signori, Attilio, 60 Sinigaglia, 69–70 Siviero, Albino. See Verossì Soffici, Ardengo, 6, 9, 27, 29, 103 Soggetti, Gino, 103 Sonnino, Giorgio, 20 Spazzapan, Luigi, 64 Springolo, Nino, 25, 29, 30 Stampa, Gaspara, 181 St Point, Valentine de, 179, 181 Svenni, 45 Tano, Bruno, 61 Tassis, Vittorio Zanetti, 25 Tato, 169, 174 Tedeschi, Geppo, 151 Thayaht, Ernesto, 173 Tiepolo, Giovanni Battista, 170–1 Tollotti, Luigi, 49 Tomba, Ernesto Amos, 116–22, 129, 134, 152, 155, 196n39 Tombola, Giuseppe, 77, 84, 87 Tonini, Dino Vittor, 60, 63, 64, 65, 73 Tosato, F., 87 Trentini, L., 60, 63, 64 Trimarco, Alfredo, 30, 59 Tuoni, Dario de, 58 Valle, Virgilio, 49

Index Van Gogh, Vincent, 17 Vasari, Doctor, 166 Vasari, Ruggero, 86, 120 Venna, Lucio, 29 Verdi, Giuseppe, 121 Verga, Giovanni, 58 Verlaine, Paul, 12–13 Veronesi, Ugo, 95 Verossì, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 124, 129, 168, 169, 174–5 Vianello, Alberto, 30–7, 119 Viazzi, Glauco, 33, 145, 148 Voltolina, Nello, 49, 51, 73, 76, 77, 84, 85, 86, 174

215

Vucetich, Mario, 64 Wolf Ferrari, Teodoro. See Ferrari, Teodoro Wolf Zanetti Tassis, Vittorio. See Tassis, Vittorio Zanetti Zen, Leonida, 95, 99 Zocoli, Franca, 149, 180 Zoncada, Luigi, 22 Zuffelato, 26