Volume I Italy 1920-1945 A New Figurative Art and Narrative

to Tommaso and Leonardo

Volume I

Italy 1920-1945

A New Figurative Artand Narrative of the Self

ConceptGiuseppe Iannaccone

Catalogue EditorsAlberto SalvadoriRischa Paterlini

Texts byGiuseppe IannacconeAlberto SalvadoriRischa PaterliniFabio BenziGiorgina BertolinoPaola BonaniFabrizio D’AmicoFlavio FergonziLorella GiudiciMattia PattiElena PontiggiaCarlo Sisi

Technical Entries byRischa Paterlini [R.P.]Alessandra Acocella [A.A.]Dario Moalli [D.M.]Elena Pontiggia [E.P.]Caterina Toschi [C.T.]

List of Works, Exhibitions, Bibliography edited byRischa Paterlini

Critical Chronology 1920–1945*edited byAlessandra AcocellaCaterina Toschi

Curatorial AssistantDario Moalli

StagiaireMaria Chiara Ghilardi

Press OfficeLara Facco P.& C.

Photographs of the Collection Paolo Vandrasch

DesignStudio Mousse

Editorial CoordinationEmma Cavazzini

Copy EditorAnna Albano

LayoutGiorgia Dalla Pietà

Iconographic ResearchPaola Lamanna

First published in Italy in 2017 bySkira editore S.p.A.Palazzo Casati Stampavia Torino 6120123 MilanoItalywww.skira.net

© 2017 Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone© 2017 The authors for their texts © 2017 Skira editore, Milano© Giuseppe Capogrossi, Felice Casorati, Giorgio de Chirico, Filippo de Pisis, Otto Dix, Renato Guttuso, Carlo Levi, Umberto Lilloni, Giorgio Morandi, Fausto Pirandello, Aligi Sassu, Alberto Savinio by SIAE 2017© Succession Picasso by SIAE 2017

All rights reserved under international copyright conventions.No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed and bound in Italy. First edition

ISBN: 978-88-572-3503-5

Distributed in USA, Canada, Central & South America by Rizzoli International Publications, Inc., 300 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10010, USA.Distributed elsewhere in the world by Thames and Hudson Ltd., 181A High Holborn, London WC1V7QX, United Kingdom.

Note to the reader

The first volume on the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone covers the works produced in the period 1920–45, personally chosen by the collector and purchased up to the date of 30 November 2016. The reconstruction of every detail was made possible by the extensive, scholarly records kept ever since the first purchase in 1992. The collection was built up spe-cifically as a homogeneous group of works essentially representing the course of artistic developments from 1920 to 1945 outside the canons of the Novecento Italiano movement and the “return to order”. The first part of the book is devoted to Giuseppe Iannaccone and his personal vision of the history of art, describing the life and the decisions that characterize the collection with the greatest possible fidelity. Flavio Fergonzi then pre-sents the twenty-five years in question with a study that puts forward and examines twelve critical themes for Italian art. This is followed by essays meticulously analyzing the cultural, historical and artistic events of the period 1920–45 by scholars who have explored and studied the collection in depth. The descriptions of the works appear in alphabetical order and outline their history, any remaining gaps being due to the impossibility of obtaining further information. These entries are separated by tipped-in pages on special paper glued by hand telling how the works came to enter the collection and/or discussing the collector’s relationship with the artists or with people playing a key part in building up the collection. The rich critical apparatus comprises a list of the works with all the technical data required for the purposes of historical reconstruction; a critical chronology of the period 1920–45 including events in Italy’s political and social history, biographical data, information on exhibitions, prizes and publications regarding the artists concerned and a critical anthology for each work; a list in chronological order of exhibitions featuring the works; and a bibliography by artist in alphabetical order including books, newspapers, periodicals and exhibi-tion catalogues.

Alberto Salvadori Rischa Paterlini

Particular thanks toAlessandro Barca, Romina Bettega, Viviana Birolli, Arianna Borroni, Italo Carli, Stefano Carluccio, Claudio Centimeri, Giulia Centonze, Paolo Colonna, Caterina Corni, Marcello Francone, Paolo Frassetto, Elisabetta Galasso, Alessandro Guerrini, Giovanni Lettini, Martino Mascherpa, Matteo Mattei, Riccardo Mavelli, Oblò Architetti, Claudia Santrolli, Beppe Sarno, Maura Sarno, Violante Spinelli, the Studio Legale avvocato Giuseppe Iannaccone e Associati, Marco Vianello, Bernabò Visconti di Modrone, the Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G.P. Vieusseux in the persons of Gloria Manghetti and Fabio Desideri for kind permission to consult precious, unpublished material, and Silvia Somaschini for her invaluable work and research for the book A Loving Hunt, use of which was made also for the present updated work.

* The critical chronology covers the period from 1920 to 1945, during which the works of the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone were produced. Political events, biographical data and information on exhibitions, prizes and publications regarding the artists concerned appear alongside a critical anthology on the works to outline the history of an artistic movement at variance with the cultural policy of the Fascist regime in a complex, vital creative period of twentieth-century Italian art.

The content of the critical chronology was selected by Alessandra Acocella for the years 1920–33 and Caterina Toschi for 1934–45.

Photographic Credits© 2017. De Agostini PictureLibrary/Scala, Firenze: p. 129© 2017. Scala. Foto Art Resource/Scala, Firenze/John BigelowTaylor: p. 133© 2017. Foto Scala, Firenze:pp. 160 left, 178 left, 182 right, 194 left, 258 top, 294 left© 2017. Foto Scala, Firenze/Fondo Edifici di Culto - Ministerodell’Interno: p. 306© 2017. Foto Scala, Firenze/Luciano Romano - su concessione del Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo: p. 198 right© 2017. Foto Scala, Firenze - su concessione del Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo: pp. 121, 125, 304, 312© Archivio Fotografico e Mediateca MART: p. 164© Foto Musei Vaticani: p. 302© RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) / René-Gabriel Ojéda/ distr. Alinari: p. 322 rightAssociation des Amis du Petit Palais, Genève. Studio Peter Schälchli, Zurich: p. 101Galleria d’Arte Moderna Ricci Oddi, Piacenza: p. 258 bottomMONDADORI PORTFOLIO/Electa/Sergio Anelli: p. 236 bottom leftVan Gogh Museum, Amsterdam: p. 166 left

contents

11 DIALOGUES

13 Artists as Friends giuseppe iannaccone

19 A Conversation between Giuseppe Iannaccone and Alberto Salvadori alberto salvadori

39 Tireless Passion or Sublime Madness? rischa paterlini

53 ESSAYS

55 Twelve Critical Themes for Italian Art between the Two World Wars flavio fergonzi

77 Garbari: a Master elena pontiggia

81 Lilloni, De Rocchi and Del Bon: the Chiaristi in the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone lorella giudici

89 Reality and Utopia. The Birolli Paintings in the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone elena pontiggia

97 The Painting of the Corrente Group: between Colour and Reality mattia patti

105 The Six Painters of Turin: European and Modern. Themes, Exhibitions and Paintings through a Collection giorgina bertolino

115 The Universe in a Leaf. Rosai and De Pisis carlo sisi

125 The Painting of Reality. The Shift to Realism in the Roman Painting of the Thirties fabio benzi

135 Animating the Painting with Vibrations of Life: the School of Via Cavour, 1927–33 paola bonani

143 The Brief Transit of Scipione fabrizio d’amico

151 THE COLLECTION

339 LIST OF WORKS rischa paterlini

363 CRITICAL CHRONOLOGY 1920-1945 alessandra acocella, caterina toschi

389 EXHIBITIONS rischa paterlini

401 BIBLIOGRAPHY rischa paterlini

DIALOGUES

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I obviously did not live in Italy between the two world wars. Nor have I been personally acquainted with any of the artists in my collection ex-cept for Aligi Sassu and Ernesto Treccani. I feel, however, that I could certainly have taken part in their meetings and their impassioned dis-cussions about art, the meaning of truth in painting, the use of col-our or the urgent need to go beyond official academic painting. It is as though I knew them all just as I know my friends, their characters, their strengths and weaknesses, no more and no less, and this make me reflect on it. I know, for example, what Renato Birolli felt on his arrival in Milan from the Veneto region: a wild desire to devour the city with his love, a city that he knew would not fail to give him immense joy. Milan was a big city for someone from a small town such as Verona must have been back then. As we know, however, and as I know from personal experience, Milan welcomes you with open arms, Milan encourages you, Milan is a dream to be lived with your eyes wide open. So it was for the young Birolli. Milan was a wonderful fairytale that gave him the joy of being an artist, freedom in art, freedom in painting. There it was that the university district soon became his splendid, fabulous model, that Via Colombo, then peripheral with respect to the city centre, became a lit-tle earthly paradise in his fantastic landscapes. I fell in love with Birolli straight away for his ability to capture reality through the magnifying glass of poetry. In any case, how sad it would be to live our lives only as a mere relation-ship with reality without the sublimation that we alone, in our innermost depths, can see in things and still more in people. Though obviously unable to paint, I can live in symbiosis with Birolli because we share the same approach to reality. Think of the Lambro park. You may wonder why we should be talking about a rundown place on the outskirts of Milan. Now look at Birolli’s I poeti [The Poets] and La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene]. Pure poetry! The setting of both works is, however, the Lambro park, as revisited through the poetic vision of an artist. This is the magic of art, the magic of true artists: the ability to see things that we common mortals could never imagine. Like Birolli, Arnaldo Badodi is another that I seem to know with his unassuming character, reserved but extraordinarily sensitive. He loved women but not perhaps as you might think. He was no Casanova. He loved the female mind even more than the female body. You may well

Artists as Friends

giuseppe iannaccone

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GIUSEPPE IANNACCONE

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people but still make the presence of human emotion absolute clear to the viewer in every brushstroke. The Strada con casa rossa, for exam-ple, communicates Mafai’s love for every corner of Rome, his passionate character, his delight in a new, instinctive kind of painting not fettered by the set canons of official rhetoric. In Tramonto sul Lungotevere the river sets the blood of love for life flowing. The passionate character of the three members of the School of Via Cavour is a unique and unrepeat-able gift for the history of art as a whole, not only Italian art. No one had painted like that before and no one has since. It is almost as though I were there too, sitting with the three of them on one of those evenings on the big terrace of Mafai’s apartment. An impro-vised supper with Mafai and Scipione making spaghetti, red wine from the Castelli, Antonietta wondering whether Scipione is to be considered a permanent feature of her married life with Mafai. Talk about art and their new painting, warm, free and spontaneous. Then, slightly tipsy, Mario and Gino set off to see Rome, their model, to observe the colours of evening, the last gleams of light, the warm colours of the rooftops, and imagine their glow in painting. Rome was as sensual as the imagina-tions of the two friends. Scipione in particular was intent on experienc-ing everything that was most exciting in life, and Rome seemed to have been made just for him. The Eternal City was certainly very enticing and extraordinarily exciting. Rome had the same temperament as the two friends but especially Scipione. Piazza Navona was transfigured in his eyes. The statues came to life as flesh and blood and joined in the fun. For Mafai, the Tiber was a flow of passion and warmth, all the human feeling he had within him, whereas for Scipione it ran with blood, blood polluted by the illness that was to end his life. In both cases, however, it was a matter of human feeling, pure humanity alone.Mafai and Scipione loved each other with a love that can only be un-derstood by someone who has had a true friend, a really special friend. During those walks by night they talked about art and exhibitions, about scaling the mountain of success, something of which they were both absolutely certain, especially Scipione. They also talked about their fu-ture, but one thing was certain: that they would in any case experience it together. In their eyes, Rome was beautiful and quite poetic but small, too small for people with their explosive thirst for life. They wanted to travel, to go to America, South America and Cuba, to make new discov-eries in art and life. They thought of becoming a single artist with just one name for both of them: Bomaf. And so they talked about everything openly and unashamedly, as true friends can. About women, love and prostitutes, about life and their belief that all the emotions were there to be experienced with no exceptions. Art is truth, however, and so their thoughts, experiences, fears, joys and sorrows all ended up on canvas. Scipione had a fixation with sex. Perhaps because sex told him that he was healthy, he was alive, he had defeated that “beast” of illness that

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ask how I know this, whether I have read things about him or his letters from the front. I have certainly read the little that has been written but the point is rather that the works themselves tell you everything about an artist. This is true also and indeed especially for Badodi. Look at his L’armadio [The Wardrobe] (1938), an extraordinary work! How much love for femininity and respect for womankind there is in those hanging clothes, how much tenderness in the dress that seems to crawl on the floor. And then there are the prostitutes. In their works of those years, my artists unashamedly told the truth about life and what Italians re-ally did, which means that they also depicted brothels. Just look at the way Badodi presents his prostitute in Ragazza [Young Woman] (1941) as a girl with her head resting on a book. Badodi sees the prostitute as a gentle creature who has, for some reason that we have no right to judge, turned her back on normal life and suffers because of it. In his Il circo [The Circus] (1941), where we see a host of people laughing at Pierrot and a girl, Badodi explores with great sensitivity the mental state of whoever faces the world with spontaneity and simplicity, showing how their fate is often to be derided and humiliated by society.You should know that this young man was so sensitive and self-effacing that one evening he said goodbye to his friends of the Corrente group as though it were just a day like any other: “Well, it’s getting late. I’m off. Bye.” The day after he left for the Russian front, never to return. How can we not think of his crowded Milanese Caffè [Café] (1940), where every figure has a vacant stare, each one is wrapped up in loneliness, a solitude underscored by the one empty chair in the centre of the paint-ing. Who is missing? Arnaldo Badodi, who set off unobtrusively, with-out letting it weigh on anyone, to go to die for us all in the war in Russia. Anyone who doubts this can look at the back of the work and find him there, poor Arnaldo, in Il suicidio del pittore [The Painter’s Suicide], a prescient work painted in 1937, when he certainly had no idea of what fate had in store for him.As you can see, I know him well. Arnaldo Badodi could be a friend of mine. I know him intimately and admire him for his goodness and sen-sitivity.In the same way, I feel very close to the three friends Raphaël, Mafai and Scipione. I regard them as three great artists for their extraordinary ability to capture human beings and human feelings with warm, lyrical expressionism in every painting. Their landscapes, especially from the period 1928−30, are ablaze with human warmth and emotion. Mafai’s Strada con casa rossa [Street with Red House] (1928; a view also painted by Raphaël in a work now in the Pinacoteca di Brera), Raphaël’s Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour] (1929; a scene also painted by Mafai) and Mafai’s Tramonto sul Lungotevere [Sunset on the Lungotevere] (1929; a perspective also painted by Scipione) are examples of how an artist can paint a landscape with no

ARTISTS AS FRIENDS

TESTATINA – SULLA COLLEZIONE

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ARTISTS AS FRIENDSGIUSEPPE IANNACCONE

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tormented him. He loved having sex all the time, especially with prosti-tutes, and so he painted prostitutes in the streets in the centre of Rome. Rome was desecrated but to their mind it was real life that desecrated the rhetorical views every day. The two friends painted real life and thus desecrated official art regardless of the consequences this would have for their careers. In any case, they knew they would always be together, for better or worse. They studied a great deal. They thought that while you certainly might not agree with official art, you must in any case have great respect for the history of art. They spent long days in the library, always together. Mafai compared them to cards from the same deck to be shuffled at will. It was only the beginning. They were ready to tell a wonderful tale of art, humanity and truth. Two fantastic, unrepeatable artists!And then one evening, while they were walking through Rome and talk-ing about their plans, Scipione started to cough more than usual and coughed up blood in his handkerchief. He wanted to go home straight away. He said goodbye to Mafai and asked him not to accompany him. He did not want his friend to see him like that. Mafai watched him as he walked away, stopping every so often to cough, and embraced him with his eyes. From then on there was no more talk of travels, no more South America, no more Cuba, no more anything. Scipione was ill. They stayed in Rome, always together. Scipione knew he was doomed to die young but that did not stop him from painting. When common mortals know they are going to die, they despair, they weep, they think only of themselves and the treatment needed to soothe the pain. But not Scipione. He was a poet, a great poet, and illness led him to write some of the finest pages of his art, pages that will live on among the finest and most important in the history of the art of the last century. What about Mafai? Mafai stood by him and went with him to Collepardo, a small town in the province of Frosinone where Scipione went to convalesce in moments of respite. He was with him in his plans for shows in Rome, where they were admired by illustrious critics like Roberto Longhi, who recognized them together with Antonietta Raphaël as key figures in the new chapter of Italian painting. The two friends’ great human feeling is to be found, believe me, in their paintings. It is a central element of their art and in any case the crucial reason for my immense passion for their work. And I could also speak to you about the great poetry and humanity of Guttuso, Pirandello, Rosai and all the rest of my artists, because humanity, poetry, colour and ex-pressionism are my constant focal points.I hope I have succeeded in explaining the meaning of this collection of mine. It is a mirror of the human mind, a mirror of the emotions of Italy during a period of turmoil, a time when the desire to rebuild the coun-try ran up against the violence and suffering of Fascism and war. You may say that this has nothing to do with me, that I was not alive then.

This is true. On the other hand, however, I feel emotionally involved in that period. Moreover, it is often precisely in the moments of greatest suffering that human beings in general and artists in particular express their feelings with the greatest depth. Those twenty years between the two world wars were an unrepeatable period in which a group of artists wonderfully captured a whole catalogue of the most intriguing aspects of human beings. And as people are always the same, it is also contem-porary humankind that my artists depicted.

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ALBERTO SALVADORI The first question is perhaps the one that many people ask on meeting you. Why does someone become a collector or simply develop a pas-sion for art? In this initial phase, I would also like to know about your education, your intellectual forma-tion, the passions of your youth and why art some-times appears immediately and sometimes later.

GIUSEPPE IANNACCONE I think I grew up like so many other youngsters. Dad was a state employee and the family was never well-off. Money was always a problem because there were four children. My mother didn’t work for many years and Dad’s wages were the only income. She took care of us, three boys, very attached to one another. I have one brother exactly a year younger than me and the other less than two years older. We really stuck together. Then my sister was born ten years later. I liked playing football and going around with friends. We had a great sense of duty drilled into us by Dad, who was very strict and insisted on us doing well at school. It was in any case our own intelligence that told us that if you wanted to do some-thing in life, you had to make a real effort. Dad taught us the value of ed-ucation. He said that you could only get on by studying, and he was right.

AS Did you study not only to make your way socially but also as a form of freedom?

GI Studying was work, I thought it was the most important thing. I suf-fered from terrible anxiety in my youth because of my great ambition to be a lawyer. I was afraid of failing because I had no friends or contacts in the field, so afraid that I decided on my own initiative, against my father’s wishes, to enrol at university in the law faculty and start work with a law firm at the same time. This anxiety, which I have always had, meant a lot of stress in my professional life too, stress that devoured me but was also accompanied by a bit of good fortune arising out of my studies. I studied very hard and did so well in the exams that I was offered opportunities that seldom come the way of a 27-year-old. So I dealt with important and delicate cases from the start and — being so young — I was terrified of making a mistake. When I went out in the evening with friends I was a real bore talking about work. At a certain point I really needed to get away from it all and art helped me so much.

A Conversation between Giuseppe Iannaccone and Alberto Salvadori

alberto salvadori

ALBERTO SALVADORI A CONVERSATION BETWEEN GIUSEPPE IANNACCONE AND ALBERTO SALVADORI

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AS This is what I wanted to know, how art became part of your everyday life and the role it has played.

GI Art has always been my greatest relaxation. As I explained in my first book, it helped me to get through a very difficult period early in my ca-reer and is still today my great passion.

AS Is there any precise reason why you bought your first work?

GI I bought for myself was by Bonichi, Claudio Bonichi, the Sirena ferita [Wounded Mermaid].

AS What year was that?

GI It was painted in 1987 but I remember buying it a couple of years lat-er, 1989 was the year, I believe. I bought it because I liked it so much. It shows a faun, a man in a mask pulling a mermaid struck by a harpoon out of the lagoon in Venice. Some say that he has just killed her but I’ve always thought of him as rescuing her. I still have that painting and will never part with it because it was my first. I bought it because I liked it and perhaps also because Bonichi was Scipione’s nephew.

AS Did you already know that?

GI I certainly did. At that time, wanting a Scipione for me was like wanting a Picasso would be today. He was a distant peak, and so I thought…

AS Who did you buy it from? Do you remember?

GI Yes, I bought it from Alfredo Paglione, who had the Galleria 32 in Brera at the time but then moved to Via Appiani and reopened it as the Galleria Appiani Arte 32. I can say that the collection of works from the thirties is something I always had in mind. My relationship with art is one that developed and still develops essentially through books, which I bought all the time, especially at the beginning. I remember going to the Hoepli bookshop. I recall a gigantic bookcase full of books in alphabetical order, where it was possible to find so many wonderful things. What I’m telling you is unthinkable today because no one has books like that any more, and I don’t think anyone’s even interested in looking for them.

AS I understand perfectly because just yesterday, by chance, I found a first edition of the Antirinascimento by Eugenio Battisti. I’d been after it for ages and came across it in a bookshop. They didn’t even know they had it.

GI I’ve always maintained this relationship of mine with books. For exam-ple, I went to Florence recently and found a bookshop that is still organ-ized in this way. I bought yet another copy of Santini on Ottone Rosai. I find these books so precious that I often buy a number of copies because I don’t want to spoil them. I’ve got three copies each of Fagiolo dell’Arco on Scipione and Santini on Rosai.

AS What came next in building up your collection?

GI My studies led me to wonder why Sironi should have such a reputa-tion. I love these artists, of course, but I couldn’t understand why people didn’t think just a bit about the fact that art should be freedom. Art gives you this total freedom from constraints and also from hiding yourself in some way. What is art if not immediacy and ultimately truth? How can people fail to take these things into consideration? Sironi was a great artist but he was under constraints in his relationship with Margherita Sarfatti, and this too prevented me from liking him much. And so I be-gan to take an interest in the post-Novecento or anti-Novecento paint-ers, who I really loved. Apart from Scipione, someone I never thought I would be able to afford, as I said before, there was Birolli. I was crazy about Birolli. I just can’t understand why he is not regarded as one of the greatest artists of the twentieth century. I saw photographs of his Tassì rosso [Red Taxi] [W. NO. 11] and Periferia [Outskirts] [W. NO. 10] in books on art history, and found his works the most heartrending of all. There was Guttuso, Sassu with his battles, and Mafai, I was mad about Mafai too. And so got the idea of bringing these artists and personalities together, starting with the Corrente group because it was the most accessible for me, if for no other reason than the fact that I was in Milan. Not that I ever stopped thinking about the Romans, I always had them in mind. I thought that I would be happy if I could just get something for each of them, one painting for each artist. One thing must be made clear, how-ever. The painting had to be a masterpiece and produced in the period of the artist’s greatest poetic inspiration. And so the Mafai had to be from 1929, the Birolli from 1931−32, the Lilloni from no later than 1929−30, and so on. As always in the life of a collector, things happen that cause you to miss out on works that are masterpieces. I remember being shown a Lilloni of 1939, a cloud, a poem. Splendid though it was, I decided that it was the wrong year, a late work, and turned it down. I’d buy it a thou-sand times over today if I could turn the clock back. I’ve altered these rigid ideas a bit since but without ever going chronologically beyond the end of the war. I still think about that Lilloni. Anyway, it was with these reflections on art that the idea of the collec-tion was born and I bought the first Sassu. It is no coincidence that I bought a painting of a prostitute dated 1941 [W. NO. 76], the height of the Corrente period. Yes, a prostitute. There’s no shame in recounting the


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reality of these stories, which are the facts of life, not only then but also today and always.

AS Did you share these ideas and this passion with anyone at the time? A collector often has “travelling companions”, people who follow the same path for a certain period, sometimes separating and some-times staying together…

GI Mine was a very personal obsession. I’d be lying if I said I’d shared it with anyone. It’s something I simply couldn’t do. You’re an art lover and an expert on art and so you understand immediately, but I couldn’t even explain it to the gallery owners. I remember telling them about my passion for Mafai, Scipione and Raphaël, and my idea of a collection, and being offered some work of Magical Realism or Novecento Italiano. Whereupon I would say, “Well, I obviously haven’t made myself clear.” In actual fact, they completely failed to understand. It was just beyond them.

AS Claudia Gianferrari was the only one.

GI Claudia understood it all in a matter of minutes or even seconds, but she had a very different culture. Claudia was the one who said, “You and I have the same passion, constructed in just the same way but with different tastes.”

AS This is something that interests me. Great collec-tors have often been closely associated with great dealers capable of empathy even when their tastes differ and perhaps do not correspond at all.

GI My relationship with Claudia started when I had already built up most of the collection.

AS So it was not a commercial relationship? That’s interesting.

GI No, it’s a personal relationship. I met Claudia straight away, at the be-ginning of my passion, but found her a bit intimidating, which was not the case with the other dealers. I had the impression that I was talking non-sense when we spoke about art, not only because of her vast culture but also because she let it weigh on you. When she showed you an urban scene by Sironi costing 500 million lire or masterpieces by De Pisis, you didn’t have the courage to say that what you really loved was the Birolli of 1932. If you’d had the courage to say so, she would have understood because she loved it too, but I didn’t have the self-confidence at the time. When the

structure of the collection was created, she displayed great appreciation and consideration, and so a certain relationship began between us. In the case of Pirandello, for example, she sold me something very important and assisted me when I bought something else of equal importance. After that our relationship was different. Another dealer who certainly helped me in seeking out works with intelligence is Giulio Tega, the only one able to understand what I was really looking for. He was not one of those deal-ers who called you up and offered works that made no sense in relation to your collection. If he called you, it was because he had the right piece. I bought several things from Giulio.

AS Thinking about the collection as a whole, I see you as a two-headed Janus, looking at the twenties with great pleasure and then at the contemporary scene with equally great pleasure but through differ-ent eyes and perhaps with different feeling. I seem to perceive something in both cases, namely that the choice made as regards artists is linked very close-ly to the emotional aspects you have been talking about. The collection, above all the historical sec-tion, is one born very much out of sentiment in the noble sense of the word.

GI Yes, certainly. Like digging inside yourself. In a certain sense I would even like to say that the character of some artists of the thirties seems so similar to mine.

AS They are artists full of suffering and of life at the same time. They hunger for something that is in their soul, not so much in a material dimension of things as in the spiritual and sentimental one. Listening to you talk about all your path as a collector, I am struck by the thought of how much art is life and life is art.

GI Yes, very much so, in the sense that the artists of the thirties in the col-lection are the ones most like me. So are the contemporary artists, but it’s as though those of the thirties had put down firm roots inside me, as if we were completely one. I have, luckily, never suffered such anguish as Scipione did, knowing that he was to die so young, but I certainly share some of his feelings, like his yearning to devour the world, humanity, friendship, sex and love too. I won’t conceal the fact that I was very moved when I read some things he wrote about his relationship with Mafai, a relationship of great and deep friendship. I have read some passages from a letter to Falqui in which he talks about a drawing [FIG. 14, P. 50] of two men side by side and the meaning of that drawing. And when he explains in a letter to Mafai why


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their arms are crossed, why their feet and legs are crossed, he is talking about his relationship with Mafai. He doesn’t say so explicitly but the letter is very clear in that sense. Then he also wrote to tell his dealer to give the drawing [FIG. 13, P. 50] to Mafai but not to make him pay for it. A hundred lire, the sum he would have got by selling the work, was a lot for Scipione in that moment. It was the fee for a month in the sanatorium and he was waiting for Falqui to sell the drawings so that he could pay it. This is the sacred nature of friendship, something truly immense compared to which all the rest is nothing. This is something I can only find in art.

AS In the case of the collection of works from 1920 to 1945, a sense of a limit emerges that may exist in real life, a sense of something finite. While the search — the “loving hunt”, to quote the title of the previous book on the collection — can continue, this collec-tion can be described as finite in the sense that the works of these artists, of this period, will run out at a certain point, both because you already own many of the masterpieces and because they are in museums. What is the relationship with a collection that has this sense of being finite with respect to the relation-ship of many collections that exist and are non-finite in the sense that they are fed internally?

GI While you were asking this question, the images of a whole series of works that I would like to have for this collection were running through my head. It is therefore not finished in my mind and I do not think my life will be long enough for me to do everything I still want to. In the sense that this collection of the thirties can still be strengthened a great deal. I have other works in mind as regards Mafai, as regards Birolli, even though I have ten, Scipione and Guttuso. Because I love them and so, how can you ever have enough? It’s impossible. This goes for Pirandello too and Rosai, who wrote pages of extraordinary humanity. I do not feel that it is finite. I have to be sincere, Alberto. I just don’t feel that it is.

AS All this also gives you a sense of great freedom. The fact that there is no feeling of something that can end, but rather a flame that will always burn, can in any case bring a degree of satisfaction. All in all, you already have many of the masterpieces of these artists. Where’s the limit?

GI Well, one thing I can tell you is that I won’t go on ad infinitum just to have more works by each artist. I only want absolute masterpieces that can bear comparison with what I already have. I could not take any less

important paintings. But right now I have only masterpieces in mind. In speaking here and now about my artists, I am only thinking of master-pieces that are not in museums. While I obviously admire and respect the ones in museums, they will never be mine. But I can assure you that I have others in mind. There is something I wanted to tell you that I have never said in any of the conversations I have had about my collection. So many people have seen my collection, not only the works of the thirties but also the contemporary section, and what I am about to tell you is ac-tually something said by a man who had seen the contemporary work, but it holds also and in fact even more for the thirties. He said, “You sense a certain degree of melancholy in these paintings, which is a constant fea-ture.” I answered, “It’s true, You’re right about that.” Then I went home and thought a lot about it, and continued to do so in the days that fol-lowed. If you look melancholy up in a dictionary, you’ll find it talks about being depressed and basically sad. I am neither sad nor depressed. I am a man full of joy and also of great enthusiasm. But then I always say that the collection is like me, so how can I say that it is melancholy if I am not sad? There is probably some truth in it, but you have to understand the true sense of melancholy. I feel as you do when you contemplate something wonderful. If you contemplate the sea at night, you are not sad but you do perhaps feel a bit melancholy. But you see something sublime that helps you to dig into yourself and look for an image, something to heal an old wound perhaps. Well, the collection is melancholy in this sense and I am a bit melancholy too. But I’m not depressed, not unhappy, not at all sad.

AS I think that what you’re saying is very important and I’d like to talk a bit more about melancholy, which has always been part of life for those who love and live with and for art. The great art historian Wittkower wrote a wonderful book called Born Under Saturn about those of a saturnine disposition. Melancholy was and is the vital lymph of people who not only have a feeling for art but live it to the full. In this sense, I re-gard it as a very important and noble interpretive key. Artists have always been attributed with this type of character historically, and so the fact that a collector can feel it or have this sensation, or that others can recognize it in him, makes me think about how art is something that goes far beyond the aspect of posses-sion, far beyond the aspect of cataloguing, far beyond the stereotype of the collector, and about how art is your life. This is what melancholy is.

GI But then, when this man — who was by no means the first — said that there was a bit of melancholy in the collection, he may not have wanted


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to say that it resembled me. When I buy a painting, I buy a part of myself. I know that this is how it is, but I am not sad. Melancholy must not be confused with sadness.

AS But it does not mean sadness. I see it instead as a great compliment.

GI Sometimes I wallow in melancholy, which has at times human features that are not the ones I would like. When I walk out of a meeting during which I have seen and experienced human aspects and characteristics that I would have preferred not to, I feel melancholy and think about it for a long time. I stop to reflect on the human element that displeased me and that forced me in that meeting to adopt an attitude that I would have pre-ferred not to but that was necessary in a situation I found distasteful. But that is melancholy with a touch of sadness, whereas what I feel on look-ing at one of my paintings by Scipione has no element of sadness at all. There is an immense humanity that cannot be sad because the ability to grasp what is most beautiful in man cannot be cloaked in sadness. When you succeed in understanding something wonderful, like what I told you before about Scipione’s extraordinary feeling of true friendship for Mafai, you can’t be sad. I am not sad when I look at that drawing by Scipione.

AS Now you are lawyer of great reputation. You have experience and a career. You are a collector also in the sense that you now have a history behind you and a future in front of you. What I wonder is how important your work has been for your art so far and whether art can be or has been equally important for your work.

GI Let me start by saying that there are answers at different levels. The most superficial is to say that I am happy and fortunate because I have two wonderful things, art and work, and I cannot do without either of them. But if you dig a bit deeper, you find that art has been crucial for my work because it has given me an extraordinary sense of security. It has given me great serenity in addressing the most complex situations, accepting the greatest challenges and facing the greatest difficulties with enthusiasm. You can face a challenge with the great anxiety of knowing that you cannot make a mistake or with great joy, saying that you do not want to make a mistake. Today I address my work with the enthusiasm and joy that I have always had since childhood at the idea of putting on my gown. I do not want to sound rhetorical, but this is the truth and the truth must be told. I have done the only thing I wanted to do in life, and today I do it with that joy but also with the enthusiasm of looking forward to a new challenge. I am sixty years old and have no desire to think about the past. I want an assignment tomorrow that will put me to the test even more than in the past, that will

make me feel emotions even stronger than those I have already felt. And so they are two things that feed one another: art feeds the work and the work feeds art. Also at the intellectual level. Mine is a collection that speaks exclusively about humanity because both the works of the thirties and the contemporary works place man at the centre of art, mankind and its needs at the centre of art. My work, which has unquestionably always been the same in some way since I began, is increasingly concerned with personal defence, defence increasingly bound up with humanity. It is no coincidence that in recent years I have taken a lot more penal cases, because there you are defending people and it is something extraordinary. And so I must say that art has been decisive. Decisive not in the choice of my profession, which came long before, but certainly in the way I approach it.

AS Decisive therefore also in the reciprocal quality?

GI In the quality of how you do it.

AS But is yours a humanistic vision of life? Of mutual fulfilment and sharing?

GI I think so, in the sense that you asked me at the beginning whether I shared the choice of this collection of mine with anyone. Now you know that I had it inside me. But in those years, which you, Alberto, certainly remember, the collectors laughed at it. This is the truth, there’s no point in denying it. People laughed to the thought of me buying a Birolli of the thirties and not his L’incendio delle cinque terre [Fire in the Cinque Terre]. People laughed at me for buying Guttuso and not Afro. And so it was a choice made in solitude for no one else. As I said to myself then and still do now, if that is art, then I’ll go and see it in museums, because I am not insensitive, but I won’t be a collector. I adore post-war Afro, I adore the L’incendio delle cinque terre, I adore Fontana, I am crazy about Manzoni, but I go and see them in museums. I could have bought Fontana. I have bought so much Scipione, so much Guttuso, I could have bought Fontana too. Where’s the problem? But if you ask me if there is a search for hu-manism, then yes, certainly yes, it’s so obvious that I don’t even have to ask myself the question. And then, who knows what the story is? We all have our own, fortunately! And fortunately that’s the way it is, otherwise we would all want the same women, we would want all the same paintings. Instead, fortunately, we are all different.

AS Is there a reason why the historical collection is kept at home or at least in a private context?

GI Here too I could give you a simple answer and say that I put the first works up at home and therefore…


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AS But since you are not as simple person…

GI That is the most intimate part. I need to see those works in the mo-ments when things are less hectic. I have prepared so many cases in the midst of those paintings that you could never even imagine it.

AS Which brings us back to the question I asked about how important art has been in this sense.

GI I have been through so many trials with those paintings. I remember perfectly defending Peppino Prisco before the professional order of law-yers. Prisco was our president and I defended him both in court and be-fore the order, and when I prepared the arguments to put before the or-der, I looked at those paintings all the time. I must have them at home. As Alessia could tell you if she were here, I once got up in the middle of the night to go and look at the background of a painting by Scipione for a missing piece. There was a piece of his Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem] [W. NO. 81] that seemed to be missing, namely the vision of the afterlife, which had to be somewhere in the painting. I found it in the sky. There’s a face in the sky, almost imperceptible, I don’t know if you have ever noticed it. I woke up — you have to believe me — with the certainty that the painting had to contain the element that was miss-ing in my mind, the vision of the afterlife, of a face waiting for him, and I found it. Alessia came and asked if I was going out of my mind. I turned the light on and said, “It must be there.” I examined the painting and said, “Look, there it is. There’s a face, a face in the middle of the bloodstained sky, a face waiting for poor Scipione.” This is how looking at those works leads me to see and think beyond the given facts.

AS Looking at Rosai’s L’intagliatore [The Wood Carver] [W. NO. 69] and thinking about criminal proceed-ings?

GI Well, I spent an entire night before buying Rosai’s L’intagliatore be-cause I had spoken about that extraordinary painting to someone for whom I have great esteem and who, in some way, advised me against it as unsuitable for the collection. I spent an entire night reading Santini and other books on Rosai, and I understood this wonderful story of his relationship with his father and how he wanted to make it something no-ble and save the carpenter’s shop from bankruptcy. It is all there in the description of that title, because it is not his father but “the wood carver”, the memory of his father. Those closed eyes are the only sign of his death. The Arno is only just suggested.

AS It is a painting so laden with gravitas.

GI It is a painting you have to dig into. If you look at it closely, it’s as though it were not painted but carved, incised. The face is hollowed out as though the artist wanted to get inside the man, which is exactly what I always try to do in my work. To get inside things and present them for what they are. People can be saved if you look at the details of things. If you examine the details of things, even the apparently negative events have positive elements, which are the ones that lead to acquittals and are not to be underestimated. It is precisely the elements that you find deep inside humanity that get people acquitted, if you can show and demon-strate them.

AS You are able to read what is apparently unclear.

GI So, you see, even if art does not regard the results of my work, it does regard the way I do it.

AS I believe that true collectors are those that fol-low their own path in terms of identity, character and emotion, and are detached from certain results or objectives as regards financial considerations or reputation. The collection and your sense of belong-ing to this project have no limit, and I therefore think that the objective in every case is to achieve another objective, with the result that another immediately opens up. It is interesting also in this sense to exam-ine the formation of a collection and how it is built up as an organic whole.

GI That is so. The collection is a unique story. I have realized so many times that this question of unity is crucial for me. Whenever anyone has spoken of holding an exhibition of this collection of mine, the idea is always — given the number of paintings, a hundred works all in all — to show a selection. “What do you mean, a selection?” I say, “You can’t leave anyone out.” I think about it then, of course, and I understand it when someone says, “Look, you’ve got eight Badodis, what do you care about showing all eight? You’ve got eleven Birollis, why do you have to show all ten?” But I can’t leave anyone out. If I have chosen them it is because they are part of this one discourse and so they can’t be exclud-ed. And then, it’s impossible to slight one of these paintings. They must all be together.

AS What is the influence of the collection on your family life in terms of emotions, sharing, relation-ships? How much of this latent emotionality is trans-mitted to them?


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GI I am my paintings and my paintings are me. The collection is part of our life together. When I first met Alessia, she had a completely different approach to things. I would never have believed that she could adapt so totally and fit into this situation. It struck me the other evening when we went to see a show about Caravaggio in Liguria. While we were driving back, she asked me a lot of questions about my paintings of the thirties. She wanted me to explain the meaning of the works in the collection one by one. I was really struck by this because I realized that after so many years of life with these paintings, surrounded by these paintings, their atmosphere has condi-tioned her. Now she is curious about them and also trying to understand in detail what I love in every one of them. And believe me, her attitude at first was completely different. How much did they cost? How much are they worth? Why are you throwing all that money down the drain? And so on.

AS But you see the strength of art, how powerful it is, how it can change your vision of life, how much it can help you.

GI This is all in the title of the first book: “the soul’s crutch”. It’s true, art is a point of support. And then obviously, with passing of the years, it increasingly becomes a central element, more than a point of support.

AS I’d like to know how curious you are, in life too.

GI Very curious indeed. I’d say that curiosity is one of the fundamental elements. Consider my work alone. Being curious in my work is above all necessary, because if you want to understand all the ins and outs of a case, which can be an endless story stretching over years, if you don’t penetrate all the details then you cannot master it. I was born curious. It’s my natural approach to things. Just think, it’s thanks to curiosity that I’ve built up most of my collection. I have studied the location of works scien-tifically, Rischa can bear witness. Once we were talking about a painting by Scipione and I said, “I know where it is and I may be able to buy it.” I made some telephone calls and we went to Turin and got it. Curiosity has a fundamental role in this research of mine as in my life. If you’re curious, you’re never satisfied, everything is just another stage. Everything is a stage, you feel that you still have things to do. I also have to tell you that something very odd happens in the collection. Before I achieve a result, I always think it is the decisive one, that I could almost stop at this point. The moment after, I know that I have to start again, that there is still a long way to go. It is in fact the result achieved that stimulates me to go on looking and so I understand that it is never-ending. I used to fool myself but now I know it will never end.

AS The catalogue contains studies and a critical ap-paratus addressing the collection in art-historical and critical and analytical terms. This examination of the collection by experts must, however, necessarily take into consideration its creator. Without going back to the whys and wherefores of the collection, I’d like you to tell me in your own words what it is that strikes you about the Chiarismo movement in Lombardy, why you love Birolli so much and feel so close to him, and so on for all the other artists involved.

GI Well, there are two things about the collection to which I attach equal weight. One corresponds to the content, which is to some extent what we spoke about before. By content I mean that type of expressionism and that type of realism, which are indispensable for me in the work of art. This has been a key element of the collection all the way through. The second is per-haps prior in temporal terms and regards colour. Colour for me is a way of expressing content. In this sense, Birolli was definitely right to say that col-our together with distortion, but especially colour, can also describe reality. This is what has a decisive weight in the early years of the collection, essen-tially the works of 1928 and 1929. Together with the Six Painters of Turin, the Lombard Chiaristi were the first to break away from the chiaroscuro of Novecento, from a predictable way of painting. In some respects, they were the first to express themselves through colour. I am obviously talking about the Chiarismo, but if you tell a story, as I have tried to tell it to myself, you have to tell it from the beginning, and this really begins with the Six of Turin. Then of course this use of colour is developed by Del Bon, Lilloni and De Rocchi in their own way. When Birolli takes it up, colour is handled by a master in the sense that it takes on extraordinary characteristics, impor-tance and quality. It’s not by chance that I have so many works by Birolli. I wanted to collect all the aspects of his ability to describe reality through colour. What I mean is that when Birolli painted the Tassì rosso [W. NO. 11], he did not only paint a view of the Milan suburbs − what was then peripheral but is now the university precinct in the city centre − but achieved some-thing extraordinary, using colour to capture the joy of living in Milan. He captured the determination to play a leading role in a city that was to play a central part not only in the future of his life but in the future of Italy. Sironi was sad to leave the countryside and felt anxiety on moving to Milan, nor could he be anything but sad, because someone forced to look to the past of art cannot be happy. In this painting, Birolli looks instead to the future, not to the past, and expresses it in those colours. Those colours tell us about this, about a desire to paint in freedom, and freedom is accompanied by joy while coercion is always accompanied by suffering. Birolli is free. He looks at the city with joy, and it is here that colour becomes fundamental. And so you see how colour says so many things that accompany the element of


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realism that must coexist in a painting if I am to choose it. This is the rea-son for the first section including the Six of Turin, Chiarismo and Corrente as well as the romanticism of the School of Via Cavour.

AS Where colour is something very different, how-ever.

GI Colour is something else there. While it has a strong accent here and is a truly crucial element in the description of reality in lyrical terms, there colour is one of the elements of romanticism, a characteristic feature of the School of Via Cavour.

AS Form and colour are, however, two extraordinary elements of the masterpieces by Guttuso in your possession.

GI Yes, absolutely. Guttuso is the element of balance. It is no coincidence that Guttuso was in Rome first and then Milan. The choice of his works is calibrated in the sense that, given my deep love for Rome and Milan, I need the slightly Mafai-esque romanticism of the Natura morta con garo-fani e frutta [Still Life with Carnations and Fruit] [W. NO. 36] and the Ritratto di Mimise [Portrait of Mimise] [W. NO. 37] as well as the still-lifes of 1940−41 [W. NOS. 39, 40] more closely connected with Corrente and Milan, where col-ours of Guttuso become different, bolder and less romantic. While a sort of academic and pictorial rivalry can be discerned between the two paint-ers, there is no doubt to my mind that Birolli influences Guttuso to some degree. Consider La finestra blu [The Blue Window] [W. NO. 39] still life and how the colour changes to become very bright. Guttuso was in no way inferior to Birolli artistically. Guttuso is a combination of these two real-ities, the Roman School and the Corrente movement, and it is no coinci-dence that he played such a leading role in those years with his content of expressionism and colour.

AS He succeeds, as it were, in maintaining his own independence in terms of balance between form and expression.

GI Yes, absolutely. I see him as a leading figure of those years and he is unquestionably a leading figure in the collection.

AS What about Rosai?

GI Ottone Rosai is someone who went his own way. You can’t pin him down to any school. Remember that I bought Rosai even though I knew he had taken part in the first exhibition of Novecento. I did so because,

in my opinion, he has nothing to do with the movement and is instead part and parcel of the thinking that animates my collection. He has noth-ing to do with Novecento because he never complied with their precepts. He always went his own way but, in doing so, he expressed his humanity with great passion in his painting. For me, he belongs by right in a col-lection that has expressionism, realism and humanity as its fulcrum, its common denominator. I’ll tell you something else too. Rosai takes the collection back to 1920−22, and this is no coincidence. I do not have an opening date, a sort of absolute watershed, for the collection. For every artist, I have looked for the dawn of the expressionism, realism and romanticism that is my primary interest. And so, while I saw the new elements in Birolli in the late twenties and early thirties, the earliest paintings admitted by right to my collection date instead from the early twenties with Rosai. If the Lombardi Chiaristi awakened in 1929, then the first paintings by them are of 1929. If the Six of Turin were born substantially in 1929, the first paintings of theirs to be found in the collection will be of 1929. In the case of Rosai, that kind of expressionism instead dates back to 1920. He had already arrived there, and so he produced some absolute master-pieces in the period 1920−22, which I have tracked down and bought for the collection.

AS Thinking about your expression “someone who went his own way”, another figure that did so and that we have associated with Rosai is De Pisis. It was Arcangeli that first drew the parallel. They seem to be so far apart but there is in reality something that they share.

GI To my mind, De Pisis went his own way. I am not an art critic. I have not followed De Pisis back as far as Rosai because my De Pisis was born a bit later, so to speak, in the sense that he first painted in a way that was very close to tradition, albeit with his own personality and as a great artist. It is when he began that jagged, fragmented painting with that striving to dig down into the content that he became my De Pisis. The De Pisis who was no longer ashamed to admit his homosexuality, who did not love women and therefore did not paint a beautiful female nude but a young sailor. This is the De Pisis I love, this is the De Pisis who went his own way. And I have plucked him in the moment when he began to give me those emotions and the kind of realism I sought.

AS This I think is another important phrase that has emerged in our dialogue: the truth of the man. I think that many of the painters in your collection have this in their painting.


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GI It is the search for human emotion that gives me great comfort. All my artists have this content of a great search for emotion, all of them. In my view, Ziveri is classified as belonging to the Roman School because he was a Roman, he lived in Rome and he probably frequented those Roman artists to some extent, but he was really someone who went his own way. Ziveri was completely independent and undertook an exploration that was all his own. Why did I want him in the collection? Because Ziveri was a man of great human content. He was not only a very gifted painter but also and in particular an investigator and an explorer of the human psy-che. This causes me to regard him as one of the truly extraordinary artists of those years. Who knows why he should be so underrated? Who knows why he is mentioned so little in the critical appraisals of those years?

AS That is the good fortune and misfortune of art-ists. He may soon emerge at the centre of new stud-ies and interests. These are the ups and downs of history. I find this human truth so intriguing be-cause I believe, without wishing to exaggerate, that collecting is an epic undertaking in the etymological sense of the term, the sense of constructing a story, a narrative, with overtones that are also fantastic and extraordinary. The story of every collection in-cludes something that goes beyond the everyday re-ality of history and micro-history. At the same time, there is also a sense of a vain endeavour, as there is never any end to collecting. You never attain that sense of completion, of definitive satisfaction. This also makes me think of how much collectors like you invest in the pursuit of their truth, how much this effort is temporarily repaid by the works and how this steers you towards certain figures, certain personalities, certain artists.

GI What I can tell you is that this pursuit is undertaken solely out of hu-man interest. I have really no interest whatsoever in making investments, which is almost crazy because I am not a rich man in the sense that I live on what I earn. I arrived at the point of always spending it all on my paint-ings. I went to very edge of the precipice every time I bought a painting. I never had any further savings, especially for the collection of the thirties, the central core of which was built up in years when my professional life was not what it is now. It was and still is an agonizing pursuit of human feeling, and the wonderful thing is that the collection enables you to look for things that you alone can see. It is something very personal. Even if people visit it, they cannot see what you see. There is always a physical relationship between you and the collection, which enables you to grow,

to evolve, to have points of reference, deeper reflection and support for your existence without anyone around you understanding or being able to spy on you. Others may think that I am obsessed. Why have one, two, three, four, ten Birollis? Why can I never get enough of Scipione? I now have nine works, five paintings and four drawings. Some might think, “You’ve already got some Scipione, why go on?” You are the only one that understands all this. You alone know that you are still missing a piece of that soul, a piece of that construction. Scipione is now over with yet.

AS What do you feel when your works are shown in major public exhibitions and you see others looking at them?

GI Well, I’m happy of course, because the collection for me is a creature that I saw growing in years when people looked down on me to some extent and didn’t trust my judgement. I’m happy for the collection and for these art-ists, who have so many merits to my eyes, and if others recognize this, I’m happy for them too. I think they have been somewhat neglected. I remem-ber the great emotion I felt when Vittorio Sgarbi, then head of the Milan de-partment of culture, came to see the collection. He phoned me first because he had heard about it and wanted to come and see for himself. As soon as he had, he told me that he wanted to hold an exhibition on Corrente, which he did at Palazzo Reale with fifty works, twenty-six of which were mine. It was not an exhibition of my collection but I can honestly say that the finest paintings there were mine. The thing that really moved me was to see, at the inauguration with the entrance still closed, an endless queue on the steps of Palazzo Reale, all waiting eagerly to see the show. It was some-thing extraordinary. I remember a friend there with me saying, “Just think, Giuseppe, they have all come see your paintings.” It made me so happy.

AS And when you saw these people in the rooms?

GI They were all gazing in admiration and making comments.

AS I’d like to know whether you saw your paintings through different eyes in that situation, whether you felt protective towards them, in the way that you can feel, with the due distance, about people dear to you exposed to public attention. Collectors often feel the need to shield their works.

GI When I see them, I always think they are the most beautiful of all. I have the impression that my view is coloured by affection, and so they look the best to me. And then there’s the joy of seeing people look at them and comment on them with great admiration, as happened with


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Birolli’s paintings La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene] [W. NO. 13] and I poeti [The Poets] [W. NO. 14]. At the same time, there is some apprehen-sion. It always scares me a bit to see people crowd around the paintings. Every time I go to an exhibition including works from the collection, I am always slightly on edge when they are shown in narrow corridors rather than small rooms.

AS You feel very protective.

GI Yes, because so many people have no respect. It terrifies me.

AS What idea do you have of the collection? In the sense that when we look at a work of art, we know deep down that it will live on and we will not. There is a sense of impermanence about the human being that does not exist in the great work of art.

GI The first reflection is that it is all so beautiful. These paintings go so well together and it has been such a long, hard struggle to gather them all, nearly thirty years, that I can rule out any possibility of them being split up. I can be certain that they will always remain together. I know that my children, and especially Tommaso the eldest, will always watch over the collection and keep it intact. If you ask me whether I would like to see it in a museum some day, well, yes, I certainly would like to see it in a museum. But the collection is so dear to me that it is not a decision I ever want to take. I prefer to leave that to my son, because it must be guaranteed that the collection will be placed on permanent display, permanently accessible to the public, that it will be treated with the due respect and returned immediately if it is not, if the latest head of the department of culture should decide to put it in storage, for example. If that happened, the collection would have to be returned to my family. Unfortunately, I have very little confidence in the institutions, an atti-tude that has become deeply rooted in the course of my life devoted to art. I have seen so many examples of superficiality, rash decisions and choices made with no love for art or for culture that I could not accept any such proposal today. I would happily lend it to an intelligent museum capable of respecting it, but I wonder whether such a thing is practicable in Italy. If one day these conditions are met, then Tommaso will say: The conditions are right, I know that Dad wanted to do this and I’m in charge now so I will go ahead. In that sense, he will be the one to take the deci-sion. Because in the end, for all his love for me and therefore for the col-lection, he does not share my anguish over every work, every painting, over placing one beside another, and he will therefore have more serenity in assessing the situation and deciding whether the conditions are right for this to happen.

AS All right, because the part that interested me most is when you said that you believe the works will always be kept together.

GI Yes, I’m sure of that.

AS I see it as an identity that cannot be divided.

GI The collection will always be together and nobody will ever commit the crime of breaking it up. I cannot think of it ending up in the hands of some-one so heartless as to divide it. It is impossible, completely impossible.

AS Has your family absorbed this passion from you?

GI Well, I don’t think I can say that. I believe that Tommaso really loves this collection of works from the thirties but I couldn’t tell you why he does, whether he appreciates it in depth or whether it is instead a sort of transference, in the sense that in loving me and seeing the love with which I built it up, he transfers some of the love he has for me to it. Perhaps he could tell you. What is certain is that Tommaso will have the greatest re-spect for this collection, of this I am sure, completely sure.

AS Because some collectors have their own vision. The collection is part of their life and then, whatever will be will be.

GI Well, I’ll tell you something else. A close friend once told me that I should find a home for the collection and not place this burden on Tommaso’s shoulders, that I should sell it at the right moment. I understand that this advice is the result of a rational assessment but it is not what I think and not what I feel. I feel that the collection must remain intact and I would never have the strength to sell it. Moreover, it is an important part of my life and I want my son to have it. In the end, you can leave a son many things. You can leave him property and wealth, but if you leave him part of yourself, you leave him something more. And so I will leave him this because I am sure he will appreciate it.

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If I create a solid work tomorrow, the collector buying it will have to undertake a serious revision of the collection and his brain. It is in this sense that I understand the vitality of the new painting: it makes you think; it stimulates and refreshes the mind. I thank you, because after all I need to live, but these are thoughts and I prefer to stint on the provisions a bit rather than sell something straight away that could prove a disappointment tomorrow. Others confine them-selves, however, to the sale of their paintings. I know that instead of ten, there will be fifty of us living a decent life. They will speak of the next twenty years as an excellent period for Italian art and say that the example set by a few will be taken up and remain a legend, like a flower growing in the shit. – Renato Birolli, 30 December 1938

I met Giuseppe Iannaccone, a lawyer by profession and collector by pas-sion, during the Christmas holidays in 2001. Our first meeting in his old offices at number 8 Via Cesare Battisti in Milan arose out of an ad in the Corriere della Sera for a secretary, a job I was quick to accept. I was twen-ty-five. I had got married and moved to Milan just a few months earlier. I knew nobody and — to tell the truth — had no idea of what I really wanted to do when I grew up. Little did I know that my life had changed radically as from that precise moment due to a professional but also and above all personal relationship that, fortunately for me, still continues today now that I am forty. I remember as though it were yesterday his small, modest office, which also served for meetings, and a blaze of colour that was almost painful to look at hanging behind him in the midst of slightly outdated furniture in the eighties style. I did not dare to ask any questions but there was in fact no need. Immediately overcoming any reservations about me, with the simple grace of a gentleman of a bygone era, he un-derstood my insatiable curiosity about this beautiful world like a vision-ary, with the readiness to talk about himself that distinguishes the great collectors. I would rush to see whenever a new painting arrived and was always eager to hear anecdotes about events and experiences connected with the purchases, like the time when, in his haste to make off with that “blaze of colour” — Renato Birolli’s La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene] [W. NO. 13] — before the previous owner changed his mind, he loaded it onto the roof of his car, a grey BMW series 5. He was not from a family of col-lectors but art became a passion for him very quickly and his adventures began as soon as he could afford it. It was 1989. He was thirty-four years

Tireless Passion or Sublime Madness?

rischa paterlini

RISCHA PATERLINI

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3 In English in the original text.

TIRELESS PASSION OR SUBLIME MADNESS?

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the cultural impositions of Fascism, expressing the reality of their everyday life unashamedly, depicting the real world with its needs but above all with the great tension determined by the wars break-ing out in Europe. While appreciating Futurism, Novecento and Valori Plastici, I really fell in love with the expressionist realism of the thirties and began to collect it.

He is not interested in collecting big names but in collecting great works with which he can identify. For him, the work or art is something sublime, something that feeds the soul and takes you far away as you contemplate it into a timeless emotion. The collection — which has obviously followed no precise historical-chronological order and in which an unconscious desire may have predominated at first to surround himself at least with beauty without being able to imagine where this would then lead him — has undergone gradual transformation. Aided by a taste that has been honed over the years and ever-increasing knowledge, wholly detached from the fashions of the moment, free from the educational constraints and responsibilities to which a public museum must respond if it wishes to represent the interwar period, with no concern about the market, often arriving at crucial works supposedly not for sale by relying on the “three Ds” of death, debt and divorce,3 Giuseppe Iannaccone has identified and critically selected works that, by virtue of their pictorial quality and date, paved the way for a new kind of painting and marked a significant turning point. While this has obviously entailed the exclusion of Italian artists of great international renown, it has also made the collection unique and wholly convincing in its outstanding personality and rigour. The meetings at the outset with figures like Birolli’s widow, the artist Ernesto Treccani, the collector Enrico Brambilla Pisoni, the art historian Elena Pontiggia, Professor Zeno Birolli and the gallery owners Claudia Gianferrari and Giulio Tega, to name just a few, have led over the years to close relations of friendship enabling him to purchase various works and learn a lot about the art of collecting.When asked, Giuseppe Iannaccone is never loath to talk with cheerful en-thusiasm about how he obtained the works of his collection. It all begins when a work he wants reappears on the market and rekindles his inter-est. We then talk about it face to face in an always constructive exchange of views, something that has become a training ground for life over the years. He then talks on the telephone with Professor Pontiggia and asks me to find out absolutely everything about the work. Once these prelim-inaries are over and he is certain that he wants to make the masterpiece his, the nerve-racking phase begins of finding out how much they want with all the anxiety of sometimes prolonged negotiations — if it is true that he is not interested in making money out of art, he is always hap-py to get a bargain — before peace finally returns with the joy of adding another piece to the collection even if everyone had advised against it at

old, involved in a very difficult professional assignment of great respon-sibility and fraught with anxiety:

I was so worried that I could not sleep at night and or ever enjoy a moment of peace and quiet during the day. One day friend said, “Come with me around the art galleries one morning every fort-night. You need to take an interest in something completely differ-ent from your work.”

And so he soon became a frequent visitor to exhibitions and museums. Thirsting for knowledge, he began by buying not paintings but books, which became over the years a sort of aid to the images and stimulus for exciting new encounters. In the midst of catalogues, journals of the peri-od and monographs on the artists who interested him most, he inevitably laid the foundations for his Wunderkammer:

I spent the evenings and weekends poring over books in an attempt to identify the masterpieces I would have liked to make mine.

From that time on, he never knew a moment of discouragement by kept going straight towards his goal. Having begun to collect out of personal need, not exhibitionism, he has no interest in recounting the history of the renowned Novecento movement that Margherita Sarfatti created for “respect of the exact line […] the seriousness of a world that is solid-ly constructed and examined in its architectonic values […] the painting restored to its structural values of composition, decoration and perhaps discourse too […] taut tonalities, closed and contained, even dark and earthen […] a return to the solemn values of the classical traditions.”1 What fascinates Iannaccone is precisely the opposite, to recount slices of the life lived by the artists who were part of the “other” history from 1920 to 1945, the tale of “vague chiaroscuro effects of phosphorescent chromatic painting […] inebriated in its atmospheric rapture. The picture […] a vibrant and shining work of painting. Carefree, idyllic tonalities […] sudden expressive freedoms”.2 It is not the works of Sironi, Funi or Casorati that fire his imagination. As he has always stressed, they arouse his admiration when seen in museums but generate no more than a luke-warm personal interest. Thirsting for colour, he was instead fired by en-thusiasm for the expressive freedom, pictorial poetry and the emotion of artists like Scipione, Renato Birolli, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello and Alberto Ziveri, to name just a few:

Alongside the images championed by Sarfatti and Mussolini, where the people looked calm and confident, spending their summer holidays in swimming costumes with the family at the Italian sea-side, there was a group of artists who painted with no regard for

1 R. Giolli, “Cronache milanesi. La seconda mostra del Novecento italiano”, in Emporium, LXIX, 1929, p. 174.

2 Idem, Ibidem.

1. Felice Casorati, Silvana Cenni, 1922. Private collection

3. Fausto Pirandello, Tavolato sul mare, 1941. Milan, private collection

2. Cesare Maggi, Italica Gens, circa 1941. Livorno, Studio d’Arte dell’Ottocento

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6 G. Belli, “Una collezione per un museo”, in M. M. Lamberti (edited by), La Collezione Giovanardi. Capolavori della pittura italiana del ’900, exhibition catalogue (Trento, Palazzo delle Albere, 9 April – 15 November 1998), Milan: Electa, 1998, p. 12.

7 From an unpublished essay on art collecting in the third millennium sent to me via email for an opinion by the author Claudia Gianferrari.

8 Edmond and Jules Huot de Goncourt, French writers (Edmond: Nancy, 1822 – Champrosay 1896; Jules: Paris, 1830–70).

9 For the quotation on the Goncourts, see M. M. Lamberti, “Un collezionista e i suoi quadri”, in Eadem, La Collezione Giovanardi, cit., 1998.

All this for the precise purpose of offering the reader and the various stu-dents who come to the office to discover the secrets of the collection and the collector not only “a well-documented slice of Italy’s artistic life as seen from the special angle of the generous passion for collecting but also a great opportunity for reappraisal and reordering”.6 Before arriving in the collector’s safe hands, the new purchase is first handed over for framing to his friends Paolo and Massimo Romanò, who learned their trade in the shop from their father Antonio, to whom he entrusted his works person-ally in the early years. Made to measure entirely by hand, the frames are unique items that distinguish and draw attention to each work, a hallmark of the collection but never an obtrusive presence. The works of the thirties leave their workshop in Piazzale Susa to come home, to a place sought after for a long time as capable of housing them and of becoming “an ex-tension of the public exhibition channels, his private imaginary museum”,7 a place where the hanging of the works takes precedence over everything else. Placed alongside one another in an interplay of references that only a truly passionate and knowledgeable collector can discern and reconstruct, the canvases really seem to have found their home and create a unique atmosphere. To borrow a military metaphor from the Goncourts,8 a sol-dier can win a lot or lose a lot depending on who is at his side.9 During these twenty-four years of collecting in his present residence, Giuseppe Iannaccone has found the right company for every work, thus creating, as in a theatre of life, a precise mise-en-scène that existed in his mind as from his very first purchase, Aligi Sassu’s Nu au divan vert [Nude on a Green Couch] [W. NO. 76], the work with which it all began:

I found it extraordinary to think that during Fascism, when official art insisted on reassuring images like Achille Funi’s children in their mothers’ arms and Mario Sironi’s united families, there were brave artists who told the truth about what men actually did. They went to brothels to meet attractive young women like Aligi Sassu’s prostitute.

Step by step, a collection consisting solely of cherished works took shape on the walls of Iannaccone’s home. While always respecting the aesthetic canons of the homes of the art collectors of the early twentieth century, he has never hesitated over the years to revolutionize the furnishing, to move, replace and eliminate, to construct in the drawing-room and in every cor-ner of his home ad hoc spaces to accommodate and set off the warmth of his beloved canvases. When he bought Renato Birolli’s La nuova Ecumene [W. NO. 13] and then his I poeti [The Poets] [W. NO. 14] shortly afterwards, for ex-ample, he was determined that the two works should hang together:

Birolli regarded painting as something filtered through poetry and believed that the new painters had to use the magic of colour

first. Because it does also happen that someone tries to dissuade him, as in 2001 with Renato Birolli’s Il caos [Chaos] [W. NO. 15]. Both Professor Pontiggia and Professor Birolli advised him to let it go — “What do you need it for? You’ve already got the Maschere [Masks] [W. NO. 17] of the same period” — but he felt that it was his, he wanted it as a hunter wants his prey, and so he bought it. He then wrote to apologise to both of them for ignoring their advice and explained why on unimpeachable grounds:

You and Zeno advised me against buying Il caos [W. NO. 15] for iden-tical reason but, despite the great esteem I have for both of you, I simply couldn’t resist. Please don’t think I’m being presumptuous if I take the liberty of making some purely emotive comments on the work, which I have never been able to see as a painting in which the figure dissolves and therefore as an initial sign of abstraction in Birolli.

Zeno did not take long to reply: “How could I fail to be glad that you have rescued Il caos [W. NO. 15] from confusion? It is good — and right — that you should ask for advice while convinced from the outset of your own choices, which are solidly motivated by the idea of a history that cannot be erased, fashionable though this is. They are in any case less capricious than one might think.”The fact that I have been able to reconstruct this story is also due to the fact that one of the first things Giuseppe Iannaccone realized was cer-tainly the importance of research in order to do full justice to the works. I therefore began to compile files on every painting work in accordance with scholarly parameters. Almost obsessively adhering to order, as in a legal transaction, he insisted on a dossier for every work of art purchased containing a series of files making it possible to reconstruct its entire his-tory on paper: the correspondence between the collector and the various figures involved; the authentication; the colour photographs that we still preserve despite the advent of digital cameras (because a colour photo is a colour photo); the newspaper articles that we hunt down in a silent race to come first solely for the pleasure of seeing the other’s face on behold-ing the new discovery; the exhibitions at which the work has been shown; the studies carried out with the restorers; and finally the entire critical fortune of the work, or misfortune in some cases. An example of the latter is provided by Birolli’s Il caos [W. NO. 15], which Il Tevere included in 1938 in a list of works condemned by the Fascist regime, a sort of Italian counter-part of the Nazis’ Entartete Kunst or “degenerate art”4 [FIG. 4]: “Il Tevere of 24–25 November included a full-page attack on Jewish, Bolshevik art. The photographs show works by Carrà, De Chirico, Cagli (poor soul), Cingeri, Terragni, a few abstract artists and yours truly (Il caos). You should get yourself a copy and read the filth spewed out by these pox-ridden spies and arse bandits.”5

5. View of the collector’s library. Left: Studio per “La rissa” by Alberto Ziveri

4 “Tutto nulla e qualche cosa – straniera bolscevizzante e giudaica”, in Il Tevere, XVII, no. 23, Rome, 24–25 November 1938, p. 1.

5 Cfr. G. Marchiori, Z. Birolli, G. Bruno (edited by), Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July–August 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1963, p. 28.

4. Cover of Il Tevere, y. XVII, no. 23, Rome, 24–25 November 1938

6. View of the collector’s home with Renato Birolli’s I poeti in the foreground

http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/nancy/


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11 M. Bontempelli, La scacchiera davanti allo specchio, chapter 9; now in L. Baldacci (edited by), Massimo Bontempelli – Opere scelte, Milan: Mondadori, 1978, pp. 300−01.

12 M. Mafai, “In quel giardino con papà Mafai”, in Panorama, 23 January 1984, p. 68.

13 Meridiano di Roma, a. III, no. 20, Rome, 15 May 1938.

14 For the quotation from Guido Piovene see La raccolta Feroldi, 2nd edition, Milan: Edizione del Milione, 1947, p. 8.

so. While he dies in the world one day or another and his body disappears until the Day of Judgment, his image lasts in the space behind the mirror, I believe, eternally.”11 As when Professor Flavio Fergonzi visited the col-lection a few years ago and recognized in Mario Mafai’s Garofani bianchi con mammole [White Carnations and Sweet Violets] [W. NO. 50] a reference to Giorgio Morandi’s Fiori [Flowers], 1922 [FIG. 7], which the young artist had certainly had in mind. Hard though it may be to imagine for those who do not know him well, Giuseppe Iannaccone, who is not an academic, stands in awestruck contemplation before certain images. He is fully aware of what he sees in an instant and capable of glimpsing the quality of a painted canvas from a small photograph, tracing the course of its art-his-torical path in less than a minute with all the exhibitions and biennials. In no time at all, he is also able to date a canvas from the colours used, as in the case of a Mafai Self-Portrait with his companion of 1933 [W. NO. 49]. On seeing it for a moment in an auction catalogue at the office between one telephone call and another, he was able — like a detective on the lookout for love affairs — to recognize the similarity with a Self-Portrait [FIG. 8] painted by Renato Guttuso four years later of himself with his sophisticated and beloved Mimise. “A young painter with black eyes and a tall blonde lady who never left his side (a countess […] perhaps the niece of a pope […]).”12

This episode — which took place in 2013, after I had been working with him for over ten years — left me amazed as though it was the first time. I had no need to look in the general catalogue of Guttuso’s work to be sure that the painting obviously existed and that the figures took up the lyrical quality of the work by Mario Mafai, now recognized as a master. It was, however, odd to find a note written by Guttuso in 1938 that appears to refer to precisely this episode: “There is in the best a care and an effort to eliminate all the dross of preconceived language and enter a realm of freedom and power of the imagination that we regard as an exceptional prelude to what will remain in history of this period of great passion”.13 Mafai’s work, auctioned in a secondary market, entered the Iannaccone collection in 2013 and has been installed, in accordance with the col-lector’s wishes, close to works that his friend Renato Guttuso produced during his years in Rome. “There is almost a relationship of necessity between one painting and another, a sort of tense and vigilant kinship. This gives rise to a wholly necessary collection in which no painting is fortuitous or superfluous.”14 Just as the backs of the works are never for-tuitous or superfluous.

Faced with two paintings on the same support, I have never for a moment considered separating them. Artists, and especially great artists, do not paint on both sides of a panel by chance; there is always a connection between what they paint on one and what they paint on the other. These works should never be divided. If this is done some time over years, it is only for the financial reason of having two works to sell rather than one.

in order to create form too in some way. I believe that La nuova Ecumene [W. NO. 13] presents colour as the dominant element in the new painting while I poeti [W. NO. 14] says that this must be combined with poetry. I therefore see them as Birolli’s two manifestos on art.

This is why the collector, in his joy at being able to reunite the two paint-ings, decided to change everything round and devote the entire dining room to this artist. Professor Zeno Birolli was invited to dinner and wrote as follows the next day: “First of all, thank you for the splendid evening. A visit full of memories to the home of painted emotions makes it possible to see and understand how much care has been taken over everything. The result is the whole, which would never have been gathered together so well in other hands. And then the new painting with the still greater surprise of seeing it taken up and reflected in its brother by blood and conception. As though Castor and Pollux had entered your life as guardian divinities. The collection is soundly constructed because it reflects the sensitivity of a man that loves it.”10

Giuseppe Iannaccone would hang each painting on its own in order to en-sure its just appreciation, a utopian ideal that obviously proves impossi-ble for a collector with his thirst for works. Thus it is that they have grad-ually invaded every corner of the home and hang in two rows, one above the other, on the long walls of the bedroom and the hall. Despite this, the arrangement never loses its quality and never becomes chaotic, always re-flecting as a whole the two different sides of a single collection: the more lyrical, poetic and contemplative art of the early thirties and the greater rawness, realism, energy and vitality of the second half of the decade. An overhead spotlight is focused on each work so that it can be fully appreci-ated in every detail also in the evening, when the natural light that pours in through the large windows gives way to darkness.And in the dead of night, when Iannaccone cannot sleep, tormented by the idea that something in the meaning of his works escapes him, he gets up to check on them as a father does with his children, observing them in rig-orous silence. Thus it was with Scipione’s Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem] [W. NO. 81] in the main hall, where he looked in anguish for some sign of the celestial presence that he was sure lay hidden in the painting. I know him too well, he told me over and over, to believe he did not create a more intense presence transcending the prophet on horseback. He found it of course: a face in the middle of the sky turned into blood representing the Lord that Scipione beseeched with his hands joined in prayer to save his life.No choice is ever out of place and every image unleashes constant refer-ences, as in a mirror where “all the images of all the men, women and chil-dren who have looked into it are sheltered and preserved. When someone looks into a mirror and then goes away, he thinks that it all ends there. Not

10 Letter from the poet Zeno Birolli to Giuseppe Iannaccone, 20 June 2001.

7. Giorgio Morandi, Fiori, 1922. Milan, private collection

8. Renato Guttuso, Autoritratto con Mimise (Doppio ritratto), datable to 1937. Bari, R.V.G. collection


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Used by painters because they lacked the freedom and the means to buy canvases and paint, these supports conceal intimate secrets, as in the case of Guttuso’s Natura morta con garofani e frutta [Still Life with Carnations and Fruit] [W. NO. 36]. The barely sketched figure of a woman [W. NO.

36V] revealed on turning the roughly cut, industrially produced pasteboard through ninety degrees immediately reminded Iannaccone of the pose of Mimise in the portrait [W. NO. 37] in the collection of the artist’s heirs. Here too, his tenacity as a collector enabled him to convince them that the work belonged in his collection:

The fruit held by Mimise was terribly similar to the fruit in his still life. Only together could the works find peace and truly express the great passion of a man for his beloved.

The artist’s family agreed in the end of course, albeit at a steep price, as the painting is now part of the collection. “Whoever ‘possesses’ art — true art, the result and long and tormented effort — possesses a piece of the soul and the intellect of its creator, of the artist who, embarked on the arduous voyage of knowledge of the world, grasps the truth behind its ever-changing appearance, the vital palpitation beneath the most fantas-tic exterior. Believe it or not, there are many for whom art represents a strong and exclusive bond of involvement with the essence of the life, its understanding and its complexity.”15

In the case of Giuseppe Iannaccone, I can think of three exclusive bonds: the first with Renato Birolli, the second with Scipione and the third with Arnaldo Badodi. With taste, passion, sensitivity and intelligence, he has gathered together many works by each of these three artists and I am ready to bet that he would strike again if only some heir, not too enam-oured of his or her legacy, would yield to his blandishments. Though very different from one another — Birolli a Veronese transplanted in Milan, visionary and poetic; the Roman Scipione with his great insight into the least avowable passions and instincts; and Badodi of the Corrente move-ment, who endowed whores too with dignity − they encapsulate the spirit of the collection and the indissoluble relationship, “like two sides of the same coin”, between the personality of the collector and the sensibility of his artists and their works.The collection and the collector address life, albeit with the difficulties that all of us encounter every day, with a positive spirit capable of help-ing others to embrace their human condition with dignity. “Scipione, our contemporary, is already equal to our pride. He will provide posterity with the greatest good humour. And people that can raise a smile despite everything are above all criticism. Just think, you scoundrels, that we Italians could do great things because we have suffered more from the crises of Europe than anyone else.”16 All the artists collected by Giuseppe Iannaccone suffer the crises of existence but decide nevertheless to speak

17 Diario: 1926-1965 Mario Mafai, introduction by G. Appella, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, p. 45.

18 C. Maltese, Storia dell’arte in Italia 1785-1943, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 387.

of the “little joys” of ordinary life, to describe the human condition be-tween private vices and public virtues or forebodings of hard times, ad-dressing subjects that may appear always the same to a superficial eye, often obsessively recurrent, but reveal breaks with “tradition” from time to time.In the case of landscape, for example, the collection reveals boundless love for the artists of the School of Via Cavour: their views of an increas-ingly visionary Rome, the Tiber and the Colosseum as seen from the ter-race of their apartment in colours that seem to catch fire. Iannaccone began with the purchase in 1993 of Mario Mafai’s Strada con casa rossa [Street with Red House], 1928 [W. NO. 46], which for him does not represent just a landscape, as the presence of man with all his warmth and human-ity is perceived immediately within it. Its pendant is the Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba [Arch of Septimius Severus at Dawn] [W. NO. 64] by his wife Antonietta Raphaël. “A porter, a soldier and a policeman were looking at the painting with close attention. She turned to speak to them a bit like a school mistress. The porter praised the small landscape warmly, admiring its beauty and the originality of the procedure and the style. He pointed out to the policeman and the soldier that all the other painters always did the arch first in front and then the background, whereas she instead be-gan with the trees behind and ended with the things in front.”17

For a long time the only woman artist in the collection, Raphaël fascinates Iannaccone for her ability to influence the artists close to her, like her husband Mafai and his eternal friend Scipione, through her curiosity and her absolutely unconventional nature. Her use of colour is unique. With the red of passion cutting through the horizon and the round domes of the churches, she seems to offer us the image of a Rome free from any kind of superfluous reality and any anchorage, like a world back-to-front.In addition to landscape, there is portraiture, a genre greatly cherished in the collection and one capable with its many facets of opening up interesting comparisons between the paintings of the intellectuals, friends, lovers and poets who posed for the artists. Perceptible in the portraits is the serenity with which they lived their lives in Milan, Rome and Turin, interwoven in a mysterious atmosphere, and addressed the changes that were transforming Italy. “Implicit in these further refer-ences to Europe was a new morality, a new principle of freedom and rebellion that coincided perfectly with what was happening or about to happen in Turin and Milan.”18 Even though, as Guttuso observed, “the painting in Rome was different from what they were doing in Milan”, Giuseppe Iannaccone likes to shuffle the deck of cards and is therefore unhesitatingly ready to place Guttuso’s Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo [Portrait of Antonino Santangelo] [W. NO. 41] alongside Birolli’s Signora col cappello [Lady in a Hat] [W. NO. 19], which is set off so well by Francesco Menzio’s Ritratto di giovane [Portrait of a Young Man] [W. NO. 52], all to-gether with the splendid portrait by Ottone Rosai [W. NO. 69]:

15 For the quotation from Gabriella Belli see “Anima e intelletto di un collezionista d’arte moderna”, in Maestri del ‘900: da Boccioni a Fontana – La collezione di un raffinato cultore dell’arte moderna, Milan: Skira, 2007, p. 15.

16 G. Marchiori, Birolli, Edizioni di Comunità, Quaderni d’arte e d’architettura moderna, edited by Z. Birolli, F. Bruno. Published on the occasion of the exhibition Renato Birolli 1931–1959, organized by the Verona Municipality at the Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July–August 1963, p. 27.

19 For the quotation about cafés see E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 41.

20 R. Guttuso, Per l’amico Aligi Sassu, in ricordo degli “anni trenta”, in Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria delle Ore, 1959), 1959.


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A work related to the loss of his father, sick with cancer and burdened by debits, who drowned himself in the Arno and left a great void in the artist’s life, depriving him of his truest friend and support.

In addition to portraits of individuals, there are also groups of figures, as in Badodi’s café scenes [W. NO. 4] and Fausto Pirandello’s Spiaggia [Beach] [W.

NO. 60] as well as more recent acquisitions like Alberto Ziveri’s Il postribolo [The Bawdy House] [W. NO. 96] and Emilio Vedova’s Il caffeuccio veneziano [Venetian Café] [W. NO. 92]. The latter was purchased at 7.30 in the morning, as its owners were leaving Milan for six months and Giuseppe Iannaccone could not wait. He needed that masterpiece to complete the set of group scenes he had built up over the years, works that really tell us what was happening then. The places of discussion and formation were no longer the overly institutionalized academies and schools but the cafés [FIG. 9], which “took on a role of rational opposition to the official tradition, frequented by the angry young men of Milan, eager to open the windows and let light pierce the gloom of the Novecento movement”.19 Places of intellectual growth for artists like Guttuso, who recalled “long discussions of Sassu, Manzù and Birolli with Persico and our friends from the Milione gallery. We talked about Kandinsky and Vardemberger-Gildewart, Neoplasticism and Constructivism, theses that we already clearly rejected in favour of anti-formal and humanistic — if not indeed content-based — principles […] Birolli cooked his doves and green domes, his bishops and suburban taxis, his Van Gogh and Ensor, on the romantic fire of the post-expres-sionist sunset. Sassu attacked the world of contemporary content with all his vibrant, youthful impertinence, mixing myths and presences, ancient history and images of current urban events, in the same solitary ardour.”20

These discussions led the artists to produce works developing a more symbolic and literary approach to still life, which Iannaccone collects be-cause he sees in them an allegory of the life. Guttuso thus

closes the window on the darkness and sadness of life to create a blaze inside that is nothing other than the yearning for a new Italy breaking away from the order and solitude of Morandi. I feel clos-er to reflections on everyday life than the prolonged solitude that Morandi represents through the dust on his perfect bottles. The bottles in Guttuso’s word are instead untidy because life “is not in-tact, not perfect. Life is made up of broken necks and failures that must drive you to construct perfect bottles and therefore to begin anew all over again.”

This is the reality of things that Giuseppe Iannaccone has decided to tell, gathering together just some artists and excluding others:

so as to have a clear idea of a throbbing humanity, a true humani-ty of citizens of this country awaiting better times; better times in

social and — why not? — also in political terms, but first and fore-most a life of freedom that did not exist.

In building up the entire collection, which today comprises ninety-six works, he has focused not only on big names like Birolli, Scipione, Vedova, Mafai and Guttuso but also on lesser-known masters, reconstructing the Italian expressionism of those years through canvases of the Six Painters of Turin and the Chiarismo movement of Lombardy, and illustrating the Corrente movement with works by Migneco and Broggini. Nor has he over-looked artists belonging to no group but developing their own brand of reflective realism, like Filippo De Pisis and Ottone Rosai. As Iannaccone insists, the collection is still in progress, even though he will never reveal the works he still wants to buy:

because I would obviously lose them. And then there is the possibil-ity of chance bringing me face to face with paintings or sculptures that I cannot even imagine right now.

There are also masterpieces that he failed to obtain but are imprinted so indelibly on his memory that we still find ourselves talking about them today, whereupon I see a haze of longing in his eyes. Examples include Mafai’s Piazza Mignanelli (1942 [FIG. 12]), sold on 3 June 1993 at a Finarte auction that he was unable to attend due to an office dinner arranged on the same day at the Ribot restaurant in Milan, and his Demolizioni [Demolitions], 1936 [FIG. 10]. Pinottini, the owner of the Galleria Narciso in Turin, came to the office with blurred photo of the latter but with-drew the offer on seeing Iannaccone’s hesitation and nothing came of it. Not to mention Scipione’s splendid Natura morta con beccaccini [Still Life with Snipes], 1930 [FIG. 11], which a “stray dealer” offered him in 1998. Unfortunately, having just bought the finest portrait of Santangelo [W. NO. 41] in circulation and a landscape by Scipione [W. NO. 78], he had no more money for another work.

With the benefit of hindsight I would certainly have gone into debt gladly, but I was inexperienced. I was already unable to sleep at night and had a family to look after.

The pain of these missed opportunities is, however, assuaged by the joy of the coups pulled off, like the stroke of luck that arrived on 30 November 2016, when the catalogue was just going to press, and threw everything into disarray. At 22.25, after a day of no little tension and anxiety at the thought of letting slip the, not a Tullio Garbari [W. NO. 35], Iannaccone informed Professor Pontiggia by e-mail that the masterpiece was his: “Mission accomplished!” She replied at dawn the following day: “I knew it. Della Ragione phoned me this morning green with envy.” These are

10. Mario Mafai, Demolizioni, 1936

11. Scipione, Natura morta con beccaccini, 1930. Turin, private collection

9. Amerigo Bartoli, Gli amici al caffè, 1930. Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna e ContemporaneaFrom the left: Emilio Cecchi, Vincenzo Cardarelli, Carlo Socrate, Ardengo Soffici, Antonio Baldini, Pasqualina Spadini, Giuseppe Ungaretti, Mario Broglio (seen from behind), the waiter Malatesta, Armando Ferri, Quirino Ruggeri, Roberto Longhi, Riccardo Francalancia, Amerigo Bartoli, Aurelio Saffi and Bruno Barilli

12. Mario Mafai, Piazza Mignanelli, 1942.Private collection


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episodes that give Iannaccone hope of gems still to be had and encourage him never to despair. As in the case of a drawing [FIG. 13] that Scipione gave at the end of his short life to his friend Mafai is a treasure for Iannaccone worth more than any slit canvas by Lucio Fontana or still life by George Morandi in circulation. Scipione wrote as follows to Enrico Falqui [FIG. 14] on 4 December 1932: “On completing this drawing, I realized that their crossed arms form a W, the sign for Viva. How spontaneous and pho-tographic the expression of that sentiment is. I do not know whether a science of the birth and graphic meaning of signs exists. The M sign for Down with makes to visualize two figures wrestling.” He wrote to his friend Mario Mafai on the same day to tell him about the drawing and its very personal meaning for him (“they are two men shouting”) and then again on 21 December to say that the drawing was to be his. Like Scipione, Giuseppe Iannaccone holds friendship sacred:

It is one of the beautiful things in life and Scipione glorifies it spon-taneously, in a very simple and absolutely non-rhetorical way. This is why I feel so close to him.

I believe that this is why, even though there are no fewer than four historic drawings by Scipione in the collection, Iannaccone would not hesitate for a moment to buy the fifth, if we could only find out where it has ended up. While it is true that he never has any qualms about adding a piece to the collection, he certainly does about exchanging or selling works. The anguish is so great that it keeps him awake at night and he always asks for advice. I found a letter from Zeno Birolli in the archives of the collection, written on the back of a postcard showing the marble quarries of Carrara, where he seems to be telling Iannaccone that cuts are sometimes indis-pensable: “I have thought over your question about the Novecento paint-ers and since a good collection of paintings, like everything that is truly loved, should not be hurried, I would leave room for direct experience. What might happen if a Birolli, a Guttuso, a Morlotti, a De Pisis, a Badodi were to arrive? Clarity is born out of your good root and the gardener will be happy about your necessary pruning.” In any case, such “pruning” has been very rare over the years and often performed in silence out of gen-erosity alone, as in the case of the painting by Arnaldo Badodi, who left to fight in the war at the age of thirty and never returned. In 1996, at the presentation in Rome of the book on the artist by Marco Falciano — with whom Iannaccone collaborated enthusiastically, having already many of the artist’s works in his collection even at the beginning — Badodi’s family asked him to sell them a painting because they did not have even one. He let them have, for the same price as he had paid, the splendid Cappuccetto rosso [Little Red Riding Hood], 1939 [FIG. 15], “an isolated subject in the work of Badodi, who looked in search of a vocabulary in line with his ex-pressive needs to the example of more mature painters and in particular

21 See the description of Arnaldo Badodi’s Cappuccetto Rosso in M. Falciano (edited by), Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995.

to the anxious and weary expressionism of Birolli, which he surpassed in his immediacy and spontaneity.”21 On observing the painting, I think that this was madness and that the gesture cost him a great deal. He did indeed tell me in one of our conversations that he regretted having sold it, and I am sure that he only did so because he felt sorry that the artist’s family should have none of his paintings. This is what I have learned by being at his side over all these years. I have learned what “beauty” means in art and, more importantly, I have learned the “art of living”. I have learned that you must trust your instincts and always give priority to the quality of things. I have learned that every decision must be carefully considered and then, once taken, defended with all your might, never surrendering. It is thanks to Giuseppe Iannaccone that since the first day when I saw his collection, I have never for a single moment stopped studying it, loving it and appreciating every aspect of the history of art and contemporary culture. I have been able to grow and to see the collection growing from a privileged vantage point, appreciating it in every detail and becoming what I am today thanks to his enormous patience, his always measured tones, never aggressive or offensive, and his generosity of thought.These are all characteristics I have experienced in his everyday actions and that manifest themselves also in his decisions regarding the collec-tion. A few years ago, on being asked for the loan of two of his best-loved works, free of charge, for the opening of the Museo del Novecento in Milan, he did not hesitate to say yes despite the anguish he felt at being separated from them. When he is asked to lend works for major public exhibitions lasting no more than two or three months, I know that he is flattered but also that it is agony every time. It matters little that they are insured. Money comes and goes but works never return and he would never forgive himself if anything should happen to them. For all his mis-givings whenever faced with a form authorizing the transporters to take a work away, he always signs, knowing how fortunate he is to have been able to collect these works, fully aware that they belong to everyone and that it is not right for him to be the only one to enjoy them. Then of course, once the works have set off on their journey, he never misses an opportunity to ask me when they will be coming back.

13. Scipione, Uomini che gridano, after Psalm 129 for Mario Mafai. Location unknown

15. Arnaldo Badodi, Bambino in rosso (Cappuccetto rosso), 1939. Private collection

14. Letter from Scipione to Enrico Falqui, 4 December 1932

ESSAYS

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Historians have addressed the Italian art of the period from the end of World War I to the fall of Fascism in earnest at least since 1960, when Corrado Maltese’s Storia dell’arte in Italia 1875-1943 asserted the inde-pendence and value of some individuals and groups despite the perva-sive cultural climate of Fascist Italy. The painting and sculpture of the interwar years came back into fashion above all in the late seventies in concomitance with renewed interest on the part of young artists in traditional techniques and genres. The new drive for figuration saw a convergence of themes like corporality (over a span stretching from gel-id neoclassicism to expressionist distortion) and autobiography, also in the most unseemly and instinctual terms. The result was an authentic revolution in taste. The art of the twenties and thirties was featured in retrospective, thematic and monographic exhibitions, strenuous ef-forts of scholarship led to the reappraisal of long-neglected artists and movements, and this new attention was reflected in the trends of the art market and collecting.Giuseppe Iannaccone’s collection is rooted in this episode of cultural revaluation: the art of the interwar years as seen from the post-1980 critical viewpoint. This period, spanning the late seventies, the eighties and part of the nineties, is still too close to us for analytical reconstruc-tion of its dialogue between the work of young artists, revival of visual fashions and orientations in taste.What I shall instead try to offer here is a backdrop for those interest-ed in reconstructing, even in summary terms, the context in which the works of the collection were executed in the twenties and thirties. This is based on a series of texts exemplifying critical positions that slightly precede and then run parallel to the paintings, first and foremost be-cause the artists who produced them were certainly well aware of these views. There is, however, also a further historical consideration, namely the fact that the texts discussed were rediscovered, reprinted, critically addressed and fully understood only in the years in which the collection was formed.

1. The aura of the museum: Raphael The end of World War I was followed by the centenaries of great Italians like Leonardo da Vinci (1919), Raphael (1920) and Dante (1921). The cel-ebration of these secular patron saints of the nation prompted consid-eration of the idea of the new Italy emerging from the victory of 1918,

Twelve Critical Themes for Italian Art between the Two World Wars

flavio fergonzi

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TWELVE CRITICAL THEMES FOR ITALIAN ART BETWEEN THE TWO WORLD WARSFLAVIO FERGONZI

is displayed. What Thucydides said of the Athenians can be said of Raphael: “They produced the best works with a certain noncha-lance.” Nonchalance, not negligence.

Ojetti presented a group of artists of different ages and backgrounds, ranging from Gola and Bistolfi to Casorati and Maraini, the following year in the Galleria Pesaro, Milan’s leading private gallery. In his intro-duction to the catalogue, he speaks of respecting their jumbled need for masters of tradition: “This sculptor bows down before Jacopo della Quercia, that one before the Romanesque masters. One looks to Bernini and another perhaps to Canova, without admitting it. This painter looks to Piero della Francesca, that one to Fra Angelico, if only for a land-scape, and other fearlessly to Raphael.” The essential thing, he affirms, is for modern art to rediscover the iron rules of the academy. Above all, painting must have the “weight” of sculpture (U. Ojetti, Arte Italiana Contemporanea, Galleria Pesaro, Milan, October–November 1921, p. 7):

Free young people are now aware of the extent to which freedom is made up of discipline and indeed obedience; how much of ev-er-changing reality can enter into lasting truth; and what the style is whereby man imposes his will on the fleeting appearances and hours. But this is how it is. They again feel that the life of a paint-ing lies in its composition, in the balance and development of its lines and weights rather than the harmony and sweetness or bold-ness of its colours, tones and reflections; in its backbone as much as its skin; in short, that a painting must have weight, like a stat-ue, to the eye.

2. The drive for a definitive present Margherita Grassini, the wife of Cesare Sarfatti and a champion of the best energies of modern Italian art for two decades, was able to fight her battle from a privileged position in the twenties. Since 1916 she had been the mistress and most influential adviser of Benito Mussolini, who had in turn been the prime minister and Fascist Duce since 1922. While her goal was to regain the national primacy lost after the sixteenth century, she did not, unlike Ojetti, regard the rift with the avant-garde movements as useless but rather as a wound to be healed. For her, the painting and sculpture that had jettisoned nineteenth-century realism were waging a war in which Futurism constituted a crucial episode. If there was a common denominator of the seven painters she gathered to-gether under the ambitious banner of Novecento Italiano (Mario Sironi and Achille Funi being the most important), it was the effort made by the generation that had fought in the war to keep alive the values assert-ed by the courageous Futurists of 1910. This is how Margherita Sarfatti (Segni, colori e luci, Bologna, 1925, p. 126) explained her idea in 1925,

but in far cruder terms than had happened with the commemorations of the period after unification. While Leonardo’s centenary had no impact at all on the world of modern art (the divorce of art science having long been consummated and the pictorial expression of the motions of the mind being regarded as outmoded), Raphael’s marked a crucial turning point. The vociferous generation that mocked him (with Ardengo Soffici preferring the sign of a water melon seller to the Marriage of the Virgin) had given way to one ready to take him into account. Ugo Ojetti, art critic of the newspaper Corriere della Sera and a power-ful, highly respected arbiter of bourgeois taste, which he steered in an anti-Impressionist and anti-avant-garde direction, felt that his moment had arrived, that the new circumstances established his credit also with the young, formerly firebrands and now firemen. To celebrate the fourth centenary of Raphael’s death he went so far as to draw the attention of modern artists to some precepts to be drawn “from the immense work and short life of Raffaello Sanzio”. What is so shocking is not only the glorification of pre-Fascist values such as obedience, virility, the sense of hierarchy and the primacy of technical knowledge and architecture, reversing the topoi of the anti-academic cult of youth of the newly end-ed decade, but also and above all the tone. A critic laying down the law to painters, and in such peremptory, aphoristic terms, was something wholly unprecedented in Italy (U. Ojetti, “Raffaello”, in Corriere della Sera, 13 May 1920, p. 3):

The artist is a man of order. He will not countenance waste and revolt. In a painting, what is useless is harmful. With as little as possible, you obtain as much as possible. Greatness is simplicity. Even minute details can be precious, however. Consider the gleam of the fingernails in the Madonna del Granduca and the lights in the hair in the portrait of Bindo Altoviti.

On beholding the School of Athens, Expulsion of Heliodorus or St Paul Preaching, you will realize that you have three things in a painting to place in proportion to one another and to the whole: the volumes of the bodies and objects you represent; the spaces they occupy and therefore the spaces left vacant; the chiaroscuro and the colours serving to fill both spaces.

Only through architectural drawing will you realize that perspec-tive is the mother of colour: a mother that first contains and al-most conceals it in herself; then creates and frees it, giving it voice and breath; and finally teaches it to be well-behaved and respect its neighbours.

The work of art must not reveal the artist’s efforts. With it, the art-ist must show that his skill and ability are still greater than what

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machinery of the sixteenth century — could serve in painting to deter-mine a fracture of sense conjuring up an elsewhere with metaphysical overtones (M. Bontempelli, “Analogie”, in 900, summer 1927):

The sixteenth-century painter was fully and exclusively interested in the real world painted by him, whereas the fifteenth-century painter presented this as a disturbing mask for his more secret interest. The greater the weight and solidity he gave to matter, the more importance he attached to suggesting that his deepest love was for something else around or above it. The greater the dil-igence and perfection with which his hand served the three dimen-sions, the more his mind vibrated elsewhere. The more faithful and protective he felt towards nature, the better he succeeded in isolating it by enveloping it in ideas set on the supernatural.Hence the amazement, the expression of magic, the true protago-nist of that fifteenth-century painting. Hence those atmospheres under tension, still more precise and vibrant than the forms of the matter represented.

Pre-classical rigidity and hyper-realistic concentration can therefore coexist and strengthen one another. The example initially used as a pictorial and critical yardstick was a recently reappraised artist of the Quattrocento called Piero della Francesca, whose impassive monumen-tality and visual objectivity offered a sure guide for modern painters. Roberto Longhi, the most intelligent art critic of the time, established Piero as a paradigm of quality and a test of the formalist principles in which he firmly believed. He was well aware, however, that the painter’s greatness lay in his ability to produce a pictorial plane capable of sug-gesting space solely through colour and not in the slightly uncanny aura that a modern eye may discern in his subjects and style (R. Longhi, Piero della Francesca, Rome, 1927, p. 23):

There is thus no contrast between man and his circumstances, and this sovereign pacification appears to stem precisely from the pro-portional perfection of the spaces that seamlessly meld figure and landscape, near and far, in the liquid solemnity of noonday light. The contour of the people and things is reduced to a simple outline that disappears as such when, through a mysterious process of “metromancy”, the volumes join with one another and each of the nearby shapes is assigned its vast colour, then harmonized by the unit of natural light. A vision of such limpidity, a chromatic spectacle of such breadth, where nature is allied with man on an equal footing, where every earthly event takes place not in hierarchical and ultimately theo-cratic subordination but in a supremely spectacular state of calm, had never been seen before amongst us.

the year after the XIV Venice Biennial based on a now mature line of Italian classicism:

This painting of today has many great merits. Scrupulously con-scientious, honest (or at least making an effort to hide any charla-tanism), carefully considered (or making an effort to appear so), decorative (or making an effort to become so). Effort is its law and effort its pathos. It has not arrived at the point where effort disap-pears, where skill is so assured as to seem non-existent. For these avant-garde painters of ours, painting is not yet a means but still a terribly present end.

The key word is effort, the very opposite of Ojetti’s beloved noncha-lance. In 1926, on organizing the first Novecento Italiano exhibition, with the initial seven as the core of a group that was stylistically inco-herent but significant in terms of age, Sarfatti addressed the question of a style, something not overly characterized but marking an era in a certain sense: “an art that seems to be for everyone and is essentially for the best, because everyone can understand its simple, descriptive, non-hermetic aspects”). Her attempt on the same occasion to list some of its characteristics resulted in a generic formula where she struggled to pin down the “family resemblance” of those who appeared to identify with the collective ideal Fascist Italy (M. Sarfatti, “Alcune considerazio-ni intorno alla I Mostra del Novecento Italiano”, in Il Novecento Italiano, 1, Milan, spring 1926, n.p.):

Precise in sign, decided in colour, resolute in form; deep and sober feeling pared down through meditation, elimination and study, a striving for the concrete, simple and definitive: these are the common features, the family resemblance, of this generation of artists, who seek to give a physiognomy and an imprint — i.e. a collective ideal on which to converge, a line and a style — to the art, the life and the moral, aesthetic and emotional needs of our time.

3. Objectivity and amazementThe second half of the twenties saw a revival of figure painting. As many understood, the reality represented was not the painter’s ultimate goal but a tool capable of expressing a wholly modern anxiety metaphori-cally. A former Futurist and then a theorist of “magical realism” as the only art in keeping with the cultural condition of the post-war period, the writer Massimo Bontempelli offered an effective account of this ep-isode and identified the stylistically precise model of fifteenth-century painting as the only one capable of combining objectivity and defamil-iarization. He sensed that archaism — and hence a style at variance both with nineteenth-century optical realism and with the great academic

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attempt to define a series of possible identities for Fascist art in 1928, Ardengo Soffici addressed the slippery question of national character, narrowing the field from “religious” to “Catholic”. According to Soffici, “Catholic art” meant moral rigour as opposed to imagination, balance as opposed to imbalance, and therefore the very opposite of the lyri-cism cherished by Venturi (A. Soffici, “Arte fascista”, in Periplo dell’Arte, Florence, 1928, p. 139):

Fascist art must be animated by religious feeling, spiritual auster-ity. And since religion in Italy means Catholicism, Fascist art must reflect what is the essence of Catholicism, i.e. greatness, moral nobility, beauty of form, balance and measure in artistic expres-sion and construction. Art that is based instead on materialism, chromatic sensuality and rationalism, and reflects poverty of vi-sion and invention, baseness of concepts and senses, immorality of form or essence, ugliness of shape, imbalance and expressive or tectonic exaggeration of a bestial nature is therefore to be defined as non-Fascist.

According to Soffici, there is an Italian classicality of an intimately religious nature that has no need of reference to the museum in order to manifest itself because it is intrinsic to the rigour and severity of the heritage of painting. An example can be provided by an isolated artist like Giorgio Morandi, who paints only landscapes and still lifes, the genres on the lowest rungs of the ladder. In his paintings, Soffici writes (A. Soffici, “Giorgio Morandi”, in L’Italiano, VII, 10, March 1932):

substantial truth, absolute sincerity and a normal and therefore human vision of poetic reality burst forth to animate the frame-works prepared by will and science. The result is a perfect artistic organism, full and vital, and therefore of exemplary and classical nature. And by this I mean classical in the Italian sense: real and ideal, objective and subjective and traditional all at once.

5. A question of youthThe generation of artists born just before or around 1910, including Renato Birolli, Aligi Sassu and Giacomo Manzù, was the first to op-pose the distasteful academicism that dominated all through the twen-ties. It took a different view of the nineteenth century, looked to the École de Paris and had some Italian models of reference (the delicate disorientation of Modigliani above all but also the brutal and archaic naiveté of Ottone Rosai and the ironic narratives of Arturo Martini). It displayed a discontent that manifested itself in almost melancholy irreverence: light colours and simple, slightly childish draughtsman-ship instead of the constructed machinery of Novecento. The first to

With its insistence on the role of noonday light and impassioned ob-servations on the relationship between space and figure, Longhi’s text was become prompt some painters, especially Romans like Capogrossi, Cagli, Cavalli and Ziveri, to develop a suspended, timeless form of art, a flight from the here and now that masked their evident unhappiness with the present.

4. Universal religiosity, Fascist Catholicism A return to figure painting aimed at the museum appeared anti-histor-ical to those in the Italy of the twenties who possessed a sliver of criti-cal awareness or simply taste, not least because the results were often embarrassing. The works shown in the major exhibitions display great clumsiness as well as evident insincerity. Lionello Venturi, who taught art history in Turin and believed in the continuity of the Impressionist revolution, stated clearly that it was the very genre of figure painting that created too many problems for the modern painter: “We have lost the requisite naiveté with respect to our fellow man. Our attitude takes on the character of a struggle.” For him, salvation lay in landscape, a genre still widely practiced by painters in the twenties but much maligned in the critical debate of the time as belonging to the northern tradition, overly retinal and overly subjec-tive; in short, not Italian enough. Venturi instead saw landscape as the only subject in which the painter could manifest religious feeling in the modern sense (L. Venturi, “Il paesaggio. Un problema alla mostra del Novecento”, in Il Secolo, 2 March 1926, p. 3):

The origin of the art of landscape is to be sought simply in Christian feeling, in the Christian need to understand the boundlessness of God. And precisely because its origin lies in Christian feeling, landscape painting is necessary to us. It enables us to capture in the roof of a dilapidated house, a withered tree trunk, a mass of foliage, an expanse of water, a clear sky, our desire for abandon-ment, love, disinterestedness and striving towards everything that is outside us but includes us too because it is the cosmos, the uni-verse, which we refer to in a low voice out of courtesy but which rules over us.

Venturi had argued that lyrical authenticity can coincide with a sort of religious inspiration in his most successful and widely discussed book of the decade, Il gusto dei primitivi. It was against this authenticity, he claimed, that the values of modern art were to be measured. The land-scape he had in mind was that of Cézanne and post-Cézanne art, and the recent models he put forward were all from Paris. A different and far more specific sense of religious feeling was, howev-er, called into question for modern Italian art in the same period. In an

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the twenties, was hailed as the driving force of pictorial invention in a private piece of writing by Scipione (Gino Bonichi), a Roman painter who drew both on the most visionary of seventeenth-century art and the most caustic contemporary works. El Greco, on whom Scipione’s attention focused, had been discovered at the beginning of the centu-ry, when his daring volumetric syntheses and unconventional handling of colour found admirers. Now he was instead seen as the champion of a unveiled spirituality, an artist who listened to the motions of his mind, driven by irresistible emotional pressure to break the classical rules (Scipione, “Sulla pittura del Greco” [1930], in E. Falqui (edited by), Carte segrete, Florence, 1943, p. 25):

El Greco is a visionary. He disturbs the mind with his painting, fills churches with religious nightmares, conjures up images and transfigures them through transposition to an unreal plane, paint-ing everything present in the work with the same intensity. His fig-ures are spectres that materialize with terrible tactile reality. The intangible beauty of divine figures is transformed and corrupted as a warning to people, to tell them that they are killing divine beauty with their vices and that the pain suffered for humanity disfigures their faces. Having started from the Italian and Venetian school, following in the footsteps of the great, he slowly brought about the greatest revolution that has ever happened in the artistic sense, turning the classical canons of composition upside-down in the paint-ing. In this sense, he can truly be regarded as the first modern artist. He eliminates the balance of mass and the rhythm of com-position, thus destroying the sense of harmony. Everything is unbalanced and disrupted because what matters is content. The figures are seen and revealed in human actuality and not for pur-poses of giving pleasure but only to reveal. And the intensity of vision is so strong that in order to drive out and destroy those established compositional practices, he repeats things over and over again until the graceful, the cerebral and the aesthetic sense all disappear.

When the young artists reflected not on content but on vocabulary, the question of alternative models became still more pressing. Gigi Chessa, a painter from Turin and pupil of Felice Casorati, was struck by the paintings of Modigliani recently bought by the Turinese industrialist Riccardo Gualino. What he liked in Modigliani were the formal contra-dictions and discontinuities (G. Chessa, “Per Amedeo Modigliani”, in L’Arte, XXXIII [n.s. I], 1, 1930, p. 39). He saw that the painter was in-terested in “not losing the single plane of the surface of the canvas” in search of “an impersonal and abstract” form. As he observed, howev-er, “the very stroke that outlines and delineates everything is the very

speak of this was Edoardo Persico, a Neapolitan who arrived in Milan via Turin in 1929 as director of a gallery outside the mainstream. He drew attention in his journalistic writings to the bohemian pride of those young people: “There is always conscious austerity in the nooks and crannies of their poverty. Far away from everyone, they live in these garrets with a stubbornness that presupposes a neither common nor mediocre ideal. They owe nothing to anybody. The instinct of pov-erty has saved them from compromise and corruption.” (E. Persico, “Via Solferino”, in L’Ambrosiano, 9 September 1931, p. 3). Above all, he identified a new authenticity of vision that is primarily existential rather than stylistic. As in the Milan of the Scapigliatura movement and the Florence of La Voce and Lacerba, there was a place where these artists gathered, not the studio, mythicized in the twenties as the magical fountainhead of visions, but the café. There, listening to their conversation, you real-ize that a “question of youth” is taking shape in Italy (E. Persico, “Il mokador”, [1931], in Scritti critici e polemici, Milan, 1947, p. 151):

For the first time we have picked up the elements of a new and still uncertain aesthetic in the words of young painters, all flames and fury but expressed by this Italian determination never to say die, this presentiment of sunset and frenzy to assert the birth of a new mankind. These painters respond to the defence of the religion of art with the apology of religion itself, to the search for poetry with striving for the epic, to the joy of the inspiration with the rules of the craft. A terrible crusade of innocents. What remains of these flames and fury? A new painting, a new content of Italian art, a new stance with respect to the problems of the time. It can be be-lieved that the improvisation of many painters is about to be con-demned forever in the work of the young, that the off-handedness and ability of too many gifted people will soon be seen for what it really is: an aspect of the lack of faith, a side of the irreparable decay of a civilization of indifference forced into expedients of action. What then does the indifference of people matter? The hostility of ringleaders? The opposition of critics? Today, in Italy, young people finally exist.

6. Different models Giotto and Masaccio, Paolo Uccello and Piero della Francesca, Egyptian sculpture and Etruscan ceramics, Romanesque and pre-Phid-ian reliefs were the primary points of literal or ideal reference during the third decade, all asserting the primacy of impersonality and pure form. Things changed, however, around and after 1930, when a grow-ing number of artists came to see these values as a prison curbing the imagination, stifling confession, limiting freedom and inhibiting sen-suality. Content, a word barely tolerated in the artistic discussion of

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Architecture has the floor today. For all artists, this mother of the arts has the task of bringing a new passion for constructed space, or-der, measure and proportion back into the arena of the plastic arts. Our mechanical civilization has taught us the value of geometric splendour, aerial life and new vertical perspectives. The right an-gle is the symbol of equilibrium between horizontal matter and vertical spirit. Surfaces are thus animated with contours inde-pendent of the chromatic and tonal planes, and the formal element intervenes with the evocative power of chiaroscuro that is auton-omous, i.e. understood not in its deceptive perspective of volume but as constructive plastic volume, to oppose and break down anything overly geometric that might remain and humanize the abstract language of architectonic surfaces. The plastic eloquence of this process intensifies the expressive meaning of the subject.

The most important document written on the relationship between paint-ing and architecture is the manifesto of wall painting signed at the end of 1933 by Sironi, Funi, Campigli and Carrà. In order to make “social paint-ing” and “Fascist art” wholly equivalent, inspiration for an art that is col-lective and virile was to be sought in the rigour of the laws of architecture (“Manifesto della pittura murale”, in Colonna, December 1933, p. 11):

Wall painting is the epitome of social painting. It works on the public imagination more directly than any other form of painting and inspires the minor arts more directly. The present-day rebirth of wall painting and above all fresco makes it easier to address the question of Fascist Art. The artist is in fact forbidden to lapse into improvisation and facile bravura not only by the practical location of the mural (public buildings and places that perform in any case a civic function) but also by the laws that govern it, the predom-inance in it of the stylistic element over the emotional, and its intimate association with architecture. These instead force him to prove his mettle in the resolute, virile execution that the very technique of wall painting demands, to ripen his invention and or-ganize it to the full. No form of painting in which the order and rigour of composition do not predominate and no form of “genre” painting can stand up to the test of the mural technique and scale. Wall painting will give birth to the Fascist Style with which the new civilization can identify. [...]The spirituality of the early Renaissance is closer to us than the pomp of the great Venetians, the art of pagan and Christian Rome than that of Greece. We have arrived once again at wall painting in virtue of the aesthetic principles that have matured in the Italian spirit since the war.

The core of the manifesto had, however, already been laid out by Sironi the previous year: the truth of wall painting was superior to optical truth

opposite of these tendencies because, ever present and alert, it is always alive and, when the form is about to become too abstract, he is capa-ble of softening it and making it human with emotional hesitation. His delicate use of a continuous, winding arabesque does not weaken the painting as a whole but tempers any harshness and causes every mass to vibrate”.Filippo de Pisis, a writer and painter of no academic training whatso-ever and a nomadic lifesyle, rediscovered in Paris no less a figure than Édouard Manet, regarded by everyone in Italy as the true source of the caustic poison that definitively violated the sacredness of painting. On reviewing the major Parisian retrospective of 1932 for an Italian period-ical he discovered in the master’s works something that he had always sensed simply through painting, i.e. that colour has its own subversive power and is capable of asserting itself as an autonomous and absolute tool of expression: in Manet, he writes, “matter in itself becomes colour and thus rises to a lyrical plane. The flashy black silk, the tulle, certain sea-blue fabrics covering sofas and armchairs, the wood of boats and chairs, the green of certain broad leaves, the Japanese paper of a fan and the grey fur of a rabbit take on a sort of lyrical value sub specie aeternitatis in the very material in which they are painted. (F. de Pisis, “Centenario di Manet”, in L’Italia Letteraria, 2 October 1932). De Pisis even reversed the way in which the great paintings of tradition were seen by painters, as places to find compositional solutions and metric harmonies, and was instead bewitched by the “empty spaces in a canvas of Manet, painted in a sort of fever”, which he regarded as “worth the patina that time has laid on certain revered masterpieces in dusty mu-seums”.

7. Geometry, monumentality, socialization: the role of architecture The major theme running through the artistic debate of the twenties is the relationship between architecture and the other visual arts. This is not only because many new public buildings were constructed in Fascist Italy and the questions arose of how they were to be decorated in paint-ing and sculpture, and how public art could perform the new function of contributing to the growth of a collective epic. Above all, it was be-cause architecture appeared to indicate a new direction for painting and sculpture that was simultaneously ethical and stylistic. The debate on the relations between the architecture and the other arts was transversal, involving both the Futurists of the second gener-ation most hostile to tradition and the philo-museum Novecento move-ment. These are the views of Enrico Prampolini, an avant-garde artist convinced that the very language of pictorial representation is deter-mined by the geometric laws established by the new architecture (E. Prampolini, “Al di là della pittura verso i polimaterici”, in Stile Futurista, I, 2, 1934):

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Belli put it in his preface to a show of Anton Atanasio Soldati in 1933 to one exhibition: “The printing press, Kodak and television has robbed painting of the human task it once had to serve as a book for reading, documentation, reportage. Freed from these chains, art can now launch itself into the loftiest abstraction”). At the same time, there was also a drive to redefine the very fundamentals of the arts philosophically. Belli, the leading theorist of Italian abstract art, wrote as follows in KN in 1935: “Art is not the expression of a state of mind, not the interpre-tation of a visual reality, not translation, not illustration, not reportage. Still less can it be the expression of impressions.” He thus called upon artists to: “Free forms from the object. Free colours from the object. Create painting.” Above all, however, there was a sense among painters and sculptors that pictorial or sculptural poetry was born out of geometry. Ancient Greece and the fifteenth century thus became the models of reference (O. Bogliardi, V. Ghiringhelli, M. Reggiani, Dichiarazione degli esposi-tori della prima collettiva di pittori astratti, Milan, 1934):

What we need is metre. The metre that varies only with the great cycles; that gave us the pyramid and then the Parthenon, the ovolo moulding and then all of classical sculpture; that has never exist-ed in representation because we can admire the greatness of Pier della Francesca and Paolo Uccello in Arezzo and Urbino without knowing the legend of the Cross or the miracle of the host. Art serves itself.

The finest contribution to the Italian debate on abstraction was writ-ten by the sculptor Fausto Melotti, a pupil of Adolfo Wildt with a de-gree in engineering and a diploma in pianoforte, in his self-presentation to the Galleria del Milione, a private gallery in Milan. The Greece that Sironi regarded as less close to the ideals of the wall painting than “the art of pagan and Christian Rome” was now regarded as the indispen-sable and also natural yardstick of a higher sense of order (F. Melotti, “Autopresentazione”, in Bollettino della Galleria del Milione, no. 40, 10–25 May 1935):

Art has had an angelic, geometric spirit. It addresses the intellect, not the senses. This is why the brushstroke has no importance in painting or modelling in sculpture. It is not modelling that matters but modulation. This is not a play on words: modelling comes from model = nature = disorder; modulation from module = canon = or-der. The crystal enchants nature. The foundations of harmony and counterpoint are to be found in ge-ometry. The architecture of the Greeks, the painting of Piero della Francesca, the music of Bach and rational architecture are “exact” arts. The forma mentis of their creators is a mathematical forma

precisely because it was architectural. If a line of modern art existed in Italy, it was to be identified — he claimed — in the thrusts that had made the “plastic question”, i.e. the question of spatial and therefore architectonic synthesis, the focal point of interest for the artists of the twentieth century (M. Sironi, “Pittura murale”, in Il Popolo d’Italia, 1 January 1932):

Wall painting is therefore not to be understood merely as the en-largement of paintings such as we are already accustomed to see over large surfaces with the same effects, the same technical pro-cedures and the same pictorial objectives. New problems of spa-tiality, form, expression and content — lyrical, epic or dramatic — instead present themselves. The aim is a renewal of rhythm, bal-ance and constructive spirit whereby art will regain the meaning destroyed by the triumph of nineteenth-century northern realism. From Futurism and Cubism to the present, the path of painting departs from the sphere of nineteenth-century naturalistic rep-resentation and creates the architectonic norms of the picture. It creates and rediscovers the plastic and pictorial balances that ex-ist independently of the “truth” of the scene observed and defined because there is a superior “truth”, similar in all respects to the other and made up of a harmony of mass, surface, line and colour, which weave a new reality in their invisible but immensely strong web.

According to Sironi, the propaganda of ideas is therefore to be devel-oped through the eloquence not of subject matter but of space. Thus it was in Imperial Rome and the Byzantine East, where the moral im-perative of civilization manifested itself and was propagated through large-scale architectural decoration, preferably with symbolic or even abstract forms (M. Sironi, “Racemi d’oro”, in La Rivista Illustrata del Popolo d’Italia, XIII, 3, March 1935, p. 15):

Art thus gives body and human reality to universal supernatural visions and expresses the symbols of the religious will of the state, just as always happened in antiquity. And it is therefore not a mat-ter of decorative caprice but of an authentic moral imperative that emanates from architecture.

8. Beautiful unrealityIt is interesting that the assertion of the primacy of architecture in wall painting should have coincided chronologically in Italy precisely with the first work by abstract painters and sculptors, i.e. artists who took forms in space as a visual theme in its own right. Underlying the Italian debate on abstract art is an evident question about the very function of art after the rift of the avant-garde (As Carlo

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You work with your colour as a musician works on sound, until its evidence is recognized. Thus it is that unusual vibrations are triggered and we participate directly in the duration of our paint-ing. Light, having become a plastic fact, will give more in terms of geology than meteorology. Our moral landscape will be in this architecture of colours and we will therefore continue our poetic promenade, stopping to note, examine, remember and rediscov-er our very presences. In the new analysis, we will allow for the prejudices and established rights of representation. And though feeling ourselves present in the history of other walks, we will not immediately realize that we are in the ideal landscape, but this too we will allow for in the analysis to the point of denying it if it is better than memory. With the art of colouring, we will regain the instinct of not fearing the consonance of colour.

10. Painting-painting, Carlo Carrà It is precisely in the mid-thirties, while producing and exhibiting fig-ure paintings of a slightly repetitive, archaic and neo-Giottesque nature as well as landscapes along lines laid down clearly from Fontanesi to the early Seurat, Carrà became a point of reference for the most se-rious Italian critics, those rigorously grounded on the aesthetics of pure visibility honed on ancient art. In a long review of the second Rome Quadrennial, Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti used the juxtaposition of “non-pittura” (De Chirico) and “pittura-pittura” (Carrà) to establish the values of modern Italian painting, regarding a painting like Carrà’s landscape of the mouth of the river Cinquale (La foce del Cinquale) as endowed with “astonishing monumental simplicity”, the work of a soul that has distilled “the contemplation of its anguish in dense, deep and substantial words”. It is interesting that the most essential component for him is colour, the one least regarded by formalist critics due to its in-determinacy. He devoted long passages to this (C. L. Ragghianti, “Studi sull’arte italiana contemporanea. Carrà”, in La Critica d’Arte, I, 4, 1935):

A rare, unprecedented colour of torn and strangely pure tones that recall barbaric and medieval preferences: the wholly sponta-neous colour of personal choice, of tonal and qualitative accents as though discovered for the first time in a dazzling revelation. Colour so intrinsic and individual, devoid of osmosis with any kind of tradition, still wet from its birth. Nor could it be otherwise, as reflection will show, given the characteristics of his jealous and se-cluded inspiration outlined above and the acute need by which he has been spurred since the very first works in pursuit of perfect, exhaustive and classical conclusions. This element could not be conceived as mediated, received, reflected. All this represents his individuality better than anything else and the nature of the artis-tic path travelled in enlightened solitude, in constant, accentuated striving for the classical.

mentis. For them, 1 + 1 is not approximately 2 but 2, neither more nor less. It is not possible to think of an art without an understand-ing of the basics required to master the counterpoint of that art. We believe in the order of Greece. When the sound of the last Greek chisel stopped reverberating, night fell on the Mediterranean, a long night illuminated solely by the quarter moon (reflected light) of the Renaissance. Now we feel a breeze starting to blow over the Mediterranean and dare to believe that dawn is approaching.

9. RomanticismIn the by no means painless confrontation with the nineteenth cen-tury, which underlay all the Italian art of the interwar period with important consequences, the question of “romanticism”, understood as the involvement in art of the most instinctive, irrational parts of its creator, was felt in particular way some groups of artists in the second half of the thirties. The painter Renato Birolli asserted its im-portance in peremptory terms in his response to an artistic referen-dum organized by an architecture magazine in 1936–37 (R. Birolli, “Risposta al Referendum ‘Dove va l’arte italiana?’”, in Domus, IX, no. 108, December 1936, p. 54): “I believe in Romanticism with no pre-fix, using colour to give my vision the power of cantus firmus.” It was obviously easier for him to define its opposite and distance himself from what is not romantic creation (“I regard as non-romantic works those that are born out of initial conceptual clarity and then peter out in an egoistic and abstract hoarding of the aesthetic canon”) and indi-cate the models he saw as negative (“the Odalisque of Ingres and the Coronation of David are failed masterpieces because they do not con-tain the pure pictorial fact”).Birolli painted chaotic, dramatic works in the same years that look to a wholly French line of painting (Cézanne, Gauguin, Van Gogh) alter-native to the Quattrocento/Novecento axis then in vogue. At the same time, he reflected intensely in his notebooks on what he was doing. He was unafraid to state (in the first notebook of March–April 1936) that “a painting at its birth is an accumulation of dense, uncorrupted forces of great specific weight. It is hard to extend them in a spatiality that does not cripple their initial power.” The organization of forms in space was therefore seen as a difficulty to be overcome rather than a resource to be harnessed. The primary subject of these pages is colour. The point, he claims, is not to intercept the visual impression and reorganize it in the painting but to do something different: to rediscover a colour that exists in the depths of his condition as a man living in an often contradictory way through the intellectual and moral conditions of his time. The lofty precedent of Van Gogh’s letters is always borne in mind, above all for their dogged in-trospection (R. Birolli, “Ottavo taccuino” [1936], in Taccuini 1936–1959, edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin, 1960, p. 60):

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of “realism”. And this was a problem that concerned us above all as young people because the precondition of our spiritual certain-ties was free examination of the “reality” being created around us, a reality that we had to conquer with our own strength in order to feel that it was truly ours with no uncertainty.

The existentialist philosopher Antonio Banfi was the group’s cultural point of reference. In a crucial work he addressed the concept of “hu-manity”, cherished by all the artists who undertake to represent the world they live in and refuse to hide behind reassuring imitation of the museum. According to Banfi, “our humanity” must confront “concrete reality”. Though more moral than visual, this realism undermines one of the assumptions that had ensured artists a margin of freedom during the years of Fascism, allowing them to suspend judgment on the present and look back to the forms of the past (A. Banfi, “Per la vita dell’arte”, in Corrente, II, 4, 28 February 1939):

Art is in crisis. This does not mean that it is in a state of decay but rather that by necessarily addressing traditional forms and struc-tures whose value cannot make up for the fact of having absolutely no present-day relevance, it is forced to address the problem of its concrete reality and thus renew itself in contact with a world un-dergoing renewal. Those who offer models to art today, who harp on about the works of the past and who seek to draw a traditional line for it show that they have understood neither the radical seri-ousness of the problem our art addresses nor the living inner need of artistic reality for development. It is not that we do not love the art of the past, which is also and always the art of the humanity that lives forever in us, but that we want our art to be the art of our humanity that grows and torments itself within us and can be expressed only through the problems that plague contemporary artistic creation.

12. The question of the subject Long ignored, the question of the centrality of the subject depicted in painting or sculpture began to make itself felt in unprecedentedly dra-matic terms during the war. The contrast between the Cremona Prize, with its cogent demand for images of episodes of Fascist Italy, and the Bergamo Prize supported by the minister Giuseppe Bottai (accord-ing to whom, the true content of the work of Fascist art was “clarity of style, straightforwardness of language and interiority of feeling”) inevitably heightened awareness of the urgency of the issue, also and above all among those who no longer regarded themselves as Fascists. Having rediscovered some years earlier the values, above all moral, of the French painting of the nineteenth century, from Delacroix to Courbet and Manet, Renato Guttuso summed up the situation with his

The editorial board of Critica d’Arte also included Roberto Longhi, who addressed modern art seriously once again in 1937, over twenty years af-ter his support for Futurism. For the second edition of the slender volume on Carrà published by Hoepli, he wrote an introductory text asserting that the Piedmontese painter had learned from Cézanne and Seurat through “internalization” (i.e. absorption almost in terms of feeling) of their tech-nique. The magic of his paintings thus derives from that constant dia-logue, which repudiated the precepts of Berenson, between sumptuous colour and the suggestion of depth. And it is colour that constitutes the driving force of invention (R. Longhi, Carlo Carrà, Milan, 1937, p. 15):

Carrà rediscovered them [Cézanne and Seurat ] poetically as pas-sages, links and accents to be composed in a song whose tone is to be found in an inclination of the mind. In this way, technique ceases to be a fixed noun and again becomes the motion of ex-pressive language, to be reinvented every time. Hence the initial astonishment − followed by an entirely new and unprecedent-ed satisfaction − of finding once again in a painting by Carrà a backdrop of atavistic cubic space stained with floating touches, a pure, emerald green zone, recalling the two dimensions, suddenly plunged into the boldest chiaroscuro or clotted in the no longer decipherable mixture of a wild and compressed range of colours.

11. What kind of realism?Realism is something that enjoyed very little popularity in Italy after 1920, being always associated with the art that had dominated the “stupid nineteenth century”. It was therefore demonized by those who championed the primacy of form and construction, and then sacrificed to the requirements of “art for art’s sake”, which inevitably subordinat-ed the reality of the subject to the paramount importance of style.The young Milanese group gathered around the journal Corrente di Vita Giovanile were avowedly tired of the separation of art from life. The battle of modern painting and sculpture was to be fought by facing up to the dramatic existential condition of the artist, not by harbouring the illusion that “lyrical weariness and naturalistic repose” in themselves were capable of alluding to this condition or — worse still — of providing consolation. The unsigned manifesto published in the now established journal stated this position with polemical clarity (N.d.R., “Manifesto di Corrente”, in Corrente di Vita Giovanile, 20, 15 December 1938):

The perfection and purity of the means of expression cannot dwell so much on echoing its own metaphysical sense. It is a prelude to the concert of elements greeted by us as a demonstration of the rediscovered drama of life above and beyond lyrical weariness and naturalistic repose. With this confidence, confirmed by so many experiences, we spoke

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An apple, a bottle, a face, men in war or peace, angels in the sky, saints in ecstasy, massacres, the damned in hell, crucifixions or concerts, newspapers, cinemas, museums, streets, countryside, buildings and closed rooms, unmade beds, discarded objects cov-ered in dust. Painting is the form of our coexistence in each of these elements or in all of them together.

The crux of his argument is an attack on the theory of pure visibility and its mythologies, the attempt to confine painting to an “abstract” plane (“lyrical” being the adjective used in Italy). Hence Guttuso’s insistence on the value of “being arbitrary” in the choice of subjects to paint and above all on terms “concreteness” and “concrete” with their evident po-litical overtones (Idem, Ibidem, p. 6):

For fear of being accused of counterfeiting, the painter uses the money in circulation. Hence the myth of painting as an abstract realm detached from mankind and its thoughts and its actions. There is fear of being arbitrary and it is not realized that this is necessitated by the idolatry of painting, which forces the painter, consciously or unconsciously, to reduce every form to its preor-dained spectre of form; that there is no arbitrariness if not in de-spising the object in favour of an abstract spectre of it. Because everything is always arbitrary in painting, in deciding and choos-ing and selecting forms and colours. Deciding how much is needed to express what you want to express, not academic approximation.(Painting can mean precisely giving concrete shape and real for-mal identification to your free will.) Not therefore idolatry but the concrete expression of a world of objects and people within reach of our hands, our discussions and our thoughts; not idolatry in an anti-humanistic modern world but culture taken for granted hour by hour in our most heroic and most habitual actions.

This was the essential and crucial starting point for those practicing the profession of the modern artist during the dramatic succession of events from July 1943 to April 1945. In the Primo manifesto di pittori e scrittori [First manifesto of painters and writers] written in 1943 but not published until 1947, the three authors Morlotti, Treccani and Vedova state that “the painting must be for us one way like another of compro-mising ourselves. With painting we want to raise banners.” And Guttuso observed in a letter to Ennio Morlotti in October the same year that “every specific question regards only one thing: the amount of living flesh there will be in a painting”.

13. The works of a collectionLet us now pick up the thread of the discourse from the beginning. How do the paintings and sculptures of the twenties and thirties in the

customary intelligence as a writer, taking the formal absolute of Piero della Francesca as his point of reference: “Is the Dream of Constantine only a machinery of forms or is the Dream of Constantine above all ex-pressed by a machinery of forms?”In 1942 the Roman painter Mario Mafai attacked still life, which he regarded as the most consolatory genre and which the previous gener-ation, i.e. the avant-garde, had defined as the grammatical cornerstone of the language of modernity. Painting objects lined up on the table, as Morandi did, struck him as culpable refusal to face the moral challenges of painting, finding consolation in “a static world that he can, howev-er, move and agitate at will”, that “does not force him into perilous adventures and indulges his precious laziness”. He instead regarded figure painting as the best way to address his time face to face. Far from being deterred by the risk of academicism inherent in the nude, he saw the naked body as revealing otherwise inexpressible truths that bind the human figure to the realities of the world as a whole and drive the painter to probe the “moral being” of man (M. Mafai, “Il pittore, l’uomo, le pere”, in Prospettive, VI, 25−26, January−March 1942, pp. 19–20):

The body is more harmonious and fantastic than the face. It opens out with elegance between the two branches of the collar bones on the thorax, which breathing causes to expand, thus making visible cords that rise and sink rhythmically, suggesting a harp with two arms. Behind, the vertebral column. This long necklace is a snake with its head flattened against the kidneys, lost in the enchant-ment of the space of the two majestic buttocks. In front, the belly, like a soft mound with its small crater, the navel, always unstable. Beneath, a triangle with no apex. And then the most beautiful col-umns, the legs, the unforeseen ornaments, the bowl of the solemn pelvis, the perfect shells of the twin kneecaps like a religious em-blem. Every time we see a nude it looks as though it has just been cre-ated and arouses a feeling of wonder. A strange animality does in fact connect it as part of a mysterious vitality to the other things of nature.It is difficult today to construct a man as he is. His moral being escapes us and attempting to define it is like leaping into the void.

At the start of his most dramatic and disjointed text of those years, pub-lished in the same issue of the magazine as Mafai’s, Guttuso compiled a challenging (in its vastness and hence incoherence) catalogue of the subjects of its most recent painting and claimed that the “co-existence” of the man as painter with the reality in which he lives is to sought in the subject (R. Guttuso, “Paura della pittura”, in Prospettive, VI, 25–26, January–March 1942, p. 5):

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representational − of the pictorial means had been the great achieve-ment of the pure visibility school of criticism inspired by Croce and one that freed artists from obligation of representation governed by the laws of the academy. It could, however, also lock them up in the new prison of the self-sufficiency of the means themselves in a sort of revived “art for art’s sake”. For some artists, escaping from this prison entailed address-ing a key phase in European art that had barely touched Italy, namely post-Impressionism and expressionism: from Gauguin and Van Gogh to Matisse and the Germans of Die Brücke. Unloved and often despised by Italy’s dominant artistic culture, those paintings offered an important resource: an opportunity to learn how to look at reality from a different angle, through eyes informed by a new sense of involvement.

Iannaccone collection stand with respect (or in opposition) to the frame-work of ideas I have endeavoured to outline?The first and immediately obvious fact is that classicism, in all the var-ious forms it took during the two decades, has been kept at suitable distance in the collector’s choices. There is nothing by Casorati or De Chirico, nothing by Funi or Campigli, and nothing so far by Carrà or Sironi or Martini with their desperate pursuit of a synthesis of the mod-ern and the classical. The range stretching from Ottone Rosai (L’attesa [Waiting] and I giocatori di toppa [“Toppa” Players], 1920) to Emilio Vedova (Il caffeuccio veneziano [Venetian Café], 1942) demonstrates an allegiance to the opposite values. These two chronological extremes tell a tale of minority culture, of unappeased youthful fury and even of outspoken opposition to the widespread pride in the reinstatement of the national tradition, to the neo-humanistic mythology of Fascism and to the various consolations offered by a higher kind of formalism (including abstract art). The harsh tang of Rosai’s paintings, halfway between a distraught Fra Angelico and a vernacular nineteenth century speaks of a humanity stubbornly irreducible to the new figurative myths of the return to order. The jarring execution and unbreathable atmos-phere of Vedova’s Caffeuccio mark a point of no return. Presented in the last edition of the Bergamo Prize, the painting was seen as an authen-tic anti-classical bomb by the young people of the Corrente group, for whom it was impossible to construct a new, “modern” form of painting at the height of the war without first destroying the basic values of what had been fashionable for twenty years. Between these two dates, 1920 and 1942, there are works indicative of evident discord with respect the visual world cherished by the dominant culture: bodies exposed in their defenceless nakedness, mysterious allegories and ceremonies, prosaic but oddly enchanted visions, myths excised from history and represent-ed with primitive candour, the influence of the most libertarian French art and walks through museums without being guided by the predilec-tions of mainstream art critics. An unquiet literary sensibility appears to underlie all these works and the elegiac register, to which the thirties were well disposed, was tinged with tragedy. Also evident in the choices of the Iannaccone collection is a focus on Italian works produced in relation to a precise line in the European fig-urative culture, one that identifies its modern identity in the subver-sive power of sign and colour. The concept of “expression” acts as a by no means trivial link between the works of the various artists. The person who has gathered these paintings together knows that the deep content to be read there, independently of what is represented, con-sists in an attitude of judgment on the artistic and human condition of the period, as manifested through the use of the freest pictorial means, sign and colour, those that express the artist’s inner life most directly. The emphasis on the lyrical value − purely expressive and not simply

77

The last artist — for the time being — to enter the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone, Tullio Garbari is actually the first in what we might call a logical sense, as the group of young artists that gathered around Persico in the early thirties, starting with Birolli, saw him as a master and in-deed the master par excellence.When a show of work by the Primitivist Di Terlizzi was inaugurated at the Galleria del Milione on 30 November 1930 with a presentation by Garbari entitled La dispettosa Musa, Persico sent the latter an eloquent telegram hailing him as a master of the new Italian art. The signatories included the equally significant names of Carlo Belli, Garrone, Sassu, Birolli, Manzù, Del Bon, Lilloni and Spilimbergo.1

This was no mere compliment. In addition to drawing on Garbari’s ad-vice for the Milione’s programme, Persico planned to hold two shows of his work in the gallery in the space of a year. The first opened almost immediately on 17 January 1931. The second and much larger exhibition, including work by a group of young artists close to Garbari, was to have taken place in November: “A score of young people, encouraged on by me, have decided to form a group […] These young people see you as a great master and wish to create an authentic school of realism together with you. It would be therefore best for the show of all your work to be held next November and for these young people to accompany you, not with good intentions but with their own works.” The same letter, dated 27 December 1930, also announced Persico’s intention to bring out a tribute to Garbari through the Milione publishing house.2

Persico wrote again on 7 January 1931, not long before the opening of the first show (the second never took place), to clarify his intentions: “With regard to the group of new artists, it is best to refer to them, as I did in my letter, as a school. You are free to decide whether to take part […] All I need to know at present is whether you are willing to show work together with people like Bozzetti from Turin, Lilloni, Ghiringhelli and Del Bon from Trentino and a few others that you already know and that I will refrain from naming for brevity.”3

First and foremost among the few others was Birolli, the member of the “school” most responsive to Garbari’s painting. His San Zeno pe- scatore [St Zeno, the Fisherman], 1931, is influenced by Garbari’s San Cristoforo [St Christopher] and his Ritratto di Tomea [Portrait of Tomea], 1931, Sposa [Bride], 1932, and Ritratto del padre [Portrait of the Artist’s Father], 1933, recall Garbari’s vaguely Douanier-like faces.

Garbari: a Master

elena pontiggia

1 C. Garbari, “Tullio Garbari: una vita attraverso i documenti”, in D. Primerano, R. Turrina (edited by), Tullio Garbari. Lo sguardo severo della bontà, exhibition catalogue (Trento, 30 June − 4 November 2007), Trento, 2007, p. 204.

2 Persico to Garbari, 27 December 1930, in F. Lanza Pietromarchi, “Carteggio inedito Garbari Persico”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Edoardo Persico e gli artisti, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Padiglione d’Arte Contemporanea, 11 June − 13 September 1998), Milan, 1998, pp. 160−61.

3 Persico to Garbari, 7 January 1931, Ibidem, p. 163.

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ELENA PONTIGGIA

mental rather than realistic dimension of his painting, which was even described as surrealistic at the time. It is precisely this anti-classical classicality that most intensely informs the art of a master whose premature death at the age of just 39 in October 1931 removed him from the art scene of his time all too soon.

Garbari’s influence was not, however, confined solely to style. Drawn primarily from the Gospels, the Bible and lives of saints, his subjects were marked by deep religious feeling despite departing from the of-ten overly sweetened traditional approach. His painting thus offered the highest and most fully aware example of the “modern art reconciled with God” that Persico advocated.Before moving to Paris in 1931, Garbari had lived in Milan, albeit with interruptions, since 1927 and therefore left an imprint on the younger Milanese artists with his physical presence as well as his works (shown at the Scopinich gallery in 1927, the Bardi in 1930 and the Milione in 1931). Moreover, like Arturo Martini, he was one of the few artists that inter-ested both Margherita Sarfatti and Persico, both the classically inspired Novecento movement and its neo-romantic adversaries, as shown, for example, by Sironi’s convinced praise of the show of 1931 at the Milione. This review is never quoted but well worth remembering. The painter of the Outskirts writes: “Garbari has not been twiddling his thumbs. His fertile and fully developing activity happily dispels the clouds of mystery and aloofness in which he loved to hide. The manifestations of this contemplative and poetic soul are always a matter of interest and discussion. Garbari is not a sensual or simply instinctive painter. He loves symbols, poetic and indeed philosophical concepts, painting that always contains an idea, a spiritual motion [...] he expresses the limpid, innocent sense that comes from the sky, the earth, the solemn peaks contemplated with purity and lightness of spirit. And this pure seren-ity, this pellucid song […] is in turn a symbol of the sensitive, spiritual atmosphere in which all the dreams and visions of this impassioned and noble artist take place.”4

Why is it that observers with so very different views express in the same praise? Because Garbari’s painting combines the classical ideal with the influence of the Douanier Rousseau and the sermo humilis of rus-tic art to arrive at a sort of folk-art classicism capable of pleasing both Novecento and the Primitivists. Being well aware of the singularity of his art, Garbari in any case refused to be identified with either group.On the one hand, he drew inspiration from Maritain, whose Art and Scholasticism (1920) sang the praises of maladresse or clumsiness as against expertise. It is this conception that gives rise to the intentional errors in perspective and anatomy of his works, the soft, rubbery shapes of so many of his figures and the lack of proportion between his compo-sitional elements. On the other, however, Garbari drew on a lofty tradition stretch-ing from the Etruscans to the thirteenth century, above all in his late works. Severini recalls that they spoke in their last meeting in 1931 about the need to return to Margaritone d’Arezzo, Coppo di Marcovaldo and Giunta Pisano in order to rediscover a metaphysical conception of art.5 Hence the solemnity, the hieratic quality and the

4 M [M. Sironi], “Mostre di pittura”, in Il Popolo d’Italia, 22 January 1931. This piece is mentioned in the literature on Garbari but has never been examined in any of the studies and does not appear in the anthology of Sironi’s writings edited by E. Camesasca (Mario Sironi. Scritti editi e inediti, Milan: Feltrinelli, 1980). Due to a printing error, which I take this opportunity to point out, nor does it appear in my own list of Sironi’s articles for Il Popolo d’Italia published in Mario Sironi. Scritti inediti (1927-1931), Milan: Abscondita, 2013, pp. 91−92.

5 G. Severini, “Garbari nel ricordo di Severini”, in Il Milione, no. 44, 25 January 1936, n.p.n..

GARBARI: A MASTER

79

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1 F. De Rocchi, in R. Margonari, R. Modesti, Il chiarismo lombardo, Milan: Vangelista, 1986, p. 28.

2 M. Sironi, in Il Popolo d’Italia, Milan, 11 March 1931.

I can only say that it was a form of painting that united us, a form deriving from something that was in the air and inside us too: an inner lightness that was our guide. We all obviously continued, how-ever, to be the painters we were.– Francesco De Rocchi1

Umberto Lilloni painted Uliveto ad Arenzano [Olive Grove at Arenzano] [W. NO. 45] in 1931. Although the title stresses the characteristic trees of the Liguria region’s landscape, they only serve, with their feathery canopies and black silhouetted trunks, as a frame for a town as small as a crib scene, a small cluster of houses in pastel shades as fragile as blown glass. Standing amongst them, the grey church of Santi Nazario e Celso nestles in the curve of an olive tree that seems to bend precisely in order to make room for it. With their simplified façades and little windows aligned like squared paper, the buildings have the solidity of a mirage. Between the impalpable blue of the sky and the quiet green of the meadow, they con-jure up the enchanted, idyllic atmosphere of a fairytale. It was painted a few months before the solo show Lilloni held in February at the Galleria del Milione, confined exclusively to landscapes stylistical-ly very similar to this, which prompted Sironi to express flattering judge-ments but also some important observations: “his eminently colouristic gifts manifest themselves with dreamy delicacy […] sophisticated nuanc-es […] dense with colouristic meaning, embedded in an instinctive play of tonalities that is characteristic of the new Lombard school and indeed almost its secret. […] Primitive painting in its light hues, its naive and imaginative visuality, the absence of shadow, chiaroscuro contrast and mechanical ostentation, the subtle expressive power of the colour, which seems to generate itself and sometimes to halt at an unsophisticated stage of folk art.”2

The predominance of colour over draughtsmanship, absence of chiaro-scuro, sweetly expressive hues and primitivism of the Garbari variety, a mixture of culture, sincerity and folk art, prompted Sironi to speak of a “new Lombard school”, thus alluding to the great nineteenth-century tra-dition of Gola and Piccio all the way up to the Scapigliatura movement of Ranzoni and Cremona but also the “naivety” of Masolino and Luini as well as the simple folk art of wayside chapels. Carrà too had seen “the links […] with Gola” two years earlier on the occasion of a show held by the painter at the Galleria Bardi, even though “Lilloni […] does not close his eyes to

Lilloni, De Rocchi and Del Bon: the Chiaristi in the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone

lorella giudici

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LILLONI, DE ROCCHI AND DEL BON: THE CHIARISTI IN THE COLLEZIONE GIUSEPPE IANNACCONELORELLA GIUDICI

12 M. Sarfatti, “La ‘seconda ondata’ alla Mostra di Brera”, in Il Popolo d’Italia, Milan, 21 October 1927.

13 R. Giolli, Emilio Gola, Milan: Anonima Editrice Arte, 1929.

14 Mainly La Sera and L’Ambrosiano.15 Problemi d’Arte Attuale, Colosseo

– Colonna, Poligono and Vetrina.16 Pagine d’Arte, Emporium, La Casa Bella,

Rassegna d’Arte Antica e Moderna, Cronache Latine and Domus.

17 R. Giolli, “Il rinnovatore della pittura lombarda: Daniele Ranzoni”, in La Sera, Milan, 13 February 1923, p. 3.

other values that exist outside the regional orbit.”3 This strong link with “the Lombard stock”4 was indeed to be a fixed point of reference for the painting all the Chiaristi and especially the five from Milan: De Rocchi, De Amicis, Del Bon, Spilimbergo and of course Lilloni himself. A look at the literature on Chiarismo and its individual practitioners reveals in fact that the interweaving of recognition and misunderstanding revolves pre-cisely around this origin. What was Chiarismo? It was certainly not a movement. It never had the physiognomy of an organized, compact, homogeneous group, nor did the artists involved ever consider themselves such. As De Rocchi put it, they all continued to be the painters they were, admitting a nebulous varie-ty of heterogeneous colleagues to their ranks — such as Vernizzi, Birolli, Broggini, Semeghini, Ghiringhelli and Sassu, to name just a few — some only for a fleeting period. Moreover, contrary to what has often been writ-ten, Chiarismo never saw itself as a reaction to the neoclassicism of the Novecento Italiano group, to the dark colours of Sironi, the solid volumes of Funi or the limpid, closed perimeters of Dudreville. If anything, what the five Milanese painters developed was gradual detachment with no rifts and polemics, progressive abandonment of the forms, colours and subjects of the artists with whom they had indeed entered into dialogue and exhibited work in the twenties and on up to 1931.5 Nor can Chiarismo be seen as a forerunner or a weaker version of the Corrente group, as has sometimes been claimed, taking the lyricism and delicacy of that muted light as a sign of hesitancy instead of an initial symptom of the change now under way and indeed promptly noted by the critics of time.6 Moreover, the idea is not even justifiable solely on the basis of a luminous painting in auroral hues, obtained in certain cases by means of a wet, white ground like that of a fresco, a technique developed by Birolli around 1929−30 and later adopted also by Del Bon.7 As Cristoforo De Amicis stated, refuting one of the many clichés that have only caused confusion over the years, “Chiarismo does not mean just painting with white but the fusion of light and colour in form.”8

Well then, what was Chiarismo? It was a climate of expression or, as De Rocchi says, “something in the air”,9 hard to pin down in a formula but certainly a marked presence in the Milanese cultural debate of the thir-ties, of which it was a by no means marginal but rather central manifes-tation. After the initial, indispensable work of Margonari and Modesti,10 the person who has reconstructed all the history of Milanese Chiarismo and explained its various aspects, origins and implications in the context of the Italian scene of the thirties is Elena Pontiggia. She has definitively and irrefutably taken stock of the situation in a number of publications and exhibitions,11 providing a scholarly, chronological reconstruction of an often misunderstood history so as to give Chiarismo and its practi-tioners their due place and importance. As the space at our disposal here

is insufficient to take up the numerous questions and illustrate the many facets, readers are referred to her works for the more analytical consider-ations. The basic aspects will instead be outlined here and related to the works in the Iannaccone collection.“There is no Chiarismo without the last Brera Biennial of 1927.” De Amicis thus established not only a date of birth but also an artistic and cultural context of anything but secondary importance. The exhibition saw the participation of many future Chiaristi, including De Rocchi, Del Bon, De Amicis, Lilloni and Ghiringhelli. The last three also carried off the top honours, De Amicis being awarded the gold medal while Lilloni and Ghiringhelli were joint winners of the coveted Principe Umberto Prize. Nearly all of them were born in 1898 apart from De Rocchi and De Amicis (both 1902). All of them were recent graduates of the Brera Academy, where Ambrogio Alciati’s course on painting had imbued them with a love of free, vibrant brushwork, soft, glowing colour and hues shot through with emotion and lyricism; in short, for the art of Gola and nine-teenth-century Lombard painting. On their highly successful debut, these young talents were given a place of honour in Margherita Sarfatti’s review in Il Popolo d’Italia.12 Above all, they aroused the interest of Pietro Maria Bardi, director of the Galleria Micheli and soon to be the owner of the Galleria Bardi and of what Persico and Ghiringhelli were to develop after his departure for Rome as the Galleria del Milione. These galleries were to hold solo and group shows of work by all the young Chiaristi. Bardi was also closely related to the critics Giolli and Persico, who played a key part in the birth and development of Chiarismo and its major practitioners.In addition to being one of the militant critics most attuned to the voices of his time, Raffaello Giolli (Alessandria, 1889 – Mauthausen, 1945) was also among the most fervent admirers of nineteenth-century Italian and especially Lombard painting, which he considered equal if not indeed su-perior to French Impressionism, above all because it came first and then because the Italians preferred the throbbing pulse of life to a science of vision. He wrote a monograph on Gola13 in 1929 as well as numerous arti-cles on Spadini, Ranzoni, Cremona, Piccio, Mancini, Zandomeneghi and others in newspapers14 and in art magazines that he founded15 or to which he contributed.16 He championed Italy’s nineteenth-centry art when it was forgotten and insulted precisely by its own xenophile critics: “After the anxieties and dreams of Faruffini and Piccio, after Scrosati, after, in short, the so-called ‘prophetic’ period, the awareness of a new kind of painting, naked and vibrant, resolute and convincing, took shape pre-cisely in Ranzoni, after which it succeeded in convincing and changing Cremona, and in forming this important modern movement that was to sweep Carcano and Mosè Bianchi along with it, and to instruct Segantini, Conconi, Gola and Previati freely.”17

Edoardo Persico (Naples, 1900 – Milan, 1936) arrived in Milan at the end of 1929 by way of Turin to direct Bardi’s gallery and write for the

3 C. Carrà, L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 6 December 1929.

4 Ibidem.5 De Rocchi, Del Bon, De Amicis and

Lilloni, for example, took part in the first Novecento Italiano exhibition in 1929 and some of them also in the international events subsequently organized by Margherita Sarfatti in Buenos Aires, Munich and Stockholm.

6 Out of so many, suffice it to quote Torriano, who was prompted on two occasions by the works on show at the Fascist Union of Fine Arts exhibitions of 1932 and 1934, to ask: “Is Lombard art perhaps at a turning point?” and “Is this the rebirth of a painting of sensitivity?” Both quotations, originally published in La Casa Bella, are now in E. Pontiggia, Il Chiarismo, Milan: Abscondita, 2006, pp. 20, 25.

7 Renato Birolli recalls this in his notebooks: “Around 1929−31 I started covering what was called medieval canvas (pure hemp) with a thin layer of zinc white, leaving the marks in charcoal exposed. While the white was still moist, I painted on this layer, thus obtaining light, vibrant hues almost like fresco. […] Instead of clotting, the paint flowed fluidly over the white and mixed with it slightly.” Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936–1959, edited by E Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 157.

8 P. R. De Rocchi, Conversazione con Cristoforo De Amicis, now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo, cit., 2006, p. 42.

9 F. De Rocchi, in R. Margonari, R. Modesti, Il chiarismo..., cit., 1986, p. 28.

10 Ibidem.11 See E. Pontiggia, I chiaristi. Milano

e l’Alto Mantovano negli anni Trenta, Milan: Mazzotta, 1996; E. Pontiggia, “Una stagione neo-romantica. Pittura e scultura a Milano negli anni trenta”, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004; E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo, cit., 2006; E. Pontiggia, Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore nella Milano degli anni trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010. See also R. Bossaglia, I chiaristi, Milan, 1999, and F. Rovesti (edited by), Il chiarismo milanese (exhibition catalogue), Legnano, 2004.

84 85


28 P. Torriano, “I giovani alla III Sindacale lombarda”, in La Casa Bella, no. 51, Milan, March 1932; now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo, cit., 2006, p. 20.

29 R. Giolli, “Alla Sindacale Lombarda. L’ultima sala”, in Cronache Latine, II, no. 8−9, Milan, 20−27 February 1932.

30 For a broader discussion of the relationship between Chiarismo and figure, see the present author’s study, “Il chiarismo e la figura”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore nella Milano degli anni trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010, pp. 95–98.

31 D. Bonardi, in La Sera, Milan, 28 December 1932.

32 For De Rocchi, see E. Pontiggia, Francesco De Rocchi (1902–1978). L’aspirazione alla luce, Milan: Fondazione Stelline, 1998, and Eadem (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi, cit., 2010.

the Novecento group with fragile, minimal figures, forms full of air and vapour. A sense of the fleetingness of time and an ideal romantic rela-tionship between art and life replaced myth and history. These changes were all perceived by Torriano in his review of the 1932 exhibition of the III Sindacale Lombarda [Lombardy Fascist Union of Fine Arts], in which all the Chiaristi took part, where he spoke of “impressionistic romanti-cism understood as art seeking the liberation of instinct”. He pinpointed its characteristics as: “primitive representation […] predominantly light colours, lively and most often flat, which do not aim at volume […], the transfiguration of reality, fantasies […], poetic freedom”.28 In his review of the same event, Giolli spoke long before many others of the “chiarità” or lightness of the paintings of Lilloni and Del Bon: “a substantial, satu-rated lightness that loves the white flame of lime more than the transpar-ency of air; or lightness that is instead slightly languid and gentle but also so firm and good, so taut and living; or a rosy, bodiless lightness explor-ing beyond the body”.29

All this is perhaps most evident, however, in the portraits.30 Instead of the brawny, vigorous limbs of Novecento art, the Chiaristi presented slight, flimsy bodies with perimeters devoid of thickness, beings with deliberate-ly ungainly anatomical proportions, clumsy poses and dazed expressions. The people appearing in the midst of those elusive, undisciplined brush-strokes, which vaporize the background but also the figures, are more suited to dreaming than action, to listening than self-exhibition, more apparitions of colour and light than human beings of flesh and blood. As Bonardi wrote, “De Rocchi is still painting for ghosts. In other words, he captures transcendental apparitions in which, however, human warmth is deviated into investigations whose cerebral, intellectualistic character is not hard to detect.”31

Let us therefore pause to examine one of the many figures that De Rocchi painted in this period and that now belongs to the Iannaccone collection, namely his Popolana [Young Peasant Woman] [W. NO. 32] (1933), also known as Giovane contadina [Young Farmer Woman].32

The woman’s full, rounded body occupies the centre of the painting and nearly all the surface but is astonishingly weightless, as though made of air. Barely enough space is left to sketch a few uprights of the railing be-low and two glimpses of landscape between the shoulders and the thin strip of the sky. The trees, farmhouses, trellises and objects of the coun-tryside look like toys of the flimsiest possible kind by comparison. More than a world of things, it is like a collection of memories, distant evoca-tions of childhood, something carried inside us because it has belonged to entire generations. The woman, remembered by the painter’s daughter as Cesarina, the family’s willing servant, wears a work apron and a very simple dress. The serene face, framed by small, brown curls and illumi-nated by almost transparent eyes, recalls the kindness and good nature of the saints frescoed by Gaudenzio and Luini in the Sanctuary of Saronno.

magazine Casabella. A friend of Gobetti and Lionello Venturi with a keen interest in philosophy and French painting, Persico talked to artists about Maritain and Permeke, about Impressionism (which he interpreted as the throbbing of existence) and primitivism (filtered through the theories of Venturi, who published Il gusto dei primitivi in 1926), about St Thomas and the Laethem School, converting them to a kind of “modern art reconciled with God”,18 to painting in which “form is born out of colour and never outline”,19 and gathering around himself first the Six Painters of Turin (a group he introduced in an exhibition in 1929) and then the Chiaristi, albeit without ever describing the latter as such. As Elena Pontiggia points out in her writings, the first to speak of paint-ing characterized by lightness and light (“pittura chiara e leggera”) and a “tendency towards the lightest hues” was rather the critic and writer Leonardo Borgese, a painter in his own right. It was in a review published in L’Italia Letteraria20 in 1935 on the 6th exhibition of the Milan Fascist Union of Fine Arts21 that he spoke of the “extreme consequences of this chiarismo” being manifest in the paintings of Del Bon and De Rocchi.22 It is, however, Guido Piovene that went down in history four years later, perhaps recalling Borgese’s article, by describing Lilloni as “one of the most important chiaristi” in a review, published in the Corriere della Sera newspaper, of a solo show of the painter’s work at the Galleria Grande in Milan.23

Let us go back for a moment to the events of the early years. The cru-cial moment came in November 1930 with a group show of work by some known and very young Lombard artists at the newborn and ultra-modern Galleria del Milione24 in the heart of Milan at number 21 Via Brera, right in front of the Brera Academy. Those taking part included De Rocchi, Del Bon, Lilloni, Spilimbergo, Sassu, Bogliardi and Ghiringhelli but also Fontana, Soldati and Melotti as well as the architects Figini and Pollini. Bonardi drew attention to “a very personal still life by Angelo Del Bon in which the freshness of pictorial expression wholly peculiar to Lombardy lives again” and to a landscape by Adriano Spilimbergo, “interesting for its unadorned concision but somewhat dry”.25 An unsigned review in the Corriere della Sera instead noted the “quiet harmony of soft blues and pale greens with an intimate sense of rustic peace and rest” in a landscape by Lilloni and the “shades of grey combined with fine and sober taste” in a figure by Virginio Ghiringhelli.26 The change was now under way and the rift with Novecento Italiano grad-ually became irreparable. Painting “pervaded by almost seraphic love, suffused with mysticism and not so much painted as dreamt”27 was their response to a Platonic, neo-Renaissance conception of the world and hu-manity. The latter was replaced in Chiarismo to a dimension of doubt, fully aware of all the uncertainty of life and what Pascal described as its wretchedness but also emotionally responsive to its beauty. They respond-ed to the solid, powerful volumes and brawny, robust draughtsmanship of

18 E. Persico, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Persico e gli artisti. Il percorso di un critico dall’impressionismo al primitivismo, Milan: Electa, 1998, p. 28. Readers are referred to this work for further information on Persico and his role in Italian art in the twenties and thirties.

19 E. Persico, “I sei pittori di Torino”, in Le Arti Plastiche, Milan, 10 July 1929, now in G. Veronesi, Edoardo Persico. Tutte le opere (1932–1935), vol. 1, Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1964, p. 81.

20 L. Borgese, “La IV [sic] Sindacale di Milano”, in L’Italia Letteraria, Rome, 11 May 1935, now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo, cit., 2006, p. 27.

21 Borgese himself showed two paintings in this exhibition: Rose di campagna [Wild Roses] (no. 110) and Maddalena penitente [Penitent Magdalene] (no. 111, reprod. in cat.).

22 In the VI Sindacale (6th exhibition of the Fascist Union of Fine Arts) (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 1−31 May 1935), Del Bon and De Rocchi each showed two works in room IX, the former two landscapes (nos. 227 and 228), one of which with a cyclist in the depths of a wood (reprod. in cat.), and the latter Neve [Snow] (no. 229) and Inverno [Winter] (n. 230).

23 G. Piovene, “Artisti che espongono. Umberto Lilloni”, in Corriere della Sera, Milan, 29 December 1939.

24 Designed and furnished by Pietro Lingeri with large display cases and a modern and, for the period, unusual glass door. Offering not only exhibition spaces but also a library of European and Italian art books and journals for consultation, the gallery became the driving force of Italian abstraction after Persico’s resignation in 1931 and organized shows not only of Melotti, Fontana and Licini but also Léger, Kandinsky and Mondrian. For the history of the gallery and abstract art in Italy, see E. Pontiggia, Il Milione e l’astrattismo 1932 - 1938, Milan: Electa, 1988.

25 D. Bonardi, in La Sera, Milan, 27 November 1930.

26 Anonymous, in Corriere della Sera, Milan, 28 November 1930.

27 P. Torriano, “Cronache d’arte. Due giovani”, in La Casa Bella, no. 49, Milan, January 1932, p. 54.

2. Angelo Del Bon, Lo schermidore, 1934. Milan, private collection

1. Angelo Del Bon, La zingara, 1934. Maria Grazia Boldrocchi collection

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fortress, however, it seems to float like a little boat on an ethereal lake of elusive colour. This impression is made still stronger by the minute farm-houses and the sheaves of hay surfacing here and there in a sea of small flecks. A scene of ploughing initially completed the view of an industrious rural area accustomed to the slow passage of time and the seasons, to the caress of light and air. This was how Del Bon had presented it for the Bergamo Prize in 1939, devoted that year to the subject of landscape.39 On its return to the studio, however, the artist pared the composition down still further, removing every reference to labour and replacing the plough with strokes of light, glowing colour. The painting then entered the col-lection of Bruno Grossetti, owner of the Galleria Annunciata, where the Chiaristi showed their work at the end of the decade.The end of an era was marked by Giolli, first with an article in Domus (February 1942) and then with a monograph on Spilimbergo in 1943. It is, however, what he wrote in the former that strikes us as interesting here. The end of the decade was already enough for a change in views and for critics to look back with the slight suspicion or fear that what had been taken as the child of tradition was instead a sign of weakness: “Who can say that Lo schermidore [The Fencer] [FIG. 2], Del Bon’s painting for the Principe Umberto Prize, is a work of Chiarismo? Light it certainly is, but all of Del Bon − the Del Bon that is indelibly imprinted on our eyes, that has accompanied us with violence − rejects, refuses and clashes with that soft definition of art. No flames other than bitter flames, no transparen-cies other than icy transparencies, shakes and shudders in his painting, in the painting that matters, which may be light, flooded with light, but is also harrowing.”40


39 See O. Sellani, Premio Bergamo. Mostra Nazionale del Paesaggio, exhibition catalogue (Bergamo, Palazzo della Ragione, September–October 1939), Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, Bergamo, 1939, n.p.n.

40 R. Giolli, “Posizione di Del Bon”, in Domus, Milan, February 1942, pp. 92–93; an extract is now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo, cit., 2006, p. 122.

The figure as a whole encapsulates the simplicity of the humble (inspired by an enthusiastic reading of Manzoni), who know that life is toil but also wonder, moral commitment and calm acceptance. The clear, misty light in shades of liquid pink is handed down by tradition but almost monochrome in colour — in a suffused gradation of hazel and pale powdery hues, au-tumnal ivories and browns — and characterized in form by thin, simplified outlines in which echoes of Modigliani ring out loud and clear. Like every-one else, De Rocchi had seen the show held at the 1930 Venice Biennial to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the master’s death with thir-ty-eight oil paintings, some sculptures and about ten drawings selected by Lionello Venturi.33

Verging on eternity in the portraits of Sironi, Bucci, Oppi and Funi, the temporal dimension of De Rocchi’s Popolana [W. NO. 32] is instead the se-raphic time of patient waiting, of a life that knows no dramatic turns of events or tragedies and has its sure, rewarding and deeply Franciscan ref-uge in the soul. The figures painted by the Chiaristi are in any case a family of clumsy actors, too awkward for any performance but perfect for a life more imagined than actually lived, evoked rather than consumed. Del Bon’s Lo schermidore [The Fencer] [FIG. 2] and La zingara [Female Gipsy] [FIG. 1] (both 1934), Spilimbergo’s Lania [FIG. 3] (1936), Lilloni’s Studio per “Risveglio” [Study for “Awakening”] [FIG. 4] (1931) and the Ritratto del figlio [Portrait of the Artist’s Son] [FIG. 5] by De Amicis (1936) are a series of pure, unblemished souls, anti-heroic by vocation, a procession of romantic dreamers.De Rocchi presented a Popolana lombarda [Peasant Woman from Lombardy] in 1935 at the second Rome Quadrennial and was to win the Principe Umberto Prize the following year with another work on the same subject. Carrà described these paintings, which place sentiment rather than the person in the centre of the painting, as conveying a sense of “mute despair, the inward-looking melancholy of a crepuscular poet”.34

Carrà drew attention to the “vast artistic movement now taking shape” in his review35 of a group show that opened at the Galleria del Milione in January 1936 at the very time of Persico’s death at his home in Milan.36 The participants included Sassu, Birolli, Broggini, Tomea, De Amicis, De Rocchi, Ghiringhelli, Lilloni and Del Bon but also Marini, Fontana, Melotti, Messina, Reggiani and Borra. Del Bon, who showed a Venetian landscape and a still life, was likened to a “painter of magnesium flashes, interested not so much in volume as in the resonant softness of pink and silvery greys”.37 This would hold also for the expanse of hills sprinkled with sulphurous yellows, verdigris, pale violet-pinks and magnesium greys in his Rocca delle Caminate n. 2 [W. NO. 33] (1935). The castle, geographical-ly located in the municipal territory of Meldola not far from Predappio, Mussolini’s birthplace, had been restored a decade earlier38 and was paint-ed by Del Bon on the crest of the undulating hills of the Emilia region be-neath an impalpable sky. Rather than appearing as a powerful, turreted

33 Modigliani had also been featured in a number of publications. Scheiwiller published a monograph In 1927 and drawings by the artist appeared in Belvedere (Bardi’s journal). Problemi d’Arte Attuale, a journal founded by Giolli, featured him on the cover and nearly all the pages inside in 1929. Giolli brought out a monographic issue of Poligono in February 1930 and Scheiwiller published Omaggio a Modigliani in the same period.

34 C. Carrà, “La pittura alla Quadriennale romana”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 25 March 1935.

35 C. Carrà, “Mostre d’Arte”, in L’Ambrosiano, no. 15, Milan, 17 January 1936, p. 3.

36 For a biography of Edoardo Persico by the present author, see E. Pontiggia (edited by), Persico e gli artisti, cit., 1998, pp. 164–73.

37 “Mostre d’Arte”, in L’Ambrosiano, cit., 17 January 1936, p. 3. For Del Bon and his work, see G. Marchiori, M. Carrà, B. Grossetti, Angelo del Bon. Tutte le opere, Turin: Bolaffi, 1977.

38 The restoration, which took place between 1924 and 1927, was funded by citizens of the Romagna region by popular subscription and the castle was then donated to Mussolini, who used it as his summer residence. A beacon installed on the entirely rebuilt tower emitted a beam of light in the three colours of the Italian flag visible at a distance of over 60 kilometres whenever the Duce was in residence.

4. Umberto Lilloni, Study for “Risveglio”, 1931. Milan, Renata Lilloni collection

5. Cristoforo De Amicis, Ritratto del figlio, 1936. Milan, private collection

3. Adriano Spilimbergo, Lania, 1936. Milan, Spilimbergo collection

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Prologue“You must know Giuseppe Iannaccone,” said Ro’ when I called on her at Via Plinio 70 one day back in 1985 or ’86, thirty years ago. Ro’ was Birolli’s wife, “the good and wonderful Rosa” as he called her in his notebooks, and her home on Via Plinio was where they had gone to live just after their wedding in 1938. The artist’s studio was still there with a large unfinished painting on the easel by the kitchen with its small balcony full of plants and flowers.For me, Ro’ was always Professoressa Rossi, my art teacher at middle school on Via Colletta. I had been one of her least bright and gifted pupils there years before, saved only by the miracle of her exceptional talent for teaching. She could have taught a fish or an umbrella to draw and succeeded to some extent even with me, who handled a pencil about as well as someone whose hands had been crippled in the Great War. “You must know lo Iannaccone,” she insisted, with the Lombard mania for inflicting a definite article on every name or surname. “He’s not like certain collectors [reeling off a list that I cannot repeat here]. He’s really in love with art, in love with Birolli.” This is how I came to meet Iannaccone in his law firm office on the corner of Via Cesare Battisti near the justice building. I have seen many masterpieces by Birolli and others enter his collection since then, even though Birolli’s work has always been its emblem, so to speak. L’Arlecchino [Harlequin] [W. NO. 9]), Tassì rosso [Red Taxi] [W. NO. 11], Periferia [Outskirts] [W. NO. 10], I poeti [The Poets] [W. NO. 14], La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene] [W. NO. 13], Caos I [Chaos I] [W. NO. 15], Maschere [Masks] [W. NO. 17]

and Signora col cappello [Lady in a Hat] [W. NO. 19] are not only peaks of his art but also paradigms of a conception of painting as colour, pathos and existential exploration in accordance with the neo-romanticism that pervaded so much Italian art of the thirties and had one of its strong-holds in Milan, the city of Persico’s circle, Chiarismo, lyrical expres-sionism and the Corrente group. Some art historians labour under the deplorable delusion that praising one movement necessarily entails denigrating those prior, subsequent or juxtaposed to it, as though loving the Riviera entailed loathing the Alps. Obviously enough, it is perfectly legitimate to prefer one move-ment to another according to your temperament, taste and ideas, just as the seaside can be preferred to the mountains (but some lucky peo-ple love both). It is not so legitimate to see the history of the art in

Reality and Utopia. The Birolli Paintings in the Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone

elena pontiggia

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REALITY AND UTOPIA. THE BIROLLI PAINTINGS IN THE COLLEZIONE GIUSEPPE IANNACCONEELENA PONTIGGIA

3 Birolli to Tomea, 20 May 1933, Florence, Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G.P. Vieusseux, Archivio Contemporaneo Alessandro Bonsanti, Fondo Rosa e Renato Birolli (hereafter ACGV/FB).

4 R. Birolli, “Sei artisti che espongono”, in Libro e moschetto, 11 April 1930.

Alongside these figures of a childlike, evangelical quality, however, Birolli began his own City of the Sun, giving birth to the series of red taxis (Tassì rosso, 1932 [W. NO. 11]) and suburban views (Periferie, 1932, in actual fact a Landscape of the Marche region). The work of the latter se-ries in the Iannaccone collection, namely La città degli studi [Città degli Studi, the Milan Universiy District] [W. NO. 12], is regarded by the artist himself as the finest. As he wrote to Tomea in May 1933: “I have finished a view of the Città degli Studi that is, I think, the best so far.”3

The artist left the area of Piazzale Susa, where he had a modest flat with no heating, and moved a short distance, a kilometre at most, towards the Città degli Studi, Milan’s university district. Crowned with domes and pinnacles reminiscent of Soviet architecture, and hence nicknamed the Kremlin, his new building at Via Columbus 81 now houses a scien-tific research centre. It was designed by Molinari, an estimable eclectic architect, and completed a few years earlier in 1927.The Kremlin is hard to make out today from Via Colombo because the street is shaded and indeed practically hidden by a long line of trees. Then instead it soared in isolation with its slightly dreamlike decora-tion, presenting Milan with some fragments of Mother Russia (or rather Stalinist, Soviet Russia, of which little was known in Italy).Birolli painted it from Piazzetta Occhialini [FIG. 1], which still has a round-about in the middle with a few trees, as in the painting. He did not de-pict the Kremlin as it is, of course, but accentuated the dome, elongated the spires and narrowed the central section to endow it with a fairytale character. The surroundings were altered in the same way, eliminating the rails on which trams rattled down the street. The lampposts became a Gauguin-like rusty orange, the pavement yellow and pink, and the roadway a glossy cobalt blue, all colours obviously nonexistent in the drab urban panorama. The finishing touch was a Van Gogh moon in the sky. La città degli studi [W. NO. 12] is in fact one of the first paintings in Italy to show the influence of the great Flemish artist. Birolli already had a clear idea of Van Gogh — or Van Gog, as wrote in one of his first articles in 19304 — at the beginning of the decade.A new city, a City of the Sun, is thus created in this work too out of “stone” (in this case the buildings and urban surroundings of Via Colombo) and the imagination (we hardly dare to involve God in this but Birolli was in fact deeply religious in the early thirties, like Sassu, and shared the deep, awestruck faith that characterized Persico’s circle). The birth of the Tassì rosso [W. NO. 11] was also inspired by Via Colombo. Birolli loved the walls with square panel separating the small houses from the street — again hidden by the trees today and scarcely visi-ble — because they reminded him of certain details of the mosaics in Sant’Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, which he had seen as a child and describes in his notebooks. The taxi is instead a Fiat T 1[FIG. 2], produced in 1921 on the basis of a model originally designed in 1910, a taxi still

Manichaean terms, divided into heroes and villains as in the simplistic westerns of yesteryear, where the goodies always win and the goodies are always right.Collectors, or at least some of them, have an advantage over critics in this sense. As passionately attached to their artists as children are to their toys, they have neither time nor motive to denigrate what lies out-side their sphere of interest and action. Iannaccone has thus spent years tracking down a work and making it his own. He has focused on only one movement because he was not looking for a painting but for that painting, not an artist but that artist. This is why his collection is one of the most faithful portraits we have today in Italy of the neo-romantic art of the thirties, which took over from the neo-classicism of the previous decade.1 I have, however, never heard him express disdain for the latter in order the glorify the former in all the thirty years we have known one another. There are absolute masters whose works will never enter his collection because they do not correspond to his idea of art and his vi-sion of life. This does not prevent him from appreciating them, however, even though his heart belongs to another.In short, what Giuseppe Iannaccone has is an art collection, not an ide-ology. And this strikes me as the finest compliment we can pay him.

Birolli: a visionary realistRenato Birolli (Verona, 1905 – Milan, 1959) can be described also on the basis of the masterpieces in the Iannaccone collection as a painter of uto-pia and reality at the same time. These two things may appear to conflict but do not in his paintings. Something the artist wrote to his close friend Sandro Bini can perhaps shed light on his way of seeing the world and therefore of painting: “All of Giotto’s mountains are a stone picked up in the street and multiplied by his imagination, multiplied by God.”2

In other words, art starts from simple and even lowly everyday life (a stone on the ground) but illuminates it with a fantastic dimension steeped in a sense of mystery and the divine, the latter being also sus-ceptible of secular interpretation as a vision in love with reality, a sort of secret, vital enthusiasm. It is no coincidence that enthusiasm derives etymologically from en-theos, having god inside you.This is how Birolli proceeded in his paintings of the thirties. After mov-ing to Milan at the end of 1928 and spending a couple of years on land-scapes that were still immature or influenced by the Novecento move-ment, he began to express his utopian vision in 1931 and turned the drab, wan Lombard city into a capital of colour.Birolli also painted an inadequate, awestruck humankind in the early thirties, as exemplified in the Iannaccone collection by the Matisse-like L’Arlecchino [W. NO. 9] (1931). Anything but triumphant, this Harlequin is intimidated and incapable of taking advantage of the success the public appear to have bestowed on him. He is a loser, an anti-hero.

1 For an analysis of the concepts of Novecento neo-classicism and neo-romanticism, which cannot be addressed at length here, readers are referred to two studies by the present author: “Una stagione neo-romantica. Pittura e scultura a Milano negli anni Trenta” (in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo [edited by], Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004); Modernità e classicità. Il Ritorno all’ordine in Europa dal dopoguerra agli anni Trenta, Milan: Bruno Mondadori, 2008.

2 Birolli to Bini, 18 July 1937, in Carteggio Bini Birolli, edited by G. Erbesato, Mantua, 1987, p. 21. The entire early period of the artist’s career, which cannot be examined here, is reconstructed by the present author in “Una realtà visionaria. La pittura di Birolli dagli esordi all’amorfismo (1924-1937)” and “Birolli. L’avventura di ‘Corrente’”, both in E. Pontiggia, V. Birolli, Renato Birolli. Figure e luoghi 1930-1939, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Museo Ettore Fico, 10 March − 26 June 2016), Turin, 2016.

1. Milan, Piazzetta Occhialini

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6 “I am entirely repainting the canvas Convegno dei Religiosi, which has become L’Eletto.” Birolli to Puglielli, 4 November 1935, ACGV/FB.

7 Luke 9: 28-35. The expression is also used about Christ on the cross: “Let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, his Chosen One” (Luke 23, 35).

8 A. Della Latta (edited by), Renato Birolli. Biblioteca, Milan: Scalpendi, 2014, p. 118.

9 Birolli to Vincenzo Puglielli, 3 October 1936, ACGV/FB.5 Ezekiel, I, 1-26.

occurs about a dozen times in the Bible, appears in particular in the Gospels during the Transfiguration:

And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was altered, and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were talk-ing with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory […] And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, This is my Son, my Chosen One, listen to him.7

It can therefore be assumed that the mysterious Convegno dei Religiosi also depicted a transfiguration and L’Eletto a glowing metamorphosis, “dazzling white”.During 1935 Birolli also read the anthology Le più belle pagine di Tommaso Campanella, edited by Corrado Alvaro and published by Treves that year.8 In his City of the Sun (1602) the Renaissance philos-opher Campanella takes up the model of Plato’s Republic to describe a perfect city on the island of Taprobana with an orderly circular layout dominated by a round temple of the Sun, the symbol of God radiating light and life. Campanella thus revives the ancient myth of Atlantis, the dream of a society with no imbalance or injustice, a place of happiness and harmony. For a painter, however, this City of the Sun represents not so much a po-litical utopia as an epiphany of light with its white columned buildings, the temple studded with precious stones, the seven lamps of gold and the stars glistening over the altar: all images translated into incandes-cent colours in Birolli’s mind. In addition to these religious and philosophical sources of inspiration, there are others, earlier or later, of a more properly pictorial nature. Van Gogh painted the dazzling light of Provence and the Mediterranean sun. Cézanne, Matisse and the Fauves painted bathers living in a glowing golden age in complete symbiosis with the energies of nature. Drawing in-spiration from those bathers but also from the modest amusements of sub-urban life, Birolli also depicted a golden age, a timeless earthly paradise, in Eldorado [FIG. 3], L’Età felice [The Happy Age] (1936) and Eden (1937). Reality and utopia, Monluè [W. NO. 18] and Taprobana, Milanese suburbia and gardens of Eden thus melded in a seamless whole. Awareness of his “amphibious” condition, midway between the visionary dimension and realism, also emerges in the lyrical words he wrote to his friend Puglielli in 1936:

I came down from the heavens this evening and feel myself streaked by the wind like clouds. Cleansed of all prejudice, I have rediscov-ered so many on the earth; burnt and as though medieval am I now this evening. Early to dream, my entire life lies in the perennial al-ternation of the two poles, terrestrial and celestial, in the constant transfer of reciprocal values.9

similar to a carriage where the driver sat in the open, framed only by slender uprights, while the passenger sat inside the cab behind him. Birolli depicts it faithfully but in an atmosphere of enchantment en-hanced by the absence of the waiting driver, who has left the door open, and the passengers, who are all of us in this colourful, Baudelairean “invitation au voyage”.The colours are altered in this work too, however, as the Fiat was actual-ly green and black. The artist drew from his imagination a precious red deftly harmonized with the pink of the pavement and the lemon yellow of the road. Nothing is more realistic and more visionary than his Tassì, accurately reproduced in the smallest detail and completely reinvented.Birolli’s simultaneously utopian and highly concrete trajectory was in-tensified in the mid-thirties, when the feverish months of 1935 saw the creation of I poeti [W. NO. 14], La nuova Ecumene [W. NO. 13] (also known as La visione d’Ezechiele or Ezekiel’s Vision) and Eldorado [FIG. 3]. All three paintings were born out of a vision of the Milanese suburb of Monluè [W. NO. 18] ablaze with light. Demolished in the seventies to build the east-ern bypass, the ancient Mons Luparium (“hill of wolves”) was still a bus-tling village in the thirties with lines of poplars along the Lambro river and a farmhouse bearing traces of the monastery founded in the thir-teenth century by monks of the Humiliati order. It was the closest area of countryside for people coming from Piazzale Susa like Birolli, who distorted the reality here too in a glowing metamorphosis.In I poeti [W. NO. 14] and La nuova Ecumene [W. NO. 13] in particular, Birolli draws on the Book of Ezekiel:

Now it came to pass in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, in the fifth day of the month, as I was among the captives by the river of Chebar, that the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of God. […] And I looked, and, behold, a whirlwind came out of the north, a great cloud, and a fire infolding itself, and a brightness was about it, and out of the midst thereof as the colour of amber, out of the midst of the fire. […] As for the likeness of the living creatures, their appearance was like burn-ing coals of fire, and like the appearance of lamps: it went up and down among the living creatures; and the fire was bright, and out of the fire went forth lightning. […] And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne was the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it. […] And I saw as the colour of amber, as the appear-ance of fire round about within it […] and it had brightness round about.5

The lost Convegno dei Religiosi [Conference of the Religious], subse-quently entitled L’Eletto [The Chosen One], of which Birolli spoke to his friend Vincenzo Puglielli in November 1935,6 must have been born out of a similar inspiration. Who is the Chosen One? The expression, which

3. Renato Birolli, Eldorado, 1935.Milan, Civiche Raccolte d’Arte collezione Boschi-Di Stefano

2. A Fiat T1 taxi in a photograph of the twenties

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had I stayed. […] No one has anything because you can no longer have anything when mankind reaches the peak of corruption […] I have no more hope […] I cannot get over the ruins by interpreting them. I suffer them […] Perhaps later, when no longer in pain, memory will be able to see images again. Art needs this.”13

In the end, the real City of the Sun is art.

13 Birolli to Barolini, 17 August 1943, ACGV/FB/RB.I.37.39.

What became of Birolli’s “terrestrial and celestial” vision? How did the visionary striving so firmly rooted in reality end? In the most dramat-ic way. The City of the Sun painted in the thirties, from the Periferia [W. NO. 10] to the Tassì rosso [W. NO. 11] and I poeti [W. NO. 14], began to crumble as early as 1936. The first indication is to be found precisely in the Iannaccone collection with Caos I, the revelation of the anti-cosmos, the shattering and shattered forces that gave birth to the universe. Rather than a peaceful earthly paradise, Eden (1937) itself is swept by a sort of hurricane that recalls Paul Valéry’s verse: “The wind is rising [...] We must try to live.” The shift in perspective is confirmed by another masterpiece in the Iannaccone collection, namely the Maschere [W. NO. 17] (1938–39).The painting is a metaphor of history: history as it is, not as it should be. It represents the falsehood of the eternal human comedy, a theme stylis-tically related to Ensor but rooted in Pascal: “Most people hide behind a mask and are not as they seem” (Pensées, III, 398). The wandering masks are the opposite of utopia: cognizance of the lies and hypocrisy that surround us. Birolli could say with Pasternak: “I am alone. Everything around me drowns in falsehood.” From then on, the theme of the City of the Sun enclosed a sort of awareness of its own unreality. Birolli painted another Eldorado in 1942 but no longer with the joy conveyed by the ple-beian bathing establishment of 1935. As its title suggests, the Elegia per un paese felice [Elegy for a Happy Town] [FIG. 4] has elegiac overtones in its depiction of women deep in thought among roosters as big as turkeys invading the sky and the earth.The Birolli paintings of the Iannaccone collection end ideally for now (we evidently have no wish to impose limits on providence) with the Signora col cappello [W. NO. 19] (1941), a pensive muse painted against a gold background of a more silent than oneiric nature.10

Birolli was evacuated to Cologno di Melegnano in the Veneto region dur-ing the war. On returning momentarily to Milan, he gave a terrifying image of the city, now a far cry from any utopia. As he wrote to the critic Umbro Apollonio late in 1942, “I have realized that I am tired of living […] Milan is a ghost town […] I have suspended all exhibitions by refus-ing the paintings.”11 He also wrote to the poet Barolini in August 1943: “Saying that I know nothing about our destiny is the only perception of the moment, like Socrates knowing that he knew nothing […] The fate of all Europe is already sealed and we think it is dramatic because we are alive, while for me it is instead because we are in our death throes. We will speak a dead language.”12

The City of the Sun will therefore not only never exist but can no longer even be dreamed of. A few days later, however, in flight from the bomb-ing of Milan, his despair and desperation for the present state of things did not perhaps rule out the possibility of a rebirth of art in the future: “I have left the city in darkness and ruins […] I would have gone mad

10 Birolli wrote as follows about his yellows a year earlier: “I think that beneath the last skin of a painting there are ten cracked and dry. […] When I apply the first yellow it is never beautiful in the sense of being a full, ripe yellow. Hard and perhaps shapeless. It is not always the finest yellow of my mind, the most adventurous yellow of my eyes, but the necessary premise of all the yellows to come. […] Because it has not yet entered into the relations that will be born close to it, which it will have to seek out in order to have a philosophical life.” Birolli to Nino Bertocchi, 7 February 1941, ACGV/FB.

11 Birolli to U. Apollonio, 17 December 1942 (ACGV/FB).

12 Birolli to Barolini, August 1943, ACGV/FB/RB.I.37.38.

4. Renato Birolli, Elegia per un paese felice, 1942. Private collection

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1 Precise assessment of the critical fortunes of Corrente would require an analytical summary of the existing literature divided into sections (critical studies, exhibition catalogues, first-hand testimony and so on), which is impossible here. In any case, the most significant publications include the following: R. De Grada, Il movimento di Corrente, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1952; E. Crispolti, F. Irace (edited by), Corrente, cultura e società 1938-1942: omaggio a Edoardo Persico, 1900-1936, exhibition catalogue (Naples, Palazzo Reale, 20 July – 10 September 1978), Naples, 1978; M. De Micheli (edited by), Corrente: il movimento di arte e cultura di opposizione 1930–1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 25 January – 28 April 1985), Milan: Vangelista, 1985; M. Pizziolo (edited by), Corrente: le parole della vita, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 17 June – 7 September 2008), Milan: Skira, 2008; E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il movimento di Corrente, Milan: Abscondita, 2012. I wish to thank the personnel of the Fondazione Corrente for all their helpfulness during my bibliographical and archival research.

2 As is known, the journal founded and edited by Ernesto Treccani, which appeared from 1 January 1938 to 15 May 1940, was initially called Vita Giovanile before changing its name to Corrente di Vita Giovanile and finally Corrente. It is most readily accessible in the anastatic copy by Vittorio Fagone published by La nuova Foglio, Pollenza, in 1978.

3 For a chronological list of works published by Edizioni di Corrente, see G. Sebastiani, I libri di Corrente. Milano 1940-1943: una vicenda editoriale, Bologna: Pendragon, 1998.

4 The history of the Corrente gallery can be reconstructed through the catalogues printed, an index of which appears in I libri di Corrente..., cit., 1998.

5 For an account of what took place, see E. Vedova, Pagine di diario, Milan: Galleria Blu, 1960; now also in G. Celant (edited by), Vedova 1935-1984, exhibition catalogue (Venice, Ala Napoleonica, Museo Correr and Magazzino del Sale 266 alle Zattere, 12 May – 30 September 1984), Milan: Electa, 1984.

6 See L. Caramel, “La premessa e l’eredità di Corrente, i ‘realismi’ a Milano e a Roma, il Fronte Nuovo delle Arti”, in L. Caramel (edited by), Arte in Italia 1945-1960, Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 1994, pp. 9−42.

7 See E. Pontiggia, “Cronologia”, in Il movimento di Corrente..., cit., 2012, pp. 41–84.

8 C. L. Ragghianti, “Il movimento di Corrente”, in Corrente: il movimento..., cit., 1985, p. 20.

While it is true that the Corrente movement has been repeatedly ad-dressed in studies, exhibitions and lively discussions over the decades, the need still remains for a broad and truly exhaustive reconstruction of what happened in Milan between 1938 and 1943.1 It was in this pe-riod, coinciding with the terminal phase of the Fascist regime, that the experience ran its course. First, there were the great pages of the jour-nal, which established itself immediately as one of the strongest and most independent voices on the Italian cultural scene, and two group exhibitions held in Milan in March and December 1939.2 Then, after Italy entered the war and the periodical was closed down on political grounds by Mussolini himself, there was a whole series of publica-tions3 and solo shows, the latter held in Via della Spiga at the Bottega di Corrente, later renamed Galleria di Corrente e della Spiga.4 The end of the activities nominally related to the movement coincided more or less with the fall of Mussolini. A raid carried out by the OVRA, the Fascist political police force, on Via della Spiga in the spring of 1943 discovered evidence of dissent now turning into revolt.5 The ensuing ar-rests, imprisonments and escapes did not, however, prevent the group from staying alive in the very heart of the Resistance. In actual fact, the movement even continued to operate after the war until the autumn of 1948, when the Fronte Nuovo delle Arti — which had taken up its mantle — plunged into an irreversible crisis, torn apart by the deep rifts of the new political scene.6

The need to reconstruct the countless episodes constituting the history of Corrente one by one, an operation to be carried out elsewhere, is con-firmed if nothing else by the invaluable chronology recently published by Elena Pontiggia, in which the facts are set out in detail for the first time, encompassing the entire galaxy of magazines, people and plac-es that began to revolve around the Milanese movement all over Italy.7 Corrente was first and foremost a beacon for all, a point of reference for people all around. As Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti observed in a lucid and penetrating study published in 1985, unlike many other groups born in the twentieth century, Corrente “was not a closed, esoteric sect but instead marked by a deep and constant commitment to uniting people — or rather artists, endowed as such with strong and often intransigent individual character — in the common exercise of freedom of thought and expression, even when the political and social divisions would have required obedience to the heteronomy of art.”8 Corrente was, in short,

The Painting of the Corrente Group: between Colour and Reality

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THE PAINTING OF THE CORRENTE GROUP: BETWEEN COLOUR AND REALITYMATTIA PATTI

10 Elena Pontiggia rightly concentrates on this source in “Il taxi rosso”, 36 in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 122.

11 L. Venturi, Cézanne. Son art, son œuvre, Paris: Rosenberg, 1936. Another important result of these studies was to be Les Archives de l’Impressionnisme, Paris: Durand Ruel, 1939.

influence of Matisse is in fact already clearly recognizable, especially the paintings of the early years in Nice, where the expansive light of the south dilutes and softens the colours to make them less glaring than before. The same cultural sphere is also reflected in the slightly later urban scenes, Periferia (Grottammare) [Outskirts (Grottammare)] [W. NO. 10], Tassì rosso [Red Taxi] [W. NO. 11] and La città degli studi [Città degli Studi, the Milan University District] [W. NO. 12], which combine the “soft whiteness” of the ancient mosaics in Ravenna10 with a primi-tive draughtsmanship and handling of space recalling the landscapes painted by Raoul Dufy and André Derain around 1906, chromatical-ly lighter than the peak of Fauvism the previous year. The brightest hues instead inflame the large scenes of figures that Birolli produced in the mid-thirties, La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene] [W. NO. 13] and I poeti [The Poets] [W. NO. 14], both painted almost entirely with an an-ti-naturalistic palette. In La nuova Ecumene, the whirling combination of warm colours, especially the yellow, orange and red that set the sky and the garments of some figures ablaze; the sudden collision of complementaries, blue and orange in particular; the diagonals cutting boldly through the space on the right, with the orange crosier and the white staff that almost meet at the top at a point on an axis with the seated figure turning round and indicated by the bishop, whose brightly coloured mitre is resting on the ground: all these elements are drawn by Birolli quite directly from Derain and in particular from the views of boats at Collioure painted in 1905. Another possible source in another respect is the masterpiece The Turning Road, L’Estaque (a large work painted by Derain in 1906 and now in the Houston Museum of Fine Arts), where we also find the strong idea of a concave space sinking internally through the alternation of two-dimensional scen-ery and curved planes. This spatial syntax, which rejects all rigorous perspective to dissolve into molten colour that almost ends up swal-lowing the figures, reappears in I poeti, another work clearly influ-enced by Fauvism. In any case, Birolli was developing new interests and different passions shortly before the birth of Corrente, especially the painting of Cézanne, to which the artist began to look insistently after a stay in Paris in 1936 and above all after his crucial meeting with Lionello Venturi. Venturi had taken refuge in the French capital after refusing to swear the oath of loyalty to Fascist regime and was engaged there on important studies on the artists of the Impressionist gener-ation, which included publishing the catalogue raisonné of Cézanne’s works.11 The influence of Cézanne — and in particular some paintings of bathers, characterized by the close interweaving of figural elements and architectural elements of the landscape — can unquestionably be seen in many works produced by Birolli between 1936 and 1938, in-cluding Il caos [Chaos] [W. NO. 15], once owned by Sandro Bini. It can even be detected in works with markedly different points of iconographic

a forum of free and courageous discussion than endeavoured from the very first page of the journal to involve the new generations that had grown up under the Fascist regime.9 Many have rightly drawn attention to the unorthodox — if not indeed subversive — character of this deci-sion to address young people outside the framework of the GUF (Gruppi Universitari Fascisti), institutions created by the regime long before to mould the new Italian youth, channel its activities and blunt its stimuli for independent thought. In the field of the visual arts, addressing the young meant two things above all in 1938: on the one hand, providing information about what was happening on the national artistic scene, indicating names, works and ex-hibitions so as to orient taste and establish values; on the other, drawing the outlines of a modern tradition of art and discussing the recent origins of artistic developments openly in a European and certainly not autar-kic perspective. The latter was made all the more difficult in that period because the debate had been irreparably poisoned for some time. The exhibition of Entartete Kunst or “degenerate art” staged by Nazi Germany in 1937 had given rise to heated arguments on the relationship between art and politics, causing many to take a dim view of the experimental art produced in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, especially in the French and northern sphere. The crazed Nazi views had unfortu-nately been taken up by some Italian critics and many — unquestionably including the Corrente group — therefore considered it necessary to put up some resistance, give different indications and lay the foundations of a modern road to art that it proved hard to distinguish clearly in Italy due to backwardness, revivals of classicism and exhibitions of the Fascist union of fine arts.While significant echoes of these discussions can be found in the pages of the journal, it is above all the works of the Corrente group — the draw-ings, sculptures and paintings — that speak out unmistakably and show the signs of a precise cultural orientation. In the light of these consid-erations, a walk through the works of the Iannaccone collection, which includes some of the group’s greatest masterpieces, makes it possible to understand the sense of this episode fully as well as the broad cultural horizons of the Italian artists who joined together to fight for art in one of the most difficult moments of the country’s history. No matter how we choose to address the subject, the first step to be taken necessarily regards Renato Birolli, unquestionably the leading figure of the Corrente group at the time of its birth. While readers are referred for a more thorough examination of the individual works to the study by Elena Pontiggia published in this volume, it is neces-sary here at least to recall the essential coordinates of Birolli’s visual culture, which attests to a deep love of French painting, above all the Fauves, as from his L’Arlecchino [Harlequin] [W. NO. 9] of 1931, the earliest work in the Iannaccone collection. Here, as in other later works, the

9 See “Presentazione”, in Vita Giovanile, y. I, no. 1, Milan, 1 January 1938, p. 1.

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15 L. Anceschi, in Opere del periodo 1928-1934 di Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Corrente. Bottega degli artisti di Ernesto Treccani, 19–31 March 1941).

16 M. De Micheli, in Corrente. Cultura e società, cit., 1978.

17 Emilio Vedova, then practically making his debut, wrote as follows in his Pagine di diario: “All the most progressive forces in Italy had made an unspoken agreement to meet at the Bergamo Prize. I recall the truly alarming atmosphere of that day, the authentic anarchy with plates flying into the air in the upper town of Bergamo, glasses smashing against glasses, a Fascist in a black shirt who was so furious that he pulled out a dagger to stab me in the back, the air of conspiracy circulating amongst us at the table, the works of Migneco, Guttuso, Birolli, Treccani and Apollonio as well as Elio Vittorini. A strange gathering of anti-fascist intellectual forces at a prize created by certain Fascists but almost turned into an official anti-fascist point of departure. I remember the afternoon of that day, at least twenty of us in that bedroom, halfway between slaughter and chaos: certainly not an edifying symbol of the structure, organization, will power and order that was or was supposed to be second nature to people running an empire. Every time I recall those hours, I am almost forced to see an entire symbolism in the actions and events of the day. For example, Vittorini’s dismantling of the bed — and the room and more besides if it had been possible — like an automatic detector of an apparatus to be destroyed, etc., etc. That little piazza in the upper part of Bergamo certainly saw some alarming episodes that day: precise symptoms of a more or less conscious upheaval.” (E. Vedova, Pagine di diario, cit., 1960).

in the Iannaccone collection, looks forward to Migneco’s works in the turbulence of its handling of paint (scored in places with the brush handle) and visionary quality (the black finger-stall of L’uomo dal dito fasciato [W. NO. 55] is almost like a citation of the eye patch and the gloves of Il principe cattolico [The Catholic Prince] [FIG. 2, P. 302], one of Scipione’s masterpieces).A further link with the modern French tradition regards Aligi Sassu, who took expressionistic colour as the basis of his painting back in the early thirties, as did Birolli. It is no coincidence that in writing about Sassu in 1941, Luciano Anceschi indicated “the most felicitous and uninhibited chromatic liberty in a free and fanciful realm of the imagination”15 as one of the hallmarks of Corrente as a whole. The Concerto, 1930 [W. NO. 74], the Dioscuri [Castor and Pollux], 1931 [W. NO. 75] and the Nu au divan vert [Nude on a Green Couch], 1941 [W. NO. 76] are not characterized by the wild colour of Fauve painters like Kees van Dongen alone. Accentuated to the point of violence, the colour goes beyond powerful but simple visual excitation and ends up saturating the air, impregnating every particle of the atmosphere. Colour is transformed in Sassu’s work from a physi-cal to a mental element that makes it possible to interpret reality from a stronger and more straightforward viewpoint. The screen that Sassu places between us and the image thus takes on a symbolic character in much the same way as what happened with some members of the post-Impressionist generation. While thorough examination is impos-sible here, attention should be drawn in this connection to the close relationship between much of Sassu’s painting and some late works of Édouard Vuillard, especially the large canvases painted in 1918 for the Grand Teddy café in Paris [FIG. 1].The final stage of this survey regards Renato Guttuso, Ennio Morlotti, Bruno Cassinari and Ernesto Treccani, a group that in some way diverged from the painting of colour discussed above during the movement’s clos-ing phase. If it is true that the antifascism of Corrente was not openly avowed until the summer of 1943, it must be pointed out at the same time that a group of more radical young people with ideas wholeheartedly op-posed to the policies of the Fascist regime had already been taking shape inside the Milan movement for some time, including above all the second generation of Corrente. As noted by Mario De Micheli, who began to take part in the movement’s discussions in precisely that period, “The group of Morlotti, Cassinari, Treccani, Morosini, Guttuso and myself was obvious-ly one more inclined towards the politicization of artistic creation.”16 The formation of this group can be traced back at least to September 1942, when the fourth (and last) edition of the Bergamo Prize brought some of the most battle-hardened artists and critics of the time together in the city.17 The second prize that year was awarded to Guttuso’s Crocifissione [Crucifixion] [FIG. 1, P. 125], a painting that caused great outcry by its unortho-dox interpretation of the religious episode depicted.

reference. In Maschere [Masks] [W. NO. 17], a work that displays a pre-cise interest — as always emphasized by critics — in the angst-ridden painting of James Ensor, the “roaming masks” soar in agitated flight over a bare mountain reminiscent of Mt Sainte-Victoire. The sky too, while returning here to the colours of nature, refuses to stretch out in a thin, taut plane but wrinkles under the weight of Cézanne-like brush-strokes. (Something similar, poinsed between fantastic dream and the concrete physicality of matter, can also be found in Italo Valenti’s Gabbiani [Seagulls] [W. NO. 89].) As Birolli gradually entered into the full swing of Corrente, the accen-tuation of colour gave way to a new sensitivity to paint, which thickens in works like the Signora col cappello [Lady in a Hat] [W. NO. 19] of 1941, for-mally reminiscent of Gauguin’s portraiture. The same density also char-acterized other members of the group, including Arnaldo Badodi, who again displays numerous signs of deep love for the French modern tradi-tion and sometimes in particular for Cézanne’s handling of paint, as in the Soprabito su divano [Overcoat on a Sofa] [W. NO. 8]. In any case, Badodi usually concentrated on interiors in which the colour and light remain distant both from Cézanne’s fullness of form and from the chromatic in-tensity of the Fauves. In the catalogue of Badodi’s show at the Bottega di Corrente in 1941, Raffaele De Grada rightly refers to Toulouse-Lautrec in connection with the “melancholy setting” of the works exhibited: “[...] On looking at these paintings you feel the dissatisfied air of an ‘artificial’ world that constitutes an albeit fragile shelter against a ‘nat-ural’ world that is frightening for the resolutions it can bear in a period of crisis of values, when the sense of mediocrity remains the most fear-some enemy.”12 In works like Caffè [Café] [W. NO. 4], Il biliardo [Billiards] [W. NO. 3] and Soprabito su divano [W. NO. 8], the streaky brushstrokes and the coagulation of paint around the figures and objects recall most direct-ly the example of Van Gogh if not indeed Chaïm Soutine (who inherit-ed to some extent Van Gogh’s role as a tragic, anguished figure on the Parisian art scene). As recognized by critics from the outset, Van Gogh is also a clear point of reference for the work of Giuseppe Migneco, some of whose great-est paintings are now in the Iannaccone collection. The swirling flux of long brushstrokes that structures the Amanti al parco [Lovers in the Park] [W. NO. 54] and L’uomo dal dito fasciato [Man with a Bandaged Finger] [W. NO. 55], both 1940, is unquestionably drawn from the master. In addi-tion to this source — and others promptly identified by the critics, like the references to Rouault and Soutine rightly made by Umberto Silva in 194113 — attention should be drawn to another and this time Italian influence, namely Scipione. As has still to be adequately recognized, Scipione was taken by the Corrente artists as a sort of tutelary divin-ity, epitomizing an anxiety and a painful tension to which they ac-corded priority.14 Scipione’s painting, which is also well represented

12 R. De Grada, “Badodi”, in Le ultime opere di Arnaldo Badodi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Corrente. Bottega degli artisti di Ernesto Treccani, 22 February – 5 March 1941). The catalogue includes a reproduction of the painting Caffè, now in the Iannaccone collection.

13 U. Silva, “Migneco”, in Le ultime opere di Giuseppe Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Corrente. Bottega degli artisti di Ernesto Treccani, 6–18 January 1941).

14 This love for Scipione was confirmed in the late thirties and early forties by a series of exhibitions, editions and critical studies largely prompted and undertaken by artists and critics associated with the Corrente movement. A specific study on this subject by the present author is to be published shortly.

1. Édouard Vuillard, Le Grand Teddy, 1917–19, detail. Geneva, Petit Palais, Musée d’Art Moderne

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shortly afterwards to direct participation in the Resistance, he appears to have already attainted the liberation of gesture and sign that were to characterize his painting and that of many of his companions after the end of the war, when the Corrente movement resurfaced in a different form and continued to exist as a vibrant, living entity through groups, programmatic manifestos, exhibitions and periodicals, making its own crucial contribution to the revitalization of Italian art and culture.

The group’s real emergence came, however, with the show held by Morlotti, Cassinari and Treccani at the Galleria di Corrente e della Spiga in February 1943. It was on that occasion that the new generation seemed to break free once and for all from the work of the older masters. Raffaele De Grada, who presented the three young artists in the catalogue, wrote later of “a great leap beyond the dignity of the hermeticism that had de-fended the values of the first phase of Corrente”.18 This radical change was primarily strategic in nature. Following the advice of Guttuso and in particular his “Paura della pittura”, published in Prospettive at the beginning of 1942, Morlotti, Cassinari and Treccani began to “shout” in order to express themselves. No longer hiding their roots and inten-tions, they finally came out into the open and freed themselves from the “fear of painting” identified by Guttuso as the greatest burden for young artists.19 In terms of pictorial language, Guttuso was still the primary ex-ample for the three artists. The Sicilian painter had always differed from the other members of Corrente in his love for Picasso and always kept his distance from the expressionistic painting with romantic overtones and devoid of drama that was instead loved and practiced by artists like Birolli, Migneco and Valenti.20

As observation of the works in the Iannaccone collection reveals, the pictorial works of Guttuso and those closest to him in the early for-ties are not yet characterized by direct reference to Picasso or indeed to Guernica [FIG. 8, P. 133]. What emerges most strongly from paintings like Guttuso’s Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo [Portrait of Antonino Santangelo] [W. NO. 41] and his still lifes of 1940–41 is close and some-times blunt reference to reality as an absolute necessity of art. The draughtsmanship, form and hence colour too surround the objects, the spaces and the faces of subjects tightly in an approach that can al-ready be described as new realism. In short, not only and indeed not so much Picasso as Van Gogh once again (even though the master’s in-fluence in Guttuso’s Gabbia bianca e foglie [White Cage and Leaves] [W. NO. 40] or Treccani’s self-portrait [W. NO. 86] manifests itself in very dif-ferent terms, less delicate and romantic, with respect to Migneco’s work). Not only and not so much Picasso as Cézanne once again and indeed even Courbet in the case of certain works of dense physicali-ty like Morlotti’s Natura morta con bucranio [Still Life with Bull Skull] [W. NO. 57]. The desire to come out into the open as soon as possible, to move definitively beyond a long and terrible period, manifested itself among the younger artists, in short, as a new and strong passion for the concreteness of reality.21 This agitation of matter can also be seen in the Venetian Emilio Vedova, whose friendship with the Corrente group dates from the fourth edition of the Bergamo Prize in 1942, where the works he presented include Il caffeuccio veneziano [Venetian Café] [W.

NO. 92] that graces the Iannaccone collection today. Vedova even went beyond a new idea of reality in this case. In the grip of an anger that led

18 R. De Grada, “Morlotti, il paesaggio dell’anima”, in Corriere della Sera, Milan, 16 December 1992.

19 “Expressing ourselves ultimately means letting ourselves shout if we want to. It is true that shouting does not necessarily mean being right, but nor does speaking in a low voice. Accused of anarchy and aberration twenty-five years ago, Cubism is now accused of intellectual rigour. What value did that act of freedom have then? But being free means doing what you can, knowing what your imagination commands and bravely obeying it, trying and testing the means given to us, which belong to everyone, with our own blood, the concrete flow of our being, to which everything about us refers. In this constant presence of the whole of the self, painters will live their true life and put their freedom into effect, open to the world, in relations of solidarity and dialogue with the other human beings.” R. Guttuso, “Paura della pittura”, in Prospettive, y. VI, no. 25–27, Rome, 15 January – 15 March 1942, pp. 5–6; also in R. Guttuso, Mestiere di pittore, Bari: De Donato, 1972, p. 16.

20 As Guttuso explained in 1962, “Although my presence in Corrente from 1940 on was active, I believe that, without wishing to, I played the part of a contrarian. I refused any connection with ‘pictorial expressionism of Impressionist derivation’. I liked the Mannerists, I liked Grünewald, Van Gogh and Picasso. Birolli loved Van Gogh too, but for reasons very different from mine. I liked the organic brushstroke of Van Gogh, the pantheistic definition of things, faces, leaves, stars, chairs, flowers, shoes, rain, reflections in the water. I liked the painfully earthy sense of Van Gogh and therefore likened him to Picasso in my love. Birolli instead interpreted Van Gogh through Ensor and placed him at the service of a symbolism that I found suspect at the time.” R. Guttuso, “Dialogo sulla pittura”, in Mestiere di pittore, cit., 1972, pp. 57–58. “Dialogo sulla pittura” was originally published in Quaderni milanesi, no. 4-5, Milan, summer-autumn 1962.

21 The emergence around these dates of a new relationship with reality, which involved the young artists of Corrente as well as other leading figures in the new Italian painting, was examined in depth with great clarity on the occasion of the exemplary exhibition organized by Andrea Buzzoni, Fabrizio D’ Amico and Flaminio Gualdoni in 1993 at the Palazzo dei Diamanti in Ferrara. See Pittura e realtà, exhibition catalogue (Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 28 February – 30 May 1993). Ferrara: Ferrara Arte, 1993.

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The Six Painters of Turin: European and Modern. Themes, Exhibitions and Paintings through a Collection

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These painters, who belong in the field of the figurative arts to the school of thought developed by Lionello Venturi for the modern taste, can therefore be described as European.– Edoardo Persico, 19291

The exhibition is the form that the Six Painters of Turin chose for the birth of their group, a social form making it possible to develop shared pictorial aims and adopt a stance in the public discourse on the art. Programmes gave way to the collective practice of exhibiting and the writing of man-ifestos to two singular images d’après Manet and Cézanne. Placed at the entrance to the shows of 1929 and 1930 in Turin, they made the sources explicit and spoke of a history of art forged by artists.Writing was to come later. The group’s first internal text, produced by Francesco Menzio in 1930, summarized the progress of a year and ex-pressed the common aim of entering “the climate of European artists”.2 The Europe of the Six was precisely that, a climate, the breath that Carlo Levi appears to evoke with the title of his large painting Aria [Air], almost an invocation in “the empty room that Italy was becom-ing”, as he wrote in 1965.3 It was a place of travel, of artists, images and thoughts on the move whose paths crossed; a cultural scene governed by the concept of “interdependence” placed by Luigi Einaudi as the cornerstone of the creation of a European federation in opposition to the principle of the “isolated sovereign state”.4 History was moving in another direction but the group’s date of birth coincided significantly with the speech on the United States of Europe delivered by Aristide Briand at the League of Nations in 1929.5 The overcoming and indeed the destruction of “national prejudice” in their art is what made them “cosmopolitan painters” for Lionello Venturi,6 breaking away from “the overly narrow confines of Italian taste in the hope of rediscovering the great European tradition”.7

For the Six, European meant modern, the antithesis of Neoclassicism and the national artistic discipline. Being European and modern repre-sented the antidote to “twentieth-century myth, archaism, totalitarian populism”8 according to the retrospective narrative imbued with polit-ical passion of Levi, ripened in Turin in the circle of Piero Gobetti and then with allegiance to the Giustizia e Libertà movement led by Carlo Rosselli from Paris. The Europe of the Six was French and had its fully accomplished model

1 [E. Persico], “I Sei pittori”, in Le Arti Plastiche, y. VI, no. 13, July 1929; now in A. Bovero (edited by), Archivi dei Sei Pittori di Torino, Rome: De Luca Editore, 1965, p. 121.

2 F. Menzio, introduction to Sei Pittori, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Sala d’arte Guglielmi, 4–12 January 1930), Turin, 1930; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit., 1965, p. 162.

3 In an untitled text dated “Rome, July 1965”, written on the occasion of the exhibition of work by the Six at the Galleria d’Arte Moderna, Turin, and published in V. Viale (edited by), I Sei di Torino 1929-1932, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna, September–October 1965), Turin, 1965, p. 13.

4 Junius [L. Einaudi], “Il dogma della sovranità e l’idea della Società delle Nazioni”, in Corriere della Sera, 28 December 1918. For these subjects and their connection with Turin, see D. Marucco, C. Accornero, Torino città internazionale. Storia di una vocazione europea, Rome: Donzelli, 2012.

5 See L. Passerini, Memoria e utopia. Il primato dell’intersoggettività, Turin: Bollati Boringhieri, 2003, esp. the section entitled Idea d’Europa e identità europea, pp. 97–107.

6 L. Venturi, introduction to Exhibition of New Italian Painting by Carlo Levi, Francesco Menzio, Enrico Paulucci, exhibition catalogue (London, Bloomsbury Gallery, 25 November – 5 December 1930), London 1930; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 186.

7 L. Venturi, introduction to Peintres Italiens Chessa, Menzio, Levi, Paulucci. Dessin et Sculptures de Spazzapan, Galvani, exhibition catalogue (Paris, Jeune Europe Galerie-Librairie, from 5 December 1931), Paris, 1931; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 210.

8 C. Levi, introduction, cit., 1965.

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THE SIX PAINTERS OF TURIN: EUROPEAN AND MODERNGIORGINA BERTOLINO

As he wrote, “We shall therefore call these painters Neo-romantics, but Romantics with more seriousness than the Crepuscular school and with-out the deep tragedy of the greatest nineteenth-century artists.”16 The introduction of the term into critical debate (by Soldati and others17) opened up new horizons.The Neo-romantics also included other “younger and less assured” art-ists who had been just a few years earlier the “companions” of Felice Casorati, “smiling” but now “alone in the squalid neoclassical studio”.18 The Six were already all present at the Biennial the 1928, even though the group did not yet exist as such: Gigi Chessa and Francesco Menzio by invitation and with a substantial number of works; Jessie Boswell, Nicola Galante, Carlo Levi and Enrico Paulucci among those admitted by the selection panel.19 That they, or at least two of them, were the young Neo-romantics was revealed by Soldati shortly afterwards in an article published in Mario Bonfantini’s magazine La Libra20 in the form of a letter to “Dear Ettore” (Ettore Zanconi, a member of the edito-rial staff). The choice of this formula and the informal tone adopted are indicative of a desire to try out new approaches and find common ground for critics, poets and painters of the same generation to meet as equals. The framework was that of taste in Venturi’s sense, “the taste,” as Soldati wrote, “that I now insist on calling Neo-romantic”.21 The ter-rain of reflection had been an institutional context in Venice; now it was the working space of a studio: “But you cannot imagine how overjoyed I was on entering Menzio’s studio the other morning to discover that he had, in the belief that he was initiating the French, found a new way to paint. Out with intelligent concepts, psychological limitations, con-structed spaces and deft chiaroscuro! Out with expressionism and the Novecento, Strapaese and Stracittà movements […] Life-sized, seated frontally in a grey room, a young blonde dressed in yellow. […] The face is painted in disjointed planes and uneven shadows. Thick brushstrokes and exposed patches of canvas alternate freely, disdaining detail and material, rising as pure chromatic power […] You do not remember that dress, that hand or even the luminosity and spatial depth of Menzio’s painting; but you do remember Menzio’s painting as a whole, like a real, living person you once met.22

Impressionism returned and so did the above-mentioned Biennial group with the addition of Chessa and his “spontaneous enthusiasm towards the world, which opens up before him bathed in a greenish glow”.23 A long passage was devoted to Emilio Sobrero and his “barely hazarded composition […] something like Montale’s Ossi di seppia”.24

At the sign of Manet Winter 1929. The “young artists” got organized and counted their numbers, presenting themselves to the public as six painters in a show (Mostra di sei pittori) held in January at the Sala d’arte Guglielmi in

in the transnational community of the École de Paris. Some of them spent time studying in the French capital and thus acquired an eccen-tric, temporary status certified by inclusion in the room of the Italiens de Paris at the 1931 Rome Quadrennial.9 For the Six, modernity coincid-ed with Impressionism, an ideal stylistic and poetic point of reference that informed the colour, tone and surface of their canvases and served as an example for a repertoire of everyday subjects belonging to the di-mension of becoming as against the myth of eternity that characterized Italian art all through the twenties. The presence of a number of works by the Six Painters of Turin in Giuseppe Iannaccone’s collection offers an opportunity to follow a path, to work back to the point at which that vocabulary gave way under the pressure of new styles and iconographic alternatives. This phenomenon can be observed, thanks to the complete-ness and precise focus of the collection, within the broader framework of a certain line in Italian art, where the Six can be seen as occupying an anything but isolated position. Precious testimony is provided in this sense by Enrico Paulucci’s memories of an exhibition in 1931: “Scipione with its calm, rosy-cheecked face, who came to see us every evening with Mafai at the Galleria di Roma”.10

The Neo-romanticsSummer 1928. After a visit to the XVI Venice Biennial, Mario Soldati published his impressions in an article on “the new trends in Italian painting”.11 He had gone through the rooms recording the new devel-opments, tensions and harmonies picked up beneath the organized sur-face. There were no “revelations”, he explained. What he felt was rather a “general atmosphere”, an “annunciation”: The characteristics of this new painting are easy to recognize: a sentimental aura free from any form of ‘intelligentism’; an abdication of the faculties of abstraction in favour of pure pictorial sensoriality; […] the choice of simple subjects, of vague, open, non-literary themes like nudes, towns and horses; a safe return, a precise attachment to our nineteenth century, i.e. to romanti-cism, Impressionism and colour.12

The young art historian brought into the front line of current develop-ments the theories of Lionello Venturi,13 who had maintained the equiv-alence of romantic and classical art in terms of perfection in his work Il gusto dei primitivi.14 This is one of the cornerstones on which he con-structed his proposal for an unprecedented genealogy stretching from Giotto to Manet, rejecting the primacy of the Renaissance and hence the canons of the Neoclassicism then in force. Soldati’s observations on the Biennial were exemplified in the exercise of vision translated by writing sensitive to the quality of the “thick, vi-brant” brushstrokes, as “dense and gleaming” as “fibrils”.15 That gener-al atmosphere circulated between the names of Tosi and Carrà, of Guidi, Sobrero, Funi and Salietti, of Carena in particular and even of Sironi.

9 At the Rome Quadrennial, inaugurated at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni on 5 January 1931, Menzio, Galante, Levi and Paulucci were shown in room XXIX together with the Italiens de Paris: Massimo Campigli, Filippo de Pisis, René Paresce, Gino Severini and Mario Tozzi.

10 E. Paulucci, lecture delivered at the University of Turin in 1956; now in V. Viale, I Sei di Torino..., cit., 1965, p. 24.

11 M. Soldati, “L’Arte a Venezia. I neoromantici”, in La Stampa, 4 September 1928.

12 M. Soldati, “L’Arte a Venezia...”, cit., 1928.

13 Soldati graduated in 1927 under the supervision of Venturi, who then put his name forward for the compilation of the Catalogo della Galleria d’Arte Moderna del Museo Civico di Torino, published by Avezzano in the same year.

14 “L’arte romantica è un’arte perfetta, quanto la classica, almeno.” L. Venturi, Il gusto dei primitivi, (1926), Turin: Einaudi, 1972, p. 172.

15 M. Soldati, “L’Arte a Venezia...”, cit., 1928.

16 Ibidem.17 For the circulation of the term

romanticismo at the turn of the decade, see “Una stagione neo-romantica. Pittura e scultura a Milano negli anni trenta”, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, pp. 9–37.

18 M. Soldati, “L’Arte a Venezia...”, cit., 1928.19 The giuria di accettazione was made

up of Felice Casorati, Napoleone Martinuzzi, Mario Sironi and Ardengo Soffici, all appointed by the board of directors, together with Antonio Maraini, general secretary of the event.

20 The periodical, with Casorati as graphic consultant, appeared in twelve issues from November 1928 to June 1930. It had a large number of contributors (including Giacomo Debenedetti, Dino Garrone and Guido Piovene) described as “all friends of long standing” by Bonfantini in the first issue. Its aim was to eliminate Italy’s cultural provincialism, taking up the legacy of Primo Tempo and Baretti. See in particular R. Cicala, Inchiostri indelebili. Itinerari di carta tra bibliografie, archivi ed editoria, Quaderni del Laboratorio di Editoria dell’Università Cattolica di Milano, Milan: Educatt, 2012, pp. 192–95.

21 M. Soldati, “Pittura italiana d’oggi”, in La Libra, y. I, no. 1, November 1928, p. 1.

22 Ibidem.23 Ibidem.24 Ibidem.

1. Francesco Menzio, Ritratto di poeta or Ritratto di Mario Soldati. Page from the catalogue of the Prima Esposizione sindacale fascista della Società Promotrice delle Belle Arti, Turin, Palazzo della Società Promotrice al Valentino, June−July 1929

2. Gigi Chessa, Natura morta or Tavolino, 1928. Turin, Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea, GAM. Page from the catalogue of the Prima Esposizione sindacale fascista della Società Promotrice delle Belle Arti, Turin, Palazzo della Società Promotrice al Valentino, June−July 1929

108 109


25 Within the area of Casorati’s influence, Chessa and Menzio took part in the Esposizione d’Arte. Mole Antonelliana, a Secessionist exhibition organized by the local Società Promotrice di Belle Arti in 1921, and the same artists together with Galante and Levi in “La Quadriennale”. Esposizione Nazionale di Belle Arti at the Promotrice in the room entrusted to Casorati, who also invited Carrà and De Chirico among others. Outside Turin, all of the Six took part in numerous editions of the Venice Biennial and Chessa, Galante and Menzio were three of the twenty Italian artists featured in Venti artisti italiani at the Galleria Pesaro, Milan, in December 1924. Outside Italy, Chessa, Menzio and Galante were among those included in the Exposition d’Artistes Italiens contemporains organized by Alberto Sartoris in Geneva at the Musée Rath in 1927. For the period before the birth of the Six, see in particular M. Rosci, “Appunti per una preistoria dei Sei”, in M. Bandini (edited by), I Sei Pittori di Torino 1929-1931, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Mole Antonelliana, 6 May – 4 July 1993), Milan: Fabbri, 1993, pp. 55–67; and M.M. Lamberti, “I giovani pittori torinesi e la solitudine di Casorati”, in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Realismo magico. Pittura e scultura in Italia 1919-1925, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 27 November 1988 − 29 January 1989), Milan: Mazzotta, 1988, pp. 65–78.

26 U.L., “Una mostra di Sei pittori. 50 opere d’avanguardia. Una ‘sveglia’ artistica”, in L’Ambrosiano, 18 January 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 85.

27 For Boswell and her relations with Riccardo Gualino and Cesarina Gurgo Salice, her employers from 1914 to 1928, see I. Mulatero (edited by), Jessie Boswell, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Sala Bolaffi, 18 March –10 May 2009), Turin: Bolaffi, 2009; M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, B. Marconi (edited by), Cesarina Gualino e i suoi amici, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, 4 June – 3 July 1997), Venice: Marsilio, 1997.

28 For the artist’s life and work as a whole, see Gigi Chessa, 1989-1935, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Mole Antonelliana, 14 November 1987 – 14 February 1988), Milan: Fabbri, 1987.

29 For the artist’s life and work as a whole, see L. Guasco (edited by), Nicola Galante, 1883-1969, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Foyer del Piccolo Regio, 18 ottobre – 20 novembre 1977), Turin: Stamperia artistica nazionale, 1977.

30 For Levi’s participation in Gobetti’s plans, see in particular “Gli anni di ‘Energie Nove’. Intervista a Carlo Levi e Natalino Sapegno”, in Mezzosecolo, Materiali di ricerca storica. Annali del centro Studi P. Gobetti dell’Istituto storico della Resistenza in Piemonte, no. 1, 1975, pp. 465–79. The present author examines the relations inside Piero Gobetti’s circle in “L’arte è la stella polare. Vita e pittura di Nella Marchesini”, in G. Bertolino (edited by), Nella Marchesini. Catalogo generale. I dipinti (1920-1953), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2015, pp. 11–47.

31 Menzio, who lived in Paris in 1927 and 1928, was one of the Italian painters featured in Les artistes italiens de Paris at the Salon de L’Escalier, February 1928. For the artist’s life and work as a whole, see P. Fossati, A. Gelli, M. Rosci (edited by), Francesco Menzio, opere 1921-1977, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Circolo degli Artisti, 8 April – 10 May 1987), Milan: Fabbri, 1987.

32 The information about the stay in Paris is taken from E. Paulucci, “Frammento autobiografico”, [1960], in M. Bandini (edited by), Omaggio a Paulucci, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Fondazione Palazzo Bricherasio, 6–29 September 1996), Milan: Electa, 1996, p. 39.

Négresse39), the ideas shared with Soldati and Persico, and the trips to Paris. One year later, for their return to the Sala Guglielmi in January 1930, Luigi Spazzapan produced a second sign, based this time on Cézanne [FIG. 5].40

The connection between the Six and Impressionism directly affected the analysis of their painting and gave rise in the context of the critical debate of the late twenties to tension and confrontation, often related to the nationalistic spirit that emblematically saw the “pseudo Parisian” as ideologically extraneous. Previously disparaged as a form of “disso-lute painting”, Impressionism was acquiring new importance precisely in this period as an element of a “modernity to be understood as a not exclusively temporal category”, as Laura Iamurri noted.41 In December 1929, in the first and only text signed by all of them, the Six offered an original contribution on this theme in response to a “referendum” on “the nineteenth-century history painting” held in Le Arti Plastiche by Vincenzo Costantini in connection with the Biennial’s competition for a work inspired by figures or events involved in the formation of the early Fascist structures.42 They appear to indicate a change in the paradigm of history painting by putting forward Renoir’s Leaving the Conservatory as an example and therefore including more lowly depictions of society and collective rituals in the genre.43 Their aim was not so much this, however, as to provoke a response entailing consideration of the inspiration and freedom of the artist: In short, in all the paintings in which a historical fact or event has been seen by a person who is a poet, we will find not that fact but that poetry, not that event but that person; poetry and person that we will then be able to consider also without reference to those facts or events in connection with certain problems of art of which history can be made up.44

As against the tradition and the “blood in the veins” that Costantini traced back to the lineage of nineteenth-century Italian art, the Six championed the “taste”, “civilization” and “spiritual unity of modern painting and above all French art, from early Impressionism to contem-porary Post-Impressionism”.45 For them, the response to the glorifica-tion of “contemporaneity” by rhetoric and “propaganda” could only be the search for a “modern style”.46

Through the collection Out of the fifty-three works shown in the exhibition of January 1929, three were interiors, eight figure paintings, twelve still lifes and thirty landscapes, a distribution that reflects a clear preference for the lat-ter and thus assigns significant centrality to a genre then regarded as minor. This is related to developments on the art scene in Turin and in particular to the policy of the Società di Belle Arti Antonio Fontanesi, which was then engaged in promoting a reappraisal of the nineteenth century and identifying some elements of continuity with the present,

Turin. They belonged to the same generation not so much in terms of age as of artistic background, having developed under the wing of Felice Casorati, who provided them with teaching, an ethics of painting and an operative model of cultural action.25

The exhibition was the format identified by the Six to give birth to an aggregation, a space that contains and presents the work of the indi-viduals but transcends it at the same time, becoming a field for the ex-change and sharing of new approaches and attitudes. This was imme-diately perceived in the reviews, which focused on the sociology of the event and “changes in practice” as regards printing — the “programme with no capital letters” — and the constant presence of the artists “in their room, curious to hear, eager to mingle with the public, ready to provide explanations and offer interpretations of their works”.26 The exhibition turned into a conversation, becoming a terrain of discourse for the pooling of knowledge acquired during training and through the members’ respective circles: Boswell’s background in England and the cosmopolitan life of the Gualino household27; Chessa’s close relations with Carena28; Galante’s friendship with Soffici and work for the pe-riodicals La Voce and Lacerba29; Levi’s relations with Gobetti togeth-er with contemporaries like Natalino Sapegno, Federico Chabod, Ada Prospero, Nella Marchesini and her sisters Maria and Ada30; Menzio’s background among the Italiens de Paris31 with a studio in Rue Falguière where Paulucci also stayed.32

The Six’s conversion of the Sala d’arte antique shop on Piazza Castello marked the first step towards the birth of art galleries in Turin,33 private spaces far removed from the formality of large-scale exhibitions, capa-ble of fostering direct acquaintance and confidential rituals, renewing the relationship with the general public and stimulating the formation of collections: “Doctors and lawyers, industrialists and ladies of high so-ciety, and — something new and significant — artists, writers and critics of art”.34 More than half of the works exhibited were sold and Edoardo Persico — who played a key part in the birth of the group and in its collective reflections and strategies35 — “had no need to invite muse-um committees […] for what were known as official purchases”, Emilio Zanzi writes in the Gazzetta del Popolo.36

The organization of the operation was completed by a reference to the history of art through an image chosen as an indication of sources and preferences in the immediate sphere of visuality. As we read in the ar-ticle “Una mostra all’insegna di Manet”, “Perhaps not wholly devoid of significance is the slightly isolated sign in the cold entrance to the ex-hibition, an amusing caricature by Menzio of the Olympia that reigns in the Louvre today.”37 This apparently offhand appropriation of an icon encapsulates the salient facts of the history of the Six: the teaching of Venturi (who was to publish an article on Manet38 in July), the weight and the infuence of the Gualino collection (including Manet’s study La

33 Registering a marked delay with respect to Milan, art galleries did not become a permanent feature of the Turin scene until the early years after World War II, when La Bussola and Gissi opened. It is significant that in 1935 private initiative was still represented by two artists with the opening of the Studio by Casorati and Paulucci in Via Giulia di Barolo and the associated commencement of its important programme of exhibitions. They then followed this up by opening the Zecca in 1938. For the history of galleries and exhibitions in Turin, see in particular A. Dragone, “Le arti figurative”, in Various Authors, Torino 1920-1936. Società e cultura tra sviluppo industriale e capitalismo, Turin: Ed. Progetto, 1976; A. Dragone, “Le arti visive”, in Torino Città viva da capitale a metropoli 1880-1980, Turin: Centro Studi Piemontesi, 1980.

34 E. Zanzi, “Gli insegnamenti di un’esposizione”, in Gazzetta del Popolo, 21 January 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit., 1965, pp. 86–87.

35 For Persico and his relationship with the Six, see in particular E. Pontiggia (edited by), Edoardo Persico e gli artisti (1929-1936), exhibition catalogue (Milan, PAC – Padiglione d’Arte Contemporanea, 11 June – 13 September 1998), Milan: Electa, 1998, pp. 17–22.

36 E. Zanzi, “Gli insegnamenti...”, cit., 1929. The information about the sales is contained in the article. The subject was also mentioned by Menzio in a letter to Emilio Sobrero after the show closed on 28 January 1929: “[...] something never before achieved, we sold nearly 75% of the paintings”. See F. Poli (edited by), Emilio Sobrero, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Circolo degli Artisti, 19 October – 8 December 1996), Turin: Lindau, 1996, pp. 62–63.

37 I. M. Angeloni, “Una mostra all’insegna di Manet. Sei pittori in Piazza Castello”, in Il Momento, 13 January 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 80. The presence of the sign was also mentioned by Persico in “Sei Pittori di Torino”, in L’Ambrosiano, 2nd semester, 1931; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 217. These are the only sources for this lost element.

38 L. Venturi, “Manet”, in L’Arte, y. XXXIII, July–August 1929, pp. 145–64.

39 The work was shown in 1928 in the exhibition of the Gualino collection at the Regia Pinacoteca Sabauda in Turin. It is published and examined by Maria Mimita Lamberti in “La raccolta Gualino d’arte moderna e contemporanea”, in Dagli ori antichi agli anni Venti. Le collezioni di Riccardo Gualino, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Palazzo Madama, Galleria Sabauda, December 1982 – March 1983), Milan: Electa, 1982, pp. 82–83.

40 The collage by Spazzapan was used in 1965 for the cover of the catalogue edited by V. Viale, I Sei di Torino 1929-1932..., cit., 1965.

41 L. Iamurri, Lionello Venturi e la modernità dell’impressionismo, Rome: Quodlibet Studio, 2010, pp. 7–8.

42 The prize of 50,000 lire was funded by the Fascist party and figured among the competitions instituted by Antonio Maraini for the XVII Venice Biennial in 1930. See M. De Sabbata, Tra diplomazia e arte: le Biennali di Antonio Maraini (1928-1942), Udine: Forum, 2006, pp. 128–29.

43 I Sei Pittori di Torino (Levi, Menzio, Chessa, Paulucci, Galante, Boswell), “Il ‘Quadro storico’“, in Le Arti Plastiche, 15 December 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 157. The order of the names probably reflects the extent to which the individual painters contributed to writing the article. For their response to the referendum, see also C. Levi, Lo specchio. Scritti di critica d’arte, edited by P. Vivarelli, Rome: Donzelli, 2001, pp. XII–XIII and 3–5.

44 I Sei pittori di Torino, Il “Quadro storico”…, cit., 1929.

110 111


45 Ibidem.46 Ibidem. 47 The Fontanesi is an association

of “primarily professional and corporative character” (art. 10 of its corporate charter, undated printed sheet, Archivio Emilio Sobrero) with two categories of members: “a) artists, b) art lovers”. In addition to Bistolfi, Casorati, Grosso, Ferro and Rubino, the former included members of the younger generation such as Sobrero, Chessa, Levi, Menzio and Galante (the oldest of the future Six). For the exhibitions organized by the Fontanesi, attention should be drawn in particular to the Esposizione di Bozzetti e Disegni, May–June 1925 (including Boswell, Chessa, Galante and Menzio), the Mostra di pittori macchiaioli toscani e di paesisti piemontesi dell’800, January–February 1926, and the Esposizione delle Vedute di Torino, November–December 1926.

48 L. Venturi, “Il problema della mostra del Novecento”, in Il Secolo, 2 March 1926.

49 The show of January 1929 included eleven works by Levi, four of which on Paris (nos. 32–35 in the catalogue); six gouaches and twelve paintings by Galante, including Paese toscano [Tuscan Landscape], Marina (Zoagli) [Seascape, Zoagli], Paese (Liguria) [Landscape, Liguria] and Paese (Cavoretto) [Landscape, Cavoretto] (nos. 16, 22–24); one gouache and nine paintings by Paulucci, including two landscapes in the snow (Paese sotto la neve, nos. 51 and 52); and ten works by Boswell including Cereseto and two seascapes of Sestri Levante (Marina di Sestri Levante, nos. 2, 7 and 8). For the complete list of works shown, see A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 77.

50 B. Marconi, “Jessie Boswell e Cesarina Gualino. Affinità elettive”, in I. Mulatero, Jessie Boswell..., cit., 2009, p. 67.

51 The Gualino family residence at Sestri Levante, built on two fortified ruins, was the result of a project by the architects Carlo, Clemente and Michele Busiri Vici including the Castello dei Lecci, Castello dei Cipressi and Castello delle Agavi. See G. Castagnoli, A. Imponente, “La casa museo”, in Dagli ori antichi..., cit., 1982, p. 15.

52 The note, dated April 1924, is taken from the diary of Cesarina Gualino Gurgo Salice, in B. Marconi, Jessie Boswell e Cesarina..., cit., 2009, p. 74.

53 A. Angiolini, “I Sei pittori al Circolo della Stampa”, in Il Lavoro, 3 May 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 113. The second Mostra di Sei Pittori ran from 20 April to 7 May and had a printed brochure with a list of the works on show and short biographical sketches of the artists; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 103–107.

54 C. Carrà, “Sei Pittori di Torino”, in L’Ambrosiano, 22 November 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 143.

55 The episode was reported in the article “Chiassate di studenti a Milano per una mostra d’arte novecentista”, in Il Giornale d’Italia, 20 November 1929, which subsequently appeared also in several national newspapers. See A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 136–37. The event attracted so much attention that the gallery’s owner Pier Maria Bardi sent a letter to the editors (printed in La Tribuna, L’Ambrosiano and Il Caffaro) to make it clear that “none of the Six Painters of Turin was responsible for this demonstration”. See A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 138–39.

also through the rehabilitation of supposedly lesser and unfashionable genres.47 The Esposizione delle Vedute di Torino [Exhibition of views of Turin] that opened in November 1926 (with all of the future Six taking part) mobilized the city’s artists, produced an iconography and served at the same time as a response to the predominance of figure painting. Venturi famously called for a reversal of the situation in an article on the first exhibition of the Novecento Italiano in Milan, where he called for the human figure to be painted just as a landscape is.48

At the first exhibition of the Six, Levi displayed a preference for the urban scene, the Paris of the 14 Juillet, Notre Dame and the Tuileries; Galante for the landscapes of Tuscany, Liguria and the hills around Turin; Paulucci for scenes in the snow and Boswell for Cereseto Monferrato and Sestri Levante, the holiday resorts of Riccardo and Cesarina Gualino.49 Her Marina [Seascape], 1929 [W. NO. 20], now in the Iannaccone collection, was probably painted at Sestri, where the painter — “lady-in-waiting” to the “little queen”,50 as she described herself — spent the summer in the Castello dei Lecci with its vast grounds and paths leading to the belve-dere, the aviary and the Marconi tower overlooking the sea.51 So faithful was she to the same places that Cesarina renamed one of nearby beach-es “Jessie Bay”.52 Built up in a deft interplay of light and tonal relations, the Marina [W. NO. 20] is one of the works described by Arrigo Angiolini in his comments on the Six’s exhibition at the Genoa press club in the spring of 1929 as “delightful impressions in sumptuous shades”, “so Italian as to be almost Tuscan”, with a reference to the Macchiaioli, whose paintings Boswell would have seen in the collection of Gualino, a financier and patron of the arts.53 Contrary to the interpretations of the period, marked by the clichés of the genre and characterized by an anecdotal approach, Carrà perceived her ability to work on the “har-mony of three or four tonalities that struck her” in accordance with “a naturalistic principle outside the customary models”.54

Carrà wrote shortly after the end of the group’s show at the Galleria Bardi in Milan [FIGS. 3, 4]. It is no coincidence that their debut in the most dynamic hub of the Italian scene was marked by a controversy initiat-ed by a reactionary protest on the part of a group of students of the Brera Academy, as a result of which, the Six were associated with the Novecento group despite all their efforts.55 The press published articles by Carrà, Carpi, Oppo, Sironi, Dottori and everyone else.56

In the modern premises of Pietro Maria Bardi’s gallery, Nicola Galante presented twenty-seven works comprising oil paintings and sketches, gouaches and drawings in sanguine and pencil in his personal room, as though to assert the close relationship between his painting and his skill in graphic art. The list opens with his landscape Paese per la Casetta (Vasto) [Little House in the Country (Vasto)] [W. NO. 34],57 now in the Iannaccone collection, the very title of which seems to suggest the indicative function attributed to painting, its ability to orient the artist

in the landscape inhabited by human beings. Landscapes were thus the way found by Galante, described by Zanzi as “uprooted in Turin”,58 to give new meaning to places in painting, to revisit those of his origins (as in this view of Vasto) and to explore the outskirts of the city where he now lived. The cliché of the sincere, self-taught artist (warned by Soffici to “be careful not to lose the graceful innocence and naiveté that was his natural gift”59) must be set in the context of the contacts that Galante de-veloped during his apprenticeship and within the sphere of the interests shared among the Six. His notes on the trip to Paris in 1930 document open-mindedness of a cultured and singular nature while constituting an up-to-date map of the group’s points of reference: the phrases copied from Joachim Gasquet Bernheim-Jeune’s monograph on Cézanne (“na-ture is not surface but depth”); the “light greys” of Utrillo’s Notre Dame seen at the Galerie Percier; Marie Laurencin in the Rosenberg gallery and the Musée du Luxembourg, where he was also struck by Derain’s Forest at Martigues and The blonde as well as a still life by Matisse.60

The trips to Paris were among the things mentioned by Francesco Menzio in his introductory note to the exhibition at the Sala Guglielmi in January 1930. It was a year since their debut and the Six already had a distinct collective physiognomy constructed through a strategy of alter-nating group shows and participation in institutional events, including the second Novecento Italiano exhibition in Milan and the entire room at the Prima Sindacale fascista [First Exhibition of the Fascist Union of Fine Arts] at the Promotrice in Turin.61 It is thus necessary to insist once again on the group’s European vocation as developed through travels and returns between discovery, memory and progressively developed autonomy: “The impressions obtained were distorted, entered the fan-tastic world and lost all connection with the things that had given rise to them, at which point they became legitimate property.”62

Menzio showed “only six items” in Turin, including “La finestra [The Window], Fiasco [Flask] and La sciarpa verde [The Green Scarf]”,63 the latter being identifiable as Lo scialle verde [The Green Shawl] [W. NO. 53], which represents the artist’s work together with the Ritratto di giovane [Portrait of a Young Man] [W. NO. 52] in the Iannaccone collection. The title orients the perceptual reading of the painting, guiding the eye to the shawl in acid shades of seaweed green streaked with yellows and browns that contrast with the dark draperies and shadows. The face of the young woman with red lips, black eyes and a pensive expression grows out of this chromatic corolla, a figure of colour steeped in melancholy. The fashionable cloche hat indicating her social status is a unifying element in the modern iconography of the Six from Chessa’s Ragazza in bianco [Young Woman in White] (Florence, Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Palazzo Pitti) to the women of Carlo Levi’s Aria (Turin, Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea), a Ligurian variation on the theme of the dé-jeuner sur l’herbe [FIG. 1, P. 178]. From here on, the expressive quality sought

56 In addition to the above-mentioned article by Carrà, C. E. Oppo, “I ‘6’ di Torino a Milano”, in La Tribuna, 26 November 1929; A. Carpi, ‘Sei Pittori di Torino alla Galleria Bardi’, L’Italia, 26 November 1929; M. Sironi, “La mostra dei ‘Sei’“, in Il Popolo d’Italia; g. dott. [G. Dottori], “Messe a punto”, in L’Impero, 3 December 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 146–48, 149, 152–53.

57 The title appears as no. 16 in the list of works published in the catalogue 6 Pittori di Torino, with an introduction by P. M. Bardi, Milan: Belvedere, 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 31. The list shows that Galante presented twelve oil paintings, three sketches in oil, six gouaches, two sanguines, two drawings in pencil, one “blue” and one “red”, for a total of twenty-seven works, the largest in the exhibition together with that of Paulucci, followed by Levi with twenty, Menzio fourteen, Boswell eight and Chessa seven.

58 E. Zanzi, “Gli insegnamenti...”, cit., 1929; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 89.

59 A. Soffici, letter to N. Galante, 31 October 1930; now in M. Bandini, I Sei Pittori di Torino..., cit., 1993, p. 218.

60 N. Galante, “Appunti – Parigi 1930”; now in M. Bandini, I Sei Pittori di Torino..., cit., 1993, pp. 211–12. These “notes” are studied in particular by M. C. Maiocchi in “‘Parigi amica’, 1930. Venturi, i Sei e Parigi: ipotesi e prospettive”, in M. M.Lamberti (edited by), Lionello Venturi e la pittura a Torino 1919-1930, Fondazione CRT Cassa di Risparmio di Torino, Turin: Editris Duemila, 2000, pp. 191–213.

61 Novecento Italiano, Milan, Palazzo della Società per le Belle Arti ed Esposizione Permanente, 14 February – 31 March 1926. Prima Esposizione sindacale fascista della Società Promotrice delle Belle Arti, Turin, Palazzo della Società Promotrice al Valentino, June–July 1929.

62 F. Menzio, “Sei pittori...”, cit., in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 162.

63 E.Z. [E. Zanzi], “La tristezza di cinque artisti e di una pittrice”, in Gazzetta del Popolo, 8 January 1930; now in A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, p. 169. As the list of works exhibited on this occasion has yet to be found, the titles are drawn from this review and others that appeared at the time.

3. Invitation to the show at the Galleria Bardi, Milan, November 1929

4. A room of the show at the Galleria Bardi, Milan, November 1929

112 113


64 The Six all exhibited work at the XVII Venice Biennial but in different rooms. See A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 180–81.

65 Chessa, Levi, Menzio and Paulucci took part in the exhibition of September–October 1930 in the premises of the Amigos de l’Arte association in Buenos Aires. See A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 194–95.

66 The above-mentioned Exhibition of New Italian Painting.

67 The exhibition of January 1931 at the Galleria di Roma, opened by Pier Maria Bardi on Mussolini’s instructions, presented paintings by Levi, Menzio and Paulucci. Participation in premises “under the auspices of the Sindacato Fascista Belle Arti” was a question discussed above all by Levi. See the letter of E. Paulucci to C. Levi, 25 September 1930, and the undated letter of 1930 from C. Levi to E. Paulucci, now in M. Bandini, I Sei Pittori di Torino..., cit., 1993, pp. 213 and 216. For the list of the works exhibited, see A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 200–02.

68 The Première Exposition. Peintres Italiens Chessa, Menzio, Levi, Paulucci. Dessins de Spazzapan, Sculptures de Galvani, 5−23 December 1931, was introduced by Lionello Venturi. See A. Bovero, Archivi, cit.,1965, pp. 210–11.

69 For the list of works shown, from which the titles are taken, see M. Bandini, I Sei Pittori di Torino..., cit., 1993, p. 202.

70 G. Chessa, “Per Amedeo Modigliani”, in L’Arte, vol. I, y. XXXIII, January 1930; now in Gigi Chessa 1989-1935..., cit., 1987, pp. 75–76.

in fluid brushstrokes and bright colours became a dominant common feature in the work of Menzio, Levi, Chessa and — albeit with substan-tial stylistic differences — Paulucci too. Strict observance of the number indicated in the name gave way after the 1930 Venice Biennial64 to the affinities between the members, pres-ent in groups of four and then three both in major events, such as the Novecento exhibition in Buenos Aires,65 and in shows in private galler-ies: at the Bloomsbury in London, with a presentation by Venturi,66 part of which then moved to the Galleria di Roma in January 193167 to coincide with the Rome Quadrennial; and at the Galerie-Librairie Jeune Europe in Paris,68 with which the chronology of the Six came to a close at the end of 1931. The works of Gigi Chessa and Carlo Levi in the Iannaccone collection take the story beyond its canonical conclusion. Signed and dated 1934, Chessa’s painting belongs to the series of nudes, a central theme all through his career that took on new importance as from the solo show of December 1931 at the Sala d’arte Guglielmi. The titles of the recent nudes gathered together on that occasion each in-dicate a single colour — Nudo bianco [White Nude], Nudo grigio [Grey Nude], Nudo rosa [Pink Nude] — as though in a verification through the development of variants (I, II, III)69 of the power of monochrome in terms both of style and of sentimental intonation. Inspired by Modigliani, the subject of a long article in L’Arte,70 and influenced by the celebrated Nudo rosso [Red Nude] of the Gualino collection, Chessa found his own path, developing the bodies in soft, light colour with the forms barely outlined in quick, thin, glowing brushstrokes and hollow almonds for the eyes. In the nude of the Iannaccone collection [W. NO. 28], the seated woman presents a more defined appearance of belonging to a period of time and place, as suggested by the hairstyle, the armchair and the plant in a flowerpot, while the same atmosphere made up of colour alone, like air moved by painting, remains around her.Separated by just a short interval, Levi’s two paintings of document the course of a progression. The Ritratto di donna [Female Portrait] [W. NO. 43] of 1932−33 represents a point midway between the vitality of the nude of 1934 [W. NO. 44] (which already looks forward to southern period) and the turn towards expressivity initiated halfway through 1930. The figure is the skewed fulcrum of an oscillation or concentric motion developed by the direction of the brushstrokes, the winding, circular forms and the ca-denced rhythm of the chromatic succession: the blue of the background, the orange crown, the purple red of the dress. The painting presents itself as an event, a generative process that absorbs and records what happens and is transmitted between painter and model. Levi’s portraits are not “only portraits” but “discourses”,71 to quote Aldo Garosci, the friend variously represented as Figura in rosso [The Red Man], Figura in giallo. Ritratto di Aldo Garosci [Yellow Figure. Portrait of Aldo Garosci] and Eroe cinese [Chinese Hero] [FIG. 1, P. 252].72

As though in response to Venturi, the Nudo is a landscape, the metamor-phosis of body into place, the result of organic interpenetration between woman and nature. The back of the sleeping figure, wrapped and indeed almost absorbed in the volutes of the garments, presents the features of a map, the circular contours of hills, lakes and coves. The colours too — rosy yellow ochre, earthen hues, browns, blues and greys — seem to belong to the physical map of a terrain. A nude and a landscape, this is a radiant, rocky, marine painting, possibly produced at Alassio in the year of Levi’s first arrest. Within the boundaries of Giuseppe Iannaccone’s collection, it is an open image that bears witness to the contacts and affinities circu-lating in the Italian art of the thirties.

5. Cover of the catalogue of the exhibition of 1965 at the Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna in Turin with a reproduction of the poster produced by Luigi Spazzapan for the show of January 1930 at the Galleria Guglielmi, Turin

6. Cover of the book Archivi dei Sei pittori di Torino, edited by Anna Bovero, Rome: De Luca Editore, 1965

71 M. M. Lamberti, “Il Dott. Carlo Levi Pittore”, in E. Mongiano, I. Massabó Ricci (a cura di), Carlo Levi. Un’esperienza culturale e politica nella Torino degli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Archivio di Stato), Turin, 1985, p. 30.

72 The Red Man (Italian title Figura in rosso) was included in the show at the Bloomsbury in London of December 1930 and is mentioned by Maria Mimita Lamberti in the above-mentioned catalogue of the Turin State Archives, 1985, as now belonging to the Pushkin Museum in Moscow. Figura in giallo (Ritratto di Aldo Garosci), private collection, was painted in 1930 and Eroe cinese, owned by the Fondazione Carlo Levi in Rome, is dated 1931.

115

1 “L’essenziale”, in Il Frontespizio, April 1937, XV, 4, pp. 287–88.

2 Ibidem, p. 287.3 See N. Naldini, De Pisis. Vita solitaria

di un poeta pittore, Turin: Einaudi, 1991, p. 278.

4 Ibidem, p. 21.5 See Arte moderna in Italia 1915-1935,

exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 26 February – 28 May 1967), Florence: Marchi e Bertelli, 1967.

6 Ibidem, p. V.

It is the idea of poetic solitude with its many corollaries that appears most germane to the sketch of parallel lives attempted here between Rosai and De Pisis, industrious members of Margherita Sarfatti’s militant Novecento movement and then, albeit for a short period, active in the impatient years of the post-war period but without ever sharing either the canons of the “return to order” or the formal precepts of realism. “For a painter, for example, achieving his dream will mean painting the universe in a leaf.” Rosai wrote these words in the modest pages of the magazine Frontespizio in 19371 as part of a statement intended to redeem his past reputation for “hooliganism” and replace it with the “private drama” of one who has chosen the contemplative torment of isolation: “His life will be one of constant, endless pain at being able to give neither himself nor others peace with his work.”2 From the “melodramatic chamber” of his aesthetic youth to the ultimate grey room in Villa Fiorita (“That grey, That grey […] is congenial to me in this moment. It is the very colour of my life”3), De Pisis’s biography, though coloured by international adventures and erotic abandonment, is equally marked by a destiny of intimate po-etic seclusion that subjected the artist’s human experience to often un-bearable intermittency, to the bitter contradictions that torment the “men — few, privileged and ill-fated — who feel the mystery of life to the point of agony and delirium” and therefore “cannot be with others”.4

These two protagonists of the short twentieth century were part of the sphere of “insularity” delimited by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti at the time of the pioneering exhibition of modern art in Italy from 1915 to 1935 held in 1967, an unrepeatable opportunity to redraw the artistic map of that period in accordance with egalitarian rather than selective conceptions.5 On this methodological basis, with the disappearance of the various of “isms” and their directional inevitability generated by the succession of manifestos, programmes, movements and groups, the poetic trajectories came to light in previously unknown form of Morandi, De Pisis, Rosai and Montale, to mention some examples relevant to our present purposes. Figures who went through the revolutions and changes of that historical period “forming and developing the dictates of their inner life, embedding in history the addition of their revelation of life”,6 which is ultimately the multifaceted formal vocabulary adopted by each to interpret the human-kind of his time, body to body. As Rosai wrote in 1937, “An artist will ap-pear like a horrible day, one of those black, cold, bitter days of winter with piercing, frenzied rain that lashes your face and body like hurled handfuls

The Universe in a Leaf. Rosai and De Pisis

carlo sisi

116 117

THE UNIVERSE IN A LEAF. ROSAI AND DE PISISCARLO SISI

14 F. Arcangeli, Dal romanticismo..., cit., 1977, p. 273.

15 N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 269.16 A. Parronchi, “Il cielo di Rosai”, in

L’Approdo Letterario, VI, 11 (1960), pp. 6–7.

17 See P. Pacini (edited by), Ottone Rosai. Opere dal 1940 al 1950, exhibition catalogue (Cortina d’Ampezzo, Milano, Prato, 26 December 1985 – 4 March 1986), Florence: Farsetti, 1985, n.p.n.

Florence on the other bank of the Arno”.14 On the occasion of the Ferrara exhibition of 1951, Arcangeli instead composed an intense description of De Pisis’s style focusing on the late paintings. Though not on show, these provided him with stimulus to emphasize the artist’s feverish creativity, something never extinguished even in the agonies of his last illness. A sort of lyrical diary, alternating between excitement, sorrow and even tor-ment, consigned to the painting that De Pisis defended against the evil of the world, the ill-starred events, the fragility of man. As testified in Nico Naldini’s passionate biography, the painter possessed not only a glowing palette but also a “vital human sense” of the disasters of life and fragile beauties on the threshold of hope, as is evident above all in the portraits — of old people like St Benedict Joseph Labre (Ljubljana, Narodna Galerija), beggar children, young people of that tragic era — painted “so as to pre-vent the loss of their apparition, swept away as they were by death”.15 Rosai also painted portraits of great psychological insight, both of friends involved in his circle of affections and literary passions and of the poor but friendly people in the streets of the Oltrarno area of Florence, captur-ing their individual profiles in an expressive, anti-graceful style, varying from the serious to the facetious to the point where the demand for truth breaks through the trenches of the paradigmatic and sometimes of the lawful and the honest. Parronchi speaks of this with intense involvement, drawing attention to the depiction of a man praying (Uomo che prega, 1938, private collection) and its similarities to the contemporary reve-lations of Rouault; the Tondini series of circular portraits showing “his friends as though through a reversed telescope with their humanity pre-served intact”; the many works in which sleep is seen as disarticulation of the body, the deadening medicine of the poor, an image of death that has something in common with the “wine” of Baudelaire, a poet read in his youth and particularly dear to him.16 This rugged and human depiction of marginality or the most intimate and intractable affection is represented in the Iannaccone collection by the portrait of the artist’s father (Ritratto del padre, also known as L’artigiano or L’intagliatore [The Wood Carver] [W. NO. 69]. Through the synthesis of the profile and the dense coagulation of chromatic substance, the monumental portrayal of this silent figure emphasizes the “primitive” and “anti-graceful” approach developed by the early avant-garde and well understood by those who, like Rosai, sought to depict everyday life with modern sensibility in the expressive medium most congenial to them. As Carrà wrote with understanding and fellow-feeling: “Rosai sought to translate the actions and appearances of people into painting with austere severity, to eliminate everything in them that is transient and finally attain an essential chromatic and formal harmony.”17

Rosai lucidly plumbed the depths of his own features in numerous telling self-portraits, stripping himself of all protection against the world outside with no fear of appearing defenceless, distressed, furious or desperately

of thorns.”7 The image of inclement if not indeed not hostile nature here is a metaphor of a state of mind seeking to identify in the torments of art — in the striving to attain a “peak of beauty” at the cost of bearing the cross of inspiration — the true mission of the artist as against the vanity of prizes and “fleeting glory”. Starting from decadent, pubescent ideas and a stubborn identification with Leopardi, De Pisis noted his intention to live in solitude in his diary (“How happy I am here in my dimly-lit room, all enclosed and attentive. The tall, golden oil lamp spreads a mellow light that is dear to me. I ask and my hundred things answer, understanding me and loving me.”8) and to enjoy the “poverty” of his days, albeit sus-tained by the consoling resource of a vastly rich literary background and a constant monologue between himself and the appearances of the world so that perception is heightened (the “need to console bare solitude”9) and the painting becomes an isolated mirror that reflects the iridescent magma of things (“storms in nothingness”) as well as the astonishment of so much wonder imprisoned on the canvas.In years coinciding with De Pisis’s lyrical animism, Rosai’s dream was therefore “to paint the universe in a leaf”, i.e. to instil the nature por-trayed with the sense of time, the intimate correspondence that brings the artist and the things depicted together so as to obtain “the perfec-tion of nature, the contribution of one of his own faces to nature itself”.10 Evoked also by Rosai as the primary deuteragonist and translator of re-ality into shapes and colours, the poet was for De Pisis an “errant drop and tear / that reflects the treasure of the world”.11 Flowers too could re-veal themselves pleins des larmes, expressing the dramas and antinomies of the twentieth century through their extraordinary chromatic variety. For Rosai, everything that might appear a flaw in the work of art instead proves to be “its greatest virtue in that the drama of the thing represented will lie precisely in the visibility of such defects” and men will therefore “have the gaps to fill clearly evident before them”.12 In the critical anthol-ogy of Francesco Arcangeli’s writings on subjects ranging from romanti-cism to Art Informel,13 Morandi, Rosai and De Pisis are aligned in a se-quence that appears in keeping with the circumscribed poetic archipelago delimited by Ragghianti within the figurative civilization of the twentieth century, not least because those of the fifties offer us the result of mili-tant involvement, a first-hand chronicle of events and appraisals brought to attention in the decade when the two artists died, De Pisis in 1956 and Rosai in 1957.Arcangeli recalls being surprised on a quasi-official occasion to see Rosai in “such sudden solitude, to sense the gentleness dwelling in that huge body”, and thinking of the miracle of so many works touched by poetry being painted by “those enormous hands, the terrible hands of an ogre or strangler”. While watching him appear like a fish out of water in the bustle of the society event, he imagined him in another, more appropri-ate context, leaning “against a parapet of his river, in a doorway of his

7 “L’essenziale”, cit., 1937, p. 287.8 N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 36.9 Ibidem, p. 72.10 “L’essenziale”, cit., 1937, p. 287.11 See F. Arcangeli, Dal romanticismo

all’informale. Dallo “spazio romantico” al primo Novecento, Turin: Einaudi, 1977, p. 286.

12 “L’essenziale”, cit., 1937, p. 287.13 See note 11.

1. Ottone Rosai, Self-Portrait, 1944. Private collection

2. Filippo de Pisis, Ritratto di giovane gentiluomo coi guanti e il bastone, 1932.Verona, private collection

118 119


22 “Artisti italiani: Ottone Rosai”, in Il Frontespizio, 4 April 1937-XV, p. I.

23 Ibidem.24 See S. Capecchi, “Linee per una

biografia”, in G. dalla Chiesa, R. Monti, A. Parronchi, P. Pananti (edited by), Ottone Rosai nel centenario della nascita. Opere dal 1919 al 1957, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Galleria Pananti, 18 March – 15 June 1995), Florence: Pananti, 1995, p. 33.

25 Ibidem, p. 35.

together with them I then felt the need to add their surroundings, taking an interest in the resulting architectonic whole.”22 At the same time, the memory of a childhood spent on the outskirts of the city brought with it the fragrance of nature observed with loving curiosity (“Every animal became a discovery, every lane and gully a world to make my own.”23). Regarded by the Macchiaioli as material for formal experimentation, na-ture was instead transformed through Rosai’s explorations into abstract and ruggedly monumental space. Having devoted himself to art with sincere non-systematic passion and the aid of reading that ranged from the French Symbolists to Kipling and Wilde, he decided as early as 1912 to make his debut “as a hooligan” in accordance with the dictates of a youthful exuberance that displayed evident allegiance in those circum-stances to the nascent precepts of the Futurism championed by the jour-nal Lacerba. Rosai’s first show, held in Florence in 1913, brought him into contact with Marinetti, Boccioni and Carrà but led above all to the appre-ciation of Soffici and the right to contribute to Lacerba with writings of “whore-mongering, jailbird lyricism”,24 examples of transgressive will at the service of a programme of institutional revolution that was see Rosai, in headlong step with the times, play the successive parts of the pro-war agitator, storm trooper and Fascist subversive. The tragic death of his fa-ther marked a painful hiatus burdened — as can be seen from his letters — by a sense of loss and futility. It was, however, also a regenerating trauma for the evolution of his painting, which registered an intense period of vi-tal creativity culminating in the monumental depiction of figures playing the game of toppa (Giocatori di toppa [“Toppa” Players], formerly part of the Banca Toscana collection in Florence [FIG. 3]), shown at the 1928 Venice Biennial, of which the Iannaccone collection holds a more rarefied and anguished version [W. NO. 73]. The visual field is radically simplified, reduced to a looming backdrop of buildings without light or a breath of air. The players are clustered together in the foreground in an almost conspiratori-al circle, their profiles caught in an impenetrable, equivocal coagulation, the two standing figures being halfway between onlookers and accomplic-es, almost actors in a derisive allegory of life.In the early thirties, after the turbulent years of political militancy and artistic controversy, the former internal revenue building at Anconella offered Rosai almost Franciscan shelter in which to atone for his earlier dissipation and devote himself entirely to painting in rigorous solitude. As he wrote to Berto Ricci on 30 April 1932, “Confined to the house you know on the city outskirts, I feel like the miraculous survivor of a ship-wreck forced to get through the days required to end his life, which are as long and unending as moments spend under torture. I will measure the boundless immensity of the sky inch by inch, I will count all the innocent flowers of the earth, I will reconsider my sins and those of others one by one until I have finally obtained my constant desire and found God.”25

Meanwhile, De Pisis was living in Paris on Rue Servandoni beside the

alone, undertaking courageous introspective explorations that have been compared to those by other pitiless dissectors of the human condition like Otto Dix and Francis Bacon.18 Unlike De Pisis, who rather entrusts his im-age as an artist to literary metaphors supported by a laboratory made up of the classics of the international aestheticism, Oscar Wilde above all, as a potential vehicle of “Orphic and pantheistic ecstasies”. In painting, his portrait of a young gentleman in gloves with a stick (Ritratto di giovane gentiluomo coi guanti e il bastone, 1932, private collection, [FIG. 2]) could in fact correspond to the image of the aristocratic young painter known in all his unpredictable metamorphoses from the photograph album, where he appears as a nineteenth-century page, a humanist, “à la Balzac”, a Roman carter and, more daringly, half-naked and tattooed at the Parisian Bal des Quat’z’Arts.19 The photographic sequence also corresponds to the places of his first poetic adventure — Ferrara, Rome, Paris — and to his crepuscular, sensual, fantastic roots embedded in the odds and ends junk he discovered in the attics of Palazzo Calcagnini, the first of the realms of bibelots that were to be reproduced in all his subsequent residences with their ironic lights and pathetic shadows, almost like the pondered and reiterated installation of a metaphysical, magical chamber. In any case, having begun painting in 1916, the young man from Ferrara could have hardly avoided contact with the arcane philosophy of the De Chirico brothers and at least some notion of the celibate machines of Dada, as demonstrated by his the first papiers collées and the ironic intent of titles such as “Hysterical Still Life”, which announced a desire to go beyond his initial cultural province with knowledge that was to lead in time to the imaginative variants of his still lifes. De Pisis spent five years in Rome, initially cultivating the profile of a man of letters as more appropriate to his debut as a poet (I canti della Croara, 1916). A meeting with Armando Spadini then prompted him in 1923 to trying his hand at painting (“bella pittura”), which proved insufficient but led to a new understanding of an-cient art to be approached with aggressiveness and all the senses in the form of neo-seventeenth-century art of contemporary sensuality and in the name of Titian, Magnasco, Goya, Delacroix and Manet.20 De Pisis was to find a second home in Paris, the place to untangle the intricate knots of a sensibility eager to establish a dialogue with living art, to “faire ce que l’on voit du premier coup”21 and to resolve the intellectual inclination to be modern without, however, erasing the images, passions and nostalgia developed during his formative experience.His contemporary Rosai did not live his youth in magical chambers or metropolitan settings but rather fed his proletarian imagination in the day-to-day confines of his father’s workshop, where he discovered the figurative potential of men engrossed in work and the evocative concat-enations offered by this industrious organism. As he wrote in an autobi-ographic sketch in Frontespizio, “I began to take a pencil and draw those men in their various attitudes, working, resting and during meals, and

18 Ibidem.19 See “Biografia per immagini”,

in A. Buzzoni (edited by), De Pisis, exhibition catalogue (Ferrara, Palazzo Massari, Museo d’arte moderna e contemporanea “Filippo de Pisis”, 29 September 1996 – 19 January 1997), Ferrara: Ferrara Arte, 1996, pp. 255–91.

20 F. Arcangeli, Dal romanticismo..., cit., 1977, pp. 279–82.

21 N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 283.

3. Ottone Rosai, Giocatori di toppa, 1928.Florence, Banca Toscana collection

4. Filippo de Pisis, I grandi fiori di Casa Massimo, 1931. Rome, private collection

120 121


30 F. Arcangeli, Dal romanticismo..., cit., 1977, p. 275.

31 Ibidem.32 C. L. Ragghianti, “Firenze di Rosai”,

in Critica d’arte, 5 (1954), pp. 473–76.33 N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 254.

profiles, encased in their sheaths of clothing like dark, ineffable chrysa-lises, or adopt the gestuality of neighbourhood life but without lapsing into colloquialism and rather adopting a solemn formal rituality that sug-gests ideas ripened in the presence of lofty models, experienced as the natural forefathers of a primordial and spontaneous mankind. According to Arcangeli, Rosai saw the artists of the past as the “living flesh of his people”,30 consubstantial matrices capable of permeating the humble he-roes of the present in temporal continuity, thus exploding the interpretive misunderstanding of his “little figures”, which must instead be ascribed to the authenticity always alive in archaic and plebeian Florence. The frescoes of Masaccio in the Carmine were for him evidence of the possible and natural continuity with the contingencies of life, where we perceive “the feeling of the poor, wretched Florentine day spent for the first time in that new space”, as Longhi wrote, nearly in harmony with Rosai. This is evident above all when the same critic broadened the figurative horizon of the stories of St Peter and St Paul in literary fashion with elements of modernizing introspection: “[...] and they speak to us of nothing other than leaden mood of the late afternoon, devoid of events, with an old man preaching, seated outside the door, a youngster in a cloak who vents his bile, brushing the fresh lime of the tenement with his shoulder; a mid-dle-class lady lost in thought on the threshold as she returns home…”31 Timeless atmospheres and states of mind, suspended in the controlled cadences of form, evoking everyday rituals whose sequence was intended to assume the narrative function of secular “parables”. As demonstrated in coherent parataxis by the works of the Iannaccone collection — L’attesa [Waiting] [W. NO. 68], I fidanzati [The Betrothed] [W. NO. 71], All’osteria [In the Tavern] [W. NO. 72] — with their scenes of life suspended in space and time, almost as though generated by a metaphysical spirit weighed down by the fatigue of living, bitterly “acquainted with grief”.As seen in the canvases published by Ragghianti in 1954, Rosai’s Florence is an intractable, impenetrable city of jagged edges and “mute, forbidden” buildings, one that can prove frightening when it takes up the conven-tional circuit offered to the commerce of “beauty”. The artist glides over this like a hawk, picking out the austere medieval edifices that constitute “the most original and perennial character of his city”, the naked image of which regains space, vistas, distances and connections through his drive to extract their primeval, proportional essence.32 De Pisis described a street in Venice to friends as “very beautiful with old rose buildings, tufts of ivy and flowers, a bit like certain lanes on the hill above Florence”. He added, “I have never really succeeded in painting Florence. It is a difficult city.”33 Difficult probably because it was at variance with the artist’s tempera-ment, gradually altered by the opening up of very different panoramas — London, Paris — and finally asserted in the mid-thirties with a furious and felicitous inspiration heightened by more intimate understanding of the plein air of the Impressionists and the exhilarating discovery of Turner’s

church of Saint Sulpice and the much admired frescoes of Delacroix, a “sweet attic” reached by some deadly flights of stairs that did not, how-ever, put off either the artist’s friends or the various guests who would later contribute in various ways to his hagiography, including Palazzeschi, Longhi, Brandi and Contini, who gazed in wonder or amazement on be-holding the reconstituted and always gripping “melodramatic chamber”. Many noted the influence of Impressionism on his painting but, accord-ing to Brandi,26 with constant “efflorescences” of a Venetian (Tiepolo and Guardi) and more generally Italian nature, as though the tribute due to the French sediment became rather a mordant for approaches already ripened on the Adriatic and corroborated precisely by a visual legacy of renowned colouristic tradition. While some Metaphysical overtones still linger in many of the still lifes painted between 1926 and 1928, the col-ours are evidently influenced by ranges picked up in the studios of Soutine and Matisse, with lights that dazzle the senses but without ever eluding the earthly substance of the things represented. As Francesco Arcangeli wrote in this connection, “[...] the things have weight, at least for one last time, before yielding to this solemn plundering of the cosmos.”27 Balanced between material evidence and chromatic effusion, flowers were among the favourite subjects of De Pisis, who delighted during his childhood in picking huge bunches for collections, declaiming their scientific names and botanical families and species, convinced among other things that great subtlety of spirit was required to appreciate such beauty, a message of sensual happiness from the very heart of nature. He thus saw flowers as living creatures to capture on canvas during the brief transit of their existence: sometimes sumptuous (e.g. I grandi fiori di Casa Massimo [Big Flowers at Casa Massimo], 1931, private collection [FIG. 4]); sometimes sub-missive to their fleeting destiny (Il gladiolo fulminato [The Struck Glad], 1930, private collection) and therefore painted in autumnal hues and with the same forebodings as in the equally empathetic flower painting by Mario Mafai.“I am the motionless bee / sipping this nectar / painfully”. De Pisis wrote these lines in a poem on a bunch of flowers,28 where the sorrowful ad-verb warns us of the unquiet alternation between the joy of conquest and creative pessimism shared by many leading figures in twentieth-centu-ry Italy. One of these was Rosai, who maintained that happy art cannot exist because a great conquest is immediately followed by the sense of limitation, inadequacy, unattainability. As stated above, this must have prompted the practice of art as an admission of imperfection and, at the same time, as a school of freedom and courage undertaken by Rosai after the period of avant-garde frenzy, when he resumed contact with anxiety, effort and fear of the pencil and palette in an attempt to rediscover the love he had always felt for “certain creatures doomed to live as though in hiding from life itself”.29 The figures standing or slipping into alleyways in the close-meshed perspective grid of the streets of Oltrarno have stark

26 C. Brandi, “Il pittore Filippo De Pisis”, in Scritti sull’arte contemporanea, Turin: Einaudi, 1976, p. 258.

27 F. Arcangeli, “Appunti per una storia di De Pisis”, in Paragone, 19 (1951), p. 38.

28 Ibidem.29 See C. L. Ragghianti, in P. C. Santini

(edited by), Ottone Rosai. Opere dal 1911 al 1957, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Circolo degli Artisti, Palazzo Graneri, Aprile–May 1983; Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, July–September 1983; Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 13 November – 18 December 1983), Florence: Vallecchi, 1983, p. 18.

5. Ottone Rosai, Natura morta con fiasco e frutta, 1933. Private collection

6. Filippo de Pisis, Lungosenna agli Invalidi (Lungosenna al Pont Neuf), 1931. Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera

122 123


sometimes exhibited in immature nudes, sometimes concentrated in looks of treacherous enticement, sometimes eluded in a cordial setting but dense with aesthetic allusions, as in the depiction of a flute player (Suonatore di flauto [W. NO. 29]), and sometimes in drawings that preserve the imprint of direct feeling (“living remains”40). In the latter, overtones of Pontormo remind us of the vast visual culture of De Pisis, an artist in love with reality and its possible metaphors, as when the sudden sight of “smooth knees, large and slightly gleaming” fired his cultured imagina-tion with the memory of “the torso of the youth kneeling over the water in the Museo delle Terme”.41 Generated by unmediated possession, Rosai’s adolescents (starting from the large nude in a landscape: Grande nudo nel paesaggio, 1933, private collection, [FIG. 9]) have no precedents of high degree. The artist’s creative torment indeed robs them of the tenderness of age to emphasize their proletarian marginality through vigorous out-lines and expressive disarticulation. A sort of “negritude” evoked by the vocabulary of the avant-garde and embedded in the adventure of everyday life with a hint of challenge so that, as Ragghianti aptly observed, “the elementary and universal truth of the resurrection of a man given up for lost might emerge from distorted nakedness”.42

In commemorating Rosai’s death with the feeling of a poet, Carlo Betocchi confirmed the lyrical fraternity to which the artist aspired in his life, the syncretism of words and colours that was peculiar to many leading fig-ures of the twentieth century and that brought to Betocchi’s mind visual analogies (“With creative bunches of orris you struck down the colours of Florence”), apt references to illustrious cultural sources (“you drew your nymphs, equal to those of antiquity, through the sky of San Frediano to-wards the banks of the Arno”) and the painful thought of an irreparable end (“A great era of poetry is over. Rosai’s death is one of those worthy of Lorca’s lament over the death of a matador”43). What remains of De Pisis, another painter intensely drawn to poetry, are the words written in the angst-ridden solitude of Villa Fiorita, his last letter to Olga Signorelli, resonant with echoes of a bygone golden age: “Thank you for the flowers, which were still alive on arrival. I have done as you told me and cut a piece of the stem […] How many memories! I would like to have happiness for every corolla and stalk I have loved and for […] my life to be lightened. Would that be too much?”44

40 G. Raimondi, introduction to Filippo De Pisis. Disegni, Venice: Cavallino, 1950.

41 N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 111.42 C. L. Ragghianti, “Firenze...”, cit., 1954,

p. 26.43 C. Betocchi, “Lamento per la morte di

Ottone”, in 100 opere di Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Prato, Galleria d’arte Falsetti, December 1965), Florence, 1965, p. 10.

44 See N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 283.

painting first-hand in England, which prompted works of extraordinary, unprecedented visual compaction. The example of the Impressionists — providing a powerful bond, as stated above, between the perception of natural appearances and the Venetian sediment of colour — helped De Pisis to interpret the spirit of the city and to see a light or shade at its true value, thus interweaving reality and fantasy in his views in an indissoluble dynamic compound. The term “pictorial stenography”34 has been used in this connection to suggest his speed of visual absorption and resulting, almost medium-like ability to capture the teeming world around him on canvas with a palette perfectly equipped to pick up colours, transparen-cies and dissonances but also noises, smells and the overlapping of voices. All this the artist absorbed, intrepidly setting up his easel in the streets of capital cities; restoring atmospheric lustre to a Milan under threat of war, as shown, among other things, by his view of Foro Bonaparte (Il Foro Bonaparte a Milano [The Foro Bonaparte in Milan], 1941) [W. NO. 31] in the Iannaccone collection; honing his colours in the cosy studio on Via Rugabella; painting views of Venice veined with the sumptuous nostalgia of Guardi. An urban triumph with respect to the monumental seclusion of Rosai. Some critics have, however, been prompted to connect this appar-ent joy with De Pisis’s psychological and aesthetic complexity, his simul-taneously blithe and desperate condition, alone in the thick of life, fated to grasp the ungraspable with intermittencies that sometimes blocked his hearing and generated a dramatic creative and sentimental void (“[...] but behind these vain appearances / a voice I know. / Terror of death, / of your mystery, / you touch me less / than the grace of this light, / the tenderness of the plants / barely awakened by spring / with the perfumed breath of air. / Flights, shadows, points, / echoes, notes, nothingness”35).In De Pisis’s studio, a projection of the richly populated attic of his child-hood, some trophies used for painting pointed at the same time to the dark component underlying the Impressionist whirlwind, from the rotten fish (Pesci marci [FIG. 1, P. 206]) picked up on a Parisian rubbish tip to the hare (La lepre) laid bleeding on his work table and the brightly coloured skel-eton of a lobster hanging on the wall: indications of a human and poetic angst that once prompted Giovanni Comisso to speak of seeing “the lac-erating beauty of your still life”.36 In his workshop, these offered the key to enter undreamt-of worlds, “ever-changing and indestructible matter, animal life, the essence of dead things”.37 It was, however, in that inven-tive forge densely crammed with perishable organic matter that the “met-amorphosis of eros and painting”38 took place every time the mystery of the life took on the appearance of an errand boy in a white cook’s apron or a sailor in a blue uniform alongside a patch of a dream-like sky. The young men desired by De Pisis with the same voracious anxiety as Sandro Penna (“I would like to tear myself to pieces and die for the love of this child, his red lips clumsy and quivering, his cheeks, his neck as slender and deli-cate as a lily”39) were captured on canvas with their promise of pleasure, 34 See A.Buzzoni, “Un’idea di De Pisis”,

in De Pisis, cit., 1996, p. 111.35 F. Arcangeli, Dal romanticismo..., cit.,

1977, p. 291.36 N. Naldini, De Pisis..., cit., 1991, p. 143.37 Ibidem, p. 156.38 Ibidem, p. 93.39 Ibidem, p. 43.

7. Ottone Rosai, Via Toscanella, 1922. Private collection

8. Filippo de Pisis, Nudino sulla pelle di tigre, 1931. Private collection

9. Ottone Rosai, Grande nudo nel paesaggio, 1933. Private collection

125

1 See F. Benzi, Arte in Italia tra le due Guerre, Turin, 2013.

2 While Guttuso’s adoption of antifascism is hard to date precisely, the Crocifissione proves quite explicit in this sense. Mirella Serri suggests that the turning point came in 1941; see M. Serri, I redenti, Milan, 2005, p. 216.

3 See M. De Micheli, “Morlotti”, in Pattuglia, II, no.7-8, May-June 1943: “[...] an example to be combined with the power of Guernica: the strongest, most emotional and heroic Picasso, the Picasso that presents his stature to the world with no effusiveness or visions of paradise”. Attention should also be drawn in this connection to the Primo manifesto di pittori e scrittori, written in 1943 by Morlotti, Treccani, Vedova, De Grada, De Micheli and Morosini but not published until 1947 in Numero, no. 8–9: “We recognize one another only in love and hatred. Picasso posed this question in 1937 with Guernica. We do not see Picasso as the most authentic representative of those with a complete impact on life and are certainly not about turn him into a new academy. We recognize in Picasso’s attitude a move beyond the intimism and personalism of the expressionists. We see reflected in Picasso’s canvases not his personal struggle but that of his generation. The images of this painter are a challenge and a banner for a thousand men. The painting not as revelation but as the projection of our will.”

4 M. Sironi, “II Quadriennale d’arte nazionale”, in La Rivista Illustrata del Popolo d’Italia, February 1935.

The Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone, the historical section of which contains a series of masterpieces of Italian painting of the thirties in Rome, Milan and Turin, is oriented in terms of taste towards certain particular areas of the multifaceted Italian panorama. It is indeed this great variety that makes the Italian art of the interwar period — in which the Fascist dictatorship had not the slightest effect on a whole range of aesthetic choices including abstract art, Futurism, Expressionism, to-nalism and Surrealism — a truly unique case as well as one of the most expressively free and interesting focal points at the European and in-deed international level during those years. Due precisely to its freedom of dialogue and ideas, Italy was then unquestionably the national con-text of the greatest richness and quality after the incomparable Parisian scene, with which it appears in any case to have maintained constant dialogue.1 The first palpable rift in this lingua franca was to come before the outbreak of World War II with the appalling institution of the Fascist racial laws in 1938. Paradoxically enough, however, a degree of increas-ingly precarious freedom of expression was to continue with the protec-tive support of some elements of the regime. An award was indeed given at the fourth Bergamo Prize in 1942 to the Crocifissione [Crucifixion] of Renato Guttuso [FIG. 1] (then already close to communism2), which ex-plicitly cites the Picasso of Guernica, a formal and ethical example for anti-fascist intellectuals in those years.3

One of these various dialectical strands is examined here, namely the fo-cus on reality that developed simultaneously in the two major Roman — or rather Italian, given their influence at the national level — schools of painting: the tonalism of the École de Rome or Scuola romana (Roman School), with Cagli, Cavalli and Capogrossi, and the expressionism of the School of Via Cavour, with Scipione, Mafai and Raphaël. The Roman scene was in fact definitively established as most modern and vital in Italy in the mid-thirties. After the attempt to instil new life into the Novecento Italiano movement with muralism, Sironi himself, its champi-on, recognized that “the Roman group of Cagli, Capogrossi, Cavalli, the late Scipione and Mafai as well as the sculptors Fazzini and Crocetti have this time the honour of upholding the most brilliant and vital standards of Italian art […] In this Quadrennial, it is the Roman group that reaps the greatest harvest of attention and, with its vigour, keeps alight the flame of faith in modern art that is neither warmed-up leftovers nor a pitiful sham. Here, Rome is the bastion of the art of today.”4

The Painting of Reality. The Shift to Realism in the Roman Painting of the Thirties

fabio benzi

1. Renato Guttuso, Crocifissione, 1940–41. Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna

126 127

THE PAINTING OF REALITY FABIO BENZI

7 Not his daughter, as erroneously claimed by C. Gian Ferrari (in Various Authors, Una Caccia amorosa. Arte italiana tra le due guerre nella collezione Iannaccone, Milan, 2009, p. 80). Melli had no children.

8 The magazine Il Quadrivio; see F. Benzi, Arte..., cit., 2013, p.264.

9 See the appendices in F. Benzi, Emanuele Cavalli, Rome, 1984.

10 He himself cited Picasso, Derain, Braque and De Chirico as among his ideal masters in an interview of the period: R. Vailland, “Le fils de Pirandello est peintre à Montparnasse”, in Paris-Midi, 8 October 1928.

entirely to still life and portraits of his wife. A vision of exclusively chro-matic and compositional order makes his works masterpieces of highly sophisticated and lucid formalism in which reality is laid out as though on an abstract grid of colours in a vision, like that of his companions, which displays the angst of a tragic decade in closed, enigmatic, chrysalis-like forms. The splendid work La lettura [The Reading], 1942 [W. NO. 51] is a para-digm of tonalism. Based on chromatic harmonies in shades of brown and violet heightened by a combination of primary colours (blue, red and yel-low), the delicate relationship between the two figures — his wife and a friend7 — is set in an almost abstract framework of reflections. The image of intimate and almost crepuscular realism must be seen in the context of the tormented psychological and existential situation of a Jewish artist who had contributed until 1936 to Fascist periodicals that had been pub-lishing anti-Semitic articles since 19348 and had even painted a portrait of Mussolini in 1937 but fell victim to the racial laws in 1938 and was pro-hibited from public exhibition of his works. Let us now consider Pirandello, Guttuso and Ziveri, three very different figures who sought at the same time to move beyond tonalism with a more immediate representation of reality. Fausto Pirandello, the oldest of the three, began by painting rural and pastoral subjects of an archaic character after the manner of Carena but imbued them from the outset with tormented, anguished carnality of a “distasteful” realistic nature that projected him at a very early age into an autonomous dimension, almost like a disturbing precursor of Lucien Freud. He moved as early as 1928 to Paris, where the “Italiens de Paris” were endeavouring to develop their own response to Surrealism and in-deed laying claim through De Chirico, in defiance of Breton’s arrogant anathemas, to the “paternity” of the movement and hence also to its cor-rect interpretation and development in the Italian sense of Metaphysical Art. The young Pirandello tried to find a foothold and an outlet in this context, as attested by a postcard to Cavalli in 1929,9 and the mixture of Metaphysical and Surrealist art blossoming there was unquestionably his primary focus apart from intense interest in Picasso and Braque. The fresco-like surfaces of Campigli and Tozzi, the impenetrable mystery and inexplicable presences of De Chirico and Savinio, the monumental figures of Picasso and the palette-knife Cubism of Braque are elements he picked up avidly and considered deeply.10 This context also helps to explain the mysterious emanations of “auras” and ectoplasms present in many of his enigmatic drawings of the period as well as paintings like Interno di mat-tina [Morning Interior]. One work of this Parisian period is La lettera [The Letter], 1929 [W. NO. 59], in which paint is used as autonomous, “sculptural” matter, with the illusionism of Braque’s Cubism halfway through the dec-ade, but with a sense of objective reality that is almost enigmatic in the explicit paradox of three-dimensional and mimetic painting.The first presentation of his work took place after his return to Italy

Pirandello, Guttuso, Ziveri and Melli, the painters included in the part of collection discussed here, all started out in fact in the Roman school of tonalism and were all — except Melli — ultimately to take part in the shift towards realism of the end of the decade: Pirandello, a friend and com-panion of Capogrossi and Cavalli as from their time as pupils of Felice Carena (1922); Ziveri, who drew vital sustenance from the tonalism of the École de Rome before taking up realism in the second half of the thirties; Guttuso, who started from the peculiar encaustic and “citrine”5 tonalism of Cagli to move beyond his early work under the influence of the Novecento group; Melli, who returned to the debate on contemporary art after years of pictorial inactivity as a signatory of the manifesto of Primordialism in 1933 together with Cavalli, Capogrossi and Cagli, and played his part in the same tonal genesis of the Roman school. Based on stark expanses of colour devoid of outlines and shadows as against the volumetric classicism and chiaroscuro of the now exhaust-ed and deposed Novecento Italiano, tonalism had become the common, modern approach by the mid-thirties. In the same way, regardless of their differences, all the young artists who had adopted it and helped with their own personal contributions to make it the dominant style were now in-cluded in the “Roman school”. Though coined for the group of tonal art-ists who exhibited work in Paris in 1933 (Cagli, Capogrossi and Cavalli), the term served as from around 1935 to identify the broader generation of painters born in the first decade of the century — and therefore in their thirties during the thirties — who had made tonalism their common means of expression. As early as 1940, however, in a review of the exhibition of the Mostra del Sindacato romano [Rome Fascist Union of Fine Arts] in Primato, Guttuso already felt that the label had become overly vague and that it was necessary to identify its two clearly distinct component parts, one “lyrical-romantic”, led by Scipione and Mafai, and one char-acterized by “an almost abstract love of tonal space”, led by Cavalli and Capogrossi.6

While the years after 1933 saw a succession of exhibitions (biennials, quadrennials, exhibitions of the Fascist Union of Fine Arts, etc.) in which tonalism established itself, the personal visions of Guttuso, Pirandello and Ziveri, bound by common views on art and life, gradually diverged from those of Capogrossi and Cavalli, who instead became increasingly tangential in the pursuit of shared ideals of tonal and magical abstraction, allegories of a world dominated by hermetic melancholy. Melli instead re-mained close to them with his focus on an isolated, primarily formal form of tonalism. Imbued with a dominant sense of composition and form by his Secessionist background and involvement with the journal Valori Plastici, he attached no particular importance to the theme of the painting as such, an object of mythic and esoteric meaning and interest for his friends of the École de Rome. His works are harmonious and complex compositions of carefully studied tonalities and the subject matter is confined almost 5 An adjective aptly applied to Cagli’s work

by Melli (“atmosfera ‘citrina’ generale”), in “Visite ad artisti: Corrado Cagli”, in Il Quadrivio, 23 February 1936, which describes its dominant colour very effectively.

6 R. Guttuso, “La X Mostra Sindacale del Lazio”, in Primato, 15 May 1940.

4. Giuseppe Capogrossi, Gita in barca (I canottieri; Partenza in sandolino), 1932. Rome, Claudio and Elena Cerasi collection

2. Corrado Cagli, I neofiti, 1934. Rome, private collection

3. Emanuele Cavalli, Il solitario, 1936. Rome, private collection

128 129


13 R. Guttuso, “Una mostra di Pirandello”, in Primato, VI, 1941. For Pirandello’s bathers, see F. Benzi (edited by), Fausto Pirandello: bagnanti, Rignano Flaminio (Rome), 2010; F. Benzi (edited by), Fausto Pirandello 1899-1975, London 2015. For Pirandello in general, G. Giuffré, Fausto Pirandello, Rome, 1984, is still valuable. See also C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Catalogo generale, Milan, 2009.

14 For this period in Cagli’s career and his influence on the younger generations, see F. Benzi (edited by), Corrado Cagli e il suo magistero, Milan, 2010.

15 For the connections and relations of reciprocal influence between the young artists of Rome, Milan and Turin during the thirties, see E. Pontiggia, “Italia anni trenta: la stagione neoromantica, l’intreccio delle mostre”, in Various Authors, Una caccia..., cit., 2009, pp. 25–33; F. Benzi, Arte..., cit., 2013.

16 For the group from Palermo, see F. Leone, “Il gruppo dei Quattro di Palermo: ‘Hanno forse il diavolo in corpo’“, in F. Benzi (edited by), Corrado Cagli..., cit., 2010.

17 The very heterogeneous artists featured with Guttuso were Alberto Bevilacqua, Leo Castro, Vittorio Corona, Manlio Giarrizzo and Mario Mimì Lazzaro (the latter associated with Scipione and Mafai at the time of the birth of the School of Via Cavour).

18 “Self-expression with absolute sincerity and fellow feeling free from any form of preoccupation be it archaic, neoclassical, metaphysical or intellectual. Primitives by necessity, being born in an age of commencement.” Guttuso summed up the group’s principles in these words in the article “Discorso sulla sincerità: i giovani”, in L’Ora, Palermo, 10–11 April 1933.

19 The Group of Four had in any case already been formed from the ashes of and in response to the overly heterogeneous group of artists presented in the show in Milan, as G. Pensabene recalled in his review of the show by the six artists from Palermo at the Milione (“L’arte nuova in Sicilia”, in Il Secolo XIX, 19 October 1932).

Pirandello’s silent alienation, far removed from the complex psycholog-ical tangles to be glimpsed in the work of his father Luigi. His raw vi-sion of reality predates that of the end of the decade, expressed in still lifes as scaly and iridescent as flotsam and jetsam, portraits and figures immobilized by petrifying anxiety, bathers arrayed like souls in an ex-istential purgatory, groups of naked men and women arranged in serial compositions on the shore, exposed to a grey, ashen light. The existential sense of these paintings of bathers — which not only prompted Guttuso to write a memorable article in 1941 but also inspired his renowned and dramatic works of war (Gott mit uns, 1944–45) and certainly also the ag-itated, expressionist masterpieces of his first great period of maturity like Fuga dall’Etna [Escape from Etna], 1940 [FIG. 6] — is summed up as follows in his own words: “These tortured characters go around in their non-human form. They are neither men nor women, despite the cruellest accentuation, but figures from other planets on bare, barren clay beneath cloudless grey skies where even the storms are unlike those of this world. Land, sky, sea, animals, men and women, all dried and cracked by stifling midday heat with a distant sun able to send its fire but not its light.”13

Between 1935 and 1937, in the first mature paintings after his ear-ly Novecento period, Guttuso was strongly influenced by the work of Cagli, which tended in the mid-thirties towards a baroque style influ-enced by Scipione but produced by means of the canonical tonal meth-ods.14 After participation in a few public exhibitions, he made his debut with a group of Sicilian artists that was, by no coincidence, to hold its first show in Milan (2 pittori e 2 scultori siciliani, Galleria Il Milione, May–June 1934). This is of interest as indicative not only of the broad-ly felt need to escape from the dead hand of Novecento Italiano but also of a significant link between the Milanese and Roman scenes.15 The four artists16 (Renato Guttuso, Lia Pasqualino Noto, Nino Franchina and Giovanni Barbera, who died prematurely in 1936), naturally led by Guttuso with his forceful personality, were still initially influenced by the Novecento movement at the beginning of the decade. As early as 1932, however, Guttuso showed work again at the Milione in a group of six Sicilian artists17 and laid the foundations of his stylistic renewal on the basis above all of his acquaintance with Cagli. Acting as a driving force for his young friends from Palermo, he eagerly drew numerous el-ements from this artist, including a striving for the primordial,18 free, expressionistic painting and the orange-tinted colours of tonalism. The contacts with Milan, which he kept alive through friendships with Aligi Sassu and Renato Birolli, made him a physical link not only with the friends in Palermo but also with Rome, where he was now in perma-nent orbit. Between 1933 and 1934, when their first show took place,19 the four young Sicilian artists were already fully formed and mature, like a branch of Roman tonalism but with one eye also carefully trained on the other end of Italy. In February 1935 they showed work at the

in 1931 at the Galleria di Roma. An exhibition of five Milanese and five Roman artists had been conceived in 1932 by the acute and original Pier Maria Bardi (whose gallery was then the focal point of avant-garde art in Rome, as it had been earlier in Milan and Turin11) as a sort of “game of football” between two teams12: the new Milanese artists and the new “Roman school”, an initial meeting and exchange of ideas between the two most promising young Italian trends. The more heterogeneous Milanese group consisted of Birolli, Sassu, Bogliardi, Ghiringhelli and Soldati. The Romans unquestionably formed a far more closely-knit group and con-stituted an authentic “team”. Friends since their period at the school of Felice Carena in the early twenties, Cavalli, Capogrossi and Pirandello had also aroused the interest of critics already with the shows and work developed together. The winners of the match (four paintings per artist) were unquestionably the Romans, champions of a new style that was to revitalize Italian art in the thirties. Well aware of the various new Italian trends of the time, Bardi was convinced of the importance of the Roman group, which promised to take concrete shape as the spearhead of art in those years, and realized its potential in terms of originality and inno-vation as well as complementary inventiveness. As he wrote in an article in the Milanese newspaper L’Ambrosiano, “They constitute the real new generation, determined and enthusiastic.”Pirandello, a giant of Italian painting who is still not fully understood, differed from his companions through an investigation of the reality of bodies and things that proved alarming and disturbing. After contribut-ing to the creation of tonalism, he developed it in a highly physical, vi-sionary, haunted and disquieting form, using the palette knife to shape figures in everyday positions and actions but as though frozen in unnat-ural, rhythmic compositions: figures dominated by immanent anxiety of a disturbing, surrealistic nature. Wholly unlike the oneiric surrealism of Scipione, to which it is sometimes likened, Pirandello’s art explores a distorted space, always floating on unstable diagonals, the voids that consciousness is unable to fill in its complex relationship with reality. He presents a painful human condition of extraordinary spiritual power with no rhetoric through the simultaneously austere and sumptuous handling of paint. The rough, unadorned technique of his painting offers an auton-omous reading of tonalism that moves from the surrealistic figuration of the years around 1930 towards a dazed and crepuscular form of realism in the second half of the decade. An opponent of psychologism, he did not, however, pursue the creation of an oneiric reality, like his friends, but rather the lucid presentation of a condition midway between pure form and bare reality: a paradox that reveals the insoluble dialectic between suffering matter and sublimating spirit, defeated by the ineluctability of existence. Spiaggia [Beach], circa 1940 [W. NO. 60] and La famiglia dell’artista [The Artist’s Family], 1942 [W. NO. 61] are two of the greatest examples of

11 Opened in 1930 in the building on the corner of Via Veneto and Piazza Barberini, the gallery presented the first important show of work by Scipione and Mafai the same year and continued to promote new art with original choices and a focus on the younger generations. By 1932 it had already exhibited the Six Painters of Turin and the Milanese expressionists as well as the early work of the young artists who were soon to give birth to the Lombard school of abstract art. It provided the Roman artists with an exceptional opportunity for visibility. Its originality was also noted by contemporaries like Corrado Pavolini (“A. Pincherle e C. Cagli alla Galleria di Roma”, in Il Tevere, 18 April 1932): “These shows of young artists that follow one another in the gallery on Via Veneto are the only really interesting ones — and indeed practically the only ones — in the capital, apart of course from the major institutional and national events, which are very different in character and significance.” See also F. Benzi, Arte..., cit., 2013, chapters 9 and 10.

12 This image is one used by Pirandello in a letter to Guzzi (F. Benzi, “Materiali inediti dagli archivi di Virgilio Guzzi”, in L. Stefanelli Torossi [edited by], Virgilio Guzzi, Rome, 1986), where he recalls the occasion and speaks of the group of five Roman artists “juxtaposed with the same number of Milanese painters in a confrontation designed as a sort of match (like a game of football).”

6. Renato Guttuso, Fuga dall’Etna, 1940. Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna

5. Fausto Pirandello, La tempesta, 1938. Rome, private collection

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birth of an original period in which crude vulgarity is tempered with museum-grade refinement devoid of contrived elegance in evocative de-pictions of brothels and genre scenes.At the same time, Guttuso, the rising star of Italian art, abandoned the tonalism of Cagli − which he in any case already interpreted in clearly expressionist terms − and gave violent substance to his paintings, to his vigorously carnal nudes of a physicality devoid of embellishment, which often recall post-Cubist angulations. The sense of flesh and blood in his painting and the antifascist political commitment, initially professed in ambiguous terms, were manifested through citations of Picasso alternat-ing with contributions to official Fascist journals like Primato. This new approach and expressive power immediately placed him in the vanguard of the newer generations. Guttuso quickly broke away from the archaic, “romantic” vision, from Ziveri’s simultaneously vulgar and cultured real-ism, in search of explicit social commitment, which went beyond the mor-ally weighty protest of his friends to become implicit political protest. Pathos and commitment, realism and expressionism, were combined in paintings with pure, lyrical colours, broken and syncopated lines, deter-mining the crucial basis of an embryonic painting of the Resistance and, implicitly, one of the platforms for the revitalized Italian art of the post-war period. The Sicilian group, now reduced to three by the death of Barbera, held its last exhibition in June 1937 at the Galleria della Cometa. Guttuso was now fully independent and his art developed vigorously in a form of realism that took on overtones of marked political commitment through a reworking of Picasso (the citation of Guernica [FIG. 8] in the Crocifissione of 1940−41 [FIG. 1] was shattering with respect to what it then meant in Italy). An example is provided by the portrait of Mario Alicata (1940 [W.

NO. 38]), where the realism is moulded but not interrupted in its bodily circulation by neo-Cubist formal elements that, as stated here at the outset, became a metaphorical but explicit declaration of antifascism. Other masterpieces of the Iannaccone collection are still more mature and explicit in this sense, coinciding with the years of creation of the Crocifissione [FIG. 1], one of the icons of twentieth-century Italian art: La finestra blu [The Blue Window] [W. NO. 39], Gabbia bianca e foglie [White Cage and Leaves] [W. NO. 40] and Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo [Portrait of Antonino Santangelo] [W. NO. 41]. Moreover, in his role as an agitator, communicator and link between the hitherto independent (if not indeed polemically conflicting, but in any case not devoid of exchanges) realities of Rome and Milan, Guttuso be-came indispensable for the construction of a national art in search of ev-er-greater detachment from a regime that did not impose aesthetic canons but fostered the emergence of increasingly radical critics with increasing-ly dangerous totalitarian assumptions. An example and an effective and significant term of comparison is provided precisely by Pensabene, who

Galleria Bragaglia in Rome, where their expressionism was accentuat-ed through contact with Mirko, consideration of Levi and the contem-plation of Scipione, whose work was featured in a posthumous show at the 1935 Quadrennial. The period 1935−36 saw Guttuso once again in Milan, where he had been called up for military service and developed still closer relations with the expressionists and realists that were soon to gather around the journal Corrente. Two closely related works be-long to this period, namely Natura morta con garofani e frutta [Still Life with Carnations and Fruit] [W. NO. 36] and the Ritratto di Mimise [Portrait of Mimise] [W. NO. 37], both painted in 1937. While the similarity with Cagli’s still lifes and portraits — marked in that moment by the influence of Soutine and late baroque overtones — was still evident, the density of matter was already developing in a vision that was to make Guttuso the intellectual leader of Italian painting in the immediate future. Ziveri began his tonal period in 1933 but in harmony also with the lyr-icism and expressive power of Mafai’s painting. His figures stand out, diaphanous and clear-cut, in tenuous tonal combinations and quivering pictorial ductus, as in I giocatori di birilli [Ninepin Players], 1934 [W. NO. 93]. This was a painting he continued to regard as relevant at least until 1936, when he showed it at the Venice Biennial. Around 1937, however, precise-ly when tonalism had become the dominant style, some young people, including Ziveri, strongly felt the need for a form of expression that was less detached and more in keeping with the dramatic nature of the period they were going through and — to a still greater extent — the one they were inevitably heading towards. The need was felt with ever-greater clarity for a physical, carnal reality in whose folds the blood could be discerned (the blood that was already being shed in Spain and that would soon flow in the streets of Europe and the world), the expression not only of stoic contemplation but also of an urgent need for expression and communication.20

Virgilio Guzzi, a painter as well as an acute and cultured art critic, the close friend of Ziveri and Pirandello, was perhaps the first to crack the crystallized shell of tonalism, returning as early as 1936 to the most glit-tering Caravaggesque painting of the seventeenth century and the real-ism of the nineteenth (Courbet but also Goya), moulding his figures in thick chiaroscuro, searching in the thickness of paint for a new, physical, expressive density, blazing with light and rich in humours. As always in Italy, the enormous heritage of ancient art became a source of stimuli for new stylistic approaches. This is the path eagerly taken by Ziveri, who set off in 1937 for the Netherlands and France, studying Rembrandt, Courbet and Delacroix, and acquiring a taste for a solid, dramatic, ex-pressionistic and “romantic” kind of painting. The first paintings of his new glittering, expressionist style, albeit still veiled by ancient seven-teenth-century and academic overtones (Giuditta e Oloferne [Judith and Holofernes], [FIG. 7]) were presented at the 1938 Biennial. They mark the

20 See the exhaustive bibliography in F. D’Amico (edited by), Guttuso Pirandello Ziveri. Realismo a Roma, 1938-1943, Rome, 1995. See also M. Argentieri, P. Vivarelli (edited by), Gli anni del Premio Bergamo. Arte in Italia intorno agli anni Trenta, Milan, 1993; A. Masi, P. Vivarelli (edited by), Artisti Collezionisti Mostre negli anni di Primato. 1940–1943, Rome, 1996.

7. Alberto Ziveri, Giuditta e Oloferne, 1940.Rome, Natale collection

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introverted and autobiographical, midway between the impassibility of Hopper and seventeenth-century painting, between carnal realism and French expressionism (Kisling). Ziveri and Melli, like many other artists of their generation, were to suffer sometimes dramatic moments of formal crisis and paralysis. Some of them, however, like Pirandello and Guttuso, found the strength to continue, through different and more modern ap-proaches, the same exploration of colour and form, expression and ges-ture. Pirandello’s decidedly Soutinesque Natura morta con strumenti musi-cali [Still Life with Musical Instruments], circa 1942 [W. NO. 62]) is instead the first step in a new formal direction where deformed and petrified objects already offer a glimpse of the new perception of reality apparently born out of chaos of which Venturi spoke23 with reference to the works of the post-war period, now decidedly and modernly decomposed by neo-Cubist elements and crossed with Soutinesque deformations.

23 L. Venturi, “Fausto Pirandello”, in Commentari, V, 1, January−March 1954, pp. 52–53.

praised the youthful innovations of the group of four in 1932 and then in 1937 raged against the Jewish, Bolshevik, expressionist internationalism of the best new trends in Italian art. A sign of changing times and the am-biguity of the relationship between art and Fascism, now on the point of collapse after many years of laborious equilibrium.Roman realism triumphed in 1940 with an exhibition held at the Galleria di Roma under the critical aegis of Guzzi, who wrote the presentation, with work by Ziveri, Guttuso, Montanarini, Tamburi and the sculptor Pericle Fazzini. The introduction clearly explains the abandonment of to-nalism and the search for a new realistic vitality: “A desire to approach and penetrate that is determined at all costs to represent this reality in a new equilibrium where the sense of style can, so to speak, plunge into the objective existence of things. No longer the reality of dream but the dream of reality and indeed, since we are not afraid of words, a new re-alism.” The stimulus for this pursuit of a “new realism” unquestionably reflected the demands put forward by the Milanese journal Corrente − with which the Roman art scene engaged in fruitful exchanges of ideas − in an important editorial in December 1938.21

While not abandoning tonalism, Pirandello dug deeper into the pictorial substance and tore it to pieces, as he did the bodies of bathers in contort-ed positions like something out of Dante’s Inferno, as he wildly disrupted objects and landscapes in a calm fury, a lucid understanding of the imma-nent drama. This introverted position made him a second focal point, af-ter Guttuso, in the network of relations with the Milanese Corrente move-ment, in whose exhibitions he also took part. In September 1943, when the Rome Quadrennial was still open (the scheduled closing date in July was postponed due to the extremely con-fused political and military situation with events like the bombing of the San Lorenzo district on 19 July and the arrest of Mussolini on 25 July22), German troops entered and occupied Rome. This obviously marked the end of an era extremely rich in terms of dialectics and aesthetics, always in close dialogue with Europe, which looked in its final stages to Picasso’s Cubism and realism as expressions of opposition to Fascism and Nazism. It was the end of one of the most lofty, complex and tormented periods in Italian art but also the beginning of new explorations that sought in the enthusiasm of antifascism to proceed radically beyond and forget a politically contradictory period ending in the disaster of war. In the alter-nation of these different tendencies and the constant exchanges between artists that were often different but fired with a similar yearning for new creation, the war intervened like a clean and inexorable break. The post-war period was to see the disintegration of these disparate but nevertheless harmonious investigations, depriving a pictorial vocabulary of such richness and complexity of its justification and potential. The swansong of that context came perhaps in 1945 with Ziveri’s Il postribolo [The Bawdy House] [W. NO. 96], an interior of sumptuous realism but by now

21 “Corrente”, in Corrente di Vita Giovanile, I, no. 20, 15 December 1938.

22 I was informed of this otherwise unknown fact by Cipriano Efisio Oppo’s daughter Eugenia. The image of the huge vessel of the Quadrennial, laden with paintings and sculptures, being forgotten and abandoned in the general confusion, set adrift in the inexorable current of the times, is like something out of dramatic poetry.

8. Pablo Picasso, Guernica, 1937. Madrid, Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía

135

1 L. de Libero, Roma 1935, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1981, p. 22.

2 Ibidem, p. 19.3 Ibidem, pp. 25–26.

“I don’t think any other painters can say that they have been loved, praised and followed every day in their works of that period as much as Mafai and Scipione were by us. The feeling of solidarity we had for them is unequalled. We were better acquainted with the genius of Antonietta Raphaël, Mafai’s wife, who was really like a mythological oracle between the two painters.”1 This is how Libero de Libero recalls the deep under-standing established in the late twenties between the artists of the School of Via Cavour — Gino Bonichi, who adopted the name Scipione in 1929, Mario Mafai and Antonietta Raphaël — and many of their contemporaries among the Roman writers and intellectuals. The first to realize the shat-tering innovation of this painting were precisely their young contempo-raries, including De Libero, Leonardo Sinisgalli and Luigi Diemoz. More mature and established figures like Giuseppe Ungaretti, Bruno Barilli, Vincenzo Cardarelli and Emilio Cecchi, habitués of the renowned Caffè Aragno (where “it was not easy to get a seat”2), soon tempered their initial distrust for the fire of these young artists and acknowledged the incredible singularity and power of their works when Pier Maria Bardi featured Mafai and Scipione in a large-scale show at the newly founded Galleria di Roma at the end of the 1930. The same thing happened with other important fig-ures like Roberto Longhi, Corrado Pavolini and Cipriano Efisio Oppo, all among the very first admirers of the work of Mafai, Raphaël and Scipione. As Libero de Libero recalls, “That was our great period of friendship […] in the company of Scipione, who led us in the discovery of Rome by night, sometimes until dawn […] past Porta Metronia, San Giovanni, the Janiculum. Sitting on the steps of Piazza San Pietro or in Piazza Navona, we heard the flutter of angels flying above our heads. There is a time in your life when the intelligence of memory describes a glowing parabola, and that was it for us. There’s a moment when even the pores of your skin absorb information, events, the spirit of things, and that moment was then for us.”3

A time confined to the handful of years between 1927 and 1933, whose intensity was certainly heightened by the awareness those involved cer-tainly had of its inevitably short duration. This is unquestionably true of Scipione, who had suffered since he was fifteen from a lung disease that periodically confined him to his bed and was to end his life at the age of just twenty-nine. And of Mafai, who had often witnessed his close friend coughing up blood at the end of the long days spent together. During the few years granted to their friendship, this awareness fuelled their de-sire to live their chosen life as artists to the full with no restrictions. An

Animating the Painting with Vibrations of Life: the School of Via Cavour, 1927–33

paola bonani

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ANIMATING THE PAINTING WITH VIBRATIONS OF LIFE: THE SCHOOL OF VIA CAVOUR, 1927–33PAOLA BONANI

7 M. Mafai, “Autobiografia”, in L. Velani (edited by), Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo Barberini, March–April 1969), Edizioni Ente Premi Roma, Rome: De Luca, 1969, p. 18.

8 F. Simongini, “Intervista con Raphaël Mafai. Scipione pittore di Roma”, in Vita, Rome, 20 November 1971.

9 F. D’Amico, “Antonietta Raphaël”, in F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël, exhibition catalogue, (Modena, Palazzina dei Giardini, 7 April – 16 June 1991), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1991, p. 7.

10 Ibidem.11 F. Simongini, Intervista con Raphaël

Mafai…, cit., 1971.

knew anything about Goya, Velázquez, Brueghel and Piero della Francesca apart from the odd reproduction? And then there was modern painting, a real garden of delights. It’s there that we found Chagall and Kokoschka, there that we made contact with the painting of Paris.”7

Those explorations among the books were then joined by the tales of Antonietta, who returned to Rome in the autumn of 1927 and went to live with Mafai on the top floor of a building on Via Cavour. As Raphaël remembered many years later, “There was Fascism and the world-wide economic crisis. All in all, Scipione and Mafai had always lived in Rome or the provinces and were fascinated by my stories, my artistic experiences. I had been to Paris before coming to Rome and so I had seen what the French painters were doing in that period.”8

Raphaël had brought memories with her from Europe of painting com-pletely different from the “prudent and orderly” kind then predominant in Rome, produced by movements that were different, as Fabrizio D’ Amico observes, “but ultimately somehow convergent: a noble academ-icism still nineteenth-century in character, die-hard museum-oriented vocations and a disturbed ‘realism’ capable of combining primitivism, Novecento Italiano and the never extinguished echoes of metaphysi-cal bedazzlement”.9 The champions of this painting were, for example, Armando Spadini, Carlo Socrate and the younger artists Virgilio Guidi and Antonio Donghi. Raphaël had instead entered into contact in Paris with the colony of Jewish artists like Rouault, Chagall, Pascin, Soutine and Modigliani, painting characterized by glowing colours and a distortion of reality that “does not offend or deface but restores innocence to things”.10

“What I said served as stimuli for Scipione and Mafai. They had painting in their blood and so hearing from me about the passion and experiences of the Parisian painters gave them strength and comfort. What could we do then in Rome? In the evening, on the terrace of our apartment, Mafai and Scipione would eat a big bowl of spaghetti that they cooked for them-selves […] and drink Castelli wine. Then we would go and walk through Rome by night, through the alleyways, and discover the effect of moon-light on the Roman buildings.”11

Thus it was that some of the three artists’ masterpieces were born in those years, such as Mafai’s Strada con casa rossa [Street with Red House], 1928 [W. NO. 46]; soon bought for the important collection of the musician Alfredo Casella and now part of the Iannaccone collection), showing the descent along one of the streets on the Palatine. The same street was painted by Raphaël in her Passeggiata archeologica [Archaeological Promenade] [FIG. 2,

P. 236], now in the Pinacoteca di Brera). Comparison of these two paintings reveals the greater freedom of expression and lesser concern with vocab-ulary then possessed by Raphaël’s work, “which accentuates the descent of the street in the foreground, increases the curve of the wall and depicts the buildings in almost primitive details, preserving in the background an

urgent need that was immediately reflected in the analogous vocation of Antonietta Raphaël and reinforced by her innate energy.As Mafai wrote in 1930, “We are a generation of faith and everything we do is above all for our own use in accordance with an impulse and enthu-siasm prompted by no self-interest whatsoever.”4 This enthusiasm caught the attention of contemporaries at once and is still perceptible today in the work of these artists, some significant examples of which are to be found today in the collection of Giuseppe Iannaccone.The paths of Mafai, Raphaël and Scipione crossed in Rome between 1924 and 1925, giving rise to deep and complex relations: a friendship of unex-pected intensity between Mafai and Scipione; passionate and tormented love between Mafai and Raphaël; mutual admiration and comprehensible jealousy for their respective relations with Mafai between Scipione and Raphaël. These bonds generated exchanges of ideas and suggestions in the sphere of painting, where it is not always easy to determine their in-dividual contributions, and unquestionably produced one of the peaks of twentieth-century art in Rome.Mafai and Scipione met for the first time in the second half of 1924 in the apartment where Scipione was living with the parents on Via Cola di Rienzo, confined to bed once again by one of his periodic relapses. On seeing Scipione’s drawings, Mafai persuaded him to enrol as well in the Scuola Libera del Nudo [Free school of nude studies] at the Rome Academy on Via Ripetta. “From then on, we never parted. Having grown up together, supported one another and been fired by the same ideas, we could be shuffled like a deck of cards.”5

While Mafai hit it off immediately with Scipione, the attraction he and Raphaël felt for one another was due to the great difference between them. When they met, “she had already travelled through half of Europe. He had never been out of Rome. She spoke half a dozen languages (badly) and read the Bible to us. He recited Belli’s sonnets to us in Roman dialect.”6

Raphaël and Mafai met in the spring of 1925 at the Rome Academy’s Scuola Libera del Nudo. Raphaël had enrolled in the Academy on arriving in the capital after wanderings that took her through Europe from her native Lithuania to London, then Paris and finally Italy. Raphaël did not meet Scipione until a few years later, as he was back in hos-pital during the spring of 1925 and spent the summer in Umbria. In the same period, already expecting her first daughter Miriam, Raphaël went to live in Montepulciano and then Florence, where she stayed for nearly two years. While Raphaël was in Tuscany, Mafai and Scipione continued their studies, attending the courses in Via Ripetta and spending their evenings in the library. As Mafai recalled, “We got into the habit of going to the library of art history on Piazza Venezia in the evening. It is there that we began to know the great artists and the lesser ones, observing and analyzing their work with great attention. We passed works of painting and sculpture back and forth between us. For us it was a practically unknown world. Who

4 M. Mafai, in V. Martinelli, Mario Mafai, Rome: Editalia, 1967, p. 9.

5 M. Mafai, “In morte di Scipione”, in L’Italia Letteraria, Rome, 19 November 1930.

6 M. Mafai, Una vita quasi due, edited by S. Scalia, Milan: Rizzoli, 2012, p. 28.

1. Scipione, Piramide di Caio Cestio, 1929. Private collection

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18 M. Mafai, “Intendimenti”, in Il Fondaco, anno I, no. 1, Catania, May 1928; now in S. Troisi (edited by), Lazzaro. Opere 1927-1964, exhibition catalogue (Marsala, the former Convento del Carmine, 16 April – 11 June 2000), Palermo: Sellerio, 2000,pp. 45–46.

19 E. Pontiggia, “Italia anni trenta: la stagione neoromantica, l’intreccio delle mostre”, in G. Iannaccone, R. Paterlini (edited by), Una caccia amorosa. Arte italiana tra le due guerre nella collezione Iannaccone, Milan: Skira, 2009, p. 26.

20 M. Mafai, “La pittura del 1929”, in Il Contemporaneo, Rome, 1 May 1954, p. 7.

21 Ibidem.22 Scipione, “Lettere a Renato Marino

Mazzacurati”, in R. Ruscio, L’archivio di Renato Marino Mazzacurati nei Musei Civici di Reggio Emilia, Reggio Emilia: Edizioni Diabasis, 1998, pp. 45–46, 49. For the correct dating of Scipione’s two letters, see P. Bonani, “La ‘scuola di via Cavour’. Cronologia (1925-1933)”, in F. D’Amico, M. Goldin (edited by), Casa Mafai. Da via Cavour a Parigi (1925-1933), exhibition catalogue (Brescia, Museo di Santa Giulia, 14 January – 20 March 2005), Conegliano: Linea d’ombra, 2004, pp. 116, 164n.

23 L. de Libero, “Il mio amico Mafai”, in Mario Mafai, introduction by L. de Libero, Rome: De Luca Editore, 1949, pp. 8–9.

array of domes and towers that do not appear in the work of her husband, who is more attentive on the whole to tonal construction and the balance of perspective.”12

Pavolini had this to say in a long article on Raphaël published in Il Tevere in connection with an exhibition of eight female painters and sculptors of Rome,13 “As a Slav, Raphaël is certainly not involved in the problems that weary her Italian colleagues. She paints Rome ‘as she sees it’, with her temperament, that is […] This artist feels such a wealth of ranges and shifts in tone in things, places, skies and people that the fabric of her paint-ing is imbued with ever-changing variety.”14 In the works she exhibited at the Camerata degli Artisti, like Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba [Arch of Septimius Severus at Dawn] [W. NO. 64], now in the Iannaccone collection), the Roman landscape finds “curious translations of an exquisitely Russian fla-vour, as in domes and bell towers, and also in the folksy, archaic rendering of arboreal forms”.15 Imperfect in terms of architecture and perspective, these landscapes seem to reproduce “the vision of someone gazing in won-der on life for the first time”.16 Visions of the city discovered through daily walks at dawn when, as Mafai wrote, “the mountains in the background behind the Arch of Severus were a beautiful purple unlike any rare stone. To have some idea, you have to think of strawberry water-ice.”17

This compositional freedom in the construction of the landscape is also found in the spatial arrangement of the component elements of the still lifes, as seen, for example, in Raphaël’s Natura morta con chitarra [Still Life with Guitar], 1928 [W. NO. 63]. Here the objects are arranged with no immediate and evident connection — as also happens in Scipione’s Natura morta con piuma [Still Life with Feather], 1929 [W. NO. 79] — and sometimes slip incorrectly between the foreground and middle ground. This freedom made up of imprecision and ambiguities that reveal feelings and emotions, which Raphaël then shared above all with Scipione (whose work is discussed here in detail by Fabrizio D’Amico), is what Mafai regard-ed in that period as indispensable for the complete renewal of an Italian painting still bogged down in the rigidity of the Novecento movement. As he wrote in May 1928 in the first issue of the Catania-based journal Il Fondaco, edited by his friend Mimì Lazzaro, “We Italians have been graft-ed onto that Tuscan form of nude, mock-classical, fifteenth-century art since 1919 (if I am not mistaken), and the result is such rigidity of form that it is like being in prison. / The human figures inhabiting these paintings, frozen in monotonous abstraction, do not breathe. They resemble plaster casts, puppets, dummies. Even landscape, which has a greater sense of reality, is bound by certain laws of composition. / Things completely jus-tified and of great interest for the Italian painting of the Novecento move-ment but now this constructive period must end. / Some intelligent artists of the avant-garde feel inclined towards a focus on tone and colour, a need for pictoriality. In other words, the draughtsman gives way to the paint-er, the synthesis of forms to delicate tonalities and a certain sensuality

of colour, but always concentrated within the canons of construction and without lapsing into frivolity or vulgarity. / But neither the draughtsman nor the constructor nor the painter becomes an artist without the ability to animate his painting with vibrations of life, to give it the immediacy of an emotion, to endow it with the colour of some feeling.”18

In short, Mafai called for Italian painting to move from the controlled, mock-classical atmosphere of the years of the Return to Order to the expres-sionist and neo-romantic climate in which, as Elena Pontiggia writes, “the primacy of draughtsmanship and volume gives way to that of colour and light, classical anatomy to free reinvention of the figure, composition governed by number and measure to composition of a more instinctive kind, the perspec-tive of Alberti to perspective that is primitive or free from rules”.19 In the late twenties and early thirties, as clearly shown by the works of the Iannaccone collection, this approach was shared by School of Via Cavour in Rome, the Six Painters of Turin and the Chiarismo and Corrente movements in Milan. This new trend in painting began to develop in Rome precisely as a result of the successes of Raphaël, Mafai and Scipione, above all as from 1929. That year opened with a group exhibition at the Caffè Aragno in Palazzo Doria, as Mafai recalls: “A serene Spadinian atmosphere reigned at the Aragno un-til Professor Longhi decided at a certain point to get up to date by launch-ing the peasant painter Gisberto Ceracchini and the tailor sculptor Quirino Ruggeri, a hybrid mixture of Rousseau and mock-classical primitivism. It was precisely Ceracchini, the spearhead of contemporary Roman painting, that asked Scipione and me for works for a show of young painters at Palazzo Doria.”20 It was on this occasion that Scipione and Mafai met Margherita Sarfatti, “who had just arrived from Milan with a huge consignment of Novecento paintings, determined to conquer the capital”.21 According to Scipione, she bought a portrait from Mafai.22 Mafai “enchanted us all” and both he and Scipione appeared to be “furiously intent of finding a new and more flagrant way to distinguish themselves from the now worn out and often unappealing official art of the Novecento movement”.23

The Prima Mostra del Sindacato Fascista degli Artisti [First Exhibition of the Fascist Union of Artists] was inaugurated a few months later on 7 April 1929. Raphaël, Mafai and Scipione showed work together for the first and only time in room number ten alongside Cipriano Efisio Oppo, Bartoli Nantinguerra, Alberto Ziveri, Arturo Martini, Wanda and Alfredo Biagini. Raphaël presented Paesaggio [Landscape], Mafai Tramonto [Sunset] and Tramonto sul Lungotevere [Sunset on the Lungotevere] [W. NO. 47], and Scipione Tramonto [Sunset] and a study of a head in the “black and white” section.Raphaël’s landscape (better known as Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour] [W. NO. 65] and Mafai’s Tramonto sul Lungotevere, exhibited together on that important occasion and today re-united in the Iannaccone collection, clearly demonstrate the character of their work. Roberto Longhi described it as the “most explosive” of the exhi-bition in L’Italia Letteraria on 14 April, a week after the inauguration, in the

12 F. Fergonzi, “Collezione Jesi”, in Pinacoteca di Brera. Dipinti dell’Ottocento e del Novecento. Collezioni dell’Accademia e della Pinacoteca, vol. 2, Milan: Electa, 1994, p. 785.

13 Otto pittrici e scultrici romane, exhibition catalogue (Rome, La Camerata degli Artisti, 9–24 June 1929), n.p.

14 C. pav. [Corrado Pavolini], “Mostre romane. Antonietta Raphaël”, in Il Tevere, Rome, 14 June 1929.

15 Ibidem.16 G. Dottori, “Mostre romane. Otto donne

alla Camerata degli artisti”, in L’Impero, Rome, 26 June 1929.

17 M. Mafai, “11 ottobre [1928]”, in M. Mafai, Diario 1926-1965, introduction by G. Appella, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, pp. 45–46.

3. Mario Mafai, Ritratto di Miriam, 1932. Rome, private collection

2. Mario Mafai, Autoritratto, 1930. Private collection

4. Mario Mafai, Ragazzo con la palla, 1932. Private collection

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37 Terza Mostra del Sindacato Regionale Fascista Belle Arti del Lazio, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 1 March – 30 April 1932), pp. 21–22, ill. no. 20 (Alberi d’inverno [Trees in Winter]). Mafai showed work in room 4 together with Giuseppe Capogrossi (seven works) and Fausto Pirandello (eleven). Mafai presented Luce d’autunno [Autumn Light], no. 22, Fiori [Flowers], no. 23, Alberi d’inverno [Trees in Winter], no. 24, Fiori al sole [Flowers in Sunshine], no. 25, Mattino d’inverno [Winter Morning], no. 26, Pomeriggio d’estate [Summer Afternoon], no. 27, SS. Pietro e Paolo [St Peter and St Paul], no. 28, Fiori [Flowers], no. 29 and Baracconi abbandonati [Abandoned Booths], no. 30.

38 V. Martinelli, “Scipione e Renato Mazzacurati pittore (con dodici lettere inedite di Scipione)”, in Studi di storia dell’arte in onore di Vittorio Viale, Turin: Edizioni d’arte Fratelli Pozzo, 1967, p. 114.

39 L. de Libero, Roma 1935..., cit., 1981, pp. 26–27.

40 F. D’Amico, Il cuore della Scuola Romana, exhibition catalogue (Bologna, Galleria d’arte Forni, 28 September – 16 November 1991), Bologna: Forni, 1991, p. 6.

now famous article in which he felicitously dubbed the group the “School of Via Cavour”. Mafai reminded him of the French painter Raoul Dufy with the two works shown and Raphaël was “suckled by the same wet-nurse as Chagall”. Theirs was “an eccentric and anarchic art [...] on the borderline of that dark and devastated area where decrepit Impressionism is transmuted into expressionistic hallucination, cabala and magic”.24

The acclaim for their work increased also on the occasion of above-men-tioned shows of Raphaël at the Camerata degli Artisti in 1929 and of Mafai and Scipione at the Galleria di Roma the following year. De Libero describes the latter as an “authentic hurricane in the artistic heavens of Rome, which still, however, displayed its proverbial indifference to ignore an event that instead moved Ungaretti, Longhi, Cecchi, Cardarelli, Barilli and Oppo to declarations of boundless praise.”25 Long articles were pub-lished in the newspapers and magazines of the period by Bardi,26 Oppo,27 Pavolini,28 Francesco Trombadori,29 Michele Biancale,30 Virgilio Guzzi,31

Alberto Francini32 and Alberto Neppi,33 who had previously been highly critical of their work in the pages of Il Lavoro Fascista. On the same occasion, Ungaretti introduced Mafai and Scipione to Principessa Marguerite Caetani, who was to purchase several of their works (two of which, Mafai’s Tramonto sul Lungotevere [W. NO. 47] and Scipione’s self-portrait [W. NO. 80], are now in the Iannaccone collection) and did a great deal from then on to support Scipione financially in the most difficult years of his illness.34 In a letter of December 1930 to Renato Mazzacurati, who had been very close to the three artists during his stay Rome in the late twenties before returning to the Emilia region in 1928,35 Scipione talked about the exhi-bition and gave his friend the latest news from Rome: “Mafai has been living in Paris with Antonietta for a year now. He came for the exhibition and will be leaving soon. He has lightened his colour a great deal and is more simple and immediate, but he is still the same Mafai, even without his moustache. Antonietta has remained in Paris.”36

At the beginning of 1930, having sold the apartment on Via Cavour and left their three daughters in the care of their paternal grandmother, Raphaël and Mafai had moved to Paris, where Mafai’s painting underwent a considerable change. In 1932, having seen many of the new works brought by Mafai from Paris for the wall offered to him by Oppo at that year’s exhibition of the Fascist Union,37 Scipione described his friend’s work as completely differ-ent: “it is all light in colour. This wouldn’t mean anything because it’s natu-ral, I’m a lot lighter too, but it’s also limpid and correct in draughtsmanship! All in proportion as regards spatial depth. In short, he is remedying all his flaws and now going in pursuit of reality […] he paints large figures from life with a model and, what’s more, nearly all in sunlight.”38

The flowers that Mafai began to paint then and continued to paint all through the decade were bathed in a new light, as seen in Garofani bianchi con mammole [White Carnations and Sweet Violets], 1936 [W. NO. 50]. And the

same light falls on the solid, naked bodies of his Uomini al tramonto [Men at Sunset], 1932, Ragazzo con la palla [Boy with a Ball], 1932 [FIG. 4]) and Donne che stendono al sole [Women Hanging Out the Washing], circa 1933

[FIG. 5]). Radiant and solid is also Mafai’s face in the Autoritratto or Doppio ritratto [Self-Portrait or Double Portrait], circa 1933 [W. NO 49], which the artist presented at the 1934 Venice Biennial. Looking younger without the moustache, as in another self-portrait signed and dated 1930 [FIG. 2], the face here is endowed with strength and maturity by the relationship established with the other face behind it. This can almost certainly be identified as his first daughter Miriam (being similar in all respects to the portrait of her painted by Mafai in 1932), sleeping in the knowledge that her father is looking over her. While Mafai spent long periods in Italy, returning to Paris from time to time, Raphaël did not return to Rome until the end of 1933, immediately af-ter Scipione’s death. In 1931 she also spent some time in London, where she made an unsuccessful attempt with the aid of Jacob Epstein to hold a show at the Redfern Gallery and painted Yom Kippur in the Sinagogue (1931–32 [W.

NO. 66]). Together with the famous painting of her mother blessing the can-dles (Mia madre benedice le candele, 1932 [FIG. 6]), this is one of the paintings that helped her keep close to her roots while far away from her family. It was produced while she was slowly making up her mind to stop painting in favour of sculpture, an art she began learning in Paris. Scipione’s con-dition grew increasingly serious. He was seldom able to leave the hospital and painting was practically impossible. He went back to the sanatorium in Arco at the end of the year and died there on 9 November 1933. Raphaël then returned to Rome from London and began to concentrate intensely on sculpture. In addition to his flowers, Mafai began to paint a series of demolition scenes, images foreshadowing the imminent war and destruction. The close friendships and bonds established during those first, intense years of work enabled Mafai and Raphaël to obtain the protection necessary during the increasingly violent racial campaigns of the Fascist regime, which saw Raphaël as guilty of being not only a Jew but also a British citizen and therefore an enemy of Italy. They were in fact helped by figures sometimes very closely involved with the regime, like Oppo (one of the first to admire their work and the person responsi-ble for paying tribute to Scipione with the first posthumous show at the Quadrennial in 1935 in violation of its own statute), as well as the rich and important collectors Emilio Jesi and Alberto Della Ragione.As De Libero wrote, Scipione’s death “left us shattered for a long time, scattered us, dug a trench around us and between us”.39 His passing brought the brief and intense life of the School of Via Cavour to a sudden end. A school “with no rules, programmes, pupils or manifestos” but one that left a deep imprint on the development of art in Rome during the years to come; an art that “found confirmation of its modern, experimen-tal, anti-Novecento vocation precisely in that handful of young artists”.40

24 R. Longhi, “Alle Belle Arti. La mostra degli artisti sindacati. Clima e opere degli irrealisti. II”, in L’Italia Letteraria, Rome, 14 April 1929.

25 L. de Libero, “Il mio amico Mafai”, in Mario Mafai, cit., 1949, pp. 13–14.

26 P. M. Bardi, “Mostre romane. L’Arte sacra. Scipione e Mafai”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 12 November 1930; also in Belvedere, Milan, no. 5-6, November-December 1930.

27 C. E. Oppo, “Mafai e Scipione alla Galleria di Roma”, in La Tribuna, Rome, 13 November 1930.

28 C. Pavolini, “Fatti artistici. Scipione e Mafai alla ‘Galleria di Roma’“, in Il Tevere, Rome, 17 November 1930.

29 F. Trombadori, “Mafai e Scipione”, in Gente Nostra, Rome, November 1930.

30 M. Biancale, “Scipione e Mafai alla Galleria di Roma”, in Il Popolo di Roma, Rome, 22 November 1930.

31 V. Guzzi, “Note su Mafai e Scipione”, in Civiltà Fascista, Rome, y. I, no. 13, 20 November 1930.

32 A. Francini, “Scipione e Mafai alla ‘Galleria di Roma’“, in L’Italia Letteraria, Rome, 16 November 1930.

33 A. Neppi, “Mostre romane d’arte. I pittori Scipione e Mafai alla ‘Galleria di Roma’. Lo scultore Pietro Montana a Palazzo Salviati”, in Il Lavoro Fascista, Rome, 15 November 1930.

34 Principessa Caetani bought the following works by Scipione over the years: Il principe cattolico [The Catholic Prince], 1930, oil on panel, 54 × 37.2 cm, Vatican City, Vatican Museums; Autoritratto [Self-Portrait], 1930, oil on panel, 54 × 37 cm, Milan, Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone — at the time the front and back of a single panel; Natura morta di fichi [Still Life with Figs], 1930, oil on panel, 44.5 × 50.5 cm, Macerata, Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio di Macerata; Piazza Navona, 1930, oil on canvas, 80 × 82 cm, Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna; Ponte degli Angeli, 1930, oil on panel, 82 × 100 cm, unknown collection (formerly Turin, Galleria Narciso); Il colosseo [The Colosseum], circa1931, oil on panel, 35 × 42 cm, private collection; Meretrice romana [Roman Harlot], circa 1930, ink on paper, 240 × 170 mm, formerly Falqui collection, Rome; Ponte Sant’Angelo, 1930, ink wash on paper, 225 × 330 mm, Rome, Galleria Comunale d’Arte Moderna. She also bought Mafai’s Tramonto sul Lungotevere, now part of the Iannaccone collection, and Tetti di Roma [Roman Roofs], circa 1949, oil on panel, 35 × 50 cm, private collection.

35 In the autumn of 1926, Renato Marino Mazzacurati arrived in Rome from Gualtieri in the Emilia region (where he was born at San Venanzio di Galliera in 1907). Having begun his artistic training in a craftsman’s shop, he enrolled at the school of nude studies at the Accademia di Belle Arti on Via Ripetta, where he became the friend of Mafai and Scipione. Mazzacurati stayed in Rome until the end of 1928 and the three artists, together with Raphaël, were very close during that period.

36 Scipione 1904-1933, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 6 July – 15 September 1985), Rome: De Luca Editore, 1985, p. 163.

5. Mario Mafai, Donne che stendono al sole, circa 1933. Private collection

6. Antonietta Raphaël, Mia madre benedice le candele, 1932. Rome, private collection

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The news of Gino Bonichi’s death at the age of just 29 hit Rome in November 1933 like a boulder crashing into a still pool of water. He called himself Scipione, already with the idea of standing like a warrior at the head of something new and great. It was immediately realized that an era — short, intense and blazing in a largely comatose Italy still substantially obedient to the prudent dictates of Ugo Ojetti — was over. A large posthumous show of 22 paintings and 30 drawings was held at the second Rome Quadrennial two years later as an exception to the rule, the national exhibition being specifically for the work of living artists. As stated in the catalogue, “With this show the Quadrennial wishes to honour the memory of the young painter, who had been invited to take part with a large number of works.” As a further exception, it was pre-sented by Oppo himself, the Quadrennial’s creator and ruler, who was deeply moved and fully aware of the measure of the loss. As he wrote on that occasion, “[...] Scipione’s painting was an apparition amongst us, a fantastic and tragic apparition with new and disconcerting overtones, something terribly hurried and dense, like someone with a lot to say in little time [...].”On 10 May 1929, shortly after the inauguration of the first exhibition of the Prima Sindacale del Lazio [Lazio Fascist Union of Fine Arts] and in a period when he still distrusted Oppo, a figure closely involved with the regime but who was soon to become “a friend” and one of those most eager to help him, Scipione wrote as follows to Mazzacurati: “Oppo is on our side and we flatter one another. I believe that the more a Roman move-ment gathers momentum, the more it will be in his interest to promote it as much as possible.” The exhibition was one of the very first for his painting, which immediately aroused an unexpected curiosity: “The Duce himself took a fancy to my bull [FIG. 1] on the day of the opening.” Gathered together there were the various guiding spirits of what was to be known as the Roman School: Scipione, Mafai and the then unknown Antonietta Raphaël (listed as “Raffael” in the catalogue) as well as Ziveri, making his debut at the age of just 20. Virgilio Guidi, who had been teaching in Venice since 1927, was also featured with seven works because Oppo, who was primarily responsible for choosing the participants, was well aware how much this great painter, though now far away, mattered to the young-er Romans. Then there was Ferrazzi of course and all of the Caffè Aragno group: Socrate first of all with a huge show (branded by Scipione in an-other letter to Mazzacurati as an “apologist” of “professional bravura”)

The Brief Transit of Scipione1

fabrizio d’amico

1 Reference is made in the text to G. Appella, Scipione. 306 disegni, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, and to M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi, Scipione. Vita e opere, Turin: Allemandi, 1988. Respectively examining the artist’s graphical and pictorial work, these two exhaustive overall studies also contain the other biographical and bibliographical references mentioned here. Among the rich literature on Scipione, see in particular S. Troisi (edited by), Lazzaro. Opere 1927-1964, Palermo: Sellerio, 2000.

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THE BRIEF TRANSIT OF SCIPIONEFABRIZIO D'AMICO

ablaze (albeit with a hint of caricature that was soon to pollute his ap-proach). Or when the same course was taken by Sadun, Scialoja and even the meek Ciarrocchi, who were soon to follow different paths but exhibit-ed work at the time together with Stradone, first in Florence and then in Rome at the Galleria del Secolo. It is no coincidence that Cesare Brandi described the four artists as “on the wrong track” in his well-known pres-entation of the latter show. Or when, finally and in more general terms, a large part of Roman painting during and immediately after the war — at least in the work that kept its distance from the initial move towards abstraction incubated above all by the young Forma group — took on the expressionist character that also informed a period of Guttuso’s work be-fore he too adopted a neo-Cubist approach and then became the leader of the realist movement.Scipione’s legacy, which had appeared destined to lead the art of his city of adoption towards an intense, visionary dimension, was as though dead and buried all through the thirties and the studies produced so far have taken only partial cognizance of the sudden and surprising oblivion into which such a lofty experience fell. This silence and oblivion obviously re-gard Italy, which had encountered Scipione only once (at the 1930 Venice Biennial, where his Cardinal Decano [Dean of the College of Cardinals] [FIG. 3], one of the great works of twentieth-century Italian painting, was understood by very few). A similar and less comprehensible silence fell also in Rome, however, where an opposite approach of dazed, sacral ges-tures suspended in limpid, motionless space was born precisely in the early thirties and became widespread as from 1933−34. It was now the tonalism of Capogrossi and Melli that bewitched so many: earlier lead-ers like Mafai and future leaders like Guttuso, then still just starting out; giants previously following their own path and soon to do so again like Fausto Pirandello; successful standard bearers of their day like Gisberto Ceracchini; and lesser figures like Ianni, Monti and Trifoglio. By com-parison with them and their painting, which transformed everyday life into eternal, ritualistic acts and in a certain way established a dialogue devoid of irreparable contradictions with the Novecento movement pre-dominating elsewhere, the “fantastic and tragic apparition” of Scipione truly seemed to be no more than the path of a meteor. Even the previous Roman school exemplified by Donghi could feel it had been accorded a new lease of life to some degree after his premature death.The exhaustive overview of Scipione’s painting offered by the Iannaccone collection today encompasses nearly all the salient features of his vision from still life to landscape and compositions with figures. In the painter’s short chronology, the collection focuses on the central years (1929 and 1930) of a career that was not only temporally limited but also undermined by illness. In the long months spent by Scipione in various sanatoriums in Rome or northern Italy, and especially towards the end, his production was episodic and restricted exclusively to graphic art. Only some of these

as well as Francalancia, Donghi, Trombadori, Di Cocco, Ianni (admired here by Roberto Longhi), Bertoletti, Bartoli, Drei, Quirino Ruggeri, Surdi, Ciucci and the inevitable women artists: Cecchi Pieraccini, Pasquarosa, Biagini, Quajotto and many others. Practically the only ones missing were Fausto Pirandello, who had been in Paris for two years and was to remain there for one more, and the future “tonalists” Capogrossi, Cavalli and Melli.The School of Via Cavour — as Longhi dubbed it at the time (April 1929) in L’Italia Letteraria as a reference to the address of the rooftop home of Mafai and Raphaël — was then enjoying its brief, intense days of splendour. The hands of the three companions (but how much jealousy Raphaël caused at the beginning by coming between Mafai and Scipione) produced precari-ous, disrupted landscapes, skewed, collapsing edifices grazed by ghastly, streaked light, still-lifes that mocked tradition and all correct perspective in their presentation of unlikely combinations of objects (playing cards, combs and feathers, drapes and guitars), and distorted, alienated por-traits and self-portraits ablaze with intense, visionary expressions. Good, solid Roman painting seemed bound to topple beneath the violent assault of that “school” with no desks and no manifestos. (Scipione was indeed to write repeatedly to people like his friend Domenico [Mimì] Lazzaro from Catania, also known as “Il Moro”, about the state of near panic in which the old Roman intelligentsia, gathered together in the “mouse-coloured” wood panelling and smoke of the third room of the Aragno café, waited for the new movement to manifest itself.)But fate took a different turn. Mafai and Raphaël set off for Paris, leav-ing their practically newborn third daughter in the care of her paternal grandmother. Raphaël was to remain there for over three years, choosing to return, by no coincidence, only after the death of her “rival” Scipione. Since it was “hard for two artists practicing the same art of painting to live together. I criticized him and he criticized me [...]”, she devoted her ener-gies to sculpture there with still youthful enthusiasm, deeply impressed first of all by the classicism of Maillol, which was to inform a complete re-newal of her previous artistic vocabulary. Mafai also returned from Paris a changed artist, described by Scipione as “much lighter in colour” and “simpler and more immediate”. Due to illness, Scipione had left Rome in the meantime for exile in the sanatorium of Arco in the province of Trento, where he was to spend the rest of his days apart from a few short intervals allowed him by unexpected improvements in his condition.Despite Cipriano Efisio Oppo’s impassioned testimonial of 1935, Scipione’s influence on the Roman art scene in the years immediately af-ter his death registered a quick and surprising decrease. Nor was it re-vived until much later, at the end of the thirties, when Leoncillo conceived the phantasmal, visionary image informed by Fontana’s ceramics and the memory of Scipione that preceded his long neo-Cubist period. Or when Stradone repeated the boundless dreams that had set Scipione’s painting

1. Scipione, Contemplazione (Tramonto), circa 1928. Milan, private collection 2. Antonietta Raphaël, Paesaggio romano,

1928. Private collection

3. Scipione, Ritratto del cardinal Vannutelli (il Cardinal Decano), 1930. Rome, Galleria Comunale d'Arte Moderna e Contemporanea

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Scipione’s highest graphic art. Il cardinale Vannutelli sul letto di morte [Cardinal Vannutelli on His Deathbed] [W. NO. 84] and the Studio per “Gli uomini che si voltano” [Study for “Men Who Turn Around”] [W. NO. 85] (both 1930) are preparatory studies (or perhaps second thoughts but in any case certainly and closely connected with the chronology of the paintings) for two of the oil paintings presented in the crucial exhibition at Pier Maria Bardi’s Galleria di Roma. The two images share the lacerated space — with no centre or stable point of support — that is one of the treasures of Scipione’s maturity. The view swoops down from above on the subject or suddenly soars upwards and approaches it from below, revealing and battering it at the same time. Scipione’s eye looks and is blinded, seizes and forgets, laying bare or concealing features behind the expanse of ink of the abyss of shadows in which the forms writhe or grow. Meanwhile that anguished space, now a character itself, floats with no stability.As is known, Scipione had reservations, albeit affectionately expressed, about the new Parisian approach of Mafai, who exhibited alongside him in the show at the Galleria di Roma. He thus described his work in a letter to Mazzacurati as “much lighter in colour, simpler and more immediate”. At the same time, he willingly accepted Mafai’s criticism: “You’re at risk of remaining a local product. Your baroque effects no longer have any reason to exist [...].” In short, they exchanged mutual reproaches dur-ing a lunch with friends to celebrate the exhibition (as Scipione proudly noted, the many purchasers included five critics). He unquestionably re-called with regret the threatening gleams of light and muffled, precarious space of his friend’s work, e.g. in the Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour] [W. NO. 65] (1929) and the Tramonto sul Lungotevere [Sunset on the Lungotevere] [W. NO. 47] (1929), and was therefore suspicious of his apparent departure from those elements of risk. La flagellazione di Cristo [The Flagellation of Christ] [W. NO. 82] (1929) was not followed by the picture that Scipione may have had in mind. The draw-ing is singular for the host of presences crammed into it, with the white figure of Christ balanced by the juxtaposed diagonal of the torturer on the right and figures crowded all around to the point of saturating the space in a wholly anomalous way. It was published on the front page of L’Italia Letteraria (14 July 1929) but Scipione must have been unhappy with the way it came out, being somewhat dark due to the extensive use of wash. The drawings he subsequently delivered to Falqui were therefore certainly less intense but conceived precisely for printed publication, e.g. Il cardinale Vannutelli sul letto di morte [W. NO. 84], which appeared on 30 March 1930. The last of the Iannaccone collection’s drawings is La toeletta [The Dressing Table] [W. NO. 83], a splendid and richly pregnant work in ink. The pen moves quickly over the paper to leave the imperfect traces of an every-day life excited and transformed by dream: a comb, a flower and hairpins standing out against the whiteness of the inclined plane on which they

works, the oeuvre of illness, fully attest to the commitment, impetus and inventive freedom he usually displayed in his drawing. It was indeed precisely to drawing, circulated above all through the noble pages of L’Italia Letteraria — edited by Angioletti and Malaparte under the astute supervision of Enrico Falqui, the editor in chief, with whom the artist very frequently exchanged letters — that Scipione large-ly owed his reputation, otherwise restricted to the narrow confines of his city of adoption, the only place where he had exhibited work with sole important exception of his above-mentioned participation in the 1930 Venice Biennial. As exhaustively examined in various studies by Giuseppe Appella, his drawing was the outlet for varied and even con-flicting — despite the brevity of his trajectory — artistic ideas prompt-ed by different circumstances. He thus produced works, mostly line drawings concentrated above all in the early years, that revisit a su-pra-historical classicality or — more rarely — contemporary life (atten-tion has been drawn to unexpected similarities with the early drawing of Pirandello or Maccari); sketches of an erotic character, a genre he grad-ually abandoned as out of line with his new sensibility; studies for or inspired by his major pictorial compositions; satirical drawings for pub-lication above all in L’Italia Letteraria, for which he expressed increas-ing concern about the quality of their reproduction, thus demonstrating the importance he still attached to his graphic art; and finally those on Biblical themes, often the most visionary and dramatic, inspired also by his intense reading of the Scriptures, esoteric works and Symbolist literature, especially French. And these are just the most frequent forms of an assiduous practice to which Scipione unquestionably devoted him-self far more than is customary in the case of drawing. Black ink was sometimes accompanied by washes, in which case the hail-storm of minute strokes takes on a less restricted temporal dimension; the quick, cramped movement of the hand gives way to the impetus of the wrist, spreading the brown stain over the sheet as though to extend its gasping breath. It is this combination that produced perhaps the most fully accomplished drawings, including for example those catalogued by Appella as nos. 184−194, all datable to 1930. Here Scipione imbues with a dreamlike quality the visions of Roman architecture painstaking wrought by his brush, precisely delineating of every nook and cranny, and convey-ing the impression of some slow, dilated melancholy, suffering or threat. The bridge that spans the Tiber in front of Castel Sant’Angelo, Piazza del Laterano and Trajan’s Forum stand out like ghosts against a stormy sky of threatening clouds swollen with rain, their greatness withering, bending, groaning and breaking beneath the weight — perhaps — of too many years. The Colosseum down there in the distance, as though lying in a hollow dominated by a vision from above, suddenly shrinks, almost aligning it-self with the life of the stunted trees around it. The four very select drawings of the Iannaccone collection belong to

4. Scipione, La via che porta a San Pietro, 1930. Rome, Galleria Comunale d’Arte Moderna 5. Mario Mafai, Roma vista dal Gianicolo,

1929. Location unknown

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his work finally became frequent and abundant. He was, however, intent on darker meditations that led him in painting (but not in the drawings for L’Italia Letteraria, which were still often marked by sensuality or scath-ing satire on the official Roman establishment) away from the uncertain smile always tinged with the almost Surrealistic ambiguity of his view of things (the ambiguous smile that still encircles and envelops, for example, the two still-lifes of Pierina è arrivata in una grande città [Pierina’s Arrival in a Big City] and Sogno di Giacomino [Giacomino’s Dream] and towards a bitter feeling of alarm and menace. This was, however, also the period that saw the birth and development of the crucial Apocalisse [Apocalypse] series of paintings, with which he reached the peak of his wholly expres-sionist vision.The year was to open with the pictorial and graphic portraits of the Dean of the College of Cardinals, where the unquestionable presence of a Goya-like sense of corruption is still as though held in check by the noble gran-deur of the figure portrayed. Then, in the same stylistic vein, came Il princ-ipe cattolico [The Catholic Prince] [FIG. 2, P. 302], on the back of which Scipione painted one of his first self-portraits, now in the Iannaccone collection [W. NO. 80], the first Ritratto di Ungaretti [Portrait of Ungaretti], La meticcia [The Half-Caste Woman] and — a lofty pause in the headlong rush to what Oppo called his “impressionist asthma”, “volumetric breathlessness” and “archaized, Negroid mimicry” — the Ritratto della madre [Portrait of the Artist’s Mother], which found great favour with those who displayed little liking for the foreshadowed distortions. This was followed immediately by golden period of hallucinatory visions of an Eternal City and its Church both prey to the disease of corruption and moral bankruptcy, beginning perhaps with the Meretrice romana [Roman Harlot] [FIG. 8] and continuing with the works inspired by his reading of the Book of Revelations. The Iannaccone collection’s Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem] [W. NO. 81] is a greatest of these by virtue of its emotional richness and compositional daring. As in the Sesto suggello [Sixth Seal] and Uomini che si voltano [Men Who Turn Around] [FIG. 1, P. 312], the image screams its incurable anguish and boundless terror out of dense dark-ness. To a still greater extent than in these two works, as noted by Valerio Rivosecchi, Scipione made frequent use of the brush handle to inscribe the murky gleam of the night scene in the desert with angst, an approach that confirmed him as belonging fully to his era and can be regarded as kin to certain works to be produced in the early period of French Art Informel. As regards Scipione’s trajectory, this connects Profeta in vis-ta di Gerusalemme [W. NO. 81] with Le tentazioni di Eva [The Temptations of Eve] and even with the last painting, Caino e Abele [Cain and Abel], which “belongs in terms of conception to the period of the Apocalypse”, as he wrote to Mazzacurati. He went on to write that he was now “freer and more ecstatic” but had no more time to transmit this new, serene ecstasy of the mind to his painting.

lie. It is as though those commonplace objects were about to take flight in a transformed state, launched into the space that swirls around them, bringing other memories of that secret dressing room: a casket, a screen, the swirling space that agitates them, the view captured for an instant from on high and plummeting down onto the objects, the apparently ran-dom nature of the things assembled in the composition and the implicit balance of sensuality and normality. All this recalls the still-lifes painted in Paris by Filippo de Pisis, no longer under the spell of De Chirico, or the slightly later works of Fausto Pirandello’s maturity. While no precise rela-tion can be drawn between one and the other, it is right to recognize the affinity that binds them and makes them so different in approach from the works of the period. There is an allusion to femininity both in this drawing by Scipione, which is unquestionably datable to one of the last months of 1929 (it appeared in the Almanacco degli artisti. Il vero Giotto in 1930), and in another of the very same period, namely his Natura morta con piuma [Still Life with Feather] [W. NO. 79], another masterpiece of the collection. This in turn borrows − albeit perhaps with an intent that is less allu-sive, less disturbing and indeed almost openly playful, like other coeval still-lifes, e.g. the one with a sheath dress − some its elements from the painting Il risveglio della bionda sirena [The Awakening of the Blonde Mermaid] [FIG. 7], which in some respects exemplifies an approach already identified by Sinisgalli as surrealistic. As Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco and Valerio Rivosecchi write, “Some attributes of the Mermaid reappear in the composition, like the feather, the lemon and the comb.” There is, however, a visible drop in the temperature of those objects, abruptly relegated from the status of hidden symbols to elements of a playful assemblage displaying all the imagination of Arcimboldo, to the point of almost turning the painting into “a mannerist joke”.It is Sinisgalli that drew attention to the handling of space that above all makes the numerous still-lifes of those months rare or indeed unique works in the Italian panorama. As he wrote in 1945, “The objects whirl around a linchpin that is nearly always in the centre of the painting and describe a sort of spiral over the oval table, an authentic magical table.” Lazzaro recalled the occasion on which the Natura morta con piuma [W. NO.

79] was born. The two friends met by chance at the Roman market in Via dei Gracchi and Scipione “was holding two coconuts and still looking for two lemons ‘as big as breasts’. I had the pleasure of being able to offer him one of truly phenomenal size. He rushed off in childlike glee promising to show me what he did with it. He used it for a splendid still life.” The Natura morta con piuma therefore dates from 1929, a period in which Scipione’s vision was still alternating between nocturnal tensions and mo-ments of enchanted and sometimes almost playful lyrical abandonment. The following year, which coincided with his definitive maturity, was a pe-riod of greater serenity in which his health appeared to be improving and

6. Fausto Pirandello, Natura morta con sedia e rose, circa 1939

8. Scipione, Meretrice romana, 1930. Mattioli collection

7. Scipione, Il risveglio della bionda sirena, 1929. Turin, private collection

THE COLLECTION

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1 Title L’armadio [The Wardrobe] Date 1938

Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 54.5 × 43.5 cm bottom right: 38 badodi1v verso: Title Abbozzo di una sartoria [Sketch of a Tailor’s Shop] Date 1938 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 43.5 × 54.5 cm

Sandro Bini summed up the key elements of Arnaldo Badodi’s art in a few words in 1939: “[...] A look at his paintings, where the irony of the distortion is proportional to the charac-ter of the figures — real in their own fantastic world of harmonious absurdity — and the pic-torial elements are created with equal freedom of rhythm, will suffice to recognize in Badodi an orientation of secure positions”.1 The artist’s iconographic universe is inhabited by figures drawn from reality, which are subjected to a tireless process of distortion through broad and often arabesque-like brushstrokes and the use of unnatural light. This distortion goes beyond simple linguistic opposition to the Return to Order and monumental figures of the Novecento movement and becomes the expression of an unexpected intimate and personal reality.2 The reality depicted by Badodi lies on the border-line of fantastic invention, where even articles of clothing can come to life and appear human, as happens in L’armadio. The position of the sleeves makes it look as though the yellow, pol-ka-dot dress is trying to drag itself up from the floor and its hanger looks like a sort of head. The handling of colour, where bright reds and glowing yellows interrupt the predominant to-nality based on ochre, is the primary quality recognized by the critics of the period. Shown at the first Corrente exhibition in the spring of 1939,3 L’armadio was the object of numerous, important observations. Luciano Anceschi de-scribed it as “vivid”4 and Dino Bonardi drew at-tention to the young painter’s gift for handling colour.5 In actual fact, this use of bright colours

clashes with the impression of abandonment and absence that the room conveys. The crum-pled, empty garments present themselves in all their glitter and splendour, playing ironically on the thin line between appearance and reali-ty. The work also appeared in the solo show at the Galleria Genova in 1941,6 the Milanese ret-rospective of 1969 curated by Marco Valsecchi7 and also, more recently, in the exhibition Camera con vista. Arte e interni 1900–2000.8

R.P.

Arnaldo Badodi L’armadio

1 S. Bini, “Arnaldo Badodi”, in Corrente di Vita Giovanile, catalogue issue, y. II, no. 6, Milan, 31 March 1939, p. 5.

2 Badodi focused on the subject of distortion and the painter’s work as the expression of his reality in a statement of artistic intent that appeared in the first issue of the magazine Vita Giovanile (later Corrente) within the context of the dispute between artist and public: “What is this reality demanded of the artist other than a banal expression intended to force compliance with an apparent order? Given that the relations between nature and mankind are as many as there are human beings, since all individuals receive particular emotions in relation to their moral complexity, a categorical and unique reality is evidently impossible in art. […] It follows that distortion is a fundamental principle of art, and distortion does not mean making ugly, as is commonly claimed today. Given that art is obviously not based on metric measurements, distortion represents the emotion felt by the individual artist with respect to a theoretical reality. And the greater or lesser distortion of a work is certainly not equivalent to a greater or lesser degree of artistic merit.” A. Badodi, “Pittura e Pubblico”, in Vita Giovanile, y. I, no. 1, Milan, 1 January 1938, p. 4.

3 On this occasion, the work was presented with the title Guardaroba; see S. Bini, Arnaldo Badodi, cit., 1939. It appeared with the title L’armadio as early as 1941 in the show at the Galleria Genova; see Arnaldo Badodi in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova), presentation by G. Piovene, Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1941, work no. 2.

4 L. Anceschi, “Giovani alla Permanente”, in Meridiano di Roma, y. IV, no. 5, Rome, 16 April 1939, p. III.

5 D. Bonardi, “Artisti che espongono. Quelli di Corrente”, in La Sera, y. 47, no. 72, Milan, 25 March 1939, p. 3.

6 Arnaldo Badodi, in Una mostra..., cit., 1941.7 M. Valsecchi (edited by), Arnaldo Badodi, exhibition

catalogue (Milan, Galleria Eunomìa, opened 29 November 1969), Milan: Edizioni Franco Sciardelli, 1969.

8 C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Camera con vista. Arte e interni in Italia dal 1900-2000, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 April − 1 July 2007), Milan: Skira, 2008.

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2 Title Ballerine [Ballerinas] Date 1938 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65.5 × 49.5 cm bottom right: 38 badodi

Arnaldo Badodi’s Ballerine (1938) is a reworking of a previous painting on the same subject [FIG. 1] in which the pictorial space is structured to form a sort of triptych.1 In particular, the artist takes up the left side of the composition with some variations, eliminating any reference to the con-text and focusing almost photographically on the figures. His groups of figures are full of a pervasive anguish.The “melancholy gynaeceum”2 is made up of ballerinas clad in various shades of bright red, displaying the painter’s interest in chromatic nu-ances. Their expressions suggest that they are upset about something happening outside the space of the painting, as one seeks in vain to comfort another by placing an arm somewhat awkwardly around her shoulders. The only danc-er — perhaps the teacher — who appears to show no interest is also the only one dressed in white, with “disjointed puppet-like arms”3 and an elusive, ironic expression. While unquestionably

subordinated to a tonal dominant, the colour of all his paintings is made up of an extraordinar-ily rich combination of hues and dense web of brushstrokes that create a sort of soft thickness into which the figures sink as though into a layer of silence. And there they flounder, as the air to breathe gradually runs out.4 It is this figure that reveals the bitterness of the painter’s reflections. The world of ballet is indeed just one of the many microcosms that Badodi explored to express the ambiguities and pettiness of contemporary hu-manity. The flat, drained shapes of the bodies re-call certain paintings by Mafai, like Ragazzo con la palla a terra [Boy with a Ball (on the Ground)] [FIG. 2] (1932).R.P.

1 Ballerine (1936−37), probably exhibited in the GUF solo show of 1937. See M. Falciano, Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995, pp. 102−03.

2 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue, (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 228.

3 Ibidem.4 Eunomia, catalogue of the exhibition at the art

gallery, via dei Bossi 2/a, from 29 February 1969, curated by Marco Valsecchi.

Arnaldo Badodi Ballerine

1. Arnaldo Badodi, Ballerine, 1936–37. Private collection

2. Mario Mafai, Ragazzo con la palla (a terra), 1932. Rome, private collection

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3 Title Il biliardo [Billiards] Date 1940 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 69 × 49.5 cm bottom left: badodi 40

Arnaldo Badodi displays a predilection for common folk worn down by their daily routine. His eye is sympathetic and good-natured, dis-tinguished by “Chaplinesque irony of deep pathos, the indistinguishable blend of humour and compassion unforgettably expressed in the famous dance with bread rolls in The Gold Rush or the closing shots of The Circus, when the Little Tramp is alone on the endless road”.1 The billiard hall is depicted from a slightly ele-vated viewpoint to explore all of the figures in their different poses. Standing around the table, three men smartly dressed in black are enjoying their evening’s amusement. The scene is bathed in a cold, unnatural light that certainly does not come from the disproportionately large and or-nate chandelier over the table. “There is nothing funny about the obvious clumsiness of the fig-ures. A certain detachment can be sensed on the part of the painter, who has no wish to yield to current events. His consciousness refuses to accept an inimical period and is determined to reject this negative reality”.2

Badodi probably felt caught up in the general European spiritual crisis of the pre-war years, finding inspiration in the cynical humankind de-picted in the works of Otto Dix, including a draw-ing of 1920 on the same subject [FIG. 1].3 Writing in connection with the show held in Milan at the Galleria Eunomìa in 1969,4 Valsecchi and Mascherpa instead underline a derivation from the Lombard Scapigliatura movement. “If

intimism is a fundamental component of his matrix, it is legitimate to discern a direct legacy, albeit adapted differently to the period, from the Lombard Scapigliatura movement. Given the understanding now established of the innova-tive situation of the Scapigliati, this intimism is therefore anything but querulous with all its ech-oes of remote solitude and despair”.5 R.P.

Arnaldo Badodi Il biliardo

1. Otto Dix, Billiard Players, 1920

1 M. Valsecchi, in Arnaldo Badodi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Eunomìa, opened 29 November 1969), Milan: Edizioni Franco Sciardelli, 1969.

2 M. Falciano (edited by), Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995, sheet pp. 318-319.

3 “Badodi appears to experience the same condition in intuitive harmony with Otto Dix’s Billiard Players, which represents a cynical humanity immersed in a reality pervaded by ‘absence of the self’, which alludes to Van Gogh and the disturbing, hallucinatory atmosphere of his Night Café [...]”. M. Falciano, Arnaldo Badodi..., cit., 1995, p. 105, note 145.

4 The show, curated by Marco Valsecchi, was the third posthumous exhibition of work by the painter, who died young on the Russian front. The first took place in Milan at the Galleria Sant’Andrea shortly after the war; see Mostra personale del pittore Arnaldo Badodi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Sant’Andrea, opened 24 November 1945), Milan: Galleria Sant’Andrea, 1945. The second was held at the Venice Biennial of 1948 in room XXXVI, curated by Raffaele De Grada: XXIV Biennale di Venezia. Catalogo, 1st ed., Venice: Edizioni Serenissima, 1948, pp. 151−52.

5 M. Valsecchi, Arnaldo Badodi, cit., 1969. Mascherpa makes the following observation: “It is perhaps in this sense rather than any influence of the style of Tranquillo Cremona that we should understand his avowed allegiance in principle to the Lombard Scapigliatura movement, if this too is to be seen ultimately as a moral reaction against rhetoric of a celebratory and nationalistic character (even though the rhetoric of the Risorgimento had very different motivations).” G. Mascherpa, “Nei clowns di Badodi un mondo amaro”, in Avvenire, y. II, no. 288, 17 December 1969, p. 5.

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4 Title Caffè [Café] Date 1940 Technique oil on plywood Dimensions 48 × 58 cm bottom left: badodi 40 verso:4v Title Il suicidio del pittore [The Painter’s Suicide] Date 1937 Technique oil on plywood Dimensions 58 × 48 cm5 Title Donna al caffè [Woman at the Café] Date 1940 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 40 × 30 cm bottom right: badodi 40

Il suicidio del pittore recalls the scene in Émile Zola’s novel L’Œuvre1 where the artist Claude Lantier hangs himself in his studio in front of his great unfinished work with the paint still wet on his palette on the table. Some iconographic el-ements appear to suggest a crucifixion scene, almost as though the artist’s death were to be seen as a sacrifice for the community. The na-kedness of the body and the position of the head thus recall a Christus patiens [FIG. 4] and the in-credulous woman at its feet a Mary Magdalene. Among the grieving figures, the man in the right corner looking away from the corpse with his hands on either side of his face is a direct cita-tion of Munch’s The Scream [FIG. 3] .The innovation of Badodi’s painting lies in dis-tortion to the point of caricature and the choice of colour, where the surreal yellow and red of the clothes stand out like slashes against the predominant livid tonality. As Vincenzo Bucci wrote in his review of the Gruppo Universitario Fascista exhibition in Milano (1937) at which the work was shown: “Badodi’s painting is informed by a predisposition to consider reality in the light of ‘everyday tragedy’, as can be seen not only in the choice of certain subjects, like the suicide of a painter, but also in the crepuscu-lar gloom of the colours with their dull, muted shades. Curious and not devoid of a certain rel-ish is the contrast between the sombre spirit of this painting and the intentional or involuntary humour introduced into the artist’s figuration by his penchant for distortion, sometimes going over the top into caricature”.2 The tendency towards distortion noted by the

critic was to characterize all of the artist’s short but intense career, as can be seen in Caffè, which Badodi painted in 1940 on the back of his Suicidio. Here the artist addressed a crowd scene, departing from the “contemplative vision” and “post-Impressionist approximation” of Aligi Sassu’s Il grande caffè (1936–1940) [FIG. 1] .3

The space is devoid of perspective coherence and so crowded that the figures are practically “wedged” into one another.4 A dreary atmos-phere of indifference reigns in the café, how-ever, as the customers appear completely un-aware of the presence of others. They do not look at one another or talk even when sitting at the same table. The paradox of this scene of collettive recreation reveals the solitude of the everyday life of the urban middle class, a loneli-ness emblematically expressed by the haunted fixity of the expression of the man in the centre of the composition. While the influence of Ensor [FIG. 2] and his works full of masked figures is ap-parent, the Belgian master’s irreverent irony is toned down. “In actual fact, the Baroque confu-sion of the scene is accompanied by no feeling of merriment or even a lyrical atmosphere. The absence of someone, for a moment or forever, is silently recalled by the empty chair in the fore-ground”.5 A bitter metaphor of abandonment.This choral representation also allowed Badodi to experiment with his flair for colour, as Enotrio Mastrolonardo noted at the time: “In the Caffè the violent reds of the chairs animate the entire scene with shrill notes and reflections, creating a great bustle among the figures inhabiting a lyrical atmosphere full of sounds and echoes”.6. The work was shown in 1941, first at the Bottega di Corrente7 and then at the Galleria Genova in a show organized and presented by Guido Piovene, whose introduction stressed funda-mental importance of colour in Badodi’s works: “His was an evocative red that wounded the instincts and seemed to signify more than was actually there on the canvas, with a sensuality that is not open but allusive. All of his colours had, however, the intensity of colours bathed in unnatural light in dark, closed places”.8

The woman at the back of the café in a hat, a yellow dress and a dark fur displays evident similarities with the small portrait that Badoni also painted in 1940, formerly in the collection of Enrico Brambilla Pisoni. R.P.

1 Published in Paris in 1886 as the fourteenth novel in the Rougon-Macquart series.

2 V. Bucci, “Artisti che espongono. Due giovani”, in Corriere della Sera, y. 62, no. 24, Milan, 28 January 1937, p. 3. The double solo show held at the Ugo Pepe branch of the GUF in Milan featured work by Badodi and the sculptor Eugenio Barozzi.

3 R. De Grada, in Arnaldo Badodi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 22 February − 5 March 1941), Milan: Edizioni di Corrente, 1941. A black and white photograph of the painting appeared on the inside front cover of the catalogue.

4 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 228.

5 Ibidem.6 E. Mastrolonardo, “Nota su Arnaldo Badodi”,

in Meridiano di Roma, y. IV, no. 4, Rome, 26 January 1941, p. IV.

7 This show, which followed others of work by Birolli, Migneco and Paganin, was part of a series launched by the gallery in December 1940 to promote its artists. Badodi’s show (February−March) featured only his most recent works, including eight drawings. A photograph of Caffè appeared on the inside front cover of the catalogue. See Arnaldo Badodi, cit., 1941, work no. 1.

8 The show in Genoa was held shortly after the one in Milan (29 March − 9 April) within the framework of fruitful collaboration between the two galleries initiated by Stefano Cairola, then director of the Galleria Genova. It also included less recent paintings like L’armadio with a view to making all of the artist’s work better known in the city. See Arnaldo Badodi in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova), presentation by Guido Piovene, Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1941, work no. 9.

Arnaldo Badodi Caffè Il suicidio del pittore Donna al caffè

2. James Ensor, Self-Portrait with Masks, 1899, detail. Komaki City, Aichi, Japan, Menard Art Museum

1. Aligi Sassu, Il grande caffé, 1936-1940. Lugano, Fondazione Aligi Sassu e Helenita Olivares

160 161

4. Giunta Pisano, Crocifisso, 1250–54, detail. Bologna, Basilica di San Domenico

3. Edvard Munch, The Scream, 1893. Oslo, Nasjonalgalleriet

4v

162 163

6 Title Il circo [The Circus] Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 55 × 70 cm bottom left: badodi

“I am not talking today about the circus as a spectacle but about the life, habits, ways, con-ventions, and language of the circus folk. If dis-tant planets launched an investigation to learn the secrets of the Earth and its inhabitants, to examine the virtues, privileges and characteris-tics of the Earth and its people and find out in what way they differ from all the other worlds scattered throughout the universe, I would pres-ent the circus as encapsulating the essence of our world and its denizens”.1 This is the subject that Arnaldo Badodi used, at a time when it was better to be too old or young for military ser-vice, to represent what terrified the regimes of Hitler, Franco and Mussolini: outcasts and rov-ers enabled by their work to tell awkward truths through jokes and laughter, to enjoy melancholy freedom from dictatorial impositions between somersaults and vulgarities. This painting is a grotesque, transparent and living synthesis of

humankind in all its variety, a spectrum of emo-tions, colours, feelings and characters common and visible to all and sundry. The white Pierrot with a resigned air and not even one tear left to shed has thrown his hat into the corner on the right and his young female companion, again clad in white with a green mask over her eyes, is lost in thought and apparently unaware of the confusion reigning in the background. Completely impervious to the magic of the spec-tacle, the spectators are crowded together, all bald like the Duce and identical. A man in the corner on the right, the only one with thick, curly hair, is insulted and ridiculed by a bullying indi-vidual who grasps him by the throat, as though to suggest that the animals in the Big Top are not the exotic elephants or ferocious lions but human beings. There is, however, a way out of all this for Badodi, as indicated by the man and woman embracing and kissing passionately in the crowd despite all the confusion, jostling and violence. The painting has numerous layers beneath which, upside down, there is another scene set in a park [FIG. 1]. A man, perhaps a priest, reads a newspaper on a bench while a worried mother holds her child to stop him from

going after his toy horse, which has fallen onto the ground. Nearby, two powerfully-built, threat-ening policemen seem to terrify a man in a night shirt who looks like the painter. If artists were objectively frightened and distraught about the war, which all too often involved them directly, it is also true that they could sometimes, through their works and their sensibility, sit in a corner and observe the circus of life from a different an-gle: “Two seasons in one: corn in the fields and equestrian circuses on the city outskirts. The green clown has ripened to gold in the coun-tryside”.2 The work was included in the solo show of 1941 curated by Raffaele De Grada at the Bottega di Corrente in Milan and then at the Galleria Genova.3

R.P.

1 M. Gallian, “Circo reale italiano”, in L’interplanetario, Milan, 1 February 1928, p. 1.

2 Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936-1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Giulio Einaudi Editore, 1960 p. 56.

3 G. Piovene, in Arnaldo Badodi in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova, 29 March − 9 April 1941), Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1941. Held only a few days after the one at the Bottega di Corrente, the show was designed to represent Badodi’s work as a whole.

Arnaldo Badodi Il circo

1. Arnaldo Badodi, Il circo, 1941, X-ray

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7 Title Ragazza [Young Woman] Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 39.5 × 55 cm bottom right: badodi

In his introduction to Arnaldo Badodi’s solo show of 1941 at the Galleria Genova, Guido Piovene identified a watershed in the artist’s work: “The Genoa show falls at this point in Badodi’s art […] The guiding model of Novecento themes has almost completely disappeared. Badodi’s art develops in the total freedom required for such a full and generous rejection of beautiful form”.1 Having abandoned “the jaded carnivals, the closed rooms where furniture, clothes and even human figures take on an ambiguous, questioning appearance, the masks, puppets and circus clowns”,2 his work is divided be-tween a broad gallery of female portraits and a series of still-lifes with arabesque lines. The female portraits, most of which feature a model called Anita, are characterized by melan-choly, faraway expressions.3 In this painting of 1941, the young woman has stopped reading, struck by thoughts that she seems reluctant to reveal, as suggested by the way she avoids di-rect eye contact with the viewer. Badodi displays far more gentleness here than in other portraits of the same period,4 almost as though seeking to express through her eyes his own anxieties

and solitude of those years, so difficult political-ly but also demanding for his painting, now well on the way to definitive maturity. Marco Falciano suggests that the underlying melancholy of the painting is rooted in the symbolic portraits of Giorgio de Chirico [FIG. 1] and Mario Sironi despite the disappearance of “the emblems of geometry, the vanishing lines of perspective dis-tance and the gleam of crepuscular light, and the relinquishing of any claim to metaphysical detachment”.5 Initially presented in the show held at the Bottega di Corrente in Milan and then at the Galleria Genova in 1941, the work also ap-peared more recently in Milan in an exhibition on Milanese portraiture of the thirties curated by Elena Pontiggia in 2010.R.P.

Arnaldo Badodi Ragazza

1. Giorgio de Chirico, Due figure mitologiche (Nus antiques - Composizione mitologica), 1927. Rovereto, Mart, Museo di arte moderna e contemporanea di Trento e Rovereto, L.F. collection

1 G. Piovene, in Arnaldo Badodi in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova, 29 March − 9 April 1941), Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1941. The show took place a few days after the one at the Bottega di Corrente and was designed to present Badodi’s work as a whole, from the self-portrait of 1934 to this Ragazza.

2 Ibidem.3 Interest also attaches in this connection to some

drawings whose terse, agitated lines accentuate the sense of melancholy expressed by the female faces. See for example the reproductions in M. Falciano, Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995, pp. 245−46 and 248−49.

4 See for example his Ritratto di Anita, in Ibidem, p. 200.

5 Ibidem, pp. 339−40.

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Arnaldo Badodi Soprabito su divano

8 Title Soprabito su divano [Overcoat on a Sofa] Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 60 × 70 cm bottom right: badodi 41

A curious explorer of the female world, Arnaldo Badodi was fascinated the atmosphere con-jured up by needles, thread, fabrics and col-ours, which reminded him of the tailor’s shop where his mother Gardenia worked. It was with this world in mind that he produced Soprabito su divano, where a small interior structurally defined only by a sofa and a little red book-case full of books conveys the impression of a setting rich in emotions, not least through the use of bold colours and terse brushstrokes. As also happens in Ragazza in riposo [Young Woman Resting] [FIG. 2], Badodi’s magical and melancholy animism enables him to tell stories without making any concrete statements, just hints of possible readings. As in Van Gogh’s Bedroom in Arles [FIG. 1], we can thus imagine our own interior. Worn out after a day’s work in the drabness of the city, without even taking off his overcoat, which is divided in two by a bright blue scarf, a man lies down on a cosy sofa, leaving his black hat in the corner and his gloves on the floor, and rests his head on a green cushion. He tries to read an art book before falling into the arms of Morpheus but is unable to keep his eyes open and drifts off to sleep. There is a clash between the bold, bright colours and the unquiet, problematic, sensitive content. What emerges in this painting is the “intimate turmoil of personal history and cul-tural epoch into which the heterogeneous sug-gestions of the culture of the time flow in the adventurous aspiration to penetrate and con-dense them, coordinating them with his own natural faculties. A turmoil that manifests itself as psychic disturbance deeply immersed in the

vital instincts and that pervades his vision like a diffuse and elusive state of angst”.1 Badodi paints a part of himself, the part bound up with his soul, his constant feeling of disquiet in a world that was soon to send him to the front, a spirit caught in a spider’s web represented by the gloves on the floor, the last bulwark against barbarity, and the empty overcoat. This recalls a more recent work by the young Italian artist Francesco Gennari entitled Il corpo torna alla terra, l’anima torna al cielo (con una macchia d’amarena nel cuore) [The Body Returns to the Earth, the Soul Returns to the Heavens (with a Sour Cherry Stain on its Heart)] [FIG. 3] (2011), which seeks to look at humankind and its des-tiny: “[...] He knew that his body wanted to re-turn to the earth and evaporate there through entropy, that his soul wanted to return to the heavens. He knew that only his skeleton would remain, only the apparition. And yet he decided to undertake this journey with a stain of sour cherry syrup in his heart”.2 Badodi’s work was shown in 1939 at the first exhibition organized by the journal Corrente di vita giovanile (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente) and then in the exhi-bition of the Corrente group held in 1963 at the Centro Culturale Olivetti in Ivrea, which then launched a number of major initiatives aimed primarily at Olivetti personnel and their families in that period. The events were sometimes held during the workers’ lunch break, which then lasted a couple of hours, near the factory (in the Salone dei 2000) or in the canteen to fos-ter greater participation. The workers thus had the opportunity to visit shows by contemporary avant-garde artists like Arnaldo Badodi.R.P.

1 M. Falciano, Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995, p. 75.

2 Francesco Gennari, quotation taken from the website of the Johnen Galerie, where the artist held a show from 28 October 2011 to 23 February 2012.

3. Francesco Gennari, Il corpo torna alla terra, l’anima torna al cielo (con una macchia d’amarena nel cuore), 2011. Milan, Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone

1. Vincent van Gogh, Bedroom in Arles, 1888. Amsterdam, Van Gogh Museum

2. Arnaldo Badodi, Ragazza in riposo, 1941. Private collection

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1 Edoardo Persico (Naples, 8 February 1900 − Milan, 10 January 1936), an art critic and writer who played a key part in the Corrente movement.

2 Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936-1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Giulio Einaudi Editore, 1960, p. 157.

3 R. Birolli, “Il dramma”, in Taccuini 1930-1933, partially republished by G. Baratta in Yale Italian Studies, vol. I, 1980.

4 Z. Birolli, Renato Birolli, general catalogue with foreword by Z. Birolli, Milan: Feltrinelli, 1978, p. 11.

5 R. Birolli, “Scritti di Renato Birolli”, in Collana d’arte, edited by Duilio Morosini, Edizioni di Corrente, directed by Ernesto Treccani, copy no. 450, Milan, March 1941, p. 59.

6 The artist also added numerous brushstrokes to the part of the canvas he initially wanted to show but not to the part with the legs and the fish, which can still be seen in their initial sketch-like state.

7 Gerardo Dotttori (Perugia, 11 November 1884 − 13 June 1977), Italian Futurist painter.

8 G. Dottori, “Pittura alla Galleria di Roma”, in L’Impero, 21 May 1932.

9 Title L’Arlecchino [Harlequin] Date 1931 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 84 × 56 cm bottom left: R. Birolli 31

Born in Verona in 1905 and trained as a book-keeper, Renato Birolli decided at the age of 23, on being expelled from the Accademia d’Arte Cignaroli, to leave his hometown definitive-ly for Milan, where he stayed with his sister at number 47 Corso di Porta Vittoria. It was by no means easy for the young painter at first to adapt to occasional and poorly paid work as an insurance salesman, press agency reporter and decorator. Through a whole range of cultural attractions, including exhibitions at the Palazzo della Permanente and shows at galleries like the Milano and Bardi, the city soon helped him, however, to play an active part in its avant-gar-de circles. Birolli took it to heart when the critic Edoardo Persico1 called for “worker artists” to rise above the “low commercial” and “profes-sional” aims of the contemporary cultural envi-ronment, people with a “humble” but “rigorous” attitude “whose life is something serious and ethically motivated”. It was precisely Persico’s views that led Birolli to take a significant step forward in 1930−31, a sort of revolution above all in the use of colours, which no one else in Milan had yet adopted. As he recalled in his notebooks of 1936: “Around 1929−30−31 I started covering what was called medieval canvas (pure hemp) with a thin layer of zinc white, leaving the marks in charcoal exposed. While the white was still moist, I painted on this layer, thus obtaining light, vibrant hues almost like fresco. [XVIII, 20]”.2 Thus it was that he pro-duced this Trionfo dell’Arlecchino, first shown in 1932 in the group exhibition at the Galleria del Milione in Milan. The inspiration, almost certainly come from the Harlequin by Cézanne [FIG. 2], the father of the avant-garde, served him to present a figure enabled by his profession to tell awkward truths free from dictatorial imposi-tions. “Perhaps the most humble, the most re-mote, the least worthy of mention in any history of civilization, but with a drama in your art, i.e. ex-pressing content in perfectly appropriate form, as asserted by Carlo Carrà, referring implicitly to the modern artist’s need for human expression, for drama. But when people are not faced with a Goethe, a Bellini or a Masaccio, they will not understand what and how great the drama of a modern artist can be, not even if it is identified in that of Christianity”.3 Though convinced that there would have been no artistic rebirth without

the painting of Carrà, Sironi and Tosi, Birolli was not convinced that art should annihilate life rather than recount it. “He is fully aware of the question of the crisis of roles, the possibility of motivating choices and decisions of cultural definition”.4 The canvas of the servant Harlequin now appears ready from top to bottom: a youth with hair so blond as to be almost white, two dots of cobalt blue from the eyes and a mel-ancholy twist of the coral-red mouth to recall the painter’s pensive expression. A Harlequin without the traditional black mask, without any-thing covering his face, as though Birolli wanted to show us the man beneath the comic figure, the melancholy behind the laughter, and hence to disturb and perplex us. The large bunch of flowers does of course clash somewhat with the slender figure of the clown, who is evident-ly struggling awkwardly to hold that triumph of thick brushstrokes, which appear eager to leave the canvas. “We often find a yellow or deep blue on his brush and feel that there is no mediation between those colours and our temptation. Do we check whether they contain an irremediable form among so many remedies of indolent ex-pertise? (Ensor’s ‘masks’ are born like that. All the others, including mine, are literature or ob-jects) […] Every question that is not completely resolved thus prepares another problem for art (the theatre of unresolved Shakespeareans)”.5 Taking up the poetic lines of Matisse, Birolli de-cided to depart definitively from the painting of his Milanese colleagues in pursuit of a highly personal vision which led him to paint beautiful arabesques in the background. The two-dimen-sionality of Harlequin, like a piece of thin, wavy material stuck on the wall like as collage on the wall, enabled him to make room for pure colour. Everything is richly adorned in pastel shades: the clothing, the flowers of course, the rug, the plant in the background and the wall decora-tions. Having second thoughts before delivering the work, Birolli folded the canvas and placed it in a smaller frame,6 thus concealing the fish on the right, which recall the decorations in the early Christian catacombs, as well as the signa-ture and date in the lower left corner. The work was not well received in the press, however, and Gerardo Dottori7 accused Birolli of “ridiculous disguises as a primitive, with the infantile grace of painters from the catacombs or elementary school pupils […] Seeking a new virginity, Birolli strives for poor, laboured, shaky draughtsman-ship, filling his puppets with maudlin tints”.8 What others said mattered little to the artist, as the revolution of colour was now under way.R.P.

Renato Birolli L’Arlecchino

2. Paul Cézanne, Harlequin, 1888–1890. Private collection

1. Renato Birolli, Arlecchino, 1931. Milan, L. Figini collection

10 Title Periferia (Grottammare) [Outskirts (Grottammare)] Date 1932 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 54 × 53 cm bottom left: R. Birolli 932

In a conversation with the collector Giuseppe Iannaccone, the artist Aligi Sassu recognized this work as a view of an attractive seaside town in the Marche region where Renato Birolli used to stay in the period 1930−32 with friends like Sassu himself, Fiorenzo Tomea, Atanasio Soldati and Pericle Fazzini.“For the landscape, I will see that of the Apennines and the coast from dawn until arrival. I hope you will have arranged a room for them, cheap but not filthy and full of lice […] But try to fix things so that I don’t have to depend too much on the staff, because I’m already much too inclined to be friendly towards them with no prejudices. What’s that one like? A bit of a pen-guin, isn’t he? In short, I want freedom of action, not dependency! […] I’ve decided to bring the ‘monumental’ easel and three stretchers I made myself. If they don’t want them on the train, I’ll throw them out into the fields or smash them on the guard’s head, no disrespect to officialdom intended. I’ll be armed to the teeth with the tools of the trade. I’ll frighten you. I’ll swan around in an impeccable seaside suit, speak English and paint imperturbably with the air of a great man who known his onions until Tomea comes up, unmasks me as an Italian from Verona and tells me to knock it off in Venetian dialect. We’ll laugh but we’ll make the penguins weep”.1

It was his passionate spirit that led him to com-pose this view: “[…] Who will say enough of

this?! As flat as colonial landscapes with their huge squares and disproportionate outlets yearning for the countryside. All sky and dis-harmony. All countryside in the evening and all children”.2 The empirical view, which makes the work all-enveloping, is depicted in the hottest hours of the day, when the unbearable heat reigns in these deserted squares, where the sunlight beats down on every surface with such power as to create bright and almost dazzling colours that are extremely vibrant. Enveloped in an atmosphere of dazed lucidity, Birolli cap-tures the power of the sun, which practically nothing can withstand. Every wall and street takes on a yellow hue while the palms of vig-orous green are interrupted only by a shrine as blue as the sea. The immobility of the composition, contrasting with the brightness of the colour, is indicative of tranquillity and serenity with respect to the absence of human beings. The artist shows us that there can be infinite beauty without the hu-man presence in what he calls “active solitude”, which “is and has always been nothing other than love. Yes, love for an albeit modest spiritual condition, a desire for utility, and optimism that makes us true children of nature”.3

R.P.

Renato Birolli Periferia (Grottammare)

1 Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Archivio di Scuola Romana, October−November 1997), texts by Z. Birolli, G. Bruno, P. Rusconi, Archivio di Scuola Romana, Rome, 1997, pp. 51−52. The original manuscripts of Renato Birolli are now in the Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G.P. Vieusseux, Florence.

2 Ibidem.3 R.Birolli, “La solitudine attiva”, 1952 (unpublished);

now in Z. Birolli, R. Sambonet (edited by), Birolli, Milan: Feltrinelli, 1978, p. 94.

1. Period postcard with a view of the church and Piazza San Pio in Grottammare (Marche region)

2. Renato Birolli, [Grottammare], 1932. Milan

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172 173

Renato Birolli Tassì rosso

11 Title Tassì rosso [Red Taxi] Date 1932 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 58 × 60 cm bottom right: 32 R. Birolli

In 1932, the year he painted Tassì rosso, Renato Birolli was very close to Edoardo Persico and oriented towards the primitivism and the naïveté with a religious background advocated by the Neapolitan critic in the wake of Lionello Venturi’s Gusto dei primitivi.1 Though akin to Chiarismo in his flattening of volume, frontal views and use of a wet, white ground, Birolli was “neither a Chiarista nor from Lombardy”.2 The “diffuse whiteness” of this and other co-eval paintings is more probably related to the Ravenna mosaics, which he had gone to see a few years earlier3 and wrote about in his note-books: “San Vitale, Sant’Apollinare Nuovo and Sant’Apollinare in Classe had the property of being both container and content. I partook of their concavity as much as they converged in me. Beneath that green wave studded with rubies as big as apples, I glimpsed a geomet-ric expression: green + green + gold = white. This was the spiritual result, the immaculacy of that Byzantium on the Adriatic”.4 The artist’s or-igins in the Veneto region emerge in his choice of colours full of a light that involves the entire surface. The taxi in the foreground stands out with its red bodywork in this panorama of unreal chromatic tonalities, where the streets are yel-low and the pavement pink. Colour constructs the image with no shadow, volume or depth, with a purely allusive, symbolic, lyrical function: “I tried to grasp a new process of construction

with coloured spaces, almost placing the ex-treme, piercing properties of a colour in the position of a symbol. Having abolished all ra-tionality in construction, we [Birolli and Sassu] endeavoured, almost at the very limits of our re-sponsibility as painters, to develop a new vision of the world in a procedure and with different means”.5 Comparison with the urban views of Mario Sironi [FIG. 2, P. 174], based on the juxta-position of volumetric masses, reveals all the freshness of Birolli’s aesthetic revolution: “The space is constructed on an upward slope with no classical perspective, through juxtaposed surfaces. The red inlay of the taxi, the strip of pavement skirting the wall like a necklace of pink quartz, the buildings with no foreshorten-ing […] The buildings are seen only from the front, like the backdrop in a theatre”.6 There are three different versions of Tassì rosso [FIGS. 1-3],7 all dating from the same year and most probably painted after the major group exhibi-tion held at the Galleria del Milione in February 1932, where none of them was shown.8 This ver-sion, which Birolli gave to his sister Maria, was not published until 1960, when it was shown at the Galleria Gian Ferrari in an exhibition of work by the Corrente group.9

R.P.

1 The first edition was published in 1926 in Turin, where Venturi held the chair in art history and Persico was resident as from the beginning of 1927.

2 Elena Pontiggia, in Il chiarismo, Milan: Abscondita, 2006, pp. 66−99. Persico had already noted the distance of Birolli and Sassu from the painters who then gathered at the Caffè Mokador in Milan (later known as Chiaristi): “In the Mokador, these two young men always looked like fish out of water.

They found practically nothing to hold onto in the ideas of the thirty-year-old painters.” Ibidem, pp. 17−18. See also the catalogue of the recent exhibition curated by Elena Pontiggia at which the painting was shown: E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milano negli anni trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June − 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010. See also E. Pontiggia, V. Birolli (edited by), Renato Birolli. Figure e luoghi, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Museo Ettore Fico, 9 March − 26 June 2016), Turin: Edizioni Museo Ettore Fico, 2016 (the painting was shown at the exhibition).

3 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta, L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 122.

4 Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936–1959, edited by E. Emanuelli, Einaudi, Turin, 1960, p. 30.

5 R. Birolli, then in G. Marchiori, Z. Birolli, F. Bruno (edited by), Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July−August 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1963, p. 9.

6 E. Pontiggia, in Milano Anni Trenta..., cit., 2004.7 See Z. Birolli, R. Sambonet (edited by), Renato

Birolli, Milan: Feltrinelli, 1978, p. 188, illustrations 47, 48 and 50.

8 E. Pontiggia, in Milano Anni Trenta..., cit., 2004. Birolli took part on this occasion together with Aligi Sassu, Corrado Cagli, Gianni Cortese, Luigi Grosso, Fiorenzo Tomea and Giacomo Manzù. Carlo Carrà wrote as follows in his review of this show of “very young” painters: “Birolli is rather an expressionist of colour veined with Fauvism, which means that he seeks to offer us painting forged in the fire of the imagination”. C. Carrà, “Esposizioni milanesi”, in L’Ambrosiano, y. XI, no. 35, Milan, 10 February 1932, pp. 3−4. See also R. G. [Raffaello Giolli], “Esposizioni milanesi”, in Cronache latine, y. II, no. 7, Milan, 13 February 1932, p. 6; G. P., “Mostre milanesi”, in Le Arti plastiche, y. X, no. 4, Milan, 16 February 1932, p. 2.

9 Mostra storica di “Corrente”, the first in a long series of Milanese exhibitions paying tribute to the Corrente movement, which was abandoned in the immediate post-war period by most of the critics and most of the figures involved. See Belvedere, Bollettino della Galleria Gian Ferrari, no. 5, Milan, 1960.

1. Renato Birolli, Taxi rosso nella neve, 1931. Private collection

2. Renato Birolli, Il taxi rosso, 1932. Alessandria, A. Ghiron collection

3. Renato Birolli, Taxi rosso, 1932. Milan

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Renato Birolli La città degli studi

12 Title La città degli studi [Città degli Studi, the Milan Universiy District]

Date 1933 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 67.5 × 84.5 cm bottom right: R. Birolli 1933

“Just think, if Milano Centrale were covered in plants, like a roof garden, Milanese aesthetes would no longer regard the stone beneath as a debt to be paid to posterity but as an element of the above-mentioned nature, a hill with no other attributes than that of a woodland train station. It is the history of human presumption that bestows an excess of content-based attributes on stone”.1 This thinking underlies Renato Birolli’s depiction in 1933 of a corner of the Città degli Studi district with a building on Via Colombo in a bold contrast of yellows, reds and blues. His urban views differ from those of Sironi: “Here the buildings are not metaphysical and never too distant from man, or perhaps too close to him. [Sironi] walks sadly through these streets, elsewhere decked out in flowers on a Sunday. Yes, you can at least have your own Sunday, your own holiday, the silence of a day that redeems the entire city as well of the soul from the drab, purple weight of the six days preceding it. The miracle of the Impression-ists is their invention of seven Sundays, seven holidays, a week. Art is the enemy of social prob-lems, making them all look beautiful (it is not by chance that people love it so much)”.2 Mixing imagination and the new architecture of Gigiotti Zanini with his idea of economical housing, like the building at number 52 Via Pellegrino Rossi in Milan with its façade of geometric expanses of red, yellow, white and grey, Birolli creates his own Sunday. He wrote to Tomea in May that he had just finished a landscape of the university district, “the best achieved so far, I think”, and received this reply: “Like me, you know the sweet suburbia of Milan, surprising, chaste, new and simple”.3 In his works, the pavements are

pink and the trees the cobalt green of Veronese, soaring in the middle of the street like ballerinas. The blue streets are made up of lines that seem to drift like coloured souls in the wind, the in-significant grey lampposts are transformed into streaks of Titian red and the building of Cézanne orange and emerald in the background of the scene seems to float in a cobalt blue sky broken only by a full moon rising over the block known as the Kremlin. “Renato Birolli was attracted rath-er by the mechanical, technological appearance of the building, by the picturesque image of this curious architectural pastiche in the popular im-agination as the symbol of an unreal modernity. The edifice continued to represent suburbia as a whole for Birolli also in the years when his work changed direction”.4 “And if Birolli’s depiction of the Milanese suburbs presents, as has been said, a hypo-cultural scene, stripped of citations, symbols and allegories, as against the hyper-cul-tural scene of De Chirico, there are, as the artist stated, obscure presentiments hovering in that countermelody to Metaphysical art”.5 As Birolli wrote, cities are the libraries of the world and sometimes its uniform. R.P.

1 R. Birolli, “Scritti di Renato Birolli”, in Collana d’arte, edited by Duilio Morosini, Edizioni di Corrente, directed by Ernesto Treccani, copy no. 450, Milan, March 1941, p. 33.

2 Ibidem, p. 37.3 Firenze, Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G. P.

Vieusseux, Archivio contemporaneo Alessandro Bonsanti, Fondo R. e R. Birolli, now in Una realtà visionaria. La pittura di Birolli dagli esordi all’amorfismo (1924-1937), in E. Pontiggia, V. Birolli (edited by), Renato Birolli. Figure e luoghi 1930-1959, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Museo Ettore Fico, 9 March – 26 June 2016), Turin: Edizioni Museo Ettore Fico, 2016, p. 31.

4 P. Rusconi, Eldorado, Dossier n. 3, Milan: Skira editore, 2000, p. 10.

5 S. Troisi (edited by), Mediterraneo. Mitologie della figura nell’arte italiana tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Marsala, Convento del Carmine, 13 July − 5 October 2008), Palermo: Sellerio, 2008.

1. Period postcard with a view of Piazza Leonardo da Vinci in the Città Studi district of Milan

2. Mario Sironi, Paesaggio urbano, 1925–28. Milan, Museo del Novecento

make it possible to identify the Nuova Ecumene as the “vision of Ezekiel in a suburban land-scape” mentioned by the artist in a letter to Giuseppe Marchiori in January 1935.6 The work was shown as Visione di Ezechiele [Vision of Ezekiel] in the summer of that year in an exhibi-tion of work by young contemporary Italian and French painters in London7 and as Nuova ecu-menica the following year in the VII Mostra del Sindacato Interprovinciale Fascista di Belle Arti [7th Exhibition of the Fascist Union of Fine Arts] at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan. It was published for the first time with its present title in the first monograph on the artist by Sandro Bini in 1941.8

R.P.

Renato Birolli La nuova Ecumene

176 177

13 Title La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene]

Date 1935 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions: 136 × 155.5 cm bottom right: B. 1935

Ecumene was the word used in ancient Greece, with a sense of shared belonging, for the whole of the inhabited world as against the uninhab-ited. The group in Birolli’s La nuova Ecumene is gathered in a timeless, surreal, sun-drenched landscape that does, however, include some ref-erences to places that then formed part of the artist’s everyday experience, such as the distant green domes recalling those of the Ronzoni chemical works on the outskirts of Milan. For Renato Birolli, La nuova Ecumene represents “the land of the new painting, in which a broth-erhood of young artists united by a common poetic and expressive ideal is born”.1 The young figure standing with a book by Pascal in his hands can be recognized as the artist by his unquestionable resemblance to the self-portrait [FIG. 1] of 1934: “I read Campanella, and when I really cannot face any more cold morality, I read Pascal and other sublime visionaries who saw the universe struck by a multiplicity of graces”.2 The figure on the painter’s left can be identified almost certainly as his close friend Sassu, while the two figures on the far right of the painting, immersed in nature and a timeless atmosphere of contemplation, are almost certainly Manzù and Tomea. Observation of these two young fig-ures brings to mind Giorgione’s Tempest, a re-production of which hung on the wall of Birolli’s studio. The artist’s drawing in ink on photo-graphs of the male figure with the staff on the left side and the hair of the woman and the bush on the right was clearly prompted by reflection on what Lionello Venturi wrote about this paint-ing: “For the first time in Italian art, the figures do not escape their setting, as they are pictured by an imagination intent on the impression of a landscape. In short, this is no longer a paint-ing of figures in a landscape but a landscape with figures […] The shepherd, gipsy, soldier or whatever he might be — his staff does not have a pointed end and he is therefore hardly military in appearance — leans on his staff […] He gaz-es straight ahead unseeingly and his long hair accentuates his dreamy character”.3

As regards the figure constituting the fulcrum of the work, a historical reconstruction sug-gests that it originated in 1930 at the Venice Biennial, where Birolli was present by invitation for the first time with two works. There he had the opportunity to see the only work on show by Scipione, the Cardinal Decano [Dean of the College of Cardinals] [FIG. 2], which almost cer-tainly saw again during his trip to Rome two years later. In addition to its extraordinary ex-pressive quality, what intrigued him about it was the Roman artist’s ability to blend ancient and modern, not in the sense of a return to tradition, however, but as an act of renewal. As his friend the critic Lionello Venturi wrote: “There could be no more perilous leap into the unknown than this portrait of Cardinal Vannutelli, given the

1 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 122.

2 Letter from Renato Birolli to Giuseppe Marchiori, now in D. Morosini, “Birolli: liberare e redimere”, in L’arte degli anni difficili (1928-1944), Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1985, pp. 131–32.

3 L. Venturi, Giorgione e il giorgionismo, Milan: Hoepli, 1913.

4 L. Venturi, “Recensioni”, in Belvedere, no. 5-6, May–June, Milan, 1930.

5 L. Vitali, “Dove va l’arte italiana”, in Domus, n. 108, Milan, 1936, pp. 54–55.

6 Letter from Renato Birolli to Giuseppe Marchiori dated 22 January 1935, now in F. Bartoli, “L’età felice e il primo viaggio a Parigi”, in F. Lanza Pietromarchi (edited by), Renato Birolli 1935, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 18 October – 23 November 1996), Verona: Galleria dello Scudo, 1996, pp. 109–10.

7 The Franco-Italian Exhibition was held at the Wertheim Gallery in July 1935. The other artists included Mario Mafai, Carlo Levi, Corrado Cagli, Francesco Menzio, Aligi Sassu, Cipriano Efisio Oppo, Fausto Pirandello, Alberto Ziveri, Fiorenzo Tomea, Giorgio Morandi and Afro.

8 F. Lanza Pietromarchi (edited by), Renato Birolli 1935, cit., 1996.

1. Renato Birolli, Self-Portrait, 1934. Milan, private collection

2. Scipione, Ritratto del cardinal Vannutelli (il Cardinal Decano), 1930. Rome, Galleria Comunale d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea

number of traditional examples close to hand precisely in Rome. We will judge Bonichi better at his next show and confine ourselves here to noting that the painting, for all the discussion it may prompt, is among those looked at most eagerly”.4

Birolli was so impressed by the work as to ab-sorb it fully, which he did precisely in the central figure of the Nuova Ecumene. The cardinal los-es the magnificence of reverent religious feel-ing, however. He is devoid of Christian symbols and his tiara lies on the ground. He is a secular cardinal and some of his features seem to re-call those of Lionello Venturi, the critic who first inspired Birolli with his words on Giorgione, focused attention on the modern revolution of colour, kept abreast of developments in Europe and recognized the expressive power of Scipione’s painting.This canvas of considerable size constitutes an assertion of Birolli’s programmatic intentions and marks a definitive turning point in his paint-ing. The power of his new approach now rests exclusively on the bright, fiery colours that set the composition ablaze in the Nuova Ecumene: “I believe in romanticism with no prefix, using colour to give my vision the power of cantus firmus and regarding all the other schools as non-fantastic and metaphorical. I therefore be-lieve in Delacroix as against Ingres, Renoir as against Puvis de Chavannes, Rosso as against the Italian sculpture of his time, Picasso as against abstract art and Martini as against him-self. I am not referring to any form of romanti-cism in the historical sense. The question is not historical but aesthetic”.5

The similarities with the incandescent col-ours of the sky in I poeti [The Poets] [W. NO. 14], which was completed in the same period,

178 179

Renato Birolli I poeti

14 Title I poeti [The Poets] Date 1935 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 90 × 108 cm bottom left: R. Birolli 935

After the Chiarismo of his early works, Renato Birolli brought “Lombardy back to colour”1 as from 1934, finding new masters in Van Gogh and Ensor to attain a chromatic vibration of evocative and lyrical character. As he himself stated, this choice “was romantic, regarding Europe as a temptation for modern man, some-thing advanced and truly progressive”.2 As he wrote to his friend Aligi Sassu in January 1935: “I have finished the painting of the Poets, which you saw sketched in tempera. It is drawn with violence but also love. I have obtained four fundamental blacks and the entire landscape is overwhelming. The steel is tempered, all that remains is to disembowel the riff-raff”.3 Birolli expresses his joy at having found that effective contrast between the intense black of the figures’ suits and the incandescent light of sunset after striving for so long. The two chromatic areas are horizontally divided by a strip of emerald green on which a few timid trees “à la Dufy”4 grow, accentuating the visionary quality of this subur-ban landscape. On the bank of an incandescent river, in which the yellow of the setting sun is vigorously reflected, are four smartly-dressed young men, gathered together as the “young antifascist intellectuals” did at the time accord-ing to Mario De Micheli.5 In actual fact, the title seems rather to recall how artists and writers

would meet in Birolli’s studio on Piazzale Susa to talk freely about the need for an aesthetic re-newal not confined to formal questions but also possessing an ethical basis. The painter was very close at the time to Salvatore Quasimodo and the Hermetic poets, who “changed my way of dreaming reality. A word that seemed to burn at some point in a verse suggested an infinity of values of a coloured space, almost a prolon-gation of the life of a colour”.6 The four figures are in any case deliberately unrecognizable, being intended to represent the condition of in-tellectuals in their essential role of transforming “the vision of reality into myth”.7 The one seated figure can be seen as a citation of Manet’s Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe [FIG. 1] or a river god from an engraving of Marcantonio Raimondi after a drawing by Raphael [FIG. 2], works that Birolli was able to study closely in reproductions provided by “a privileged intermediary”, namely Lionello Venturi.8 The work was selected in the February of the same year for inclusion in the Exhibition of Contemporary Italian Painting organized by Dario Sabatello to make the latest develop-ments in Italian art known across the Atlantic. It was also shown in 1967, in an exhibition of Italian art the following summer at the Wertheim Gallery on London9 and then in the exhibition Arte moderna in Italia 1915−1935 in Florence curated by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti.10 I po-eti has appeared in two exhibitions curated by Elena Pontiggia, one in Chieti in 201211 and the other in Turin in 2016.12 R.P.

1 E. Pontiggia, in Artisti di Corrente 1930/1990, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Museo delle Arti di Palazzo Bandera, 16 November 1991 − 1 March 1992), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, p. 9.

2 R. Birolli, in Various Authors, Pittura d’oggi (Collezione del Vieusseux), Florence: Vallecchi, 1954, pp. 23−46.

3 Letter from Renato Birolli to Aligi Sassu dated 18 January 1935; now in F. Lanza Pietromarchi (edited by), Renato Birolli 1935, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 18 October − 23 November 1996), Verona: Galleria dello Scudo, 1996, pp. 126−27.

4 E. Pontiggia, Artisti..., cit., 1991.5 M. De Micheli, “L’arte d’opposizione e d’impegno

politico e sociale in Europa dall’inizio del 1900 alla fine della seconda guerra mondiale”, in F. Russoli (edited by), L’arte moderna, 14 vols., Milan: Fabbri, 1967.

6 R. Birolli, lecture delivered at the Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G. P. Vieusseux, Florence, in 1954; now in Renato Birolli 1935, cit., 1996, p. 58.

7 E. Pontiggia, Artisti..., cit., 1991.8 F. Bartoli, “L’età felice e il primo viaggio a Parigi”,

in Renato Birolli 1935, cit., 1996, pp. 30−38.9 Birolli showed three works: I poeti, Paesaggio

mistico and Visione di Ezechiele.10 See C. L. Ragghianti (edited by), Arte Moderna

in Italia, 1915-1935, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 26 February − 28 May 1967), Florence: Marchi e Bertolli, 1967.

11 E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La Rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo - S.E.T. Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July − 7 October 2012), Turin: Allemandi, 2012.

12 E. Pontiggia, V. Birolli (edited by), Renato Birolli. Figure e luoghi, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Museo Ettore Fico, 9 March 2016 − 26 June 2016), Turin: Edizioni Museo Ettore Fico, 2016.

1. Édouard Manet, Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe, 1862–63, detail. Paris, Musée d’Orsay

2. Marcantonio Raimondi, after a drawing by Raphael, Giudizio di Paride, 1515-1516, detail. Menaggio, Villa Mylius-Vigoni

180 181

15 Title Il caos [Chaos] Date 1936 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 110 × 90 cm bottom left: R. Birolli ’36

For Renato Birolli, 1936 was a year of intense ex-perimentation and reflection on his work leading from Il caos to the Metamorfosi drawings.1 The first references to the painting appeared in his notebooks in the spring of 1936: “My painting is like a seed at first, amorphous with respect to the future plant. A painting at its birth is a heap of dense, uncorrupted forces of great specific weight, hard to spread out in a space that does not cripple their initial strength. I would say that the work has no figurative aim at first, the imagi-nation as yet makes no efforts of logic. This may have led me to some representations of chaos and other paintings of 1936”.2 In the tangle of lines that crowd the composi-tion, some human figures can be discerned seeking in vain to scale a wall of rock and plum-meting one by one into an infernal region where those who have preceded them lie helpless. The scene is made still more tragic by the accentu-ated gestures of those summarily sketched human beings. It is only the man standing and looking at the viewer, perhaps intended to repre-sent the artist, that offers some glimpse of hope, one last chance to emerge from the primeval chaos into which humanity has collapsed. Birolli thus depicts chaos in order to arrive at its op-posite, distorting matter to the point where form disintegrates out of “a need for order and clar-ity as well as living contact with reality”, writes Corrado Maltese. Birolli was to provide confir-mation almost ten years later in his comments on photographs of Il caos and Eldorado (1935 [FIG. 3, P. 93]): “The figurative elements are imper-sonal. The reality lies not in the precise shape they take but in the evident condition or climate in which they are immersed, anguished or hap-py. I was real in the physical and dialectical

condition in which I found myself and mani-fested in this way. This climate does not remain closed, defined and buried in the painting but expands to signify a vaster, external condition, far more connected with the world than any real-istic reference would be”.3 Birolli gave the work in 1938 to the critic Sandro Bini, who wrote to him as follows: “Dear Renato, since you gave me Caos, I no longer know where friendship should begin”.4 Another version of the painting, dated 1937 [FIG. 1], was bought four years later by the collectors Boschi and Di Stefano together with other works by the artist, some for “a bowl of lentils”, as he bitterly put it.5 The list of the works shown in 1938 at the Galleria Genova includes one on the same subject, whose title Caos (3a scena) [Chaos (3rd scene)] suggests the existence of a third version of unknown whereabouts, which may even have been destroyed subsequently by the artist himself.6 It was this first version that was published the same year in an article in Il Tevere as an example of “foreign, Bolshevik, Jewish” art.7 As Birolli wrote bitterly to Giuseppe Marchiori, “Il Tevere of 24–25 November includ-ed a full-page attack on Jewish, Bolshevik art. The photographs show works by Carrà, De Chirico, Cagli (poor soul), Cingeri, Terragni, a few abstract artists and yours truly (Chaos). You should get yourself a copy and read the filth spewed out by these pox-ridden spies and arse bandits”.8 [FIG. 4, P. 42] Birolli’s unprecedented disintegration of form was indeed a far cry from the rhetorical return to the “purity of Italian art” hailed by the article after the introduction of the laws for the defence of the Italian race.This was the version chosen by Marco Valsecchi for the retrospective organized a year after the painter’s death at the 1960 Venice Biennial.9 It has since been shown in numerous exhibi-tions, including those organized in Florence by Antonello Negri (2012−13)10 and Turin by Elena Pontiggia and Viviana Birolli (2016).11 R.P.

Renato Birolli Il caos

1 R. Birolli, Metamorfosi. 46 disegni, introduction by S. Bini, Milan: Campografico, 1937.

2 Sedici Taccuini di Renato Birolli. Con dieci disegni e una nota di Umbro Apollonio, Genoa: Posizione, 1943: now in Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936-1959, edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 21.

3 C. Maltese, “Cultura e realtà nella pittura di Birolli”, in Commentari, y. I, no. 1, Le Monnier, Florence, January 1950, pp. 43−49.

4 Bini continued: “I liked to think, for your happiness and painting, that I must be forgotten. But perhaps I am excluding myself for these six pages of yours as not only a pretext for the call of Milan and friends, for which you only return and write to yourself. I have begun the Mantegna and am gradually organizing the Van Gogh. His effectiveness will remain beneath it all, as subtle as our sorrow. Thank Marchiori for me. I’ll write to him soon. I’m still waiting for a reply from Giacomo. I’ll start the campaign on 1 August, perhaps with him. Meanwhile, I’m delighted with Il caos. As you see, the discourse begins and ends with painting. The geometric capacity of our friendship is understood in the extreme negative. And since everything falls within the harmony of our existence, Il caos again tested an extreme of our intelligence and flair for painting. The yellows of Van Gogh are full, hard and glowing with alchemical clarity; the dismay remains in our inability to project ourselves beyond human sense.” G. M. Erbesato (edited by), Carteggio Bini-Birolli, Neri Pozza Editore, Vicenza, 1986, p. 28.

5 F. Lanza Pietromarchi (edited by), Renato Birolli 1935, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria Dello Scudo, 18 October − 23 November 1996), Verona: Galleria dello Scudo, 1996, p. 94.

6 Renato Birolli, Giacomo Manzù in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genova, Galleria Genova, 12–18 October 1938), Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1938 (work no. 7).

7 “Tutto nulla e qualche cosa. Straniera bolscevizzante e giudaica”, in Il Tevere, y. XVII, no. 23, Rome, 24-25 November 1938, p. 1.

8 Letter from Renato Birolli to Giuseppe Marchiori of 30 November 1938; now in G. Marchiori, Z. Birolli, G. Bruno (edited by), Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July−August 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1963, p. 28.

9 XXX Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Venezia, exhibition catalogue, Venice: Stamperia di Venezia, 1960, pp. 34−41.

10 See A. Negri, S. Bignami, P. Rusconi, G. Zanchetti (edited by), Anni Trenta. Arti in Italia oltre il fascismo, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 22 September 2012 − 27 January 2013), Florence: Giunti, 2012.

11 See E. Pontiggia, V. Birolli (edited by), Renato Birolli. Figure e luoghi, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Museo Ettore Fico, 9 March 2016 − 26 June 2016), Turin: Edizioni Museo Ettore Fico, 2016.

1. Renato Birolli, Il caos (n. 2), 1937. Milan, Museo del Novecento

182 183

Renato Birolli Le signorine Rossi

16 Title Le signorine Rossi [The Misses Rossi]

Date 1938 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 100 × 120 cm bottom right: birolli 38

A philosopher of colour, Renato Birolli was “in full possession of his poetic and fantastic pow-ers, his capacity to modulate colour and make it absolute through fusion and measured ap-plication, to instil it with germinative stimuli so that it appeared to capture the imprint of things and blossom stupendously” between 1934 and 1938.1 It was also in this period, no longer very young and having acquired a certain degree of experience, that he played a key part in the newly-founded journal Vita Giovanile, later re-named Corrente di vita giovanile and then sim-ply Corrente, becoming a source of inspiration for younger artists. Added to all this was love, as 1938 saw a closer relationship with the woman who was to become his wife by the end of the year, Signorina Rosa Rossi, known to everyone simply as Ro’. She is the figure in the centre of this happy scene of everyday life. Rosa is sitting with her sisters Gianna and Rinalda, to the left of whom is their cousin Carla Rossi, who was to marry Beniamino Joppolo in 1942. The colours used are true, living and happy, and the paint-ing is “extremely gentle, far from what a black and white reproduction would suggest”.2 She is

wearing a dress of cobalt blue and a red scarf around her neck. The decoration on the right is painted in strokes of the same sea blue as he used in 1938–39 in Maschere [Masks] [W. NO. 17]. The fingers of her left hand are touching her chin and the combination of this curious pose and a serious but also engaging expression mesmer-izes the viewer. A beauty that is enigmatic but also ready to reveal itself. To do so, she not only looks towards the viewer but has also removed her hat to pose for her beloved and placed it on the tablet to the right to make up a still life. A jug, a piece of fruit on a white tablecloth and a curtain that seems intent on invading the fore-ground as a citation of Still Life with a Curtain [FIG. 2] by Cézanne that Birolli had seen on a trip to Paris in November two years earlier. “Cézanne’s painting seems to have made grand decoration impossible and even to make us be-lieve that it has never existed in art. The works of Chardin and Cézanne prompt us in looking at all other paintings to use the stratagem of isolating a section at random to see whether its figurative meaning derives from a choice of formal elements and rhythmic cadences or from internal pictorial power”.3 Cézanne’s substantial, geometric white becomes a soft tablecloth of clouds in Birolli’s work. The former’s curtain of solid material is transformed by the latter into a Matisse-like two-dimensional plane with four ob-servers peeping out, dummies, voyeurs or curi-ous spectators moulded in colour that stand out

in cold hues against a wall of vibrant red. Who are they? So precise in his depiction of the wom-en in the foreground, the painter leaves these figures as indecipherable presences in the can-vas, reflections of himself and the viewers. As Birolli wrote in 1936, “We will have innocence in expressions not dazed but of penetrating won-der, conditioned by our partiality in seeing and feeling, because the human instrument is typi-cal and distinct”.4 Wonder fills the senses of the painter, who peers in fascination at these women with their fragrance of everyday femininity, and his Ro’ alone appears to be aware of the ob-server’s artful gaze. The Misses Rossi, painted in cool hues with almost corpse-like white skin, doe not lead us back semantically to their sur-name, literally “red”, which is certainly a symbol of passion and throbbing life. But Birolli knows life, he feels it in colour, and it is precisely in red that we can perceive it gushing vital and power-ful on the walls of the room.R.P.

1 R. Tassi, “Il colore e il canto di Birolli”, in P. Vivarelli (edited by), Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo Forti and Galleria dello Scudo, 23 February – 31 March 1990), Milan: Mazzotta, 1990.

2 Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936-1959, edited by E. Emanuelli, ninth notebook until 1 December 1936, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 64.

3 Ibidem.4 Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936-1959, edited by

E. Emanuelli, second notebook, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 25.

2. Paul Cézanne, Still Life with a Curtain, 1899. St Petersburg, Ermitage

1. Renato Birolli in his studio on Piazzale Susa, Milan, with Le signorine Rossi behind him

17 Title Maschere [Masks] Date 1938−39 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 63 × 77.5 cm bottom left: Birolli 38

While Renato Birolli drew on the iconogra-phy of the mask as from the early thirties, it is Maschere, conceived at the end of 1938, that constitutes the most interesting, pondered and “hallucinatory”1 episode in the series. In announcing his immediate plans in a letter of 30 December 1938 to Giuseppe Marchiori, he spoke of starting work on a painting of masks “borne by the wind over the tops of two bare trees of cerulean purple against an olive-green sky. For the masks I want a pale yellow that is hard to distinguish at first”.2 With its deliberate symbolism, the painting was clearly influenced by the work of Ensor, an ex-plicit reference to which was published in 1941 among the writings chosen for the monograph by Sandro Bini: “We often find a yellow or deep blue on his brush and feel that there is no medi-ation between those colours and our temptation. Do we check whether they contain an irremedi-able form among so many remedies of indolent expertise? (Ensor’s ‘masks’ are born like that. All the others, including mine, are literature or ob-jects)”.3 As Birolli wrote to Marchiori, his inten-tion in this work was “to provide food for thought, to stimulate and revitalize the spirit”.4 The four masks represent “the faces of the eternal human comedy, grotesque, hypocritical figures” and al-lude to the falsity and duplicity of contemporary events in Italy.5 Birolli’s vision does not, however, appear to be embittered. The “roaming” of the masks over the plain is a gradual descent, a fall, suggesting that falsehood too can be unmasked. The atmosphere is lightened and made lyrical also by the choice of colours modulated “on the elegiac notes of blues and greens”.6

Painted for the collector Pietro Feroldi7 from

Brescia, to whom it was given on 31 January 1939,8 the work must already have been sold by 1941 to Emilio Jesi, as indicated by the refer-ence in the monograph published the same year by Corrente to the “Raccolta della Lanterna” in Genoa, the public name used by the Jesi family for their collection because of the racial laws.9 It was first shown in a group exhibition at the Galleria dell’Annunciata in 1972, as attested by a label still attached to the back.10

R.P.

184 185

Renato Birolli Maschere

1 G. Ballo, Pittori italiani dal futurismo ad oggi, Rome: Edizioni Mediterranee, 1956, p. 184.

2 Letter from Renato Birolli to Giuseppe Marchiori; now in G. Marchiori, Z. Birolli, F. Bruno (edited by), Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July−August 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1963, pp. 26−27. The letter also establishes that the work was certainly painted between 30 December 1938 and 31 January 1939, when it entered the Feroldi collection. The date 1937 was instead given in the first monograph on the artist: Sandro Bini, Renato Birolli. Trenta tavole in nero, una a colori e cinque disegni, Milan: Edizioni di Corrente, 1941, pp. 98−99.

3 S. Bini, Renato Birolli, cit., 1941, pp. 57−60.4 G. Marchiori, Z. Birolli, F. Bruno (edited by), Renato

Birolli, cit., 1963.5 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited

by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 224.

6 Ibidem.7 As confirmed by Marchiori in Renato Birolli, cit.,

1963, p. 28. The collection of Pietro Feroldi was unanimously recognized in the thirties as providing a significant and indeed crucial overview of Italian painting after 1910 and had already been shown at the Galleria del Milione in 1933−34). See “Mostra Protesta del Collezionista”, in Bollettino della Galleria del Milione, no. 20, Milan: Galleria del Milione, 1933. See also G. Piovene (edited by), La raccolta Feroldi, Edizioni del Milione, Milan, 1942.

8 G. Marchiori, “L’avventura di Birolli”, in G. Marchiori, Z. Birolli, F. Bruno (edited by), Renato Birolli, cit., 1963, p. 28.

9 See S. Bini, Renato Birolli, cit., 1941.10 “Galleria Annunciata – Milano; Autore: Renato

Birolli; Titolo: Maschere; N.: 26184; T.: olio; F.: 79 x 65”. The reference to the exhibition of 1972 was established by research in the archives of the Galleria Annunciata.

186 187

Renato Birolli Paese a Monluè Gineceo

1 Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936-1959, edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 112.

2 Ibidem, p. 101.3 P. Rusconi, Eldorado, Dossier n. 3, Milan: Skira,

2000, p. 5.4 Ibidem.5 G. M. Erbesato (edited by), Carteggio Bini-Birolli,

Vicenza: Neri Pozza, 1986, p. 14.6 R. Tassi, “Il colore e il canto di Birolli”, in P. Vivarelli

(edited by), Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 30 September − 12 November 1989), Milan: Mazzotta, 1989, p. 27.

7 Renato Birolli, Taccuini 1936-1959, cit., 1960, p. 64.

18 Title Paese a Monluè [Landscape at Monluè]

Date 1939 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65 × 70 cm bottom left: 39. Birolli verso: 18v Title Gineceo [Gynaeceum] Date 1934 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 70 × 65 cm bottom left: R. Birolli 1934

“I am constantly compared to what surrounds me but do not realize that my colour also changes. I advance into the countryside. Its green is now of a different nature. I think I will be green too”.1 One side of this canvas presents Gineceo (1934) and the other Paese a Monluè (1939). The subject of the gynaeceum, a section of a house used exclu-sively as women’s quarters in ancient Greece, was addressed repeatedly by Birolli in both oils and pastel between 1933 and 1935. These two works document the painter’s transformation, his great-er awareness of his art and above all the power of colour. His acquaintance and then friendship with Edoardo Persico, contact with Antonio Banfi, pro-fessor of history of philosophy at Milan University as from 1931, and collaboration with Carlo Carrà for the periodical L’Ambrosiano, where he worked as from the early thirties, all led him to break away

completely from the dictates of the Novecento movement. Birolli studied and absorbed the work of Ensor and Van Gogh as well as the subject matter of neoclassical masters like Delacroix and Ingres, such as the harem. While the latter pre-sented sensual, ivory-skinned women in closed rooms, however, Birolli revolutionized the han-dling of the theme with darting, radiant bodies in an earthly paradise, thus looking forward to the subject of his great masterpiece L’età felice [The Age of Happiness], 1936. As Testori commented in an article of December 1942 in the periodical Pattuglia: “Magic begins to seep with unbeara-ble artfulness into his chromatic ardour. Magic of colour, attempted precisely as for an amorous op-eration required to establish the exact realization of the objects’ dreamed-of fate, can thus readily be identified in Tassì rosso [Red Taxi] [W. NO. 11] and Città degli studi [Città degli Studi, the Milan University District] [W. NO. 12], both 1932, or the Gineceo [Gynaeceum] of 1933, where a gentle moon calms the frenzy of the lost women.” This is the same nocturnal gynaeceum. As is known from the artist’s notebooks, one day in 1942 he “got rid of the remaining work of the last decade, taking over sixty canvases off their stretchers and soaking them for reuse”.2 Birolli destroyed the works that he regarded as no longer in line with his artistic vision and therefore not worthy to exist. In the light of this, it is surprising that he did not dissolve these nudes in water but simply turned

the canvas round to paint something else. Monluè was an old hamlet on the outskirts of Milan by the church of San Lorenzo, which could then be reached on the number 35 tram and maintained a rustic character.3 The landscape shows bushes, a road and a low wall in the foreground and a path running past a farmhouse in the background. In this rural area, the course of the river Lambro “was deviated by a large dam and forced to drop into a deep pool that expanded to form a small artificial lake with a sort of beach”.4 Frequented in the summer months by Milanese factory and of-fice workers, this spot had already been depicted by Birolli in Eldorado (1935), where some of the nudes from Gineceo reappear in the lower sec-tion. There is a glaring difference between the two works. While an atmosphere of fable and Testori’s magic can still be seen in 1935, there is a marked change four years later. “In Monluè, when spring sings its song, we will drink again, immediately, immediately”.5 Birolli wrote these words in a letter to his friend Sandro Bini from the San Vittore pen-itentiary in Milan, where he had been imprisoned for political reasons. On the one hand, the artist’s political, social and private life all influenced his work. On the other, 1936 saw the publication of a key work not only for art criticism but also for Birolli’s art, namely Cézanne. Son art – Son œuvre

by Lionello Venturi. “Cézanne was regarded as a precursor of Cubism and no one understood how the subversive revolution of colour could come from him. Birolli sensed, however, perhaps still obscurely, the great power and the great in-novation of the relationship between colour and structure”.6 Birolli studied not only the master’s geometry but also his tonality: “he mixes light and dark ochres, perhaps with a bit of black and white or white and cobalt blue, because I see a diffuse slivery tonality. Extremely gentle painting, a far cry from what black and white would suggest”.7

The provenance of the work from the collection of Ernesto Treccani provides confirmation of the very close ties between Birolli and the founder of Vita giovanile in the second half of the thirties.R.P.

1. Bathers at Monluè, period photograph18v

19 Title Signora col cappello [Lady in a Hat] Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 84 × 57 cm top left: 41. Birolli

“It is necessary to find the dimension of the painting, which is the possible dimension of that black”,1 notes Renato Birolli. “Black (good if derived from charcoal but not necessary, as it can be imitated by mixing yellow, red and blue). Steer clear of asphalt. I am not afraid of working on many figures rather than a series of objects, equating the terms solely as a matter of colour”.2 This is the colour Birolli used to the full, leaving no room for drawing, to paint this portrait of the pianist Enrica Cavallo. The face has a stern expression. The small black eyes are grim, almost cartoon-like, especially because of the curved left eyebrow. The nose is barely suggested and the fleshy mouth is sulky. “The head ivory and the background pale yellow with iridescent streaks of cobalt green. The setting is such an unusual mixture that it is hard for the ivory to remain within the confines of the head. I understand how colours can force a painter’s hand and drive him to generalize the model for an effect to relish. The lure of pure decoration is always knocking at the door”.3 Careful not to lapse into decoration, Birolli encloses the yellow ochre body in a fine black dress with the edges of a white slip showing. With her elbow on the back of the chair, her hands almost joined, pink nail varnish and a golden bracelet, the woman is sitting with her legs crossed of a chair whose green colour recalls Birolli’s Ragazzo con l’aquilone [Boy with a Kite], 1943 [FIG. 2]. She wears a black hat, something Birolli considers in his notebook of July 1941 in connection with De Chirico’s self-portrait in a turban4 [FIG. 1]. “Let it be said straight away that various conditions are required to wear a hat of any kind or nature. Here are some of them. First, the right head for a hat. Second, a belief in that hat. Third, the conviction that it makes you look better. Fourth, really looking better. Fifth, it must be a real hat, one that rests naturally on the head, because if the hat is right but does not sit right on the head, it means that the head is wrong (painting in rela-tion to an object at the expense of the remaining figurative wealth). And then, if the hat is exotic or out of fashion, it does not matter whether the artist suffers at least the wonder of the relations, it does not matter whether a sentiment takes it upon itself to illustrate our need for madness or shelter from poverty. As in Rembrandt”.5 Lying on the table in the background is a pink rose with

a slender green stem that recalls Mafai, another talented young artist, who wrote as follows in his diary: “[...] If I paint those flowers as withered, it is not out of regret. The regret begins when they are still fresh and inevitably die and wither little by little.” The rose also appears to shed light on the slightly ambiguous friendship between the artist and his model, who wrote to him as fol-lows: “I was very happy when you started the second portrait in the spring. It was a tacit rec-onciliation that did me good. It is wonderful to be always in harmony with the beings that live in our spiritual world [...] Then you stopped work on your painting and I felt that I was of no more use to your art [...] It is not art that must serve but I that must serve art, and in posing I was happy to be useful to you, like the green vase, like the sunflowers, like all the objects in your ‘theatre’, certain that I did not inspire you in the ordinary sense, that I did not influence your art through values extraneous to it, but was simply an ‘object’ a combination of lines and colours that could help you, very directly, in your crea-tive work. I would so like to become once again a pure object for you and your painting and suf-fer only because I can do nothing about it”.6 The work was shown in 1941 at the Bergamo Prize, where it was bought by the collector Emilio Jesi, who wrote as follows: “Dear Renato, I am just back from Bergamo and hasten to give you briefly my impressions. The jury wanted a show at an emotional level reminiscent of sugared wa-ter (Farinacci intervened with Bottai to approve and purchase a painting by Lilloni) [...] The priz-es were certainly not awarded justly, as always there were factors and compromises in play that have nothing to do with art [...] The first prize should have gone to you, as you presented the three works of greatest merit. We’ll talk about this later [...] The lesser prizes were awarded for works that were either insignificant or deserved better (as in the case of Menzio) in such a way as to justify the indignation of all honourable people (and there are many in Bergamo) for your exclusion. In any case, I had the impres-sion that you cannot be awarded a prize [...] The portrait [of Enrica Cavallo] is the most absolute and complete of the three works and I am very happy to possess it. You should, however, have another look at the face (more uncertain than other parts and perhaps slightly cold) and the hands, which are overdrawn. Conclusion: I have great esteem and great friendship for Birolli and can therefore end by telling him that his art will be really great when he learns (as he certainly will) to sacrifice a bit of intelligence to love”.7 R.P.

188 189

Renato Birolli Signora col cappello

1 Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936-1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, p. 104.

2 Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936-1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, notebook of 12 July 1941, p. 82.

3 Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936-1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, notebook 11, p. 74.

4 Exhibited at I mostra della Nazione, Florence, February 1940.

4 De Chirico, Autoritratto con turbante, 1954, oil on canvas, 24.8 × 19.7 cm.

5 Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936-1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Einaudi, 1960, notebook of 12 July 1941, p. 81.

6 Florence, Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G. P. Vieusseux, Archivio Contemporaneo Alessandro Bonsanti, correspondence Renato Birolli – pianist Enrica Cavallo, 23 October 1942. Fondo Renato e Rosa Birolli, RB.I.106.3.

7 Florence, Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G.P. Vieusseux, Archivio Contemporaneo Alessandro Bonsanti, correspondence Renato Birolli –a Emilio Jesi, 15 September 1941, 00.45 hours. Fondo Renato e Rosa Birolli, RB.I.253.6.

2. Renato Birolli, Ragazzo con aquilone, 1943

1. Giorgio de Chirico, Autoritratto con turbante indiano, circa 1938. Location unknown

20 Title Marina [Seascape] Date 1929 Technique oil on cardboard Dimensions 33 × 34 cm bottom left: [Jessie] Boswell

Jessie Boswell painted this seascape in 1929, a key year in her artistic career that also saw par-ticipation in the first show of the Six Painters of Turin at the Casa d’Arte Guglielmi in January fol-lowed by their exhibitions in Genoa and Milan. The artist took part in the group — from which she broke away in 1930, a year before it dis-solved — with an artistic culture developed first in her native England and then in the studios of Felice Casorati and Mario Micheletti in Turin. In her case, the responsiveness to European in-fluences that characterized the Six focused on the British naturalistic painting of Walter Richard Sickert and Spencer Gore (whose influence can be seen in the play of light in her interiors) as well as French Impressionism, known through shows at the Durand-Ruel gallery in London.1 This painting appears to display the influence of Monet’s seascapes, albeit filtered through her own pictorial sensibility. The impression of a view dominated by the natural element is ren-dered through thick brushstrokes and dabs of paint, the cold hues of the sea being softened by the earthen colours of the cliff. The work also displays a certain affinity with the equally intimist and tonal paintings on the same subject produced in 1928 by Nicola Galante, a future

member of the Six. It is, however, distinguished by the original choice of a downward view that eliminates the sky from the composition, almost as though to plunge into the depths of the sea. The painting entered the Iannaccone collection in 2014 with an essentially Turinese history of provenance and was included in the exhibition I Sei Pittori di Torino 1929–1931, organized by Mirella Bandini to mark the 70th anniversary of the Six’s first show.2 Two labels on the back of the work attest to its appearance in two other re-cent exhibitions held in Turin, one in 2004 at the Galleria del Ponte3 and the first show exclusively devoted to Boswell’s work held five years later at the Sala Bolaffi.4 A.A.

190 191

Jessie Boswell Marina

1 M. Bandini, “I Sei di Torino: un impegno civile, una cultura europea”, in M. Bandini (edited by), I Sei pittori di Torino 1929-1930, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Mole Antonelliana, 6 May − 4 July 1993), Milan: Fabbri Editori, 1993, pp. 26−27.

2 See M. Bandini (edited by), I Sei Pittori di Torino 1929-1931, exhibition catalogue (Aosta, Museo Archeologico Regionale, 24 April − 4 July 1999), Quart: Musumeci, 1999. Marina was also shown the same year at the Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio in Bra; see M. Bandini, L. Riccio (edited by), Boswell, Chessa, Galante, Levi, Menzio, Paulucci. Opere dal 1924 al 1973, exhibition catalogue, Bra: Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio, 1999.

3 See S. Testa (edited by), I Sei di Torino. Per i quindici anni della Galleria del Ponte, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Il Ponte, 7 May − 26 June 2004), Turin: Galleria Il Ponte, 2004.

4 See I. Mulatero (edited by), Jessie Boswell, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Sala Bolaffi, 17 March − 10 May 2009), Turin: Bolaffi, 2009.

192 193

Luigi Broggini Testa di ragazzo

21 Title Testa di ragazzo [Boy’s Head] Date 1932−35 Technique bronze sculpture Dimensions 28 × 17 × 20 cm on the neck: 932 Broggini

After attending the lessons of Adolfo Wildt at the Accademia di Brera, Luigi Broggini reacted against the classicism of the Novecento group and looked elsewhere. Testa di ragazzo is a key work of this period. The child’s stark expression of wonder conjures up an archaic world, recall-ing both the Louvre Seated Scribe1 and certain works of Etruscan sculpture in a rereading of pre-classical Mediterranean culture. In this re-turn to archaism, the sculptor shares the prim-itivism of the Chiaristi, prompted by friendship with Edoardo Persico. The realistic accentua-tion of the ears saves the face from immobile nobility, however, making it closer to us, more human and contemporary.2 The image suggest-ed is that of a late nineteenth-century street ur-chin in the Lombardy of the late Scapigliatura movement inspired by the models of Medardo Rosso. The date 1932 on the neck of the figure suggests some ambiguity as to the time of exe-cution, as Alfonso Gatto gives its date as 1935.3 Broggini probably began work on it in 1932 and then took it up again a few years later, given that the initial version in plaster was first shown at the 1937 VIII Mostra del Sindacato interprovin-ciale fascista di Belle Arti di Milano [Exhibition of the Fascist Union of Fine Arts in Milan]4 and then in 1941, first in the solo show at the Bottega di Corrente5 and then at the Galleria Genova in a joint show with Italo Valenti.6 There are two ver-sions in bronze of this work which is considered the most published of Broggini, one bought by the Galleria d’Arte Moderna of Milan after the above exhibition7 while the other remained in

Broggini’s studio until his death or at least until the seventies, as shown by some photographs [FIG. 1],8 and was then inherited by his son and sold to the Iannaccone collection. Broggini nev-er took an active part in the Corrente group or regarded himself as a member even though he did show work in its second exhibition, held in December 1939.9 As Emilio Radius wrote in his review, “Broggini, a singular sculptor with an original personality and eccentric temperament, belongs more to himself than to the Corrente group, of which he is simply a guest”.10

R.P.

1 As pointed out by Elena Pontiggia in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Broggini e il suo tempo, Uno scultore nell’Italia degli anni ‘30 tra chiarismo e Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Civitanova Marche Alta, church of Sant’Agostino, 5 July − 27 September 1998), Milan: Skira, 1998, p. 46. Broggini saw the work in Paris during his stay of 1929−1930: “[...] let us return to the primary reason that led me to Paris, namely its modern painting. Italy has a way of believing wonders about people and things from other countries that is something really peculiar. One hundred are ready to confirm what has actually been seen and accredited by one. As one of this hundred, I arrived there with my head full of Picasso, Matisse and Braque but was glad after a bit to end up in the Louvre. Let me explain. Apart from Utrillo, Picasso and company all let me down, some more, some less, to the point that I no longer felt able to swear by them on looking at their works […] In short, I went to Paris enchanted by them and returned disenchanted, sure that I now have more faith in Corot than Picasso, in Rodin than Maillol. (It may have been like that before too, but I would never have admitted it to myself.)” L. Broggini, in Stagioni, Bollettino della Galleria Santo Spirito, Milan, March 1947; now in E. Pontiggia, Broggini e il suo tempo, cit., 1998, p. 153.

2 E. Pontiggia, in Broggini e il suo tempo, cit., 1998.3 A. Gatto, Luigi Broggini, Milan: Edizioni del Milione,

1940, [pl. 30]; published also in the edition of 1944, pl. 22.

4 See VIII Mostra del Sindacato interprovinciale fascista di Belle Arti, exhibition catalogue (Milan, 13 February − 14 March 1937), room XII, work no. 209, p. 49. Piero Torriano expressed some

reservations about the work, which he described as “irresolute in style” but also “animated by effective expression” (P. Torriano, “La mostra del Sindacato”, in L’Illustrazione italiana, y. LXIV, no. 9, Milan, 28 February 1937, pp. 218−19), while Attilio Podestà praised its “formal purity” and “lofty spirituality” (A. Podestà, “VIII Mostra del Sindacato Interprovinciale Fascista di Belle Arti”, in Il Secolo XIX, Genoa, 13 March 1937). This version of Testa di ragazzo, now in a private collection, presents some cracks on the nose, ears and neck. For a comparison of the plaster and the bronzes, see Broggini e il suo tempo, cit., 1998, pp. 46−47.

5 See A. Gatto (edited by), Luigi Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 5−17 April 1941), Milan: Edizioni di Corrente, 1941, work no. 10.

6 See A. Gatto (edited by), Luigi Broggini e Italo Valenti in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova, 15−28 May 1941), Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1941, work no. 5. A photograph of the sculpture appears on the inside front cover. Attention was drawn to the work on that occasion also by Attilio Podestà, who published a photograph in Emporium (A. Podestà, “Luigi Broggini e Italo Valenti”, in Emporium, y. XLVII, no. 9, Bergamo, September 1941, p. 141), and by Giovanni Testori, who described it as “perhaps the finest of the series of portraits by virtue of the drive for serenity and light found in the expression and the head as a whole, which is constructed with a firmness that is truly rare in Broggini.” (G. Testore [Testori], “Lo scultore Broggini”, in Via Consolare, no. 5, May 1941, p. 6). The bronze was recently exhibited in Milan at the exhibition Il Chiarismo: omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milano negli anni Trenta (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June − 5 September 2010), catalogue edited by E. Pontiggia, Milan: Skira, 2010.

7 See. L. Caramel, C. Pirovano (edited by), Galleria d’Arte Moderna. Padiglione d’Arte Contemporanea, Milan: Electa, 1973, p. 15. The gallery had already bought Broggini’s La Vittoria (1933), a work in polychromatic plaster, the year before, which is indicative of the interest in his work among contemporary critics.

8 See the photograph of the artist’s studio in Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria delle Ore), edited by A. Gatto, Milan: Edizioni delle Ore, 1977.

9 On this occasion, Broggini presented Ragazza allo specchio (Ragazza al sole); see G. Piovene, in Corriere della Sera, y. 64, no. 290, Milan, 7 December 1939, p. 3.

10 E. Radius, “Artisti che espongono. Luigi Broggini”, in Corriere della Sera, y. 66, no. 92, Milan, 17 April 1941, p. 3.

1. The artist’s studio with the sculpture now in the Iannaccone collection visible in the background

2. Detail of the inside front cover of the catalogue Luigi Broggini e Italo Valenti in una mostra nelle nostre sale, Galleria Genova

3. Cover of the catalogue of the exhibition Luigi Broggini at Ernesto Treccani’s Corrente Bottega degli artisti

22 Title Ballerina Date 1938

Technique bronze sculpture Dimensions 32 × 19 × 17 cm on the base: Broggini

The small bronze Ballerina is one of the series of female dancers and figures produced by the sculptor Luigi Broggini as from the second half of the thirties. The study of the ballerina in movement, a subject explored in depth in the figurative arts, demonstrates his interest in the dynamism of poses, the surface of the material sculpted and effects of light. Broggini sought to complete the path taken by Medardo Rosso at the turn of the century by pursuing a form of Impressionism in keeping with the new cul-tural context of his day. The airy ballerinas of Edgar Degas that Broggini studied in Paris in the early thirties thus lost their proverbial bal-ance in clumsy, precarious poses and their skin became a rough, uneven patina: “Broggini pro-ceeds through successive castings, through rivulets and veils of matter that transform the smoothness of the skin into a rugged terrain that is simultaneously vulnerable and sensu-al”.1 This dynamic effect offers the sculptor an interplay of matter and light enabling him to ex-amine the human body as a whole, externally moulding its internal fragility and vulnerabil-ity. The expressionism attained in this period by his modelling, characterized by an “an-ti-graceful” alternation of forms and hollows,

found favour with contemporary critics such as Guido Piovene, who wrote as follows about his nudes: “The author delights in working on the surface with the slightest of distortions, al-most like a gleaming, whimsical iridescence”.2 And Giulio Trasanna: “Woe betide us and him if it were smoothness and mass that pleased him [...] Only the facile develop normal syn-taxes devoid of quick, problematic accents”.3 The influence of his Roman period lingers on in this period, especially in the study of poses, so that Broggini’s ballerinas were described as “modern maenads”: “[...] While the subject im-mediately brings Degas to mind, there are also Dionysian echoes in these works. It is no coin-cidence that a version again produced in 1938 should show a ballerina playing a pipe, some-thing unthinkable in the dancers of Degas but fully in line with the idea of vital, dithyrambic dance suggested by Broggini in his works”.4 Elena Pontiggia also discerns an almost ex-plicit reference to the child seeking to escape from the serpent’s coils to his father’s right in the renowned Laocoonte [Laocoön] [FIG. 1].5 The sculptor did in fact produce numerous drawings based on that classical sculpture. The existence of different versions of this work, all bearing the same title Ballerina and dating from the period 1938−39, makes it impossi-ble, in the absence of photographs of the time, to identify those that were actually exhibited to the public. It is, however, certain that the bronze in the Iannaccone collection, formerly

part of the artist’s own collection, was includ-ed in the Corrente retrospective organized by Marco Valsecchi in Milan in 1963.6 It also ap-peared recently in the exhibition L’artista, il po-eta at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.7

It is interesting to note that Broggini’s work in some way looks forward to that of the young contemporary artist Banksy, who draws on pe-riod images to present a further evolution of his ungainly ballerina standing in a gas mask on a heap of rubble [FIG. 2].R.P.

194 195

Luigi Broggini Ballerina

1 E. Pontiggia, “Luigi Broggini. Vitalizzare la materia”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Broggini e il suo tempo. Uno scultore nell’Italia degli anni ’30 tra chiarismo e Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Civitanova Marche Alta, church of Sant’Agostino, 5 July − 27 September 1998, Milan: Skira, 1998,

pp. 11−23.2 G. Piovene, “Artisti che espongono. Broggini”,

in Corriere della Sera, y. 65, no. 52, Milan, 29 February 1940, p. 3.

3 G. Trasanna, “Broggini”, in Augustea, y. XV, no. 9, Rome, 15 March 1940, p. 7.

4 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 222.

5 Ibidem.6 See M. Valsecchi (edited by), Gli artisti di

“Corrente”, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 25 September − 20 October 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1963.

7 See F. Gualdoni, A. Pellegatta (edited by), L’artista, il poeta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 12 November 2010 − 9 January 2011), Milan: Skira, 2011.

2. Banksy, Ballerina with Action Man Parts, 2005. Milan, Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone

1. Laocoonte, second century b.C., detail. Vatican City, Musei Vaticani

196 197

Luigi Broggini Figura al sole

23 Title Figura al sole [Figure in the Sun] Date 1938−39 Technique bronze sculpture Dimensions 43.5 × 29 × 13 cm on the base: Broggini

The second half of the thirties saw Luigi Broggini move away from the Novecento sculptural ap-proach of classicism and volumetric synthe-sis and towards a rugged, hollowed out kind of modelling influenced by the Impressionist work of Degas and Aristide Maillol, itself de-rived from Matisse, and the Lombard school of Medardo Rosso. “The initial temptation is to speak of French Impressionism, but this is in fact something substantially different from Impressionist sculpture. Here light does not cleanse and only consumes the surfaces. It even determines the skeleton of the statue, out-lined in space with the sudden speed of a flash of lightning. The valiant, dynamic form of his female nudes, bathers or dancers, manifests itself like the crack of a whip, more chromatic than physical, coloured with its own luminosi-ty”.1 Alfonso Gatto, who had met Broggini and the circle of poet friends — including Salvatore Quasimodo, Raffaele Carrieri and Leonardo Sinisgalli — through Domenico Cantatore and was now his most faithful critic, commented on his personal room at the Venice Biennial two years later: “I believe that visitors to this Biennial will be surprised by their encounter with Broggini’s sculptures, still ‘natural’ with-out naturalism and ‘real’ without realism, tak-ing them into a story and the act of being and doing”.2 The artist’s reserved and observant nature, traits abundantly confirmed by friends, emerges in this bronze, which physically cap-tures an instant of stolen intimacy of a young

woman, whose realistic hat suggests agricul-tural work, a moment of everyday naturalness in the heat of the sun, of abandonment in a ges-ture that brings the viewer “into the story”3 of this figure. “The impulsive action is as though blocked in a sort of silent stupor, the stupor of the figure on beholding herself but also — and the fact that the work has always had two ti-tles is indicative — wonder at the splendour of the sun, which Broggini represents indirect-ly, leaving it to be sensed through the light in which the figure is bathed”.4 The plaster cast of the work was shown in the second Corrente exhibition, held at the Galleria Grande, Milan, in December 1939, where it was listed in the catalogue as Ragazza allo specchio [Young Woman at the Mirror]. The bronze was owned by the artist and left to his son before entering the collection of Antonio Stellatelli, where it re-mained until it was bought for the Iannaccone collection in 2010. It recently appeared in the exhibition Corrente. Le parole della vita. Opere 1930-1945 at Palazzo Reale in Milan.5

C.T.

1 M. Valsecchi, “I nervi delle donne scolpite da Broggini”, in Tempo, 15 April 1954; quoted in L. Cavallo, “Luigi Broggini, itinerario critico”, in Luigi Broggini opere 1929-1945, Milan: Edizioni Galleria il Mappamondo, 1990, p. 24.

2 A. Gatto (edited by), Broggini, Milan: Edizioni delle Ore, 1977, n.p.n.

3 Ibidem.4 E. Pontiggia (edited by), Broggini e il suo tempo.

Uno scultore nell’Italia degli anni ’30 tra chiarismo e Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Civitanova Marche Alta, church of Sant’Agostino, 5 July − 27 September 1998), Milan: Skira, 1998, p. 68.

5 See M. Pizziolo (edited by), Corrente. Le parole della vita. Opere 1930-1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 June − 7 September 2008), Milan: Skira, 2008.

198 199

Luigi Broggini Paesaggio romano con figura sdraiata Paesaggio romano con statua di Nettuno Donna che allaccia la calza

24 Title Paesaggio romano con figura sdraiata [Roman Landscape with Reclining Figure]

Date 1932 Technique ink wash on paper Dimensions 330 × 240 mm bottom left: Roma 1932 Broggini 25 Title Paesaggio romano con statua

di Nettuno [Roman Landscape with Statue of Neptune]

Date 1933 Technique ink wash on paper Dimensions 320 × 220 mm bottom left: Broggini Roma 193326 Title Donna che allaccia la calza

[Woman Fastening her Stocking] Date 1937 Technique pencil and wash Dimensions 350 × 250 mm bottom right: Broggini 1937

After his trip to Paris, the second experience of the early thirties to influence Luigi Broggini’s work and iconography was a two-year stay in Rome (1931−32) on a grant awarded by the Tantardini Prize.1 Drawing was the technique on which the sculptor concentrated in that period in order to capture his fleeting impressions of the numerous visual stimuli of the capital, from the squares and alleyways to the classical works and the Baroque legacy. “I drew everything that filtered through my imagination, seeking the most natural of transpositions for that wonder-ful scene. Monuments, churches and buildings were the subjects of these illustrations, but above all it was the sky of Rome that aroused in me the heady desire for fabulous drawings, a sky that always seemed red to me”.2 While the quick, terse lines, amplified by the use of ink, mostly red and black, recall Scipione,3 the

author’s hand is obviously guided by the sculp-tor’s eye, a vision subsequently translated into the dynamism and fluidity of the future works in terracotta. The drawings in the Iannaccone col-lection address one of the sculptor’s favourite subjects, namely the reclining nude, in a pose recalling the celebrated Paolina Bonaparte of Antonio Canova [FIG. 2].4 The Paesaggio romano con statua di Nettuno (1933) in particular would suggest that Broggini spent a longer period in Rome than that of his grant. Another possibility, put forward by Elena Pontiggia, is that the draw-ing was produced later precisely because the artist was interested “not in direct vision but in fanciful memory”.5 The third drawing, Donna che allaccia la calza (1937), is based on the bronze of that name produced by the artist the previous year [FIG. 1]. Broggini concentrated in particular on the nude, displaying an interest in drawing not only monumental views of Rome but also the intimacy of certain closed places animated by female profiles, whose transposition into plastic art suggests in the rough and corroded physical-ity of bronze the enticing female sensuality only hinted at on paper. “All or nearly all of Broggini’s drawings represent a closed, intimate place, a room where quick, pale nudes are apparitions, flashes of light in the enveloping shadow. The intimate tone is, however, always turned into the sharpness and almost pitilessness of an incisive, piercing line that appears to caress the forms while it imposes an impetus on the features of a face and the folds of a body that brings them to the most immediate actuality of lived experi-ence”.6 Highly esteemed by Bruno Grossetti, Broggini’s Roman drawings were presented for the first time in a show at the Galleria Annunciata in 1957 featuring twenty-three sheets from his Taccuino di Roma.7 Raffaele Carrieri displayed great enthusiasm in his review for Epoca:8 “The

pen suggests colour as it makes and unmakes this sky. The stroke has a turbulent energy of its own. Some drawings are impromptu and do not go beyond the jotted note. A current of electric-ity circulates, however, even in the most mod-est, the smell of a short-circuit. It is clearly the drawing of a sculptor. The statues of Rome catch fire on contact with the air, the black blots of the equestrian compositions spread out, squashed flat by a constantly simmering atmosphere”.9

R.P.

1 The prize of 10,000 lire was awarded to him by a jury made up of Carlo Carrà, Giovanni Marchini (who had become his teacher after the death of Wildt), Mario Sironi, Romano Romanelli and Giorgio Nicodemi, superintendent of the department of fine arts, for L’acquaiola, a statue for a fountain.

2 L. Broggini, “Viaggio a Roma”, in Bollettino dell’Annunciata, no. 26, Milan, 8−21 June 1957.

3 Giovanni Anzani described Broggini’s drawings as “singularly Scipionesque” in “Dissenso e opposizione nella cultura figurativa milanese degli anni Trenta”, in M. De Micheli (edited by), Corrente. Il Movimento di Arte e Cultura di Opposizione 1930-1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 25 January − 28 April 1985), Milan: Vangelista, 1985, p. 36.

4 E. Pontiggia (edited by), Broggini e il suo tempo. Uno scultore nell’Italia degli anni ’30 tra chiarismo e Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Civitanova Marche Alta, church of Sant’Agostino, 5 July − 27 September 1998), Milan: Skira, 1998, p. 32.

5 Ibidem. 6 L. Cavallo, “Luigi Broggini, itinerario critico”,

in Luigi Broggini opere 1929-1945, Milan: Edizioni Galleria Il Mappamondo, 1990, p. 17.

7 Bollettino dell’Annunciata, cit., 1957.8 “It must have been the efforts of Grossetti that

brought the fifty drawings exhibited at the Galleria dell’Annunciata to light from Broggini’s well-hidden portfolios. They are divided into two sets: one comprising 23 drawings from a Roman sketchbook (1932−33) and the other a series of nudes drawn and coloured with a wash (1942−44). I do not recall seeing a single sheet from the Rome sketchbook in the various shows of Broggini’s work.” R. Carrieri, “Broggini ha aperto il ‘taccuino di Roma’”, in Epoca, y. VIII, no. 352, Milan, 30 June 1957, [p. 91].

9 Ibidem.

1. Luigi Broggini, Donna che allaccia la calza, 1937–38. Milan, private collection

2. Antonio Canova, Paolina Bonaparte, 1805–08. Rome, Galleria Borghese

26

200 201

Bruno Cassinari Ritratto di Ernesto Treccani

27 Title Ritratto di Ernesto Treccani [Portrait of Ernesto Treccani]

Date 1941 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 60 × 45 cm bottom right: cassinari 41

Portraiture was one of the genres most explored by Bruno Cassinari, from his youthful years at the Accademia di Brera to the early forties, when the difficulties of the war reduced his iconogra-phy to a state of “extreme simplicity”.1 Rather than “sociological representation”, he was inter-ested in capturing the “singularity of the impact with the individuality of the subject”.2 It is no co-incidence that he always painted people close to him, as in the case of this portrait of Ernesto Treccani,3 where the artist intimately examines the expressive face and gaze of his young friend through a deft construction of space and vol-ume obtained by “underscoring the horizontal and vertical axes”.4 His solid and unadorned vo-cabulary took on a personal note in this period, especially through the choice of colours that are never glaring. The colour becomes livid here in places, attenuating the ashen hue of the face and bringing out the subject’s melancholy frame of mind. Cassinari had finished the portrait by February 1941, when a solo show was held at the Bottega di Corrente with a presentation by Elio Vittorini.5

R.P.

1 C. Pirovano, Cassinari, Milan: Electa, 1969, pp. 6−8.2 E. Crispolti, “Caratteristiche e componenti di

un immaginario pittorico”, in Cassinari, Milan: Mondadori, 1986, pp. 15−38.

3 See also the coeval portraits Ritratto di Rosetta and Ritratto di Morlotti.

4 C. Pirovano, Cassinari, cit., 1969. 5 E. Vittorini, in Bruno Cassinari, exhibition catalogue

(Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 8−20 February 1941), Milan: Edizioni di Corrente, 1941. The work recently appeared in the exhibition Gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre, held in Milan; see L. Sansone (edited by), Gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Fondazione Stelline, 24 February − 22 May 2016), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2016.

202 203

Gigi Chessa Nudo

28 Title Nudo [Nude] Date 1934 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65.7 × 50.5 cm bottom left: “Chessa 1934. Agli amici Aloisio con migliori auguri Gigi Chessa”

Together with Jessie Boswell, Nicola Galante, Carlo Levi, Francesco Menzio and Enrico Paulucci, Gigi Chessa formed part of an extraor-dinary group of artists that revitalized the Turin art scene during the interwar years, a pictorial constellation that developed influences from northern Europe and post-Impressionist paint-ing to produce works that were wholly origi-nal and unique in Italian art. Chessa fell into a state of deep artistic crisis in the thirties, when it was “the thickness, the objective density of painting, that he felt escaping him”.1 His anxiety led him to study the academic precepts in or-der to find freedom and open up new horizons in a new vision that resulted in powerful works with no departure from the painted surface. In the construction of figures, he relied solely on colour that was harmonious and often redun-dant in its tactile density to convey the percep-tion of a non-abstract solidity sometimes even overflowing with pictorial substance. Colour is thus a poetic filter through which the work takes shape and becomes a living, throbbing entity. The works of this period remain within a sphere of pictorial lightness but with a power of initia-tive that regards not only ideas and taste but also chromatic choice. This approach marked the very last period of Chessa’s life and the Iannaccone collection nude of 1934 is one of the most successful examples produced before his premature death in 1935. His brushwork gives expression to soft, suffuse, opaque colour that lends the painting warmth and a hazy, indefinite quality at the same time. Nudo is not a sugges-tive or sensual work and its erotic quality lies

not in the model’s pose or faraway expression but in the human warmth that emanates from her pink flesh and is taken up and enhanced by the shimmering orange of the background. The atmosphere communicates a deep affective contact despite the psychological remoteness of the woman, engrossed in her own thoughts. The work is executed with formal and pictorial delicacy within the artistic world of post-Im-pressionist inspiration that characterizes all of his painting. In this case, the work is a human flux born out of Chessa’s reflection on himself and his human and existential sensibility, which cannot be detached from deep empathy with the subject, especially when this is a female figure of such sweetness and rich human qualities. The power of Chessa’s work lies precisely here in his dual use of pure pictorial quality as a tool both to construct the image and to reveal the innermost psyche. “Whoever sees a painting by Chessa sees what he loves most in life, for which he has made considerable sacrifices that demand respect and is ready to make still more. In any case, he cannot but paint. An uninhibit-ed and very modern young man, he is always moved to emotion when he talks about paint-ing”.2 The dedication written directly on the can-vas in the bottom left corner attests to Chessa’s close friendship with the family of the rational-ist architect Ottorino Aloisio from Udine, who arrived in Turin in 1929 and did his most suc-cessful work there, including the Casa Verona on Corso Moncalieri in 1930.D.M.

1 P. Fossati, “Il ruolo di Gigi Chessa pittore”, in P. Fossati, V. Sanfo (edited by), Gigi Chessa, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Mole Antonelliana, 14 November 1987 − 14 February 1988), Milan: Fabbri Editore, 1987.

2 L. Venturi, “Gigi Chessa”, in A. Bovero (edited by), Archivio dei sei pittori di Torino, Rome: De Luca Editore, 1965, p. 54.

204 205

Filippo de Pisis Il suonatore di flauto

29 Title Il suonatore di flauto [The Flute Player]

Date 1940 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65 × 60 cm bottom right: Pisis 40

On the outbreak of World War II, Filippo de Pisis returned to Italy from Paris, where he had acquired greater understanding of his art and his profession. The period in Milan was one of the busiest and most intense of his career, as he painted and sold numerous paintings: “I smell the scent of celebrity. A happy period in my life. I am in magnificent form for paint-ing and other things”.1 His hotel room on Via Durini and then his beloved apartment on Via Rugabella became a meeting place for artists, writers and cultural figures as well as the “wild and sensual adolescents” that he loved and portrayed frequently in the paintings of the pe-riod.2 It is precisely one of these young men that we see here playing the flute in an intimate, familiar setting. With this delicate, poetic male nude, according to Raffaele Carrieri, De Pisis revealed himself as “the last painter to express himself in lyrical terms when describing anato-my”.3 The artist’s deep culture, refined aesthet-ic sense and elegance of touch and chromatic combinations made him “different in a world

of people all the same”.4 This difference, both artistic and existential, had distinguished him since his youth.The work was shown in an exhibition on Raffaele Carrieri held at the Museo Nazionale Archeologico in Taranto in 20065 and then in the exhibition De Pisis en voyage. Roma, Parigi, Londra, Milano, Venezia held in 2013 at the Fondazione Magnani Rocca.6 R.P.

1 S. Zanotto, Filippo De Pisis ogni giorno, Vicenza: Neri Pozza, 1996.

2 Filippo De Pisis. La collezione Malabotta, exhibition catalogue (Treviso, Museo Civico “Luigi Bailo”, 1 October − 10 December 1995, Milan: Electa, 1995.

3 C. Gian Ferrari (a cura di), Filippo de Pisis. La poesia nei fiori e nelle cose, exhibition catalogue (Acqui Terme, Palazzo Liceo Saracco, 16 July – 10 September), Milan: Mazzotta, 2000.

4 Ibidem.5 E. Pontiggia, A. Perrone (edited by), Il mondo

di Raffaele Carrieri. Pittura, carte, documenti, exhibition catalogue (Taranto, Museo Nazionale Archeologico, 22 April − 22 May 2006), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2006.

6 See P. Campiglio Parma (edited by), De Pisis en voyage. Roma, Parigi, Londra, Milano, Venezia, exhibition catalogue (Mamiano di Traversetolo, Fondazione Magnani Rocca, 13 September − 8 December 2013), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2013. The work was shown in the exhibition Carla Maria Maggi e il ritratto a Milano negli anni trenta (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 15 June − 5 September 2010), catalogue edited by E. Pontiggia, Milan: Skira, 2010.

1. De Pisis photographed by Luigi Comencini in his combined home and studio on Via Rugabella, Milan, 1941

30 Title Pesce e coltello [Fish and Knife] Date 1940 Technique oil on cardboard Dimensions 30 × 50.5 cm bottom left: de Pisis bottom right: XVIII on the knife handle: […] Elba 1940

“A flat, October day, grey and magnetic […] a monster sole awaits me with white, curly let-tuce (like the salad we had in Chioggia).” These words written by De Pisis from a seaside town in October 1940 seem to conjure up this still life, painted on a piece of brown cardboard found somewhere near the restaurant. The snarl-ing fish, built up in compact brushstrokes, is brought to life by touches of colour that start from shades of blue, green, red, purple and yellow on the head and fade into a white that also invades the oval platter on which it rests. A precariously balanced knife points threaten-ingly towards the belly of the fish, from which a small rivulet of blood emerges. The oil paint slides over the fibres of the cardboard so that the hazy scales of the skin stand out. The twin circles of a silver cruet bear witness to the im-minent murder in the upper right corner. Filippo de Pisis must have produced this arrangement, as on many other occasions, on his return from a restaurant. An anecdote told by Giovanni Comisso1 of walking with De Pisis down a street of fishmongers’ shops in Paris casts light on the conception and birth of such works: “The shops were closed but the briny odour of the merchan-dise inside lay heavy on the air. Between the smells of putrefaction and the sinister gleams of the odd gaslight, the alley fired De Pisis with a crazed desire for strange apparitions. He looked everywhere, like a hunter in a wood, and then suddenly shouted out in wonder ‘Oh, amazing! Amazing!’. I saw him bend over a heap of rubbish and pick up three rotten cod-fish dumped there by the fishmongers. He laid them carefully on a copy of Paris-Soir spread out on the ground and went on staring at them even though they stank abominably. In that in-stant, he had already composed the painting in his mind”2 [FIG. 1]. While contemporaries like Morandi were concerned with creating order

in their still lifes, placing the objects in a mo-tionless position as though under glass, De Pisis threw them together haphazardly with no thought of perfection, painting what he thought and inverting the relationship between man and object or animal. “It is the dramatic poetry that comes from the dialectic between the infinite-ly small — the shell, the fish, the bush or the stone — and the infinitely large: the sea, the sky, the faint line of the horizon. The defamiliar-ization generated by these paintings has strong metaphysical overtones”.3 As Carrieri wrote, “De Pisis is a perfect illusionist. His life is an uninterrupted improvisation of artfulness and uninhibited combinations. Botany, antiques, gastronomy and manias and follies of all kinds are the material of his paintings. Invisible birds peck and break flowers that change in tone, the cricket uses a drill and the butterfly makes its umpteenth attempt to escape”.4

What the artist said about his Pesci nel paes-aggio di Pomposa [Fish in the Countryside at Pomposa, 1928] appears to apply to this work. The poor fish “is nothing but a means I used to accentuate the desperation (unreal colours, rub-bing and shivers) of the other fish […] and then − why not? − a bit of our anxiety and torment to these poor fish […]”.5 As Giorgio Vigni wrote in Emporium, “De Pisis is hardly ever serene and indeed never if serenity is understood as a state of calm. Even when he most appears to abandon himself to the pure joy of painting — flowers, fruit, objects, landscape — the basic elements of his creation, light and colour, vibrate in such a way that anxiety hov-ers over everything, even where the relaxation is fullest […]”.6

R.P.

206 207

Filippo de Pisis Pesce e coltello

1 Giovanni Comisso (Treviso, 3 October 1895 − 21 January 1969), Italian writer and journalist.

2 C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), De Pisis a Milano, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 June – 13 October 1991), Milan: Mazzotta, 1991, p. 30.

3 Ibidem, p. 17.4 Ibidem, p. 30.5 F. de Pisis, article in “Pagina dell’artista”, in Arte,

Roma, May 1931, now in G. Briganti (edited by), De Pisis, catalogue raisonné, part I, Opere 1908-1938, Milan: Electa, 1991, p. 185.

6 Emporium, January–March, Bergamo, 1944.

1. Filippo de Pisis, Pesci marci, 1928. Trieste, private collection

208 209

Filippo de Pisis Il Foro Bonaparte a Milano

31 Title Il Foro Bonaparte a Milano [The Foro Bonaparte in Milan] Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 70 × 50 cm bottom right: [De] Pisis

Having finally arrived in Milan when Italy was already at war, De Pisis appears to have want-ed to ignore the horrors through painting and dreams. “He painted the intact forms of the world with his happiness. An incurable rift opened up between his dreamy wanderings and the social ordeal that led him to madness. Where was the sweet melody he sought? [...] Everything seemed grim and full of rancour in an Italy stricken and stunned by occupation. It was no longer the same world as before. Everything was as though withered and fad-ed. Reality had a feeble, shaking rhythm. His search sometimes seemed vain and bewildered [...] but in the nooks and crannies [...] of mem-ory, for as long as its support lasted, he always found the glowing, serene images of lost child-hood [...] He did not hesitate to revel in the sad air of autumn, the autumn of his life, and the earth had the distant enchantment of ech-oes of powerful, melancholy voices”.1 The city landscape had “the characteristic of a depiction from life captured in the instant of the wind waft-ing around monuments, the light shifting be-tween clouds, the coming and going of people, often marked only by shadows on the canvas like memories trapped in the brush of a figure, a story entangled for a moment with other stories. De Pisis was curious, curious about life and the profile of a city, curious about feelings, about people and their emotions. For him, going out into the streets, in contact with people, was like a magnetic charge that prompted him to por-tray only the outward appearance of a corner of a neighbourhood, but his mood and char-acter were those someone living there”.2 Foro Bonaparte thus presents one of the Milanese views produced in accordance with his typi-cal canons: subtraction rather than addition, forms never chosen at random and a lambent atmosphere tempered by the grey shade of the sky, which combines with the raw canvas to

present a trademark De Pisis hue described by Raimondi as “unnameable, like mud mixed with a bit of milk, green and bile, rivulets of abattoir blood. All this curdles, coagulates and melds, and a screen of Chinese silk takes shape in the blue background”.3 The sky seems to be re-flected in the street and partly in the buildings that hem the composition in, making it almost claustrophobic. The monochrome is only bro-ken in the background by the red of the Sforza Castle and the dazed green of a few trees that make the composition less symmetrical. Two different visions flow in this work: on the one hand, the quick, jagged brushstroke that joy-fully delineates the colour of an urban land-scape; on the other, the human perception of hurried, black figures almost lost in colour that influence the atmosphere, now as ambiguous and insecure as the historical period mankind was going through. His principal characteristic emerges of attaining beauty from the starting point of humble material and drawing with the tip of the brush. One of his finest results ap-pears to be achieved in this landscape, where a view of Milan reveals ideas and emotions, prompting memories and attaching value also to the most mundane and negligible things of life. As De Pisis wrote: “Throw yourself bravely into colourlessness. The arches, the planes and the cylinders of columns enchant me with their pure primordial spectacle. The fellow-feeling of bodies in the tangle of little mysteries, the acute squares with their irresistible eye, the smooth ovolos with their precise shadows. The pathet-ic memory of serene classical ages never finds an outlet in the embarrassment of the present. Every recollection is extinguished. Bodies re-peat the spectral nature of the all-enveloping mystery with their simplest essence”.4

R.P.

1 L. Cavallo, “La contaminazione vitale nell’opera di Filippo de Pisis”, in L. Cavallo (edited by), Filippo de Pisis, exhibition catalogue, Florence: Galleria Il Castello, 1968.

2 C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), De Pisis a Milano, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 June – 13 October), Milan: Mazzotta Editore, 1991, p. 18.

3 L. Cavallo, in Filippo de Pisis, cit., 1968.4 Ibidem.

210 211

Francesco De Rocchi Popolana

32 Title Popolana [Young Peasant Woman] Date 1933 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 93 × 65 cm bottom right: F. De Rocchi – 12.33 XII verso: 32v Title Nudo di donna (incompiuto) [Female Nude (unachieved)] Date 1932 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 93 × 65 cm

Francesco De Rocchi moved in 1928 to Cislago, a quiet but certainly not idyllic village in Lombardy, where he completed the change in artistic ap-proach that he had had in mind for some time.The same year saw the start of portraits of simple people intent on performing their mod-est, everyday tasks (sowing seed, agricultural work, ironing and fishing) that Elena Pontiggia has called “the series of humble folk”.1 Remote descendants of Impressionism, these works avoid dramatic accents and do not conceal el-ements of social concern or indeed protest. In this painting of a young peasant, identified as the artist’s maid Cesarina, the apron, the hand in the pocket and the unassuming pose are pri-marily symbols of “everyday toil, simplicity with no glory, innocence with no aims, cheered only by the warmth of affection”.2 In painting these figures, De Rocchi definitively broke away from the Novecento group, as noted as early as 1929 by Raffaello Giolli, who described his work as “the most anti-classical, the most anti-Novecen-to […] the most anti-Latin”.3 De Rocchi appears indeed to draw on medieval and Byzantine sources rather than Roman, adopting a fres-co-like style and an “archaism of figures” in which Giovanni Anzani perceived “a romantic and sentimental reading of Carrà’s most recent painting”.4 While eschewing bright colours,

1 E. Pontiggia, “Francesco De Rocchi. Il percorso della pittura”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Francesco De Rocchi 1902-1978, exhibition catalogue (Saronno, Casa Morandi, 12 October − 16 November 2002), Saronno: Città di Saronno, 2002, pp. 15−25.

2 Ibidem.3 R. Giolli, “Cronache milanesi”, in Emporium,

vol. LXIX, no. 411, Istituto Italiano di Arti Grafiche, Bergamo, March 1929, pp. 172−78. The note refers to the 1929 Mostra del Sindacato [Exhibition of the Fascist Union], where De Rocchi presented Fantesca. Renzo Margonari regards this description as also applicable to other works such as this Popolana. See R. Margonari, R. Modesti (edited by), Il Chiarismo lombardo, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Bagatti-Valsecchi, 6 October − 16 November 1986), Milan, Vangelista: 1986, pp. 80−81.

4 G. Anzani, in G. Anzani, L. Caramel (edited by), Pittura moderna in Lombardia 1990-1950, Milan: Cariplo, 1983, p. 248.

5 See C. L. Ragghianti (edited by), Arte moderna in Italia 1915-1935, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 26 February − 28 May 1967), Florence: Marchi e Bertolli, 1967. For a recent appearance of the painting, see E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milano negli anni trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June − 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010.

the wavy, glowing brushwork also reveals the influence of the painter’s Lombard roots and 19th-century naturalism in particular.The painting was chosen for an exhibition of Italian art (Italienische Kunstausstellung) at the Künstlerhaus in Vienna in the year of its com-pletion. It was also shown in a show of Italian art of the period 1915−35 organized in Florence by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti in 1967.5

The unfinished female nude on the back [W. NO. 32V]

was certainly painted before the Popolana and bears witness to the financial hardships of De Rocchi, like many of his contemporaries at the time, when the need to paint and the scarcity of materials led to the reuse of supports already bearing sketches or even completed works.R.P.

212 213

Angelo Del Bon Rocca delle Caminate n. 2

33 Title Rocca delle Caminate n. 2 Date 1935 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 127 × 148 cm bottom left: A. Del Bon

A pupil of Ambrogio Alciati, teacher of painting at the Accademia di Brera, Angelo Del Bon soon displayed a preference for nineteenth-century painting as produced by the masters, not the “officially recognized landscapes large and small with stereotyped sunsets and goats foisted off on the public”.1 His points of reference were Daniele Ranzoni, Piccio and Emilio Gola, whom he admired for his undisciplined brushwork and the clear light of his landscapes, capable of filling the gap between “reality and its translation into the artist’s individual dream”.2 Del Bon’s “liquid landscapes”3 include this Rocca delle Caminate, a broad view of hills where the elements appear to dissolve into some light, impalpable mate-rial so that even the few buildings immersed in the vegetation become insubstantial. While the brushstrokes can be elongated or quick and short, it is in their timidity that the peculiarity of one of the artist’s most interesting paintings lies. Del Bon presented the work in 1939 at the first

edition of the Bergamo Prize, devoted that year to the Italian landscape. It was then repainted so as to eliminate the scene of ploughing in the foreground [FIG. 1] (as emerges from comparison with the photograph in the Bergamo Prize cat-alogue) and renamed Rocca delle Caminate n. 2.4 It entered the collection of Bruno Grossetti, owner of the Galleria Annunciata and the first to represent the artist, who showed it in a ret-rospective in 1959. It was also shown recently in an exhibition on Milanese galleries during the interwar period.5

R.P.

1 A. Del Bon, “Risposta al referendum de ‘L’Ambrosiano’”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 21 September 1938; now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il chiarismo, Milan: Abscondita, 2006, p. 29.

2 G. Giani, Angelo Del Bon, Milan: Edizioni della Conchiglia, 1961.

3 Ibidem.4 See Primo Premio Bergamo. Mostra Nazionale

del Paesaggio, exhibition catalogue (Bergamo, Palazzo della Ragione, September−October 1939), introduction by O. Sellani, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1939.

5 See L. Sansone (edited by), Gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Fondazione Stelline, 24 February − 22 May 2016), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2016.

1. Angelo Del Bon, Rocca della Caminate, 1935, first version

214 215

Nicola Galante Paese per la Casetta (Vasto)

34 Title Paese per la Casetta (Vasto) [Little House in the Country (Vasto)]

Date 1929 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 50 × 60 cm bottom left: N. GALANTE 1929

Nicola Galante’s Paese per la Casetta (Vasto) was shown in an exhibition held in Milan from 16 to 26 November 1929 by Pier Maria Bardi in agreement with Edoardo Persico to present the Six Painters of Turin, a “group young in terms of age and of spirit”1 to the Milanese public. (Galante and Jessie Boswell were slightly older than the other members.) This event followed the group’s debut at the Galleria Guglielmi in Turin and their show at the Circolo della Stampa in Genoa2 but gave rise to greater outcry includ-ing physical protest on the part of some youths and considerable coverage in the press.3 Carrà drew the correct distinctions between the different personalities, drawing attention to Galante’s graphic quality4 and the “sound re-alism” of his landscapes and still lifes, whose most precious gift was identified as “emotional delicacy”.5 Viviani echoed these sentiments: “Lovingly capturing the serene effects of an ol-ive grove and depicting trees and landscapes with passion, Galante strikes no jarring or bom-bastic notes”.6 The “subdued lyricism”7 of his

painting, developed above all through study of the Impressionists and Cézanne, is encapsu-lated in the delicacy of this olive grove, where the foliage of the trees seems to dissolve in the wind.R.P.

1 P. M. Bardi, 6 Pittori di Torino, VIII, Milan: Edizioni “Belvedere”, 1929. The exhibition catalogue, edited by Bardi himself, presents twenty-five reproductions in black and white including the Iannaccone collection painting under the title Paese per la Casetta (Vasto). Further confirmation is provided by the label of the Galleria Bardi on the back of the work.

2 For an exhaustive overview, see A. Bovero (edited by), Archivi dei sei pittori di Torino, Rome: De Luca, 1965.

3 For the show at the Galleria Bardi, readers are again referred to A. Bovero, Archivi..., cit., 1965, pp. 126−61.

4 “He began with woodcuts and graphic art is still perhaps the medium for which he is best suited. This can be seen at the exhibition, where the group of drawings stands out.” C. Carrà, “Mostre milanesi. Sei pittori di Torino”, in L’Ambrosiano, y. VIII, no. 279, Milan, 22 November 1929, p. 3. Sironi also noted the quality of the drawings, “some of which are very rich and dense”; M. [M. Sironi], “La mostra dei ‘6’”, in Il Popolo d’Italia, y. XVI, no. 287, Milan, 1 December 1929, p. 5.

5 C. Carrà, Mostre..., cit., 1929.6 R. Viviani, “Sei pittori di Torino”, in Il Mezzogiorno,

y. XII, no. 281, Naples, 24 November 1929, p. 3. 7 Elena Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia (edited by),

Persico e gli artisti 1929-1936, exhibition catalogue (Milan, PAC, 11 June − 13 September 1998), Milan: Electa, 1998, p. 99.

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Tullio Garbari La famiglia

35 Title La famiglia [The Family] Date 1931 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65 × 80 cm

Painted by the artist a few months before his death, this canvas is one of his absolute master-pieces as well as the loftiest peak of his reflec-tion on the family. The late twenties had already seen a depiction of a farmer with spade and horse beside his wife, with a basket of fruit, and child (Allegoria della famiglia retica [Allegory of the Rhaetian Family]). While he had portrayed parents and children realistically in the setting of everyday life during the previous decade (Interno familiare [Family Interior] and Il desco [The Dinner Table], 1916), the Allegoria present-ed the archetypal man and wife with child — he regarded the Rhaetians rather than the Celts as the earliest inhabitants of Trentino — in a time-less dimension. The same holds for this Famiglia, where the monumentality and statuesque nobility of the figures portrayed half-length in the foreground emphasizes a sacrality suggested also by the twofold significance of numerous elements: the fig, a secular and religious symbol of fecundity;

grapes, a symbol of natural fertility but also of the eucharistic sacrifice; the father’s stick adorned with foliage, recalling the staff that blossomed to designate Joseph as the chosen husband of Mary; the dish, similar to a liturgical bowl, on which the sapiential words Nosce te ipsum [Know thyself] are written in deliberately clumsy script. The mountains in the background allude to a timeless Rhaetia or Trentino. The pose of the man, who seems to have one arm shorter or not very well connected to the hand, may be symbolic rather than dictated by spatial require-ments. For Garbari, the guiding spirit and head of the family was the woman, not the man. The intense luminosity of the work comes from the predominant use of white, verging in places on ice blue, contrasting only with the black hair of the man and woman and the child’s angelic blond hair. The influence of the thirteenth and fourteenth-century masters visible in the faces with low foreheads (together with echoes of the Douanier’s Poet and His Muse) is combined with that of Italiens de Paris like De Chirico and Campigli, who also took an interest in dominant whites at the beginning of the decade.E.P.

218 219

Renato Guttuso Natura morta con garofani e frutta Studio per “Ritratto di Mimise” Ritratto di Mimise

36 Title Natura morta con garofani e frutta [Still Life with Carnations and Fruit]

Date 1938 Technique oil on pasteboard mounted on canvas Dimensions 47 × 54 cm bottom right: Guttuso 38 verso:36v Title Studio per “Ritratto di Mimise”

(incompiuto) [Study for “Portrait of Mimise” (unfinished])

Date 1938 Technique oil on pasteboard mounted on canvas Dimensions 54 × 47 cm37 Title Ritratto di Mimise [Portrait of Mimise] Date 1938 Technique oil on cardboard mounted on canvas Dimensions 70.6 × 50 cm

A roughly sketched and partially obliterated portrait of Mimise, the woman Guttuso met in 1937 and was later to marry, was found on the back of his Natura morta con garofani e frutta. Examination of the marking of the pasteboard has indeed revealed that he began to paint on the basis of what is today no more than an out-line. This suggests that the artist, dissatisfied with the work, left it unfinished and reused the support for a still life of the flowers and fruit that Mimise was shown holding and that were then to appear in the definitive version of the portrait. Natura morta di garofani e frutta was among the works selected by Guttuso for his first solo show, inaugurated in April 1938 at the Galleria della Cometa, owned by the Contessa Pecci Blunt.1 The presentation by the Sicilian

writer Nino Savarese speaks of Guttuso’s “acute and open sense of colour”, as shown in this painting, where the “white […] is a voice that awakens something drowsing in the other things”.2 The presentation was also published in the Milanese journal Vita Giovanile. The art-ist was already known in Milan, where he had lived during his military service and then after his discharge over the period 1935–36, when his contacts began with Renato Birolli, Aligi Sassu, Giacomo Manzù, Raffaele De Grada, Beniamino Joppolo and Duilio Morosini. He showed work in the second Corrente exhibition in 1939. He had already shown work in Milan at Ghiringhelli’s Galleria del Milione, first in the spring of 1932 with five other young Sicilian artists (Bevilacqua, Castro, Corona, Giarrizzo and Lazzaro) and then in 1934 with Franchina, Barbera and Pasqualino Noto. This period saw a personal exploration of colour described by Enrico Crispolti as charac-terized by “an expressionistic acceleration of ignition” developed through “contrasts of bold reciprocal impact” between the fiery reds and browns and the blues, whites and yellows.3 This contrast creates in the work a particular emotive and psychological dimension in which colour still has the primary task, however, of shaping the figures and endowing them with volume. This period saw an interest in the portrait and the psychological dimension of the subject as well as his or her physical presence. Ritratto di Mimise marked in fact the start of Guttuso’s fully realistic period, what he called a “poetics of naturalness”.4 Holding the fruit in an almost maternal embrace, Mimise appears like a mod-ern divinity, a new Juno, goddess of the family and abundance. Once again, Guttuso displays his flair for colour, especially in the scarf framing

the face. Now in the Guttuso Archives in Rome, the work was shown in an exhibition of the art-ist’s portraits and self-portraits in 2015 Museo Guttuso in Bagheria5 and has appeared recently in various other shows.6

R.P.

1 The catalogue lists the works on show as Natura morta di garofani e frutta, Paesaggi, Uomo che dorme and Ritratto di signora. See N. Savarese (edited by), Renato Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria della Cometa, 28 March – 8 April 1938), Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1938. See also Galleria della Cometa. I cataloghi dal 1935 al 1938, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1989.

2 Renato Guttuso, cit., 1938. N. Savarese, “Pittura di Renato Guttuso”, in Vita Giovanile, y. I, no. 7, Milan, 30 April 1938, [p. 4]. See the review by Leonardo Sinisgalli, who described them as artists “full of the devil”; L. Sinisgalli, “Quattro siciliani al ‘Milione’”, in L’Italia Letteraria, y. V, Rome, 9 June 1934.

3 E. Crispolti, “Introduzione a Guttuso”, in Catalogo ragionato generale dei dipinti di Renato Guttuso, vol. I, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori & Associati, 1983, pp. XXIII–CCXXIII.

4 R. Guttuso, “Necessità della naturalezza”, in L’Appello, Palermo, 14 March 1937; R. Guttuso, “Arte dei giovani”, in L’Appello, 26 June 1937. See E. Crispolti, “Introduzione a Guttuso”, cit., 1983, pp. CXV–CXL.

5 See F. Carapezza Guttuso, D. Favatella Lo Cascio (edited by), Guttuso: Ritratti e Autoritratti, exhibition catalogue (Bagheria, Palermo, Museo Guttuso, 18 April – 21 June 2015), Cava de’ Tirreni: Ediguida, 2015.

6 Guttuso, 1912-2012, (Rome, Complesso del Vittoriano, 12 October 2012 – 10 February 2013), catalogue edited by F. Carapezza Guttuso, E. Crispolti, Milan: Skira, 2012; Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La rivoluzione del colore (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo, 25 July – 7 October 2012), catalogue edited by E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione, Turin: Allemandi, 2012; Renato Guttuso - Immaginazione realistica. Opere dagli anni ’30 agli anni ’70 (Castelbasso, Fondazione Malvina Menegaz, 2 July – 31 August 2011), catalogue edited by F. Poli, Castelbasso: Fondazione Malvina Menegaz per le arti e le culture, 2011.

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36v

38 Title Ritratto di Mario Alicata [Portrait of Mario Alicata]

Date 1940 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 55 × 45 cm bottom right: a Mario / Guttuso

Renato Guttuso began to take an interest in portraiture in the early thirties, when he pro-duced numerous paintings of friends and com-panions. His attention focused not only on the physiognomic and psychological aspects of the faces but also on the realistic element, the “thing”, as an expression of intellectual hones-ty and truth. As Giovanni Testori pointed out, “The portrait too, or indeed the portrait more than any other work, bears witness to Guttuso’s utter concentration on the object, the thing, in that objects and things, be they pieces of flesh, cheeks or chins captured in an impetus of superb modern anatomy, are truths that he regards as impossible to alienate, burn and destroy, the ultimate, extreme truth. It would be easy at this point to establish a link between the terrible anxiety to preserve this entity and sacrality of the object and the dreadful events of that time, so easy (and logical) indeed that all attentive readers will have already done so without any prompting from me. For my part, I can say that I know few portraits in the entire history of art in which somatic resemblance and the absence of psychological anxiety are so combined and interwoven to create an emblem-atic physicality, a desperately linked accumula-tion of object details in a new object, as those

Guttuso produced between 1940 and ’43”.1 Guttuso painted the portrait of Mario Alicata in 1940 in his new studio on Via Pompeo Magno, “always crowded with friends […] standing, sit-ting wherever possible, lying on the floor, and all talking while Renato painted and took part in the conversation”.2 The work demonstrates his ability to capture the subject realistically while maintaining a veil of privacy, as is evident here in Alicata’s tense, elusive expression. The painting also shows a further development in his exploration of colour, restricted to a few pre-dominant hues violently combined and applied in broad, clearly-defined expanses reminiscent of “plating”.3 Mino Rosi draws attention to the use of chromatic contrasts for expressive pur-poses, justifying the violent, discordant combi-nation of two opposing colours as an “essential need to escape from all kinds of new academic conformism and discover new allusions of vo-cabulary allowed to pure colour”.4 It may ap-pear odd that Guttuso, who had no interest in reflection on the human identity, should have devoted such constant attention to portraiture. This is to be seen as connected with the anal-ysis of friends with a particular story to tell or an important experience of life bearing witness to friendship. “Many years later, Moravia put forward a psychological interpretation of the painter and wrote that Guttuso identified sub-stantially with what he painted.”5 Guttuso ded-icated the work as a gift to his friend Alicata. It was shown twice in 1971, first in Palermo6 and then in Paris,7 on the occasion of two ret-rospectives. More recent appearances include

the exhibitions of 2012 (Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La rivoluzione del colore, curated by Elena Pontiggia and Alfredo Paglione),8 and 2015 (Guttuso: Ritratti e Autoritratti, curated by Fabio Carapezza Guttuso, Dora Favatella Lo Cascio) at the Museo Guttuso in Bagheria.9

R.P.

222 223

1 G. Testori, “Guttuso dalla ‘Fuga dall’Etna’ al ‘Gott mit Uns’“, in R. Longhi (edited by), Renato Guttuso. Mostra antologica dal 1931 ad oggi, exhibition catalogue (Parma, Galleria Nazionale, 15 December 1963 – 31 January 1964), Milan: Amilcare Pizzi, 1963, pp. 21–33.

2 M. Valsecchi, “Sono curioso e se potessi andrei volentieri sulla luna”, interview with Renato Guttuso, in Tempo, y. XXVI, no. 5, Milan, 1 February 1964, [p. 24].

3 E. Crispolti, Catalogo Ragionato Generale dei Dipinti di Renato Guttuso, vol. I, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori, 1983, p. LXVIII.

4 M. Rosi, “Prefazione a Renato Guttuso”, in Il Campano, no. 1-2, Pisa, January– February 1942, pp. 14–17.

5 Brera mai vista. Renato Guttuso 1940. Il Ritratto di Alberto Moravia, Milan: Skira editore, 2011, p. 42.

6 See Mostra antologica dell’opera di Renato Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Palermo, Palazzo dei Normanni, 13 February – 14 March 1971), texts by L. Sciascia, F. Russoli, F. Grasso, Palermo: Banco di Sicilia, 1971, p. 35.

7 Renato Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Paris, Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris et Section A.R.C., 30 September – 1 November 1971), texts by A. Del Guercio, J. Lassaigne, Paris: Musée d’Art Moderne, 1971, p. 86.

8 See E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin: Allemandi, 2012.

9 See F. Carapezza Guttuso, D. Favatella Lo Cascio (edited by), Guttuso: Ritratti e Autoritratti, exhibition catalogue (Bagheria, Palermo, Museo Guttuso, 18 April – 21 June 2015), Cava de’ Tirreni: Ediguida, 2015.

Renato Guttuso Ritratto di Mario Alicata

1. Renato Guttuso, Tre amici nello studio, circa 1940. Rome, private collection

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Renato Guttuso La finestra blu Gabbia bianca e foglie

39 Title La finestra blu [The Blue Window] Date 1940−41 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 45 × 50 cm bottom right: Guttuso 40 Title Gabbia bianca e foglie

[White Cage and Leaves] Date 1940−41 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 45 × 55 cm bottom right: Guttuso

The early forties were “an odd period. What was happening was happening but people wanted the same old paintings produced for the dining room or sitting room or faux sacristy now ac-cepted as such”.1 For Renato Guttuso, on the contrary, a painting had to “reflect what was happening”.2 This led to the start of “long and acute observation of real things, interrupted only by the urgent need to reconstruct them as living presences on the canvas”.3 The rich series of still lifes born out of this became “the basic guiding thread of Guttuso’s mature realism”4. The artist drew on the volumetric distortion of Cubism — being clearly influenced by Picasso’s Guernica [FIG. 8, P. 133], a photograph of which he kept in his wallet — but without going to extremes of accentuation. The forms produced were closed and compact despite their slight distortion. His intimate, everyday interiors are inhabited by objects whose physical substance is almost tangible, not least as a result of his robust, res-olute brushstrokes “laden with explosive ma-terial”.5 The physicality of the objects is also underscored by sharply defined expanses of bold, glowing colour manifesting its expressive potential in the strident contrast of pure tonali-ties, full-bodied, vigorous yellows, bright reds and deep blues. The views are often narrowly

focused and the settings barely sketched so as to concentrate attention on the objects, piled up on the table in apparently haphazard composi-tions that Guttuso actually assembled carefully in his studio and then painted in constantly var-ying combinations. This interest in the concrete, physical appearance of things is indicative of the ever-greater need felt by the artist for realism during the war, albeit without abandoning meta-phor. The “things” appear to be real and symbol-ic at the same time: “The object, forged in fiery heat, no longer counts in terms of weight and volume but takes on the value of a symbol and is at the same time a real thing, the story of con-tent developing in Italian life”.6 In Finestra blu the red flag, which appears in numerous works and is featured here in the foreground, takes on the symbolic role of hope rather than violence.7 The spiral-shaped, opaline bottle is instead drawn from the compositions of Giorgio Morandi [FIG.

1] and Filippo de Pisis [FIG. 2], with whom Guttuso has “a dialectical relationship”, like the rest of his generation: “although he [Morandi] was seen for what he was, a great, solitary artist detached from and hostile to the Novecento school, we also saw him as the symbol of a general situa-tion of reductionism”.8 The citation of Morandi is in fact accompanied by two far more “plebeian” flasks that evoke an everyday dimension and Guttuso’s need to recount life. In addition to the motif of the cage, always empty and here sym-bolically open, a metaphor of escape and lib-eration, Gabbia bianca e foglie includes further elements of his iconography like a misshapen jug, autumn leaves, a white tablecloth and, as always, in the background the red of which Pier Paolo Pasolini wrote: “Your red, Guttuso, will go down in history like a river that disappeared in the desert. Your red will be the red of the worker, the red of the poet, the only red signifying the

reality of a struggle, hope, victory and compas-sion.” The work was owned by the collector and patron of the arts Alberto Della Ragione, who supported Guttuso in his work in the late thirties and paid him a fixed sum in return for exclusive rights to his paintings. It was shown in Parma in 1963 in an exhibition curated by Roberto Longhi9 and more recently in the Eataly pavilion of the 2015 Milan Expo on the occasion of the exhibi-tion “Il tesoro d’Italia”. Storia, geografia e biodi-versità dell’arte italiana.10

R.P.

1 E. Vittorini, Storia di Renato Guttuso e nota congiunta sulla pittura contemporanea, Milan: Edizioni Del Milione, 1960.

2 Ibidem.3 A. Del Guercio, La spiaggia di Renato Guttuso,

Rome: Editalia, 1956.4 E. Crispolti, “Introduzione a Guttuso. Per una sua

‘poetica’”, in E. Crispolti (edited by), Catalogo Ragionato Generale dei dipinti di Renato Guttuso, Milan: Mondadori & Associati, 1983, pp. XXXV –LXXXVII.

5 F. Grasso, “La vita e l’opera di Guttuso”, in A. Moravia, Renato Guttuso, Palermo: Edizioni Il Punto, 1962.

6 E. Crispolti, “Introduzione a Guttuso. Dal realismo del sentimento al realismo sociale 1924–1953,”, in Catalogo..., cit., 1983, pp. LXXXIX–CCXXXII.

7 E. Crispolti, Leggere Guttuso, Milan: Arnoldo Mondadori, 1987, p. 72.

8 R. Guttuso, “Omaggio a Morandi”, now in G. Cortenova, E. Mascelloni (edited by), Guttuso, 50 anni di pittura, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo Forti, 29 July – 15 October 1987), Milan: Mazzotta, 1987.

9 See R. Longhi (edited by), Renato Guttuso. Mostra antologica dal 1931 ad oggi, exhibition catalogue (Parma, Palazzo della Pilotta, 15 December 1963 – 31 January 1964), Milan: Amilcare Pizzi, 1963.

10 See V. Sgarbi (edited by), “Il tesoro d’Italia”. Storia, geografia e biodiversità dell’arte italiana, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Padiglione Eataly-Expo Milano 2015, 1 May – 21 October 2015), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2015. In the last few years the oil painting has been also shown in see Guttuso, 1912-2012, 2013; Renato Guttuso - Immaginazione realistica. Opere dagli anni ’30 agli anni ’70, 2011.

1. Giorgio Morandi, Bottiglie e fruttiera (Natura morta), 1916. Venice, Gianni Mattioli collection, on temporary loan to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice

2. Filippo de Pisis, Il ventaglio, 1941. Varese, private collection

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Renato Guttuso Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo

41 Title Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo [Portrait of Antonino Santangelo]

Date 1942 Technique oil on canvas Technique 100 × 70 cm upper left: Guttuso 43 [dated subsequently by the artist]1

This half-length portrait shows Antonino Santangelo seated and leaning forward with his arms resting on his legs. The almost dispro-portionately large hands hold a half-open book whose pages may hold the reason for his grim and concerned but almost resigned expres-sion. The likeness is extraordinary. As Roberto Longhi wrote in the his obituary: “Anyone wish-ing to see him entire in all his aspects need only look at the portrait painted by Guttuso in 1942. Not least by virtue of its exceptional likeness, this will always help us to remember Antonino Santangelo and hand on his memory to those to come”.2 Shown sitting in a room with a door recalling the bars of a prison cell, Santangelo reminded Giovanni Testori of a St Jerome by Caravaggio, “to the point where we can almost make out the memento mori of a skull at his feet”.3 Alberto Della Ragione ensured that the portrait was bought by the Galleria della Spiga e Corrente.4 It then entered the collection of Alberto Mancini5 in 1943 on the occasion of the Rome Quadrennial. Private collectors played a crucial part in this edition of the Quadrennial because the possible public purchasers had al-ready invested most of their funds in the war ef-fort. Oppo therefore placed Stefano Cairola, the most active and up-to-date dealer of the peri-od, in charge of sales.6 Guttuso showed twelve works on the wall assigned to him. According to one review, “Despite the stridency of his chro-matic combinations, Picasso-like stylization and mechanical composition, what sustains Guttuso and makes him new is the need for pathos, the pursuit of character and objectivity. The portrait of Santangelo is a far more persua-sive document than the large Donna alla fine-stra [Woman at the Window] or the ornamental and somewhat improvised sketches with hors-es”.7 In 1960 Giorgio Castelfranco voiced his re-gret at not being able to include the work in his exhibition of the Roman School: “I have been unable to track down some of what I consider the most extraordinary works of this period, like the portrait of Antonino Santangelo”.8 The work, which has appeared in major shows over

the years, was loaned in 1981 for the exhibition Guttuso. Opere dal 1931 al 1981 at Palazzo Grassi in Venice by the writer Fausta Mancini Lapenna, widow of the collector Mancini, who addressed it in a moving letter of accompani-ment: “I said goodbye to you yesterday morn-ing as though I would never see you again. The soft, shiny shroud of white plastic in which they wrapped you protected you from possible bumps during the journey. Men far too strong for your light fragility loaded you into the van but their smile was kind and their soft Venetian accent was reassuring, as were their gestures, well trained to handle masterpieces. Though the journey you had to make was neither long nor perilous, I was soothed by requesting to be informed of your safe arrival at Palazzo Grassi […] I contemplated you for a long time that last evening before we parted […] For many (but not for us), you are a beautiful but sad paint-ing; for others (but not for us), a good piece of business; for the dealers and fashionable critics (but not for us), an unexplored financial dimen-sion; for many friends (but not for us), a real stroke of luck. For us, you have meant suffering. You have been the testimony of our conscience. You have been the always unsuccessful and al-ways repeated investigation of the mystery of art, in which you play a leading role. And you represent our inner struggle, torn between the responsibility we feel to protect you from the curse of money and the duty imposed upon us not to deprive others of an example of the greatness that art can attain. You know that I said goodbye to you the other morning as you do to a friend you may not see again, because I am old. My days are numbered and the light of my eyes is going out. And you know that before deciding to expose you to the often (all too of-ten) avid, calculating gaze of the crowd that will throng the rooms of Palazzo Grassi, totting up the millions and billions, I talked once more to the memory of Alberto. And that he was the one who convinced me that the twofold message of you and of Guttuso — who spoke some of the noblest words of his art in you and reached the dizzying heights — had to be present in Venice. I hope I have not made a mistake”.9 In 2012 the work appeared in the exhibitions Sassu e Corrente 1930–1943. La rivoluzione del colore, curated by Elena Pontiggia and Alfredo Paglione,10 and Guttuso, 1912–2012, curated by Fabio Carapezza Guttuso and Enrico Crispolti.11 R.P.

1. Photograph of Renato Guttuso with the Portrait of Antonino Santangelo behind him

1 E. Crispolti, Catalogo ragionato generale dei Dipinti di Renato Guttuso, vol. I, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori, Milan, 1983, p. 121.

2 R. Longhi, “In memoriam: Antonino Santangelo”, in Paragone, y. XVI, Florence, May 1965.

3 The painting appeared over ten years later in a solo show at the Galleria Bergamini in Milan during the summer of 1981, when Giovanni Testori wrote an article on the portrait describing it as “one of the masterpieces of modern Italian painting and indeed of all the painting of these tragic years”. See G. Testori, “Arte: un ritratto di Guttuso. Capolavoro nella calura”, in Corriere della Sera, y. 106, no. 161, Milan, 12 July 1981, p. 3.

4 As attested by Guttuso in an autograph note on the back (“Guttuso. Proprietà Galleria Spiga; via Spiga 9, Milano”). The inscription also indicates the price of 16,000 lire, which is, however, completely out of line with the prices of between 1,000 and 2,000 lire paid by the Galleria della Spiga at the time. See M. Valsecchi, “La collezione Alberto Della Ragione”, in La raccolta Alberto Della Ragione, texts by C. L. Ragghianti, M. Valsecchi, Florence: Stiav, 1970. The reference is more probably to the purchase of the work by the collector Alberto Mancini.

5 For Alberto Mancini and his collection, see La collezione Mancini, exhibition catalogue (June–July), Trieste: Galleria Torbandena, 1965.

6 See M. Vescovo, N. Vespignani (edited by), Le Capitali d’Italia. Torino-Roma 1911-1946, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Palazzo Bricherasio; Stupinigi, Palazzina di Caccia, 4 December 1997 – 22 March 1998), Milan: Electa, 1997.

7 V. Guzzi, “Pittori alla IV Quadriennale”, in Primato, y. IV, no. 11, Rome, 1 June 1943, pp. 205–08.

8 G. Castelfranco, “Sguardo alla giovane scuola romana dal 1930 al 1945”, in G. Castelfranco, D. Durbé (edited by), VIII Quadriennale Nazionale d’Arte di Roma, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 28 dicembre 1959 - 30 aprile 1960), Rome: De Luca, 1960, p. 19.

9 F. Mancini Lapenna, “Lettera a Nino Santangelo”, in Guttuso. Opere 1982, pp. 136-137, no. 29.

10 E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin: Allemandi, 2012.

11 F. Carapezza Guttuso, E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso, 1912-2012, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Complesso del Vittoriano, 12 October 2012 – 10 February 2013), Milan: Skira, 2012.

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Renato Guttuso Autoritratto

42 Title Autoritratto [Self-Portrait] Date 1936 Technique India ink on paper Dimensions 450 × 320 mm bottom right: Guttuso 36

While the jagged, broken lines of Renato Guttuso’s self-portrait recall the painting of El Greco,1 this formal agitation is at variance with the frame of mind reflected in the artist’s reso-lute, aware expression. Attention is focused on the face and hand — the right, with which he works — caught in mid-air as though awaiting inspiration. “Guttuso’s hands never rest emp-ty in the air. They are the hands of a dogged, disturbed draughtsman” for whom drawing “is a habit, a need, a tic. He feels the urgency of the moment of truth in drawing itself”.2 The au-tograph inscription and signature on the back of the label3 leave no doubt as to its given date of 1936, even though Mario De Micheli4 and Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti5 have suggested that it was produced two years earlier, imme-diately after his Roman period. De Micheli bases his argument in particular on the type of paper used by Guttuso, which probably bears the name of his surveyor father on the back,6 and on the “style and taste of the drawing”,7 supposedly influenced by his stay in Rome, when he met Corrado Cagli, Mirko Basaldella and Pericle Fazzini. It is, however, improbable that the artist would have dated a drawing, a work rarely taken up again afterwards due to the immediate character of the technique, two years later. Moreover, the position of the body, seated in three-quarter view with respect to the viewer, suggests the possibility of a study for the Autoritratto con sciarpa e ombrello [Self-Portrait with Scarf and Umbrella] [FIG. 1] of 1936, thus again supporting the given date of the

work.8 Guttuso was very attached to this draw-ing and wrote a signed note on the back to the effect that it was not for sale (“Non in vendita – Guttuso”). He only parted with it in fact as a gift to Enrico Brambilla Pisoni, his physician and a great collector. The drawing was shown in vari-ous Italian cities during the eighties in Guttuso nel disegno. Anni Venti/Ottanta, a touring exhi-bition of the painter’s graphic art from the twen-ties to the eighties.9

R.P.


2 O. Patani, in Seconda biennale internazionale della grafica / Firenze – la grafica tra le due guerre 1918/1939, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 30 April − 29 June 1970, Florence: Edizioni Unione Fiorentina, 1970, pp. 157−58.

3 The following inscription appears on the back in the upper right corner: “Studio per autoritratto fatto nella mia casa di Bagheria nell’estate del ’36” [Study for a self-portrait executed at my home in Bagheria in teh summer of ’36].

4 See M. De Micheli, Guttuso, Milan: Edizioni Seda, 1963, [p. 47]; now in M. De Micheli, Guttuso, Milan: E.I.T., 1966, p. 39.

5 Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti does not discuss the work but the date of 1934 is given in the caption of a photograph appearing in C. L. Ragghianti, “Guttuso”, in Sele Arte, y. XI, no. 64, Florence, July−August 1963, p. 16.

6 The inscription is no longer visible due to cutting of the left part.

7 M. De Micheli, Guttuso, cit., 1963.8 The similarity “in the pose of the right arm and the

leanness of the figure” prompted Elena Pontiggia to suggest that it was a study for a self portrait with mask (Autoritratto con maschera, location unknown), a work painted in Milan and not in Bagheria, as indicated by the artist in the inscription (see note 3 above). See E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano..., cit., 2004.

9 E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso nel disegno. Anni Venti/Ottanta, exhibition catalogue (Reggio Emilia, Festa dell’“Unità”, 1–18 September 1983), Rome: Edizioni Oberon, 1983, pp. 26−27.

1. Renato Guttuso, Autoritratto con sciarpa e ombrello, 1936. Private collection

230 231

Carlo Levi Ritratto di donna

43 Title Ritratto di donna [Female Portrait] Date 1932−33 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 60 × 50 cm

The period 1932−33 was a highly productive one for Carlo Levi, as attested by the cata-logue of works published in Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti’s monograph, which includes a long series of portraits.1 It also saw numerous trips to Paris, the first having been made in 1928, for reasons connected not only with his profession as an artist but also and above all with his activity as an intermediary between the antifascists in exile there and those in Italy. In France, while continuing to work for the journal of the Giustizia e Libertà movement, Levi held his first solo show in Paris at the Galerie Jeune Europe featuring thirty-five works.2 This Ritratto di donna is evidently influenced by expressionist painting and especially the works of Soutine and Kokoschka, as seen in the use of quick, fluid, wavy brushstrokes. The face and body appear to float against a background whol-ly devoid of spatial characteristics and meld with it in broad, thickly laden strokes. In this as in other works of the early thirties, having now abandoned the lyrical, intimist tone of his work as one of the Six Painters of Turin (1929−31), the artist relies wholly on the expressive power

of colour, as attested here by the red hands.3 This detail is also to be found in paintings of the same period like Uomo col guanto nero (Eroe cinese) [Man in a Black Glove (Chinese Hero)] [FIG. 1, P. 252] and the portrait of Leone Ginzburg (one of the founders of Giustizia e Libertà, ar-rested in 1934 for antifascist activities together with Levi).The work remained in the artist’s possession until his death and was shown for the first time in Carlo Levi. La realtà e lo specchio, the ex-hibition organized by the Fondazione Carlo Levi at the Galleria Russo di Roma, which has historical links with the painter.4 It entered the Iannaccone collection the same year.A.A.

1 C. L. Ragghianti, Carlo Levi, with a previously unpublished text by Carlo Levi, Ed. U, 1948. For Levi’s portraits, see Carlo Levi. Galleria di ritratti, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Fondazione Carlo Levi, 8 March − 26 November 2000), Pomezia: Meridiana Libri, 2000.

2 Accompanied by an invitation with a list of the works and a presentation by Antonio Aniante, the show took place in June 1932. The same month saw the publication of two articles by Levi in Quaderni di Giustizia e Libertà: “In morte di Claudio Treves e Piero Gobetti” and “Rivoluzione liberale”.

3 A. Lavorgna, “Catalogo”, in Fondazione Carlo Levi (edited by), Carlo Levi. La realtà e lo specchio, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Russo, 20 November − 12 December 2014), Rome: Palombi, 2014, p. 84.

4 Ibidem.

232 233

Carlo Levi Nudo sdraiato

44 Title Nudo sdraiato [Reclining Nude] Date 1934 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 92 × 73.5 cm

Painted three years after the Six Painters of Turin disbanded — the end of this experience was marked by an exhibition organized by Lionello Venturi in Paris at the Galerie Libraire Jeune Europe in 1931 — Nudo sdraiato is indicative of wholly personal developments in the painting of Carlo Levi. The period 1930–31 had already seen “the first and clear maturity of his artistic means”, as stated by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti in the first catalogue-monograph on the artist1: “The value conquered is the brushstroke, a ve-hicle that conveys the motions of expression in the most mature phase with exceptionally vital and now truly authentic capacity and power of synthesis”.2 In the series of nudes produced pri-or to his internment in Lucania, and especially the work considered here, Levi’s brushstroke comes to life, becoming wavy and substantial. Colour predominates over composition and constructs the figures in the non-plastic way already developed by painters discovered by Levi in France, like Soutine and Pascin.3 The examples of Manet, the great master of the Six, and Modigliani (first admired in Italy, albeit with some initial reservations, by Riccardo Gualino) also appear to have influenced this nude “de-void of anatomy”4 and arranged so as to cross

the composition diagonally. This accentuated expressionism is further justified by repeated contact between the artist and his Roman col-leagues, which began in 1931 with the exhibition of works by Levi, Francesco Menzio and Enrico Paulucci at the first Rome Quadrennial and found crucial support in Pier Maria Bardi and his Galleria di Roma. The Nudo sdraiato that appeared in Levi’s solo show at the Galleria Genova in December 1936 can probably be identified as this work.5

R.P.

1 C. L. Ragghianti, Carlo Levi, with an unpublished essay by Carlo Levi, Florence: Edizioni U, 1948. The work can probably be identified on the basis of its measurements as the Nudo dormiente listed in the catalogue as work number 7, p. 48.

2 Ibidem.3 See the catalogue of the recent exhibition of Italian

artists active in Paris in the closing decades of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth, in which the painting was included: A. Piazzoli, P. S. Ubiali (edited by), Italiani a Parigi. Da Severini a Savinio, da De Chirico a Campigli. Precursori ed eredi, exhibition catalogue (Bergamo, Palazzo Storico Credito Bergamasco, 10–30 May 2014), Bergamo: Litostampa Istituto Grafico, 2014.

4 E. Pontiggia, “La spiritualità e la vita. Edoardo persico critico d’arte”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Persico e gli Artisti 1929-1936. Il percorso di un critico dall’Impressionismo al Primitivismo, exhibition catalogue (Milan, PAC, 11 June – 13 September 1998), Milan: Electa, 1998, pp. 13–39.

5 Mostra del pittore Carlo Levi, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova, 1–16 December 1936), presentation by G. Ferrata, Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1936 (work no. 14).

45 Title Uliveto ad Arenzano [Olive Grove at Arenzano]

Date 1931 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65 × 80 cm bottom right: 193 lilloni 1931

By 1931, when he painted Uliveto ad Arenzano, Umberto Lilloni was already recognized by some critics and had established the basic prin-ciples of his art.1 His first solo show took place in 1929 at the Galleria Bardi in Milan, which also published the first monograph on his work.2 Two years after the show, Pier Maria Bardi iden-tified the new elements in Lilloni’s painting: “The painter has since become gentler through pauses with an aura of enchantment. His col-our is cleaner and as though dematerialized. Lilloni thus enters into a contest with nature in an attempt to surpass it, demanding textures so light as to be dreamlike. On obtaining what was requested, he sets about making it still more lightweight, flimsy and tentative with airy brush-strokes filled with the ardour and anguish of the heart”.3 This gradual dematerialization, which character-izes in particular the coastal views of Liguria and the familiar town of Medole, always painted en plein air, create a magical, fairytale atmosphere indicative of his modest, discreet approach to nature. Even the square, linear buildings lose their hardness in “timid, bashful intimacy”4 sof-tened by light and airy colours. With his “min-ute brushwork”,5 Lilloni broke away definitively from the Novecento approach to landscape, above all in terms of “philosophical attitude”, returning in Uliveto ad Arenzano to the patches

of colour characteristic of the irregularity of na-ture, the végétal irrégulier so fiercely criticized by Margherita Sarfatti.6

The work remained in the possession of the Lilloni family and was never shown until it en-tered the Iannaccone collection in 19957 and was included the following year in a retrospec-tive on Chiarismo curated by Elena Pontiggia.8

R.P.

234 235

Umberto Lilloni Uliveto ad Arenzano

1 Lilloni was the joint winner with Virginio Ghiringhelli of the Principe Umberto Prize at the Brera Biennial in 1927, commended also by Margherita Sarfatti, and took part in the Venice Biennial for the first time the following year.

2 P. M. Bardi, Umberto Lilloni, Milan: Edizioni “Belvedere”, 1929. The show took place at the Galleria Bardi in Milan in the period November−December 1929. See L. Sansone (edited by), Le gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Fondazione Stelline, 24 February − 22 May 2016), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2016 (the painting by Lilloni being among the works exhibited).

3 P. M. Bardi, “Bogliardi, Ghiringhelli, Lilloni”, in L’Ambrosiano, y. X, no. 304, Milan, 24 December 1931, p. 3.

4 M. Lepore, in M. Lepore, M. Monteverdi (edited by), Lilloni. La vita e le opere, Milan: Editrice Ponte Rosso, 1963.

5 R. Modesti, in Pittura italiana contemporanea, Milan: Antonio Vallardi, 1958, pp. 122−23.

6 E. Pontiggia, in Sognare la natura. Il paesaggio nell’arte a Milano dal novecento all’informale (1919-1959), exhibition catalogue (Mantua, Casa del Mantegna; Medole, Torre Civica, 4 September − 31 October 1999), Mantua: Edizioni Casa del Mantegna, 1999, p. 17.

7 Giuseppe Iannaccone bought the work from the Galleria Schubert in Milan, whose owner was Adele Lilloni, the artist’s daughter.

8 See E. Pontiggia (edited by), I chiaristi. Milano e l’Alto Mantovano negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Medole, Torre Civica; Volta Mantovana, Scuderie di Palazzo Cavriani - Castiglione delle Stiviere, Galleria del Santuario, 14 April − 2 June 1996), Milan: Mazzotta, 1996.

46 Title Strada con casa rossa [Street with Red House]

Date 1928 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 38 × 38.5 cm bottom left: Mafai 28 verso:46v Title Ritratto [Portrait] Date circa 1928 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 38.5 × 38 cm

“I like to highlight the landscape in a slightly fan-tastic way, to give everything, the trees, hills and valleys, their own dreamy, almost incorporeal life”.1 Mafai’s romantic visions were born out of walks through the Forum with his wife Antonietta Raphaël and friend Scipione. Like a “hunter with pencil in hand”,2 he captured what he saw in lightning sketches that he then reworked in his studio on Via Cavour. The early views of Rome, including Strada con casa rossa (1928) display the artist’s attempt to take refuge in an intimate, romantic dimension and create an alternative to the “angular landscape of twentieth-century

Europe”.3 The sky illuminates the entire compo-sition with its glowing colours. The visual ful-crum is the red building glimpsed at the end of a curving lane, among trees only just held back by a low wall, which looks almost unreachable. The same view appears in Antonietta Raphaël’s Passeggiata archeologica [Archaeological Promenade] [FIG. 2],4 where the expressionism is still more accentuated and the perspective flattened and distorted. While Mafai eliminated the detail of the domes in the distance, Raphaël included them with slightly Russian overtones. Strada con casa rossa entered the collection of the musician Alfredo Casella, who noted “in the limpid sky of the young Mafai the crystal-line, fifteentth-century atmosphere of Mercurio e i metafisici [Mercury and the Metaphysicians] [FIG. 1]”, a painting by Giorgio de Chirico already in his possession.5

The painting can be identified as the landscape shown in 1939 at the Rome Quadrennial on the basis of the description given by Cesare Brandi: “[...] a landscape chosen almost as though to elude the terms in which his painting now de-velops, a little pink building hemmed in by trees

as close and slender as a bunch of ferns, trees that anyone ignorant of Mafai’s work could al-most suspect of primitivism”.6 It also appeared in 1984 in a show at the Studio Sotis in Rome.7 The back presents a face in profile against a background [W. NO. 46V] painted by Mafai in the same year as Strada con casa rossa.R.P.

236 237

Mario Mafai Strada con casa rossa

1 M. Mafai, Diario 1926-1965, edited by G. Appella, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, p. 30.

2 Ibidem, p. 37. 3 R. De Grada, “Gli anni della formazione”, in La pittura

di Mafai, Rome: Editrice Tevere, 1969, pp. 10−32. 4 The canvas by Antonietta Raphaël, formerly part

of the Jesi collection, is now in the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan. See F. Fergonzi, “Collezione Jesi”, in Pinacoteca di Brera. Dipinti dell’Ottocento e del Novecento. Collezioni dell’Accademia e della Pinacoteca, vol. II, Milan: Electa, 1994, p. 785.

5 V. Rivosecchi, in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola Romana. Artisti tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 April − 19 June 1988), Milan: Mazzotta, 1988, p. 59.

6 C. Brandi, “Mafai all’Arcobaleno”, in Le Arti, y. II, vol. XVIII, fasc. I, Florence: Le Monnier, October−November 1939, p. 44.

7 See D. Trombadori (edited by), Per Mario Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Studio Sotis), Rome: De Luca, 1984.

1. Giorgio de Chirico, Mercurio e i metafisici, 1920. Private collection

2. Antonietta Raphaël, Passeggiata archeologica, 1928. Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera, Jesi collection

46v

238 239

Mario Mafai Tramonto sul Lungotevere Tramonto su Roma

47 Title Tramonto sul Lungotevere [Sunset on the Lungotevere]

Date 1929 Technique oil on plywood Dimensions 41.3 × 50.8 cm bottom right: Mafai Mario 192948 Title Tramonto su Roma

[Sunset over Rome] Date 1941 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 24 × 34 cm bottom right: mafai 41

Tramonto sul Lungotevere (1929) definitively marks the transition in Mario Mafai’s painting from the “view” to the “vision”1 and the rework-ing of Roman landscapes in a consciously dreamlike mental dimension: “Mafai loved sun-set, the last gleams on the buildings, the long transition from light to darkness […] Night is a conquest of silence and solitude, and Mafai felt it as his true state of peace in that period”.2 An arbitrarily chosen, downward perspective en-compasses the panorama over Ponte Garibaldi with the thick vegetation of the Aventine and pre-carious edifices in the distance. The disintegra-tion of space, which maintains its own balance nevertheless thanks to the carefully calibrated alternation of dark and light areas, draws on the painting of Chagall as filtered through the sto-ries of Antonietta Raphaël. The sudden bursts of colour and the deftly balanced silhouetting used by the artist in his transfiguration of the sunsets of a “burning Rome” can be traced back to the tireless study of the Venetian painters and El Greco undertaken in his youth together with Scipione. The artist chose this work for show in the first exhibition of the Prima Sindacale Laziale

[Lazio branch of the Fascist Union of Fine Arts]in 1929. Roberto Longhi wrote as follows in his review: “The border of that dark, disrupt-ed zone where decrepit impressionism turns into expressionistic hallucination, cabala and magic is in fact the precise location of Mafai’s turbulent villages of bacterial virulence, whose overheated temperature could suggest the work of a home-grown Raoul Dufy”.3 Scipione was very enthusiastic about the exhibition and told his friend Marino Mazzacurati about the “great uproar” caused by Mafai’s work.4 Purchased by Principessa Marguerite Caetani di Bassiano, the painting was then shown in the retrospective or-ganized by the Ente Premi di Roma at Palazzo Barberini in 1969.5

The collection offers an interesting compar-ison with Mafai’s Tramonto su Roma [W. NO. 48], which presents the same view of the Tiber em-bankment more than ten years later. Closer to the Demolitions series, the work reflects the changed historical and political situation.R.P.

1 V. Rivosecchi, in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola Romana. Artisti tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 April − 19 June 1988), Milan: Mazzotta, 1988, p. 28.

2 R. De Grada, “Gli anni della formazione”, in La pittura di Mafai, Rome: Editrice Tevere, 1969, pp. 10-32.

3 R. Longhi, “La mostra romana degli artisti sindacati. Clima e opere degli irrealisti-espressionisti”, in L’Italia Letteraria, y. I, no. 2, Rome, 14 April 1929, p. 4.

4 Letter from Scipione to Marino Mazzacurati, February 1929; now in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by), Scipione. Vita e opere, Turin: Umberto Allemandi & C., 1988, pp. 79−81.

5 See Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo Barberini, January−March 1969, Rome: Edizioni dell’Ente Premi Roma - De Luca, 1969 (work no. 10).

48

49 Title Autoritratto [Self-Portrait] Date circa 1933 Technique oil on unprimed canvas Dimensions 56.5 × 44 cm bottom left: mafai

“All is mystery on the stage / the mirror on the easel / the painting is not yet finished”.1 Poets and painters love to use one another as mirrors. “As soon as artists decide to entrust their im-age to the surface of the canvas, that surface is transformed into a reflecting mirror […] the space of the painting is a wholly particular mir-ror that deforms and distorts, permits narcissis-tic transformations and imposes harsh trials, helps to know but also to lose certainties. Its magic requires courage and circumspection”.2 Mario Mafai summoned up all his courage to paint this canvas after the death of his close friend Scipione, his mind racked by unimag-inable grief. His best friend, his brother, was gone, never to return, on 9 September 1933. As he wrote in his diary, “Scipione was destroyed, becoming one body with the bed, his flesh no longer vibrating, abandoned to his weight.” He tried to get back to work so as to immortalize that state of mind, the strange sensation of emp-tiness that surrounded him and left him sunk in apathy. He set to work and produced an initial version of the double portrait that was to be signed unmistakeably Mafai 33 in the bottom left corner [FIG. 1]. The painter’s eyes are sad

and dull, his expression vacant. The face be-hind him is unfinished. His gaze seems intent, in an evident ambiguous game with his friend Scipione, on halting a sorrowful moment in his life, in cui anche la sua compagna Antonietta sembra averlo abbandonato decidendodi rima-nere a Parigi, clearly mirrored in these verses of Libero de Libero: “He is my hand / and my cheek. / His arm is mine, / which imitates his. / In my eye is his, / which looks and all / the shadow is born from us, / like our shoulders, / friends to us when / our heads hide our faces, / one held close to the other”.3

He sent it as it was to the 1934 Venice Biennial, where the critics proved merciless or uncer-tain, like Virgilio Guizzi: “Mafai […] is somehow mushy. He lacks boldness of definition, vigor-ous and conclusive draughtsmanship. […]” His withdrawn and slightly anarchical character, traits increasingly accentuated after the death of his friend Scipione, led him at the end of 1934 to rework the canvas so that coded messages and signs of affinity pass between the faces, trans-forming it from an exchange of glances with the departed into a double portrait with his wife, en-deavouring to do what he found most difficult: “to free himself from himself”. The artist’s eyes are now calm and composed, and the chubby face of a young woman behind him is completed so that the viewer is left in doubt as to who she is: “[…] as a reaction against the widespread individualism of that period [1933], all too facile

and euphoric, I decided to shape not particular but general men and women, anonymous imag-es of a naked humankind captured in its earth-ly condition of existence”.4 His friend Renato Guttuso certainly had this work in mind in 1937, when he painted himself together with his belov-ed Mimise [FIG. 8, P. 45],5 “[...] shown here as a sort of vital, emblematic apparition, in a nexus that is more psychological than visual [...] Taking cognizance of a condition through the psycho-logical analysis of an absorbing, impassioned relationship, the condition in reality of neces-sary individual solitude in search of one’s own existential truth”.6

R.P.

240 241

Mario Mafai Autoritratto

1 From a poem written by Giorgio de Chirico in 1917.2 V. Rivosecchi, “L’artista allo specchio”, in M. Fagiolo

dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola romana. Artisti tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 April − 19 June 1988), Milan: Mazzotta, 1988 , p. 161.

3 The poem appears as Pagine Chiuse in the catalogue Libero de Libero. Febbre di colori, p. 22; in De Libero, E, p. 27; and now as XVIII in G. Lupo, Poesia come pittura, De Libero e la cultura romana (1930-1940), Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 2000, p. 19.

4 V. Martinelli, Mario Mafai, Rome: Editalia, 1967, p. 28.

5 Renato Guttuso, Autoritratto con Mimise (Doppio ritratto), datable to 1937, oil on panel, 53 × 40 cm, signed “Guttuso” at bottom right, Bari, R.V.G. collection.

6 F. Carapezza Guttuso, E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso 1912–2012, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Complesso del Vittoriano, 12 October 2012 – 10 February 2013), Milan: Skira, 2012, p. 49.

1. Mario Mafai, Self-Portrait, circa 1933, first version

242 243

Mario Mafai Garofani bianchi con mammole

50 Title Garofani bianchi con mammole [White Carnations and Sweet Violets]

Date 1936 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 51 × 39 cm bottom right: mafai

Painting flowers that gradually wither, losing their petals and chromatic vivacity, was a way for Mario Mafai to reflect on the relentless pass-ing of time and hence his destiny. “I have seen the colour of the skin on my face yellowing in the mirror and the pink of my cheekbones fade as I once saw flowers lose their colour and become dull, frail and fragile […] I could count on flow-ers in my passion for certitude but had never thought that people too become wrinkled and lose colour with dark veins appearing on their bodies. I was very upset and tried to remedy it. I could not accept the possibility of changing col-our and smell. It is impossible to reconstruct the past without finding shadowy phases, breaks in the course of events. The memory remains of just a few moments that are not among the most important. If you try to retrace a given period, you see it fall apart”.1 As Roberto Melli noted at the time, “Mafai’s flowers […] have nothing at all to do with the gossipy, ‘sophisticated’ flowers of De Pisis [FIG. 1] […] Nothing so much as these flowers provides the key to his poetic pictorial spirit, the secret of his inner life and mystery”.2 In Garofani bianchi con mammole (1936) the stems and petals are rendered exclusively in thick brushstrokes that quiver in search of the desired nuance. Broad sunlight bathes the background, which almost looks like plaster and makes it possible to appreciate the slight-est tonal vibrations. Guttuso never forgot to bring beautiful flowers, which he “presented to

my mother, bowing slightly in the Spanish style. I recall the gift of four white gardenias, perfect and intensely fragrant, for each of us, the wom-en of the Mafai household, as he liked to call us”.3 This was noted by Renato Guttuso a few years after the completion of the painting (then in the Natale collection), which he described as “Mafai’s most acute and extreme pictorial experience, where the tonal vibration flickers from white to white in thousandths of a second and the substance, though thick, is reduced to breath”.4 Cesare Brandi saw the paper wrapping of the bouquet as a citation of Giorgio Morandi’s still lifes [FIG. 7, P. 45], to which Mafai unquestion-ably looked despite opting for “an almost liquid and transparent colour, like mist floating in the air, where the white of the carnations is softened and almost deadened”.5

The work was exhibited in the artist’s first solo shows in Rome after the war at the Galleria del Secolo and the Galleria Athena.6 It also ap-peared about twenty years later in the posthu-mous exhibition organized by Dario Micacchi at La Nuova Pesa.7 R.P.

1 M. Mafai, Diario 1926–1965, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, p. 72.

2 R. Melli, “Visite ad artisti. Mario Mafai”, in Quadrivio, y. III, no. 22, Rome, 31 March 1935, pp. 9−10.

3 G. Mafai, La ragazza con il violino, Milan: Skira, p. 106.4 R. Guttuso, “Nota a Mafai”, in Primato, y. I, no. 13,

Rome, 1 September 1940, p. 18. 5 C. Brandi; now in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I

fiori di Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Netta Vespignani, October−November 1989), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani, 1989, [p. 44].

6 The shows were held respectively from December 1945 to January 1946 and in April 1947.

7 See D. Micacchi (edited by), Omaggio a Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria La Nuova Pesa, 24 November − 13 December 1967), Rome: La Nuova Pesa, 1967.

1. Filippo de Pisis, Fiori, 1936. Milan, Archivio Associazione per il patrocinio dell’opera di Filippo de Pisis

2. Mario Mafai in his studio in Rome, 1933

244 245

Roberto Melli La lettura

51 Title La lettura [The Reading] Date 1942 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 80 × 90 cm top right: Melli 42

Having started out in the applied arts, Roberto Melli could look back in the early forties on a long career as a painter and as a critic. His pri-mary interest as from his experience with the Valori Plastici group was in using the construc-tive potential of colour to create volumes after the manner of Cézanne: “His choice, precise and instinctive, focuses from the outset on col-our”, the basis of his “artistic sense”, to bring out the “possibilities of pictorial form in terms of volume and mass”.1 His work on the relationship between light and colour gave birth to surfaces whose thickness “can be probed, where even the voids play a volumetric role”.2 The contrast between the blue and yellow of the hanging clothes is much bolder than the delicate tonal combinations typical of his work. The artist’s

wife and a young friend are shown in a domes-tic scene whose intimacy is expressed above all through the pose of the girl and the cosiness of the room, full of simple everyday objects like books, a ball of wool and some clothes. Part of the Natale collection in Rome, it was first shown in March 1950 in an exhibition curated by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti at the Strozzina in Florence and then repeated with some changes the following month in Milan.3 R.P.

1 M. Calvesi, Roberto Melli, introduction by G. C. Argan, Rome: De Luca, 1954.

2 Ibidem.3 See C. L. Ragghianti (edited by), L’opera di Roberto

Melli (dal 1908 al 1948), exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Gian Ferrari, 1−10 April 1950) Milan: Galleria Gian Ferrari, 1950. It was also shown more recently in Pordenone; see Ado Furlan 1905-1971. Artisti e amici romani. Opere 1930-1945, exhibition catalogue (Pordenone, Galleria Sagittaria-Centro Iniziative Culturali, 10 December 2005 − 26 February 2006), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2005.

246 247

Francesco Menzio Ritratto di giovane

52 Title Ritratto di giovane [Portrait of a Young Man]

Date 1929 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 72 × 59 cm bottom right: Menzio

Francesco Menzio had already attained full ma-turity at the time of Ritratto di giovane (1929) and was indeed regarded by Edoardo Persico and Giacomo Debenedetti as “an example also of moral life, a leader”.1 He did indeed play a cen-tral part in the brief but intense artistic adventure of the Six Painters of Turin, who first caught the public eye precisely in 1929 with a show at the Casa d’Arte Guglielmi. The previous year had seen Menzio’s first trip to Paris, which marked a crucial turning point both for his own work and for the work of those where were soon to be his companions. After his first-hand acquaint-ance with Impressionist and post-Impressionist painting in Paris, Menzio moved away from the approach to volume based on the teaching and example of Felice Casorati and Felice Carena in Turin. As pointed out by Albino Galvano, how-ever, the “rejection of volume as determined by chiaroscuro, as projection of forms, does not mean the absence of the space in which that volume is located but only the rendering of that

spatial situation through constant modulation of a homogeneous pictorial fabric wholly explored as the path of colour”.2 This can be seen here in the portrait, where the male figure appears in a domestic interior built up of rich, dense colour moulded and at-tenuated by still, natural light, “a warm taste of engrossed masses in light”.3 The pictures on the wall in the background avoid any figurative characterization whatsoever and appear as pure patches of colour, almost as though the painter wished to communicate through these details the need he felt for a free and creative use of colour outside of any rigid formal framework.4

A.A.

1 A. G. [Albino Galvano], “Note biografiche”, in A. Galvano, Francesco Menzio, Turin: Edizioni “La Bussola”, 1971, p. XXII.

2 Ibidem, p. X. 3 S. Solmi, in Bollettino della Galleria del Milione,

no. 57, 23 November − 15 December 1937, n. p.4 Ritratto di giovane has appeared recently in two

exhibitions held in Turin on the Six: I Sei di Torino. Per i quindici anni della Galleria del Ponte (Turin, Galleria Il Ponte, 7 May – 26 June 2004), catalogue edited by S. Testa, Turin: Galleria Il Ponte, 2004; Il gruppo dei Sei e la pittura a Torino1920/1940 (Settimo Torinese, Casa per l’Arte Giardinera, 16 December 2005 – 26 March 2006), catalogue edited by B. Bellini, I. Mulatero, Turin: Fondazione Torino Musei, 2005.

248 249

Francesco Menzio Lo scialle verde

53 Title Lo scialle verde [The Green Shawl] Date 1929 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 53 × 45 cm bottom left: Menzio

“This melancholy Orpheus, with the pale face and slumped shoulders of emigrants, obeyed the dictates of his conscience and went in search of his own inner harmony in the universe of colour”.1 Edoardo Persico thus tells us what prompted Francesco Menzio in 1928 to set off for Paris, to see the latest developments in European paint-ing for himself and meet the figures involved in their studios.2 This “faith in European painting”3 resulted in some important paintings in the late twenties, including Lo scialle verde. The work displays the artist’s concentration on delicate combinations of colour, for which he was described as a “symphonic composer who has understood Matisse and Modigliani”,4 and abandonment of outline to build up the figure in quick, light brushstrokes. The woman’s face is constructed with a few concise lines and her almost disoriented expression, with the mouth half-open, robs her of the characteristic solem-nity of Novecento portraits while also undermin-ing any plasticity of volume. Menzio takes the woman portrayed out of the traditional, timeless metaphysical dimension and places her in the context of the time by dressing her in a fash-ionable hat, thus displaying an attention to the details of female fashion that recalls Raoul Dufy among others. The painting was originally entitled La sciarpa verde [The Green Scarf] and shown as such in

1930 in the fourth exhibition of the Six Painters of Turin, just a year after they caught the atten-tion of critics with their first “disconcerting and very interesting” show at the Galleria Guglielmi in Turin.5 After a year of intense work, Menzio took part on this occasion with “six items only but worthy of close examination”,6 in which Marziano Bernardi saw “a rigour and love that we had believed denied to him in recent times”.7 Lo scialle verde appeared in a solo show at the Galleria Narciso in Turin in 1966.8

R.P.

1 E. Persico, Mostra del pittore Francesco Menzio, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Sala d’arte Guglielmi, 16−24 March 1929); now in A. Bovero (edited by), Archivi dei sei pittori di Torino, Rome: De Luca, 1965, pp. 95−96.

2 The painting recently appeared in an exhibition of Italian artists who worked in Paris in the closing decades of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth: see Italiani a Parigi. Da Severini a Savinio, da De Chirico a Campigli. Precursori ed eredi (Bergamo, Palazzo Storico Credito Bergamasco, 10−30 May 2014), catalogue edited by A. Piazzoli, P. S. Ubiali, Bergamo: Litostampa Istituto Grafico, 2014.

3 F. Menzio, Sei Pittori, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Guglielmi, 4−12 January 1930), Turin: Galleria Guglielmi, 1930.

4 E. Zanzi, “La tristezza di cinque Artisti e di una pittrice”, in Gazzetta del Popolo, 8 January 1930.

5 I. M. Angeloni, “Una mostra all’insegna di Manet. Sei pittori in Piazza Castello”, in Il Momento, Turin, 13 January 1929.

6 E. Zanzi, “La tristezza”..., cit., 1930.7 mar. ber. [M. Bernardi], “Cronache delle

esposizioni”, in La Stampa, y. 64, no. 4, Turin, 4 January 1930, p. 3.

8 See Francesco Menzio, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Narciso, 16 January − 2 February 1966), text by P. Fossati, Turin: Edizioni Galleria Narciso, 1966.

250 251

Giuseppe Migneco Amanti al parco

54 Title Amanti al parco [Lovers in the Park] Date 1940 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 50 × 40 cm bottom right: Migneco 40

Giuseppe Migneco’s everyday subjects conceal more dramatic themes that satisfy his need to respond with his art “to something that is moral as well as artistic, as in a diary of confessions”.1 A subject of passion can thus become tragically grotesque, as in Amanti al parco (1940), where there are few elements actually suggesting an amorous relationship. The man almost appears to be in his death throes. His posture is decid-edly unnatural and the flowers he must have brought as a gift for his sweetheart are withered and dead. Though featured in the original title under which the work was shown at the Galleria Genova in 1940 (Sedile al parco [Seat in the Park]),2 the park plays a wholly secondary part in the composition and is indeed almost contra-dicted by the railings, which grimly suggest the bars of a prison rather than a place for a pleas-ant afternoon stroll.3 The sense of anxiety and oppression is heightened by the artist’s original compositional approach, a sort of horror vacui that results in every square centimetre of the canvas being occupied by twisting tongues of colour that envelop the image in their coils. As Beniamino Joppolo perceptively observed, “Migneco is led by instinct to reduce the world in form and colour to chaos and then rebuild it in his own new vision of form and colour (the three phases are always present and operative)”.4 In

other words, the artist starts from reality and re-turns there only after a painful reworking born out of a “need to free himself”.5 Amanti al parco was shown as Panchine [Benches] at the Bottega di Corrente in 19416 and then at the Galleria Santa Radegonda four years later.7 The recent exhibitions in which the work has appeared include I luoghi di Corrente8 and Le gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre9.R.P.

1 G. B. [Guido Ballo], “Successo di Migneco alla galleria ‘La Colonna’”, in Avanti!, y. LVII, no. 28, Milan, 1 February 1953, p. 4.

2 See Giuseppe Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova, from 10 April 1940), presentation by B. Joppolo, Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1940; now in “Antologia critica”, in Galleria, monographic issue, y. XII, no. 1-2, Caltanissetta-Rome: Salvatore Sciascia Editore, January −April 1972, pp. 11−13.

3 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano anni Trenta. L’Arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 240.

4 B. Joppolo, in Giuseppe Migneco, cit., 1940.5 [G.B.], in “Successo...”, cit., 1953.6 See Giuseppe Migneco, exhibition catalogue

(Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 6−18 January 1941), presentation by U. Silva, Milan: Edizioni di Corrente, 1941, work no. 3.

7 See Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Santa Radegonda, opened 22 November 1945), presentation by L. Anceschi, Milan: Galleria Santa Radegonda, 1945 (pl. IV).

8 I luoghi di Corrente (Milan, Fondazione di Corrente, 14 May − 9 June 2015), catalogue edited by N. Colombo, A. Negri, P. Rusconi, G. Seveso, Milan: Scalpendi, 2015.

9 Le gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre (Milan, Fondazione Stelline, 24 February − 22 May 2016), catalogue edited by L. Sansone, Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2016.

252 253

Giuseppe Migneco L’uomo dal dito fasciato

55 Title L’uomo dal dito fasciato [The Man with a Bandaged Finger]

Date 1940 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 60 × 46 cm bottom left: Migneco 40

Giuseppe Migneco uses quivering yellows and greens and the application of thick, dense paint in large brushstrokes of a free and violent nature to create a work in which even the slightest de-tail plays an allusive and metaphorical role. The man is as though immersed in a dream, halfway between hope and anguish. He holds four red carnations with long stems along which the paint runs like a turbulent stream to delineate the windswept background. Beneath the volu-minous robe covering his body, another, more compact garment appears almost solemnly at the neck and breast in the same shade of red as the flowers, with which there appears to be some symbolic relationship.If the flowers allow the artist to dream for an instant of beauty and the joys of life, the rail-ings behind the bench, which suggest the bars of a prison, plunge him back immediately into the harsh reality of anxiety and uncertainty. Italy was fraught with tension. The Pact of Steel had

been signed with Germany on 22 May 1939 and war was now imminent. The middle finger of the right hand on the breast, the key tool of the art-ist’s craft, is distinguished by an unusual black bandage, which is repeated around his wrist. While Migneco was evidently inspired by Van Gogh in his poetic freedom of colour, we can-not fail to discern in this venomous painting the intellectual influence of the Turinese artist Carlo Levi and his painting of a Uomo col guanto nero (Eroe cinese) [Man in a Black Glove (Chinese Hero)] [FIG. 1]. The existential problem is ad-dressed here at the root and that black glove, like the black bandage, can be seen as a sign of opposition to the official culture, which prevent-ed artists from expressing themselves freely in that period and forced them to convey ideas and opinions through symbols and allegories. Elena Pontiggia sees the juxtaposition of red and black as an allegory of the eternal strug-gle between eros and thanatos, and the black bandaged finger as an unconscious phallic symbol.1 Fagone instead sees the flowers held in the injured hand as “perhaps a mirror image of the painter bringing bitter sweetness”,2 a met-aphor of the role of painters but also of poets, who must not be asked for words (Montale). In this painting as in others of the same period,

such as Amanti al parco [Lovers in the Park] [W. NO. 54], Carciofi [Artichokes], Massaie ubri-ache [Drunk Housewives] [FIG. 2] and La fossa dei lebbrosi [The Valley of the Lepers] [FIG. 3], tragic baroque brushwork and pictorial style are used to depict scenes of anguish and despair that are almost forcibly bound. “Behind the plot of an indefinite world (the liquid of sharp or acid greens mixed up with the soil, with eyes, hair and hands) was the romantic myth glorifying subjective expression, the mental state; for an inner necessity almost to be torn from the se-crecy of the unconscious: as in a diary of se-cret confessions where analogy and sometimes smugly literary motifs took shape in colour with an expressive function”.3 R.P.

1 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), in Milano anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 - 27 February 2005 ), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 240

2 V. Fagone, “Cinquant’anni di pittura di Giuseppe Migneco”, in L. Barbera (edited by), Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Messina, Palazzo Zanca, December 1983 – February 1984), Milan: Vangelista, 1983, pp. 22–28.

3 G. Ballo, Pittura italiana dal futurismo a oggi, Rome: Edizioni Mediterranee, 1956, p. 167.

1. Carlo Levi, Uomo col guanto nero (Eroe cinese), 1931. Rome, Fondazione Levi

3. Giuseppe Migneco, La fossa dei lebbrosi, 1939. Milan, private collection

2. Giuseppe Migneco, Massaie ubriache, 1939. Milan, G. Migneco collection

254 255

Giuseppe Migneco Natura morta con maschere

56 Title Natura morta con maschere [Still Life with Masks]

Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 49 × 39 cm bottom left: migneco

This still life of 1941 shows two slightly fore-shortened Venetian masks, one resting partially on the other. Between them is a table lamp that organizes the space by constructing an intricate web of lines. The unplugged cable could sug-gest a sudden interruption and hence the cut-ting off of vital energy by the oppressive social and political conditions of the time.The forms are built up entirely in tongues of col-our clearly distinguished by thickly laden brush-strokes. The composition appears in any case far more calm and concise than other works of the same period, where the long, contorted streaks made by the brush create asphyxiating atmospheres verging on delirium.1

The peculiar aspect of Natura morta con maschere lies above all in its symbolic dimen-sion, which reflects the Hermetic poetry that in-fluenced many painters of the Corrente group in that period. The allegorical iconography of the

mask, drawn from expressionism and the paint-ing of Ensor, thus appears in the coeval works of various painters close to Migneco, the best known of which are Renato Birolli and Fiorenzo Tomea. A misunderstanding, due in all probability to misinterpretation of the inscription written on the back of the work by the artist to authenticate it, has led to some confusion about its title, which is given by many sources, including the general catalogue,2 as Natura morta con tre maschere [Still Life with Three Masks] even though there are unquestionably two masks in the painting and not three.3 In some cases, the work is also erroneously dated 1939 instead of 1941.4

R.P.

1 E.g. Amanti sulla panchina and L’uomo dal dito fasciato, both in the Iannaccone collection.

2 N. C. Luciani (edited by), Migneco. Catalogo generale, vol. II, Milan: Bonaparte Editrice, 1990, p. 426.

3 In the inscription Migneco/“Natura morta con le maschere”/1941, the word le (the) may have been misread as tre (three).

4 E.g. Giuseppe Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Bonaparte, 15 November – 12 December 1995), text by E. Krumm, Milan: Galleria Bonaparte, 1995.

256 257

Ennio Morlotti Natura morta con bucranio

57 Title Natura morta con bucranio [Still Life with Bull Skull]

Date 1942 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 46 × 60 cm top left: Morlotti

“I must say that I was surprised to hear talk of Van Gogh and German expressionists. I was instead more drawn towards Cézanne and the Cubists in an effort to cleanse myself of the grime of paint-erliness […] What I displayed was not so much an aversion to Corrente as internal dissent”.1 This is how Ennio Morlotti later described his re-lations with the Corrente movement, in which his involvement had been no more than marginal, taking no part in the two exhibitions organized by the group in 19392 and not showing work at the Bottega di Corrente until 1943, when many of the initial points of stylistic reference had changed.3 As Giovanni Testori noted in an article in Paragone, Morlotti kept his distance from the romanticism of Corrente, focusing more on “sub-stance” than colour “understood as feeling”.4 His palette was indeed confined to a narrow range in what was described as a “Cézannian reduction of colours” by Arturo Carlo Quintavalle,5 who also noted a certain degree of Morandian severi-ty, especially in his “thickness of paint”, reminis-cent in turn of Sironi.6 These principles led Morlotti to produce a se-ries of still lifes in which the objects, two or three per canvas, undergo a process of corrosion in volume and form beneath the weight of brush-strokes so thickly laden as to look forward to certain works of his later gestural Art Informel period. This is what happens in this work of 1942

to the jug, a classic element of twentieth-century still life, the shape of which is, however, distort-ed to the point of becoming almost unrecogniz-able. Alongside this household object is a bu-cranium, recalling his encounter with the “great and grotesque mythology of Picasso”7 in Paris in 1937.8 The bull skull had already been used by Guttuso, whose approach in that period was, however, diametrically opposed to Morlotti’s substantial physicality, his renowned still lifes being completely flooded with light to enhance broad expanses of bright colours, the reds, yel-lows and blues reinvented by Van Gogh.9 Making the objects unrecognizable and denying the composition any perspective, Morlotti opted for “a wholly mental relationship between the forms” and hence their “symbolic value”.10 The bucranium thus constitutes the linchpin of the painting as a grim metaphor of the day-to-day violence of those years, pervaded by a sense of death in ironic contrast to the deep hollow of the eye and gaping jaws, which make the skull “horribly alive”.11

Never shown in the forties and fifties, the work was included in an exhibition of 1963 in Lecco,12 the painter’s hometown, when it was already part of the collection of Enrico Brambilla Pisoni.13

R.P.

Milan: Edizioni della Spiga e Corrente, 1943.4 G. Testori, “Appunti su Ennio Morlotti”, in Paragone,

y. III, no. 33, Sansoni, Florence, September 1952, pp. 21−30.

5 A. C. Quintavalle, “La crisi del racconto europeo. Morlotti e Guttuso”, in A. C. Quintavalle (edited by), Morlotti. Struttura e storia, Milan: Fabbri, 1982, pp. 41−52.

6 A. C. Quintavalle, “Colore e segno, la memoria del gesto”, in A. C. Quintavalle (edited by), Morlotti..., cit., 1982, pp. 60−71. Morandi and Morlotti were also juxtaposed in a joint show, including Natura morta con bucranio, organized by the Galleria del Milione; see Morandi-Morlotti. Per i quarant’anni del Milione due antologiche, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria del Milione, 12 December 1970 − 12 January 1971), presentation by R. Tassi, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1970.

7 F. Arcangeli, Ennio Morlotti, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1962, pp. XVI−XVIII.

8 “I did no work at all also in Paris, where I arrived in 1937. The library and paintings of others […] The Expo with the great Cézannes from Philadelphia and Picasso’s Guernica, where I fell in love, so to speak, with those great painters […] With its surrealism and its symbols, Guernica completely disrupted the idea of reality I had constructed for myself […] Cézanne, not for his cubes or his cylinders but for the overwhelming power of his colour, I remember those Bathers […] and it was precisely a flash of blue and orange, but a flash that penetrated you […] I came back disheartened, filled with emotions but also confused and distraught.” G. Bruno, P. G. Castagnoli, D. Biasin (edited by), Ennio Morlotti. Catalogo ragionato dei dipinti, vol. 2, Milan: Skira, 2000, p. 735.

9 For a comparison of the still lifes of Guttuso and Morlotti, see A. C. Quintavalle, La crisi..., cit., 1982.

10 A. C. Quintavalle, in Morlotti. Struttura..., cit., 1982, p. 284.

11 G. Anzani, C. Pirovano, “La pittura del primo Novecento in Lombardia (1900-1945)”, in C. Pirovano (edited by), La pittura in Italia. Il Novecento 1900-1945, vol. 1, 2nd edition, Milan: Electa, 1992, pp. 85−241.

12 The show took place at the Centro Cultura in Lecco in 1963 and was accompanied by the publication of the monograph Ennio Morlotti, edited by C. Volpe, Rome: Edizioni Galleria Odyssia, 1963.

13 As attested by the exhibition label signed by the collector and still attached to the back of the work.

1 M. Valsecchi, “Vorrei dipingere un nudo come Giorgione”, interview with Ennio Morlotti, in Tempo, y. XXVI, no. 8, Milan, 22 February 1964, p. 73.

2 It was not until 1940, through his friendship with Bruno Cassinari, that Morlotti came into contact with Corrente.

3 See Cassinari-Morlotti-Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, from 6 February 1943),

58 Title Composizione (Siesta rustica) [Composition (Rustic Siesta)]

Date 1924−26 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 100 × 126 cm bottom right: 24 F. Pirandello

Born in Rome on 17 June 1899, the third child of Luigi Pirandello and Maria Antonietta Portulano, Fausto Pirandello had a difficult childhood due to his mother’s precarious mental state. Called up for military service in 1916, he abandoned his studies and forgot the delight of the exhibitions that had brought him into direct contact since 1913 with the work of the German expression-ists, immediately after the initial stage of Die Brücke, the late paintings of Renoir and the sav-age drawings of Egon Schiele. On returning to Rome after the war, he was encouraged by his father to take up sculpture (“they erect monu-ments after every war, so there will be no lack of commissions”) and studied for a while with the sculptor Sigismondo Lipinsky. Unhappy with the system, he soon decided to attend the paint-ing course at the Accademia del Nudo, where he met the artists Felice Carena and Armando Spadini. Like them, he chose Anticoli Corrado as a place to paint and think: “the village of art-ist’s models where Arturo Martini enjoyed his only peaceful years, a secluded but also fertile and sensual corner of pure, millennial pastoral life. The best possible place not only to meet the love of his life — the most faithful and prov-idential companion he could ever have wished for — but also to reflect face to face with reality on the turbulent emotions and ideas of his early youth, when he used to hide beneath the table and listen to great thinkers discuss matters of European culture in different languages”.1

He was fascinated by Arturo Martini and his incredible vitality: “I confess that he draws me like a magnet. Brought up in a strange and, so to speak, procedural kind of conformism, I see human relations beneath a mechanism with no practical confirmation. I believe in the ad-equacy of a sort of etiquette but realize that it means nothing to anyone around me. Everyone behaves as they see fit and as is most advan-tageous for them. I am as though stuck with a mannerist fetishism, outworn and laughable but so deeply ingrained by now as to be beyond my own judgement”.2

This description of Martini sounds rather like a self-portrait of the young painter himself, who produced a number of compositions in this period, including the recent addition to the Iannaccone collection dated 1924. These works are certainly influenced by Carena, especially the painting Quiete [Calm] [FIG. 2], which he saw at the 1922 Venice Biennial, by the volumes of Cézanne, now recognized as a master, by the pinks and violets of Spadini, present in the Biennial of 1924 with no fewer than forty-nine works, and by Casorati’s masterpiece Meriggio [Midday] [FIG. 1], also shown on the same occa-sion.Having established Pirandello’s sources of in-spiration, we must, however, point out that this important artist went his own way from the very

outset. His alone is the raw power of reality in-stilled into bodies and nature in compositions that address subjects very different from those of other artists of the time. “From the first paint-ings known to us, dated 1923, […] Pirandello displays an anti-classical reading of reality in his truest and most dramatic expressions, one that therefore has more of truth than realism, that uses paradox and the absurd as constants of its vocabulary. And this is the path that the artist pursued obsessively all through his life […] Carnality understood as slightly animal-like physicality, carnality serving to manifest the sense of guilt and sin, the negative that there is inside us, with no atonement, no redemption. It is the disintegration of flesh, the odour of pu-trefaction, and hence the negation of beauty, of perfection, which is not of this world but an im-practicable, unattainable ideal that there is no point in representing, an illusion to be rejected […]”.3

Built up in reds, whites and golden greens, Composizione (also known as Siesta rusti-ca) reveals the unmistakeable “neurosis” that drives the art of this deep explorer of the psy-che. It is indeed as from these early works, if we exclude the few produced before leaving for the war, that Pirandello decided to focus on the expressive power of colours, rich in lime, thick and chalky in texture, but glowing at the same time. “The ‘memory’ gradually regresses, breaking down into the colours of light. From red, which is the most vehement inflection but also the most briefly reflected, to the yellow in which it is then clad, to green, turquoise, indi-go and violet, the last exception of the memo-ry. It then turns grey as though withering and finally dwindles, shrinks and peters out. The image has its own entire story of colours to tell and it is the tale of the seeing eye, which tells it by itself, outside, because it is a dual organ: presenting things to us and arranging them in the order of the world”.4 Thus it is that the red enveloping the body in the foreground fills the composition with life and the white sheet in the background takes on a leading role, convey-ing a sense of purity we can almost smell. The sleeping figures, both dressed and naked, are almost forced into the space of the canvas, vi-olent even in their immobility. The flesh is warm and in disarray, revealing the path taken in all the artist’s later works. For Pirandello, painting was like being in labour. He never worked by instinct but by developing forms and content. He was deeply critical of everything he did and always pursued intellectual rigour, which is in-deed precisely why this work was piled up with five others and never shown, not even placed on stretchers in the large studio where he loved to work, after the first composition presented at the Venice Biennial was described as somewhat clumsy in tone and execution in a review.5 One thing is certain, however, namely that he would absolutely never have destroyed these works. As he remarked to the critic Giorgio Mascherpa in 1981 while they were looking at one of his paintings in a gallery: “It’s as though they were just goods […] you put your heart and soul into it, you make a painting into which you cram a

month, a whole year, and all that for a few salm-on pink pieces of paper […].”Never shown during the artist’s lifetime, it was presented to the public for the first time in the major retrospective of 1976 at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome and then in all the most important exhibitions of the master’s work, including those of 1982 in Palermo, curat-ed by Giorgio Mascherpa and Fabrizio D’Amico, and 1999 at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni in Rome, curated by Claudia Gian Ferrari and Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco.R.P.

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Fausto Pirandello Composizione (Siesta rustica)

1 G. Mascherpa, “Pirandello e lo specchio”, in Pirandello, exhibition catalogue (Palermo, Civica Galleria d’Arte moderna Empedocle Restivo, 22 December 1982 − 22 January 1983), Palermo: Edizioni Fondazione Whitaker, 1982.

2 F. Pirandello, “Scritti inediti”, in G. Giuffrè, Fausto Pirandello, with an appendix of previous unpublished writings, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, p. 223.

3 C. Gian Ferrari, “Fausto Pirandello: la realtà indagata”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, exhibition catalogue (Sorrento, Museo Correale di Terranova, 23 March − 29 May 2005), Milan: Edizioni Charta, 2005.

4 Fausto Pirandello in C. Gian Ferrari, F. Matitti (edited by), Riflessioni sull’arte, Miniature 66, Milan: Abscondita, 2008, p. 26.

5 U. Nebbia, La XV Esposizione Internazionale d’arte della Città di Venezia, Bergamo, [1926], p. 85. The volume includes a reproduction of the Composizione shown by Pirandello (G. Giuffrè, Fausto..., cit., 1984, pl. 1, p. 10).

2. Felice Carena, Quiete, 1921. Piacenza, Galleria d’Arte Moderna Ricci Oddi

1. Felice Casorati, Meriggio, 1923. Trieste, Museo Revoltella

259

260 261

Fausto Pirandello La lettera

59 Title La Lettera [The Letter] Date 1929 Technique oil on cardboard Dimensions 70 × 53 cm bottom centre: PIRANDELLO 29

Despite being invited to take part in the third Rome Biennial with no help from his influential father Luigi, Fausto Pirandello was unhappy with Italy and wholly dissatisfied with the art world surrounding him. He therefore to leave with his friend Capogrossi and future wife Pompilia in search of fresh air and the freedom he felt he was denied in Italy. Their destination was Paris, then the world capital of art. As the critic Lionello Venturi wrote, “In Paris he fell in love with Cézanne, his volumes, his still lifes. Like nearly everyone else at the time, however, he did not see the chromatic basis of Cézanne’s volumes, and his Cézannism was therefore limit-ed, prudent, objective and devoid of poetic veils. He did in any case free himself in Paris from the prejudice of the subject and painted in accor-dance with inner dictates of mass and tone, con-fining the finish of the object represented to the requirements of the composition”.1 Exposure to the Cubist works of Braque and Picasso and in particular to the still lifes of Cézanne led him to produce some of his own, as in this case, where form is born out of a need of mass and tone to such an extent that the accumulation of paint on the cardboard almost looks like a bas-relief. His palette serves to tell a tale of everyday life in his lodgings off Boulevard Saint-Germain: “In the sort of aviary that is my studio in Rue Bardinet, kept black by the smoke constantly bellowing from the chimney of the Dunlop factory, I pick up my few brushes, wearing gloves, and look with a shudder from beneath the brim of my hat at the benumbed objects in their heroic endurance as in my intellect, which is not theirs, their refus-al to be reduced to my feelings. The overcoat makes it awkward for me to move my hands”.2 The objects in question are a parcel, scattered newspapers and a letter lying in a corner of the heavy table, keeping close to one another as though for protection, made up of ochres, brownish reds, bold browns and dirty whites that seem that have been squeezed straight

out of the tube. They are shown from above, an apparently illogical viewpoint that is in fact the one from which the artist saw them, almost as though to let us share his feelings with respect to a letter sent by Luigi Pirandello on hearing of his son’s flight to Paris: “Now you speak of exile, like someone defeated, of the wickedness of your fellow artists, and lament your fate. You, Fausto! Your fate! Just think: you are free […] Work, work, that’s all […] You will have to over-come this discontent of yours and the only way to do it is to get all these sterile attempts out of your system.” It appears possible in this work to glimpse the richness of a kind of painting that Europe was not to know until Art Informel but that for Fausto Pirandello marked the begin-ning of a modern art that could not in any case depart from reality. The artist chose La lettera as one of the works with which he presented himself for the first time to the Parisian public at the Galerie Vildrac in March 1929. The writer and illustrator André Warnod reviewed the show in a long article for the newspaper Comoedia, noting the presence in “clearly realist paintings [of] a certain dryness and a lack of atmosphere that jar in many of his canvases. He could also be criticized for layers of a thickness that have more to do with bas-reliefs that paintings.” Nor could a more enlightened judgement have been expected from one who expected the young Italian to be a diligent pupil of Braque (or Picasso; Fausto had indeed stated in an interview published the previous year in Paris-Midi, this time with the aid of Luigi, that, “Among contemporary painters, my masters are Picasso and Derain. I also greatly admire Braque and my compatriot De Chirico”3).R.P.

1 L. Venturi, “Fausto Pirandello”, in Commentari, y. V, no. 1, Rome, January–March 1954. Republished in N. Vespignani (edited by), Nove maestri della Scuola romana, text by M. Quesada, Turin: Seat, 1992, pp. 234 ff.

2 C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Catalogo generale, Milan: Electa, 2009; essay by F. Matitti, “Tra poetica e iconologia. Donne con salamandra e e altre storie”, pp. 21–22.

3 F. D’Amico, M. Goldin (edited by), Pirandello. Le nature morte, exhibition catalogue (Brescia, Museo di Santa Giulia, 20 January – 25 March 2007), Conegliano: Linea d’ombra libri, 2007, p. 28.

262 263

Fausto Pirandello Spiaggia

60 Title Spiaggia [Beach] Date circa 1940 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 74 × 106 cm bottom left: PIRANDELLO

The Beach series painted by Fausto Pirandello at the end of the thirties marked a change in his work. The artist reinvented the subject in order to present his vision of the human being. Renato Guttuso observed his shift at the time “from the order of Braque [...] towards the baroque […] but a baroque as though mummified […] as though a skilled surgeon had drained the last drop of blood from its veins”.1 He also noted the physicality of the “tortured characters [that] go around in their non-human form. They are neither men nor women, despite the cruellest accentuation, but figures from other planets on bare, barren clay beneath cloudless grey skies where even the storms are unlike those of this world”.2 In the grotesque shapes of their bodies we can discern an “absolute carnality that con-templates the sense of guilt and therefore sin to be expiated even in the acceptance of their reality as primal eros. For Pirandello, beauty is a category that belongs neither to the world nor to humankind. It is a formal illusion”.3 Heaped together almost as though suffering from cramp, their flesh a weight and an obstacle to move-ment, the bodies recall the horrors of the war then raging in Europe. The Beach series is “the crucial guiding thread of his work after the war, almost the decisive intuition of an obsession that was henceforth to know no respite or inter-ruption”.4 Held for years in a private collection

in Rome, the work was first shown in Verona in 1988 at the Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Palazzo Forti,5 after which it appeared ten years later in Marsala on the occasion of the exhibition Fausto Pirandello. Bagnanti 1928–1972, curated by Sergio Troisi,6 the following year in Rome, on the occasion of a retrospective curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco and Claudia Gian Ferrari, at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni7 and then in London in 2015, on the occasion of the exhibition Pirandello 1899–1975, curated by Fabio Benzi and held at the Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art.8

R.P.

1 R. Guttuso, “Una mostra di Pirandello”, in Primato, y. II, no. 6, Milan, 15 March 1941, pp. 18−19. The event reviewed in the article was a solo show presented by Virgilio Guzzi at the Terme in Rome in February 1941.

2 Ibidem.3 C. Gian Ferrari, “Fausto Pirandello: l’inquietudine

della forma”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 23 June − 1 October 1995), Milan: Charta, 1995, pp. 11−19.

4 Ibidem. 5 See F. Benzi (edited by), Le Scuole Romane.

Sviluppi e continuità 1927-1988, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea di Palazzo Forti, 9 April − 15 June 1988), Milan-Rome: Mondadori-De Luca, 1988.

6 See S. Troisi, C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Bagnanti 1928-1972, exhibition catalogue (Marsala, ex Convento del Carmine, 4 April − 7 June 1998), Milan: Charta, 1998.

7 See M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. La vita attuale e la favola eterna, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 20 October 1999 − 10 January 2000), Milan: Charta, 1999.

8 See F. Benzi (edited by), Pirandello 1899-1975, exhibition catalogue (London, Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art, 8 July − 6 September 2015), London: Estorick Collection, 2015.

264 265

Fausto Pirandello La famiglia dell’artista

61 Title La famiglia dell’artista [The Artist’s Family]

Date circa 1942 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 100 × 67.5 cm bottom left: PIRANDELLO

During World War II, when it was necessary to close and cover “the windows with shutters, blinds and curtains (the bombing, as we know, broke the panes)”,1 Pirandello looked for his subjects at home, imbuing them with “his own anxieties, existential angst, alienation and trans-figurations adopted as new myths and new rites of everyday life”.2 The figures in this painting are his wife Pompilia and their two children Pierluigi and Antonio. Portrayed in everyday life and clothing far from the conventional poses of Roman drawing rooms, they are shown in a cramped space almost devoid of perspective. The artist concentrates on their faces, investigat-ing their feelings and thoughts in an attempt “to reconstruct human relations that were difficult and complicated through painting”.3 It is possi-ble to discern an absence of communication, a terrible need for words and gestures. The moth-er stretches her hand out towards the younger son with a tenderness that belies the apparent sternness of her expression. The “frantic, blaz-ing” style of some coeval works give way here to “a moment of peace”.4 The work was left to the artist’s son Pierluigi and was bought by Claudia Gian Ferrari before entering the Iannaccone

collection. It was first shown at the posthumous retrospective of 1976 at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna di Roma 5 and then at the retro-spective held in Milan, Palazzo Reale, in 1995,6 in Rome at Palazzo delle Esposizioni in 1999,7 and in London at the Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art, in 2015.8

R.P.

1 F. Pirandello, “Appunti”, in Fausto Pirandello, presentation by V. Guzzi, De Luca, Rome, 1950, p. 25.

2 C. Gian Ferrari, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Opere dal 1935 agli anni estremi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Gian Ferrari, 1 June − 21 July 2006), Milan: Claudia Gian Ferrari Studio di consulenza Gian Ferrari ’900 Italiano Arte Contemporanea, 2006.

3 C. Gian Ferrari, “Fausto Pirandello: l’inquietudine della forma”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 23 June − 1 October 1995), Milan: Charta, 1995, pp. 11−19.

4 G. Giuffé, “Cambiare per ritrovarsi”, in G. Appella, G. Giuffrè (edited by), Pirandello, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 2−16 June 1990), Rome: De Luca, 1990, pp. 17−26.

5 See B. Mantura (edited by), Fausto Pirandello 1899-1975, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 21 December 1976 − 27 February 1977, Rome: De Luca, 1976.

6 See C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, cit., 1995.

7 See M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. La vita attuale e la favola eterna, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 20 October 1999 − 10 January 2000), Milan: Charta, 1999.

8 See F. Benzi (edited by), Pirandello 1899-1975, exhibition catalogue (London, Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art, 8 July − 6 September 2015), London: Estorick Collection, 2015.

266 267

Fausto Pirandello Natura morta con strumenti musicali

62 Title Natura morta con strumenti musicali [Still Life with Musical Instruments]

Date circa 1942 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 50.5 × 60 cm top left: PIRANDELLO

While Fausto Pirandello developed his interest in still life during his stay in Paris in the late twenties under the influence of Braque, Picasso and Cézanne, he always preserved a unique and unmistakeable style of his own connected with the reality of life that enabled him to evolve over the years while remaining true to his con-victions. As in the play Six Characters in Search of an Author by his father Luigi Pirandello, this still life with musical instruments can be seen as an attempt to present the drama of real life. The rural landscape is that of Anticoli Corrado, where he moved with his family and remained until January 1944. “The melancholy things crowded into his paintings are placed at ran-dom like fragile remnants that have survived the storm of life. It is even hard to identify them sometimes because they appear somehow blurred, sinking into the background and al-most fighting so as not to be sucked under”.1 A chair stands at an angle in the foreground with a battered trumpet in gold and copper hues resting on its rush seat. The bell of a trombone can be seen on the floor behind and the brass trio is completed by a horn to the left. A large violin stands in its open case in the centre, its graceful curves standing out against velvet lin-ing of a bright blue that recalls Giotto. It is tilted as though in an attempt to read the score be-low it and rehearse the notes to be played but held tight in its case and unable to escape from it gleaming prison of blue fabric. The wearily slumped brass instruments are also unable to

play. The world around the artist is bleak and barren. The spectre of war looms outside the windows and the musical instruments, univer-sally associated with serenity, are left here in an abandoned state, forced to remain silent and hidden for fear of being captured and de-stroyed. In an interplay of representations, the violin — a characteristic instrument of the Jewish tradition, as seen in Chagall’s series of Jewish violinists — becomes a shapely female figure, perhaps his wife Pompilia, forced to hide with the family in Anticoli Corrado because of her Jewish origins. The nerve-racking silence of war reigns supreme in this ochre-coloured mu-sic room. “I look with a shudder from beneath the brim of my hat at the benumbed objects in their heroic endurance as in my intellect, which is not theirs, their refusal to be reduced to my feelings”.2 The image Pirandello uses here appears to refer to lamp hanging in the mid-dle of the room and beholding, as it were, the bruised reality from beneath the floppy brim of its black shade. “The painter has concealed the horror of war in those instruments, left there in a non-place with no natural light where the background is made up of shades of grey and blue, applied in brushstrokes and (possibly) scored at random, which are clearly tormented, imbuing the composition with melancholy and representing the darkness that had fallen upon the nation”.3

R.P.

1 F. Matitti, “Tra poetica e iconologia. Donne con salamandra e altre storie”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, Catalogo generale, Milan: Electa, 2009, pp. 21−22.

2 Ibidem.3 C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello,

exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 23 June − 1 October 1995), Milan: Charta, 1995.

63 Title Natura morta con chitarra [Still Life with Guitar]

Date 1928 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 39 × 45 cm top right: Raffaël 28

“When faced in Rome with still lifes of the sort that found favour in bourgeois households, [Antonietta Raphaël] would describe them col-ourfully as stinking of vegetable soup or, still worse, of sweat, thus asserting her creative freedom with respect to the reality of things. Still more extraordinary was her ability to alter real-ity in the very moment of seeing it. I remember almost with irritation how she once exclaimed ‘What a wonderful purple’ in delight on behold-ing a beautiful yellow and green tree”.1 This original expressive vision can be seen in all her works, including Natura morta con chitarra, an extraordinarily lyrical and timeless depiction of familiar, everyday objects that had followed her everywhere in a trunk since her time in London and reminded her of her childhood: the large cloak of soft wool embroidered by her mother Khaja, an old Bedouin rug and numerous mu-sical scores. The painting is like something out of a Hasidic legend, recalling the art of the past with a tang of modern life, characterized by the artist’s almost maniacal attention to detail. The glimpse of the crescent moon in the window in the upper left corner means hope for a better tomorrow. The sliver of light in the sky is like a fine lady, like the mother that dried her tears and sweetly soothed her pain, bringing serenity. As Antonietta wrote in her diary, “The moon in the window of the tiny room where I lived seemed to look at me and talk to me. That’s how it seemed and what I believed as a child. I believed it when I was bigger too. My mother told me that there was the face of Aaron, brother of Moses, in the moon but I saw no face. To me it was like a huge forest, a wild wood with gigantic animals flying or crawling. The moon smiled at me and I was not scared, not much anyway. I would burrow beneath the blankets and peep out every now

and then like a turtle to see if the moon was still there. Yes, it was still there, looking at me, smil-ing and seeming to talk to me in a gentle voice”.2 Hung haphazardly on the wall is a smiling portrait of her by her husband, the painter Mario Mafai. “Every painting by Raphaël is actually a mirror reflecting her own image. Her characteristic fea-tures, the slightly slanted eyes, curly hair and round face, inform every portrait”.3 The guitar in the middle of the table in an almost surreal space with no perspective represents her first great love for music, which she studied at the Royal Academy in London. In the painting as in her life, there is no lack of objects related to Russian folk culture, like the king of hearts on the left just be-low her portrait. Entranced by her culture and in-telligence, her pupil Scipione was to draw on this a couple of years later in his Natura morta con piuma [Still Life with Feather] [W. NO. 79], where the playing card is, however, an unlucky three of spades. Another reference to the new artistic developments seen in Paris during her first stay can be detected in the primitive signs made in the lower section of the composition against the red ground, indicative of her particular respon-siveness to primitive African art and an interest in the artistic vocabulary of exotic, faraway lands. “She travels through sudden gleams of smeared light and dark pools of shadow, swollen excess, winding lines and vivid, abbreviated script of vi-olent and almost brutal emotive impact, through slow, exuberant, enchanted oriental sumptuous-ness and marks of burning terseness and daz-zling modernity […]”.4

R.P.

268 269

Antonietta Raphaël Natura morta con chitarra

1 G. Mafai, in N. Vespignani (edited by), Nove maestri della Scuola Romana, Turin: Seat, 1992, p. 218.

2 We thank the Centro Studi Raphaël Mafai (www.raphaelmafai.org) for kindly granting permission for the use of this previously unpublished page from the artist’s diary.

3 P. Baldacci (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël, exhibition catalogue (New York, Paolo Baldacci Gallery, 9 March − 14 April 1995), New York, 1995 (our translation).

4 F. D’Amico, “Una lingua inattesa”, in Nove maestri..., cit., 1992, p. 192.

64 Title Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba [Arch of Septimius Severus at Dawn]

Date 1929 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 48 × 41 cm bottom right: Raffael ’29

Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba (1929) is part of the gallery of Roman views and land-scapes painted after walks with Mario Mafai by Antonietta Raphaël, whose highly imaginative painting is governed by an innate sense of col-our that makes every her vision poetic.While the two-dimensional appearance of the piers supporting the architrave robs the arch of its imperial majesty, an intense, all-envelop-ing panorama opens up behind it with a fiery red horizon. This is Rome as Raphaël saw it through her foreign eyes, unencumbered by visual constraints and the weight of tradition and academic teaching. As Corrado Pavolini wrote in his review of the group show at the Camerata degli Artisti in Piazza di Spagna in 1929: “Raphaël bears the terrible weight of such a glorious reference with the innocent simplicity of a primitive”, painting “the Eternal City as she sees it, with her temperament and her training”.1 For Alberto Francini, “there can be nothing more deliberate than the painting of the amusing Signorina Raphaël, who holds all the aces in this exhibition”.2

After disappearing from the exhibition circuit for years, the work was shown in 1952 at the Galleria dello Zodiaco3 and then at the Circolo Artistico di via Margutta, where she was award-ed the prize for painting by a jury made up of Giulio Carlo Argan, Nino Bertoletti, Libero

de Libero, Renato Guttuso, Carlo Lizzani and Cesare Zavattini.4 By this time, she was defini-tively recognized as having played a key part in the birth of the new Roman painting in the late twenties: “The small paintings of Raphael De Simon [sic] tell us that the Scipione-Mafai part-nership will now have to be enlarged to make room for the Lithuanian artist too by virtue of her skill in combining the elements of that expe-rience and adding overtones of antiquity. In the landscape with the Arch of Septimius Severus, this becomes something quite mysterious, like a copy of a Giorgione made with the means and mentality of the Douanier Rousseau”.5 The work appeared during the fifties and sixties in numerous solo shows held in major Italian ven-ues like the Tartaruga in Rome,6 the Strozzina in Florence,7 the Unione Culturale in Turin8 and the Centro Culturale Olivetti in Ivrea,9 as well as numerous exhibitions over the following dec-ades, details of some of which can be found below in the note.10

R.P.

270 271

Antonietta Raphaël Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba

1 C. Pav. [Corrado Pavolini], “Mostre romane. Antonietta Raphael”, in Il Tevere, y. VI, no. 142, Rome, 14 June 1929, p. 3. Raphaël showed work in the Camerata degli Artisti to mark the end of the season together with Anna Barbaro, Margherita de Lotis, Giuseppina Fortini, Amelia Soria, Ina Moretti, Elsa Bonavia and Hazel Jackson. She presented four drawings and eighteen paintings, including a romantic view of another Roman arch, the Arch of Constantine, in the snow. The work was among those sent to London for an exhibition at the Redfern Gallery and lost when the studio of the sculptor Jacob Epstein, where the paintings were stored, was destroyed in the bombing.

2 Alfra [A. Francini], “Mostre romane. Sei pittrici e due scultrici”, in L’Italia Letteraria, y. I, no. 12, Rome, 23 June 1929, p. 4.

3 See Raphaël Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Lo Zodiaco, 15–30 March 1952), presentation by V. Guzzi, Rome: Galleria dello Zodiaco, 1952.

4 See Prima Mostra di Pittura. Il volto di Roma, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Circolo Artistico di via Margutta, May–June 1952), 1952. The work appeared under the title Foro romano (no. 93). A partially illegible label still attached to the back provides evidence of the prize won: “Rafa[el]; […]; [P]rezzo 250.000; lì 6 – 5 – 52; Per il comitato: [signature illegible]”.

5 A. Mezio, “Raphaël De Simon”, in Il Mondo, y. IV, no. 14 (164), Rome, 5 April 1952, p. 12. See also V. G. [Virgilio Guzzi], “Raphaël Mafai”, in Il Tempo, y. IX, no. 82, Rome, 22 March 1952, p. 3; M. M., “Taccuino delle arti”, in Il Quotidiano, y. IX, no. 82, Rome, 4 April 1952, p. 3; M. Venturoli, “Un’artista coraggiosa tra preti e gerarchi”, in Vie Nuove, y. VII, no. 14, Rome, 6 April 1952, p. 16.

6 See A. Raphaël Mafai, bulletin-exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria La Tartaruga, from 12 May 1955), presentation by A. Mezio, Rome: Galleria La Tartaruga, 1955. See also the following reviews: D. Micacchi, “Pittura e scultura di Antonietta Raphaël”, in l’Unità, y. XXXII, no. 137, Rome, 18 May 1955, p. 3; M. Venturoli, “Raphael Mafai alla ‘Tartaruga’”, in Paese Sera, y. VII, no. 121, Rome, 21 May 1955, p. 3; F. D’Arrigo, “A. Raphael Mafai”, in Vie Nuove, y. X, no. 22, Rome, 28 May 1955, p. 19; A. Del Guercio, “Mostre d’arte. Antonietta Raphaël Mafai”, in Rinascita, y. XII, no. 5, Rome, May 1955, p. 377.

7 See Antonietta Raphaël Mafai. Ritorno dalla Cina, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Galleria La Strozzina, from 1 December 1956), presentation by C. Brandi, A. Mezio, A. Moravia, Florence: La Strozzina, 1956.

8 See Antonietta Raphaël Mafai. Ritorno dalla Cina, Turin, Unione Culturale, presentation by C. Brandi, Turin, 1956.

9 See Raphaël, exhibition catalogue (Ivrea, Centro Culturale Olivetti, July 1940), preface by A. Mezio, Turin: Editrice Teca, 1960.

10 Ebraicità al femminile. Otto artiste del Novecento (Padua, Centro Culturale Altinate San Gaetano, 31 August − 13 October 2013), catalogue edited by M. Bakos, V. Baradel, Padua: Trart, 2013; Artiste del Novecento tra visione e identità ebraica (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Roma Capitale, 12 June −5 October 2014), catalogue edited by M. Bakos, O. Melasecchi, F. Pirani, Venice: Trart, 2014.

272 273

Antonietta Raphaël Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour

65 Title Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour]

Date 1929 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 21 × 27.4 cm bottom right: Raffaël ’30 65 v verso (attributed to Mario Mafai) Title Paesaggio con figura [Landscape with Figure] Date 1929 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 27.4 × 21 cm unsigned, undated

Antonietta Raphaël painted her Veduta dalla ter-razza di via Cavour in 1929 and showed it that year in the first exhibition of the Prima Mostra del Sindacato Laziale Fascista degli Artisti [First Exhibition of Lazio Fascist Union of Artists].1 This was the first real opportunity to make the instinc-tive, primitive work of the painter described by Roberto Longhi as “suckled by the same wet-nurse as Chagall”2 known to the public. The view is from the splendid vantage point of the top floor of an Umbertine-style building on Via Cavour, where Raphaël had moved with Mario Mafai and their little daughter Miriam at the end of 1927. Subsequently destroyed during Mussolini’s ur-ban clearance projects, the large terrace offered a view of “the top section of the Colosseum and the background of trees on the Palatine”.3 Raphaël took an authentic, personal approach to

these elements but without forgetting the visual experience acquired during her travels, from the East European tradition to the latest devel-opments in French painting. The buildings are crowded onto the panel, distinguished from one another by thick, black outlines. The absence of perspective reduces the distance between nature and architecture so that the dark patch of vegeta-tion overlaps with the reds and reddish browns of the buildings in a vision that combines the pictur-esque qualities of landscape with the fascinating history of ruins. This evocative panorama had also been addressed by Mafai some months ear-lier two views entitled Paesaggio dalla terrazza [Landscape from the Terrace] [FIG. 1] and Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour] [FIG. 2]. Part of the De Angelis col-lection, the work was shown in Scipione, Mafai, Raphaël nella collezione A. Della Ragione del Comune di Firenze e in collezioni private, an exhibition held in Todi in 19794 and then in an-other on the Roman School curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco in Milan, Palazzo Reale.5 The back of the panel presents a landscape seen from below with a barely sketched figure walk-ing up a road towards a small church, which Francesca Morelli attributes to the young Mafai on the grounds of its “somewhat archaic” char-acter.6 Readers are referred to the note below for details of the recent exhibitions in which it has appeared.7

R.P.

1 See C. Pavolini, “La mostra del Sindacato artistico laziale. Note al catalogo”, in Il Tevere, y. VI, no. 89, Rome, 13 April 1929, p. 3. The signature with the date of 1930 must have been added later by the artist, as the set deadline for the delivery of works for display in the exhibition was 15 January 1929; see Prima Mostra del Sindacato Laziale Fascista degli Artisti, Catalogo generale, Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome: Squarci, 1929, section VI, p. VIII.

2 R. Longhi, “La mostra romana degli artisti sindacati. Clima e opere degli irrealisti-espressionisti”, in L’Italia Letteraria, y. I, no. 2, Rome, 14 April 1929, p. 4.

3 “Antologia di scritti editi e inediti di Mario Mafai”, in L. Velani (edited by), Mario Mafai, exhibition catalogue Rome: Ente Premi Roma, 1969, pp. 15−50.

4 See L. Vinca Masini (edited by), Scipione, Mafai, Raphaël nella collezione A. Della Ragione del Comune di Firenze e in collezioni private, exhibition catalogue (Todi, Palazzo del Popolo, 29 April − 27 May 1979), Rastignano, Bologna: Editografica, 1979.

5 See M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola Romana. Artisti tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 April − 19 June 1988), Milan: Mazzotta, 1988.

6 F. R. Morelli, in F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël, exhibition catalogue (Modena, Galleria Civica, 7 April − 16 June 1991), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1991, p. 116.

7 Ebraicità al femminile. Otto artiste del Novecento (Padua, Centro Culturale Altinate San Gaetano, 31 August − 13 October 2013), catalogue edited by M. Bakos, V. Baradel, Padua: Trart, 2013; Artiste del Novecento tra visione e identità ebraica (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Roma Capitale, 12 June −5 October 2014), catalogue edited by M. Bakos, O. Melasecchi, F. Pirani, Venice: Trart, 2014.

2. Mario Mafai, Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour, 1928. Private collection

1. Mario Mafai, Paesaggio dalla terrazza, 1928. Private collection

274 275

Antonietta Raphaël Yom Kippur in the Sinagogue

66 Title Yom Kippur in the Sinagogue1 Date 1931

Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 48 × 64 cm bottom right: Raffael 1932 datato a posteriori dall’artista2

Antonietta Raphaël, the daughter of a rabbi and niece of a great scholar of the Talmud, de-scribed herself as follows in the catalogue of a group exhibition held in Rome in 1929: “Born in Russia. Moved to London with her mother after her father’s death. Studied music at the Royal Academy. Arrived in Rome in 1926. ‘The insu-perable beauty of this eternal city awakened in me a great desire to reproduce it as I see it.’ And so she set to work a couple of years ago, guided by her instinct alone. ‘Since that day, the art of painting has been my sanctuary.’ She paints landscapes and people from life but not without looking to classical art, especially to the Venetians for colour”.3 A restless, wan-dering Jewess, she struggled to find her path in life. Early in 1931, after an artistically and personally disappointing period spent in Paris, she returned to Rome for a short time before leaving for the city where she had learned to play music and draw in August. She left her three daughters with their father Mario Mafai in Roma and moved back to the East End, then the poorest part of London. Stretching from Bishopsgate to Bow, from Bethnal Green to the London Dock, is was also home to the larg-est population of Jews from central and east-ern Europe. Yiddish was the language of the streets of Whitechapel, St. George’s and Mile End Town, and signs in Hebrew characters were everywhere. Despite the poverty and con-fusion, it was there that avant-garde painters, sculptors and poets found refuge. As Oscar Wilde wrote in The Picture of Dorian Gray,

“[...] I don’t know what I expected, but I went out and wandered eastward, soon losing my way in the labyrinth of grimy streets and black, grassless squares [...] If I hadn’t, I should have missed the greatest romance of my life.” She lived at 129, Alexandra Road, London NW 8, where she most probably had her studio too and where the English sculptor Jacob Epstein visited her. Having some idea of holding a show in a gallery, she had her remaining canvases sent from Rome with a bit of money to get by. Fired with enthusiasm, she set to work at the end of August on a painting of countless col-ours set in the Great Synagogue in the middle of Whitechapel Road on Yom Kippur, the day of penitence, the most sacred and solemn festivi-ty of the Jewish calendar. She wrote to Mafai on 28 August 1931 at 11 in the morning: “I imme-diately started a small sketch, an impression of Yom Kippur in the evening in the synagogue. It may be a bit rash on my part to try and give the impression of a multitude of Jews praying to God. There will certainly be eighty to a hundred heads. You get frightened, don’t you? I hope I can succeed, it’s only 48 x 48 cm. Write back straight away and tell me what you think. I may send you a drawing of it next week.” She wrote again a few days later on 1 September: “Dear Mario […] I’m doing something very interest-ing, an impression of the synagogue on the evening of Yom Kippur, as I wrote before. I think it will be very beautiful but it’s terribly difficult. I wish you were here to advise me because it’s all about the perspective of the interior and heads, heads, heads, heads, small and very small but each must have its own expression. The first heads were difficult for me and I near-ly decided to abandon the idea but it became clearer after a day or two and I’m beginning to see heads from above and below, heads in profile and three-quarter view, each expressing

a certain sorrow, a desire to pray and be forgiv-en. There is a little figure in the distance, very mystical, the most beautiful of all, I think. I’ve got 22 heads and figures into the little canvas so far. I know you must think I’m crazy, Mario, but I can tell you that if it’s a failure, I’ll have learnt a lot in any case.” There is of course no failure in this work, which captures a mo-ment of lived experience with great humanity and passion, drawing the viewer’s attention to details that would otherwise have remained in-visible. Unfortunately, her hopes of success in London were dashed when a dealer judged her works to be uninteresting. Mafai wrote: “Leave the paintings in London with your friend and come to Rome with some of your new things, which I’m eager to see and which we can show in the Union exhibition”.4 She decided to return with this work, which remained in her posses-sion until her death in 1975, one of the few from the London period to survive. As she stated in various interviews, most were destroyed by bombing during the war. It was shown in 1960 at the Galleria Narciso in Turin, in 1989 in an exhibition of work by Jewish painters at the Jewish Museum in New York, and more recent-ly in the exhibition Artiste del Novecento at the Galleria d’Arte Moderna in Rome.R.P.

1 We have chosen to retain the misspelling “Sinagogue”, as written by the artist on the back of the canvas, rather than correct it to “Synagogue”.

2 Two letters of 1931 to Mario Mafai provide proof that the work was painted 1931 and subsequently dated on the front and back of the canvas.

3 Mostra di otto pittrici e scultrici romane, exhibition catalogue (Rome, “Camerata degli Artisti” of Piazza di Spagna, 9−24 June 1929), presentation by R. Strinati.

4 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I Mafai. Vite parallele, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, February–March 1994), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani, 1994.

276 277

Antonietta Raphaël La strada al mare

67 Title La strada al mare [The Road to the Sea]

Date 1939 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 44 × 55.5 cm bottom left near the centre: RAphAEL 39 right edge: Raphaël 39

The racial persecution of 1938 forced Antonietta Raphaël, due to her Jewish origins, to take refuge with all the family at Quarto dei Mille in the Liguria region in the home of the collector Alberto Della Ragione. As Mafai wrote, “She turned the only large room of the villa where we were living into a studio and it was hard to move around between the easels, the tables, the frameworks of wire and rags, the grand piano, the models wrapped in damp cloths and tubs full of clay, which always had to be kept moist”.1 La strada al mare (1939) is one of the first paint-ings of the Quarto period. The images are built up in long streaks of thick paint that bring the foliage of the seaside town to life. The compo-sition appears more measured and symmetrical

with respect to her earlier Roman landscapes, suggesting that some inner balance had been attained despite the precarious wartime situation. The work was first shown in Ferrara in the exhi-bition of 1960 Mostra del rinnovamento dell’arte in Italia dal 1930 al 19452 and then the following year in the exhibition Il paesaggio nella pittura italiana contemporanea at the Galleria Narciso in Turin. Raphaël decided to sell it on the lat-ter occasion so that she could cast in bronze a number of her sculptures whose state of pres-ervation gave cause for concern. While the al-ternation between painting and sculpture was a constant characteristic of Raphaël’s career, the choice in this case was made on financial rather than artistic grounds.R.P.

1 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I Mafai. Vite parallele, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, February–March 1994), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani, 1994, p. 17.

2 See E. Riccomini (edited by), Mostra del rinnovamento dell’arte in Italia dal 1930 al 1945, exhibition catalogue (Ferrara, Casa Romei, June−September 1960), Bologna: Edizioni Alfa, 1960. The work is listed as no. 204 under the title Via del mare and erroneously dated 1931.

278 279

Ottone Rosai L’attesa

68 Title L’attesa [Waiting] Date 1920 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 29 × 32 cm bottom right: O. ROSAI

A reproduction of the study for L’attesa, painted by Ottone Rosai in 1920, appeared in the artist’s book Via Toscanella, published ten years later.1 The comparison with this “note drawn from life” on paper in pencil [FIG. 1] (Rome, private collec-tion) carried out in 2000 for Christie’s Milano re-vealed the absence of the two chairs in the fore-ground (from the Caffè Paszkowsky in Florence) and the presence of a little girl, who does not appear in the canvas.2 The highly accentuated realism of the features of the man seated on the left is also toned down in the painting. Rosai’s realism starts from life but then proceeds beyond it in a pictorial ex-ploration of inner, spiritual substance: “I can-not draw or outline a figure. After seeing it and drawing it with the model in front of me, I can only capture the spirit, not the forms, in which I have little interest”.3 Colour, like graphic line, is a tool used in this process. As Pier Carlo Santini noted in connection with the retrospective of 1960 at Palazzo Strozzi in Florence, “L’attesa, which can be dated with no uncertainty to 1920, is distinguished by greater richness of colour and based not on blues but on shades of green, light brown and russet that become almost imperceptibly lighter towards to upper

section of the painting”.4 “In the sadness of the post-war period”, the scene of four men sitting at a table is devoid “of fully human attributes”, which are almost intentionally avoided, seeking “to blend something drawn from antiquity, from myth”5 into the formal archaism of the figures: a mythology of everyday life. The image of this timeless, mute, human reality is accentuated by the absence of spatial points of reference other than the details of the table and chairs re-quired to indicate the genre contest of the work and hence the starting point (namely reality) of Rosai’ reflections. Originally part of the artist’s collection, the work was shown in the exhibition of 1995 at the Casa d’aste Farsettiarte in Prato and Palazzo Reale in Milan6 and then in 2008 at Palazzo Medici Riccardi in Florence.7

C.T.

1 O. Rosai, Via Toscanella, Florence: Vallecchi, 1930, p. 71.

2 The drawing is signed and dated in the bottom right: “Otto Rosai 1919”; see L. Cavallo (edited by), Cinquanta dipinti di Ottone Rosai a 50 anni dalla scomparsa, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Medici Riccardi, 27 January − 25 March 2008), Florence: Edizioni Pananti, 2008, p. 169.

3 O. Rosai, Ottone Rosai. “Nient’altro che un artista”. Lettere e scritti inediti, edited by Vittoria Corti, Piombino: Tracce Edizioni, 1987, pp. 460−61.

4 P. C. Santini, Rosai, Florence: Vallecchi, 1960, p. 152.5 See Cinquanta dipinti..., cit., 2008, pp. 169−70.6 L. Cavallo (edited by), Ottone Rosai, exhibition

catalogue (Prato, Farsettiarte, 23 September − 22 October 1995; Milan, Palazzo Reale, 26 October 1995 − 6 January 1996), Milan: Mazzotta, 1995.

7 Cinquanta dipinti..., cit., 2008.

1. Ottone Rosai, Study for “L’attesa”, 1919. Rome, private collection

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Ottone Rosai L’intagliatore

69 Title L’intagliatore [The Wood Carver] Date 1922 Technique oil on pressed cardboard attached to a wooden panel Dimensions 62.3 × 46.5 cm bottom left: O. ROSAI

On the occasion of the retrospective of 1960 at Palazzo Strozzi in Florence,1 Pier Carlo Santini presented the work as L’artigiano [The Artisan] on the basis of the catalogue of the show of 1932 at Palazzo Ferroni.2 While it is also known as Scultore in legno [Wood Sculptor] and Ritratto del padre [Portrait of the Artist’s Father], the title on the back of the canvas is L’intagliatore. The date 1922 is significant not only because it coincides with the “death of the portrait” in Rosai’s work3 but also because that was the year when his father, seriously ill and overburdened with debt, drowned himself in the Arno. The artist thus inherited the carpenter’s shop in Via Maggio and was obliged by the family’s dire financial straits to work there for a period rather than paint. A solo show was held that year at the Saletta Gonnelli in Florence and the Casa d’Arte Bragaglia in Rome but brought him nothing. Rosai thus ended a period, en-compassing a genre anchored in realism, with a work born precisely out of the real need to present the image not of a suicide but of a man, his father, grappling with his inner conflict and captured here with “extraordinary immanence of spiritual and ethical” presence.4 As Rosai

wrote to Ardengo Soffici on 27 February 1922: “I am determined at all costs that the art and name of my father, for whom I had a sort of adoration, will not end up in suicide”.5 The portrait is thus a formal rereading of the paternal tragedy by the son. As he stated, “it is my father that exists in me”.6 This “ideal portrait” presents a “symbol of the anti-heroic humankind that inhabited works like Via Toscanella in the same period”.7 A natu-ralistic rendering of the face is avoided in accor-dance with the artist’s typical practice of going beyond naturalism to penetrate the complexity of reality, embracing in his subjects “a populism deeply rooted in Savonarola”.8 Drawing on the Tuscan school of the fourteenth and fifteenth century, the work forms part of a rereading of the “French art of Cézanne and Derain through the Italian Renaissance, por-traying the few subjects with thick, bold, con-cise strokes”.9 Initially owned by Rosai’s widow Francesca Fei, the work entered the Benesperi and Luigi Poggi collections before being bought for the Iannaccone collection in 2012. First shown at the Galleria di Palazzo Ferroni in 1932,10 it has since appeared at Palazzo Strozzi in Florence, presented by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti on the occasion of the exhibition Arte moderna in Italia 1915-1935,11 the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome in 198312 and the Palazzo Medici Riccardi in Florence in the retrospective to mark the fiftieth anniversary of Rosai’s death.13

C.T.

1 P. C. Santini, Rosai, Florence: Vallecchi, 1960, p. 163.

2 See Mostra Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Galleria di Palazzo Ferroni, 6−21 October 1932), Florence: Galleria di Palazzo Ferroni, 1932, work no. 78.

3 P. C. Santini, Rosai, cit., 1960, p. 163.4 Ibidem, p. 77.5 Letter from Ottone Rosai to Ardengo Soffici, dated

27 February 1922, in O. Rosai, Rosai e Soffici. Carteggio 1914-1951, edited by V. Corti, Florence: Giorgi & Gambi Editori, 1996, p. 64.

6 “Linee per una biografia”, in Ottone Rosai: nel centenario della nascita – Opere dal 1919 al 1957, texts by A. Parronchi, R. Monti, G. dalla Chiesa, V. Corti, Florence: Edizioni Galleria Pananti, 1995, p. 34.

7 “Ottone Rosai, L’intagliatore, 1922”, critical text accompanying lot no. 576, in Asta di opere d’Arte Moderna provenienti da raccolte private, auction catalogue, Casa d’asta Farsettiarte, Prato, Florence: Grafiche Gelli, 2012, n.p.

8 Ottone Rosai: nel centenario della nascita-opere dal 1919 al 1957, cit., 1995, p. 50.

9 “Ottone Rosai, L’intagliatore, 1922”, in Asta di opere..., cit., 2012, n.p.

10 Mostra Rosai, cit., 1932.11 C. L. Ragghianti (edited by), Arte moderna in Italia

1915-1935, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 26 February − 28 May 1967), Florence: Marchi e Bertolli Editori, 1967.

12 P. C. Santini (edited by), Ottone Rosai. Opere dal 1911 al 1957, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Circolo degli Artisti-Palazzo Graneri, April−May 1983; Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, July−September 1983), Florence: Vallecchi, 1983.

13 L. Cavallo (edited by), Cinquanta dipinti di Ottone Rosai a 50 anni dalla scomparsa, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Medici Riccardi, 27 January − 25 March 2008), Florence: Edizioni Pananti, 2008.

1. The artist’s father, period photograph

282 283

Ottone Rosai Conversazione

70 Title Conversazione [Conversation] Anno 1922 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 43 × 33.5 cm bottom right: O. ROSAI 1922

1922 was a difficult year for Rosai. The two solo shows he held, in the spring at the Saletta Gonnelli in Florence and at the end of the year in Rome at the Casa d’Arte Bragaglia, were both authentic fiascos. Soffici also moved to Rome that year to work as a journalist, and Rosai found it hard to get over the absence of his friend and cultural point of reference. Added to all this was the suicide of his father, hitherto the artist’s moral and psychological anchor. The few paintings of this period seem almost untouched by his grief. It is as though Rosai managed to find peace from the trials of everyday hardship and all other anguish by suspending his figures in the atmosphere of emptiness that solitude ne-cessarily communicates. He appears to have li-ved a double life in this difficult year. On the one hand, a clash with everyday reality; on the other, an immersion in painting that Soffici commented on in words that plumb Rosai’s poetic depths: “His virtues and merits of invention have been singularly strengthened and expanded, leading to the creation of works of unquestionable be-auty and great interest. More important for me is the fact that this development of the creative faculties has not been at the expense of some of the essential qualities of Rosai’s artistic per-sonality, which are still what they were when he emerged from the tribulations of Futurism and began to explore the true paths of art with se-riousness and love. These qualities are sinceri-ty, innocence, inherent love of truth and sponta-neous elegance and delicacy in rendering it with the simplest means of the painter’s craft. He is one of the very few, perhaps indeed the only

one, whose spirit and work still preserve intact a pure passion for the poetic reality of the wor-ld and respect for the fundamental principles of genuine art”.1

In this work in particular, Rosai appears re-luctant to use colours, simply because his art requires few elements to scale the heights of stylistic acuity and expression. Even in this wholly natural and human work, we find a sort of solitary descent into anguish. These three almost lugubrious figures, hidden in thick, grey clothes, seem to constitute a discourse developed within the artist himself. The men’s clothing is marked by a long passage of time that has laid a kind of veil over everything, capturing echoes and reverberations of the past and traces of the use that has worn out and enriched everything. It is colour that takes on deep notes and transparency, that causes the composition to vibrate with moving human involvement in a midwinter of the feelings. “Palazzeschi writes that Rosai is blue”.2 The colour does indeed characterize many of the works of this period, when he often returned to a form of construction that is “all laid bare, where the consequences and agreements of the planes and axes, the cadences balanced through echoes and contrasts, create a rhythm that is changeable but always taut and sustai-ned”.3 The face of the only man seen frontally expresses extremely human suffering, almost black despair, while the man in profile appears to speak to the figure with his back to us in one of those commonplace moments of life that Rosai makes eternal and almost sublime.D.M.

1 A. Soffici, Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Saletta Gonnelli, March 1922), Florence: Vallecchi, 1922.

2 P. C. Santini, Rosai, 3rd ed., Florence: Vallecchi 1972, p. 68.

3 Ibidem.

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Ottone Rosai I fidanzati

71 Title I fidanzati [The Betrothed] Date 1934 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 70 × 49.7 cm bottom right: O. ROSAI XII

The tenderness with which Ottone Rosai suc-ceeds in capturing the poetic and epic quality of everyday life verges on intense emotion in this work. With his arm around her shoulders, the lovers walk unperturbed in perfect harmo-ny with a landscape that has lost any concrete element to become a wholly mental and emo-tive setting. The balance of the composition, underscored by the lines of the road stretch-ing away gently into the distance, is combined with a “calm and liquid blending of colour”1 applied in delicate, interwoven strokes. A gen-tle light warms the scene and calms the sky. Rosai painted another version [FIG. 1] the fol-lowing year and showed it at the 1936 Venice Biennial,2 seeking unsuccessfully, according to Pier Carlo Santini, to recapture the stylistic perfection of the first: “If Vittorini had had this painting rather than the other before his eyes when writing about the 1936 Biennial, he might not have said that the aspect of Rosai present-ed was perhaps the most characteristic but not

the most essential”.3 The version of I fidanzati in the Iannaccone collection was first shown in 1939 in a solo show at the Galleria Barbaroux in Milan, which was a great success in terms of visitors and sales. An article published in Tempo confirms that it was then the property of Alberto Mondadori in Milan.4 It then appeared in the Florentine retrospective of 1960 curat-ed by Pier Carlo Santini at Palazzo Strozzi5 and again in 2007 in the exhibition Aria e Cieli nel paesaggio italiano del Novecento held in Fabriano.6

R.P.

1 P. C. Santini, Rosai, Florence: Vallecchi Editore, 1960.2 See XX Esposizione Internazionale d’Arte 1936-XIV.

Catalogo, Venice: Officine Grafiche Carlo Ferrari, 1936, p. 125.

3 P. C. Santini, Rosai, cit., 1960.4 O. Rosai, “Le mie esperienze”, in Tempo, Milan,

2 November 1939. The work was mentioned under the title Gli innamorati and its location was given as the Collezione Alberto Mondadori.

5 See P. C. Santini (edited by), Mostra dell’opera di Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, May−June 1960), Florence: Vallecchi Editore, 1960.

6 See V. Dehò, E. Pontiggia (edited by), Aria. Premio Internazionale d’Arte Decima Edizione, exhibition catalogue (Fabriano, Spedale di Santa Maria del Buon Gesù, 7 July − 16 September 2007), Bologna: Grafis, 2007.

1. Ottone Rosai, Fidanzati, 1935. Private collection

286 287

1 P. C. Santini, Rosai, Florence: Vallecchi, 1960, p. 95.2 Ibidem.3 G. Raimondi (edited by), Alcuni scritti due lettere

e due quadri inediti di Ottone Rosai, Florence: Vallecchi, 1960, pp. 10−12.

4 Ibidem.5 Ibidem, pp. 12−13.6 Ibidem.7 See P. C. Santini (edited by), Onoranze a Ottone

Rosai / Mostra dell’opera di Ottone Rosai 1911-1957, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, May−June 1960), Florence: Vallecchi, 1960.

8 See 100 opere di Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Prato, Galleria d’Arte Farsetti, 1965), Prato: Edizioni Galleria d’Arte Farsetti, 1965.

72 Title All’osteria [In the Tavern] Date 1938 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 75.5 × 65.5 cm bottom right: O. Rosai XVI

All’osteria (1938) was painted during a very fruitful decade in the career of Ottone Rosai, one of numerous works prompted by the need felt as from the end of the twenties to “ascer-tain the correspondence of forms to themes of life and emotion”, as Pier Carlo Santini wrote in connection with the retrospective of 1960 at Palazzo Strozzi.1 The thick outline of the figures in these works is designed not so much for “structural strength” as “to eliminate and en-close the forms” in genre scenes like this one in a tavern, where the drawing serves to attain a sort of primitive simplicity.2 As Rosai wrote to Renato Guttuso on 12 October 1954, and hence in the context of the post-war dispute between abstract artists and realists on the formal qual-ities of an authentic political vocabulary of art, “What matters to me is truth, which has still, despite everything, its right to eternity”.3 The urgent need for truth, for pictorial honesty with respect to reality, is the cornerstone of his work and emerges in the tales it tells of moments in everyday life: “What matters is our understand-ing as honest human beings, our ability to meet on a basis of comprehension, respect and trust, and this matters because there is still in us the precise desire to serve something, the some-thing that is art and that, as we know, takes more than a lifetime to master”.4 The theme of a group of men sitting at a table was recurrent in Rosai’s work as from the twenties — suffice

it to mention L’attesa [Waiting], 1920 [W. NO. 79] — and is characterized by the absence of any details of context. A “good painting” was in fact for Rosai a representation of the intimate concreteness of reality, “its philosophical inner world”, so as to “substantiate it with humanity and poetry”.5 As he went on to write, “An object, an apple, a town, a man, each of these things contains the drama of humankind as a whole, and so they must recount this drama to human beings, otherwise they will serve no purpose other than that of being recognized in their outer, nominative appearance and not in the deep, inner sense of their meaning”.6 The artist showed the work at the 1938 Venice Biennial (room 32), after which it entered the Rossini col-lection in Turin and appeared in the exhibition Onoranze a Ottone Rosai / Mostra dell’opera di Ottone Rosai presso Palazzo Strozzi di Firenze of May 1960 at Palazzo Strozzi in Florence.7 It was exhibited five years later by the Galleria d’Arte Farsetti in Prato8 and purchased for the Iannaccone collection.C.T.

Ottone Rosai All’osteria

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Ottone Rosai Giocatori di toppa

73 Title Giocatori di toppa [“Toppa” Players] Date 1920 Technique charcoal on cardboard mounted on canvas Dimensions 490 × 690 mm bottom right: ROSAI

Ottone Rosai saw drawing as “the first way to get to grips with and penetrate reality. Apparent, everyday reality takes shape only through a graphic structure in the space of the sheet in obedience to the need to address the world little by little, in successive frames”.1 This conception underlies Giocatori di toppa, where “nothing is fortuitous or provisional”.2 The buildings in the background create an interplay of shadows to focus the viewer’s attention on the six men playing the Florentine game toppa in the fore-ground, oblivious to the two grim figures behind them, one grotesque with a nose like Cyrano de Bergerac. The drawing is steeped in the “compassion and solidity of the old Florentine populace”3 with which Rosai loved to tell com-mon stories of ordinary individuals without ever lapsing into caricature. As his friend Edoardo Persico wrote: “You will see that Rosai has noth-ing to do with the vignettes in which the new Tuscan sketching delights. For us, this proletar-ian is not some wild yob but rather the brother of all those who have sought the substance of a new world in the inferno of war and the purgato-ry of peace, in misery and guilt”.4 The drawing is a preparatory study for the small canvas [FIG. 1] owned by Gianni Mattioli, formerly in the Feroldi collection. It was included in 1920 in a solo

show at Palazzo Capponi in Florence and at the Strozzina in 1953 in the exhibition Omaggio a Rosai curated by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti.5 The back originally bore another drawing, “as fine as one by an old master”, of the same sub-ject with the figure in the foreground enlarged.6 They have been shown separately since Ottone Rosai nel Centenario della nascita. Disegni dal 1906 al 1956, the centenary exhibition of draw-ings held in 1995 at the Accademia in Florence.7

R.P.

1 L. Cavallo, “Omaggio a Ottone Rosai. Il disegno”, in Il disegno italiano, San Polo D’Enza: La Scaletta, 1995.

2 M. Masciotta, in Seconda biennale internazionale della grafica di Firenze. La grafica tra le due guerre 1918/1939, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 30 April − 29 June 1970), Florence: Unione Fiorentina, 1970, p. 121.

3 P. Torriano, “Pittura. Gli estremi si toccano”, in Sette Giorni, y. IX, no. 25, Milan, 19 June 1943, p. 17.

4 From a lecture delivered on 18 December 1933 at the end of the Rosai show curated by Persico at the Galleria Le Tre Arti in Milan; see [E. Persico], “Tre pittori”, in Domus, y. VII, no. 73, Milan: Editoriale Domus, January 1934, p. 47; now in G. Veronesi (edited by), Edoardo Persico. Tutte le opere (1923-1935), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1964.

5 See C. L. Ragghianti (edited by), Omaggio a Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Galleria La Strozzina, April−May 1953), Florence: Vallecchi, 1953.

6 See P. C. Santini, in Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Ivrea, Centro Culturale Olivetti, May 1957), Milan: All’Insegna del Pesce d’Oro, 1957, work no. 13, p. 66.

7 See Ottone Rosai nel Centenario della nascita. Disegni dal 1906 al 1956, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Accademia delle Arti del Disegno, December 1995 − January 1996), texts by A. Parronchi, S. Capecchi, Florence: Edizioni Pananti, 1995, pp. [45−46], 91.

1. Ottone Rosai, Giocatori di toppa, 1920. Mattioli collection

290 291

Aligi Sassu Concerto

74 Title Concerto Date 1930 Technique oil on canvas glued onto plywood Dimensions 65 × 57 cm bottom right: SASSU

Having definitively abandoned the Futurism of his youth, Aligi Sassu embarked in 1929 on the long and successful series of Uomini rossi [Red Men] featuring hundreds of male figures drawn from mythology or scenes of everyday life. This group of works displays the artist’s predilection for a “harsh, incendiary red that tastes of blood, a red that does not sing, ring out or warm but burns and amazes, truly for us something living, a note of the soul, a search for depth”.1 Vague or summarily outlined settings host mostly nude groups of slender, immature, male figures de-scribed by Raffaele De Grada as “adolescents standing out as in vase painting with the blazing eyes of those listening to the faint voice of an oracle prophesying future truths”. He also not-ed some “kinship” between these young bodies and the male nudes painted by Scipione in the same period [FIG. 1, P. 312]. Both artists did in fact break the rules of anatomy in their figures to de-part from the muscular, monumental model of Novecento physicality.2 The sole indication of perspective in Concerto (1930, formerly in the collection of Guido Ballo3) is given by lines of the floor and the skewed lines of the table, without which the evanescent figures would appear to float in mid-air. It was not, however, only the formal questions that in-terested Sassu, who addressed this theme re-peatedly. In addition to his deliberated rejection of Novecento volume and chiaroscuro, he felt

the need to express an existential condition, as can be perceived in the timeless, lyrical atmos-phere of the settings and the frozen gestures and expressions of the figures. The Concerto was listed in the catalogue of the show held at the Bottega di Corrente in March 1941 can be identified as this work.4 It appeared in the solo show of 1945 held at the Galleria Ciliberti and then repeated the same year at the Galleria Santa Radegonda,5 a stamped label from which is still attached to the back.6

R.P.

1 R.G. [R. Giolli], “Esposizioni milanesi. 6 giovani”, in Cronache Latine, y. II, no. 7, Milan, 13 February 1932, p. 6. Raffaello Giolli made this comment on the paintings presented by Sassu in a group show held at the Galleria del Milione in February 1932 together with Renato Birolli, Giovanni Cortese, Luigi Grosso, Giacomo Manzù and Fiorenzo Tomea.

2 R. De Grada, “I valori tipici di Sassu”, in Aligi Sassu, Milan: Sandro Maria Rosso Editore Stampatore, Galleria 32, 1967, pp. 15−18.

3 The work was in the Ballo collection at least as from 1959, as indicated in the catalogue of the show held at the Galleria delle Ore, Milan, in April the same year; see Sassu, catalogue-bulletin no. 9, presentation by R. Guttuso, Milan:Galleria delle Ore, 1959, [p. 10].

4 See Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 19−31 March 1941), presentation by L. Anceschi, Milan: Edizioni Bottega di Corrente, 1941, [p. 8].

5 See Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Santa Radegonda, October 1945, texts by E. Emanuelli, A. Sassu, N. Tullier, Milan: Galleria Santa Radegonda, 1945, [p. 9]. The work is erroneously dated 1943 in the catalogue. For one of the more recent exhibitions in which it has appeared, see Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milano negli anni trenta (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June − 5 September 2010), edited by E. Pontiggia, Milan: Skira, 2010.

6 The label bears the following inscription: “Galleria Santa Radegonda – Milano; Aligi Sassu; “Concerto” 1930; Mostra personale ottobre 1945”.

292 293

Aligi Sassu I Dioscuri

75 Title I Dioscuri [Castor and Pollux] Date 1931 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 70 × 58 cm bottom right: 31 SASSU

With their timeless, contemplative atmosphere, Aligi Sassu’s works undertake a deeply exis-tential exploration, an investigation of the inner-most feelings and mental states of humankind and its archetypes. As noted in an article of the period, “His mythology does not lapse into clas-sical mannerism, literary vacuity or superficiali-ty. Each figure is governed by a humanity pres-ent to itself, i.e. resolved within the boundaries of the painting itself”.1 The slender, adolescent Castor and Pollux of 1931 neither fight nor move and have nothing in common with the fearless Greek demigods apart from their youth. Despite the melancholy cast of their expressions and their defenceless nudity, the delicate shades of colour and the balance of the composition offer some grounds for hope. The gentle landscape with its “marks of dawn and spring”2 recalls the purity of our response to life during youth. As Sassu stated in this connection, “I say that the Uomini rossi [Red Men] are youth, the representation of man, who is born naked before the universe and then faces society, into which he is forced, with faith, the generosity of youth and the purity of dawn; man bathed in sunlight, which shines through the body and illuminates the blood, blood that is life and will then be death. This is why there are no shadows in the painting, why everything is colour”.3

The painting was presented in February 1932 at the Galleria del Milione in group show of work by Sassu, Renato Birolli, Corrado Cagli, Giovanni Cortese, Luigi Grosso, Giacomo Manzù and Fiorenzo Tomea.R.P.

1 Unsigned review in L’Italia vivente, Rome, 15 April 1932.


3 A. Sassu, Un grido di colore. Autobiografia, Lugano: Todaro Editore, 1998, p. 27. See E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La Rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo - S.E.T. Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July − 7 October 2012), Allemandi, Turin, 2012 (the painting was among the works exhibited).

294 295

Aligi Sassu Nu au divan vert

76 Title Nu au divan vert [Nude on a Green Couch]

Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 97 × 65 cm bottom right: SASSU

Nu au divan vert marked a turning point in the career of Aligi Sassu, who embarked on a se-ries of painting based on Guy de Maupassant’s short story The Tellier House (1881) between 1941 and 1948.1 The work offered the artist an opportunity to address the subject of the broth-el, interpreted as a place to let off steam for the bourgeois society previously depicted in his Café series. The presence of nudes in his works has nothing to do with any moralistic intent: “My viewpoint is that of acknowledging a degrading human condition from which salvation is pos-sible through the humanity of the creatures in-volved”.2 Manet’s Olympia [FIG. 1] constitutes an impor-tant source of inspiration for the painting, as can be deduced from the diagonal slant of the composition. In his presentation of the solo show at the Galleria Genova in 1941, Luciano Anceschi spoke also of Sassu’s “idolatry of the legendary Delacroix, the wonderful liberator of colour from the arid formulas of bogus classi-cism”.3 The painter was indeed certainly influ-enced here by the master’s odalisques [FIG. 2]. Sassu’s flair for colour is freely displayed in this

painting, dominated by fiery hues and especial-ly the blood red of the body. Attilio Podestà’s enthusiastic review of the show in Genoa notes the young painter’s “precocious intelligence” and “almost morbid sensitivity”, praising above all his “use of bright colours in an impetuous profusion of acidic hues and an atmosphere in-undated with light, devoid of chiaroscuro, with veiled, blended brushstokes and an interplay of reflections”.4 The work was shown in Genoa under the Italianized title Nudo su fondo verde in compliance with the Fascist demand for lin-guistic autarky.5 R.P.

1 See Fondazione Aligi Sassu e Helenita Olivares (edited by), Sassu. Maison Tellier, exhibition catalogue (Lugano, Villa Ciani, 17 October 2008 − 1 March 2009), Lugano: Fondazione Aligi Sassu e Helenita Olivares, 2008. Literature often provided Sassu with inspiration, as in his youthful illustrations for Marinetti’s Mafarka il futurista and later work on Manzoni’s Promessi Sposi and Dante.

2 A. Sassu, in Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Cantù, Galleria Pianella, 20 April – 3 May 1968), text by Franco Passoni, Cantù: Galleria Pianella, 1968.

3 L. Anceschi, in Aligi Sassu in una mostra nelle nostre sale, exhibition catalogue (Genoa, Galleria Genova, 1–15 February 1941), Genoa: Galleria Genova, 1941.

4 A. Podestà, “Sassu a Genova”, in Primato, y. II, no. 4, Milan, 15 February 1941, p. 26.

5 See Aligi Sassu in una mostra..., cit., 1941 (work no. 22). The other works exhibited include Il grande caffè [The Big café], La morte di Patroclo [Patroclus’ Death], Ballerine [Ballerinas] and Battaglia di tre cavalieri [Three Horsemen Fighting].

1. Édouard Manet, Olympia, 1863. Paris, Musée d’Orsay

2. Eugène Delacroix, Odalisque Reclining on a Divan, 1827–28. Cambridge, The Fitzwilliam Museum

296 297

Scipione Villa Corsini

77 Title Villa Corsini Date 1929 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 36.5 × 29.5 cm

“Who will give us back Scipione and the acute-ness of his senses, which wrested from baroque Rome the confessions of bishops and statues, stormy skies and joyous mysteries, broad si-lences of piazzas in the power of time and tragic appearances? Who like him will be master of this Rome, the city he pursued at breakneck speed? They were his definitive pilgrimages, last farewells that gave him a fever for painting so that the colours oozed with blood, all the shades of blood in the pinks, greens, browns, violets, purples and greys mixed proud and munificent by his fingers”.1 This particular view of Rome, unquestionably seen looking up from Villa Corsini towards the botanical gardens and the Janiculum, was first shown in November 1930 in the important joint show with Mafai at the Galleria Roma, the first and last time in Scipione’s life that he was to present a sub-stantial body of works. As Alberto Neppi wrote in Il Lavoro Fascista on 15 November, “[...] Let us take a solid middle-class citizen who looks up to Spadini as the last master of the Roman tradition, or indeed the last acceptable mod-ern painter, and place him before Scipione’s Villa Corsini [FIG. 1] [...] The worthy gentleman will hardly deny the limpid range of summery greens scaling the slopes of the Janiculum be-neath a sunset of diaphanous pink or the pleas-ant little sketch of Gallori’s Garibaldi perched on top, a real gem!” A dream painted by a re-fined and romantic eye. “We got into the habit of going to the library of art history on Piazza Venezia in the evening. It is there that we got to know the great artists and the lesser ones,

observing and analyzing their work with great attention. We passed works of painting and sculpture back and forth between us. For us it was a practically unknown world. Who knew anything about Goya, Velázquez, Brueghel and Piero della Francesca apart from the odd repro-duction? And then there was modern painting, a real garden of delights”.2 Swallowed up by a real African jungle in search of a way into the blanket of greens, we find ourselves before a baroque entrance, but it is closed, impassable, and prevents complete immersion. The red of the sunset fades, almost as though attacked by the tip of an anthracite green fir. A constellation of palms coexist har-moniously with the verdant, wedge-shaped trees. The brushstrokes are soft and almost dreamy, free despite all impediments. Just as the trees extend past the gate, we feel the powerful, instinctive yearning of a young man to live, to go beyond the problems life holds in store for him. Villa Corsini is not merely an ex-ercise in landscape painting but a mature and perhaps painful reflection on human existence and for this reason both personal and universal to an equal degree. As Marchiori wrote in 1939, Scipione “is an introvert. He bends to delight in images formed by the fancy in constant de-tachment from reality. Every painting and draw-ing reflects the secret sorrow of that soul, lost by chance in a human firmament in which it gleamed alone.”R.P.

1 L. de Libero, “Stato dell’arte italiana contemporanea alla Seconda quadriennale”, in Broletto, Como, March 1935.

2 M. Mafai, Scritti editi e inediti di Mario Mafai, edited by V. Martinelli, Rome: Edizioni dell’Ente premi Roma, p. 18.

1. View of the botanical gardens and the Janiculum from Villa Corsini, Rome

298 299

Scipione Angolo di Collepardo

78 Title Angolo di Collepardo [A Corner of Collepardo]

Date circa 1929 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 44 × 44 cm

In the numerous letters to his friend Marino Mazzacurati, Scipione spoke of the serenity of the period he spent far from Rome in the prov-ince of Frosinone (Ciociaria): “I spent nearly two months in Ciociaria living a wonderful life and returning with great health and vigour. There’s a lot to do in those parts and I often thought of you.1 In the “folksy and […] slightly textbook” view of Collepardo, the “unquestionably quick execution is slightly sketchy here and there, as though prompted by an urgent need to capture the image in its fundamental elements”.2 The original compositional angle, slight distortion of space and use of bright, bold colour are charac-teristics shared with views of the same period by Antonietta Raphaël and Mario Mafai. In the tranquillity of a village scene, the atmosphere is set ablaze with explosive power by the glowing red of the cart on the left. The body of one of the female figures, typical of the province, recalls one of the local women frequently mentioned by Scipione: “[…] every time he spoke of her he would lick his lips as though enjoying a sweet and say, ‘You can’t imagine it, she must have such a body under those clothes.’”3 The work was shown in Venice at the Galleria Sandri early in 1949 together with Paesaggio con cavaliere [Landscape with Rider] [FIG. 1], originally part of the same panel. The reviews in that occasion spoke of Scipione’s landscapes as his most

interesting works.4 The painting was owned by the Galleria Sandri until 19505 and then sold to the Galleria del Cavallino, founded in Venice by Carlo Cardazzo in the early forties. It was shown in 2008 in Carlo Cardazzo. Una nuova visione dell’arte, the exhibition to mark the centenary of Cardazzo’s birth6 and then in the 2010 retro-spective L’artista, il poeta at the Palazzo della Permanente.7

R.P.

1 Letter from Scipione to Renato Mazzacurati, dated 22 September 1929; now in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by), Scipione. Vita e opere, Turin: Umberto Allemandi & C., 1988, p. 91.

2 S. B., “Mostra d’Arte. Una collettiva”, in Il Gazzettino Veneziano, Venice, 1 February 1949.

3 M. Mafai; now in Scipione. Vita..., cit., 1988, pp. 91–92. 4 “In this group show at the Galleria Sandri, interest

was aroused above all by a couple of works attributed to Scipione: Collepardo and Paesaggio con cavaliere S.B., Mostra..., cit., 1949.

5 As confirmed by an unsigned article in Emporium on various solo and group shows under way in Venice, which also mentioned the already finished show of 1949: “Two previously unexhibited works by Scipione, Paesaggio con cavallo and Paesaggio, Collepardo, of great interest for the development of his vision of landscape, appeared in a show of modern Italian painters held previously at the Galleria Sandri The work appeared with the following caption: “Scipione: Paesaggio a Collepardo, Galleria Sandri, Venezia”. See “Cronache. Personali e collettive”, in Emporium, y. LVI, no. 669, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, September 1950, pp. 132–35.

6 See L. M. Barbero (edited by), Carlo Cardazzo. Una nuova visione dell’arte, exhibition catalogue (Venice, Peggy Guggenheim Collection, 1 November 2008 – 9 February 2009), Milan: Mondadori Electa, 2008.

7 See F. Gualdoni, A. Pellegatta (edited by), L’artista, il poeta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 12 November 2010 – 9 January 2011), Milan: Skira, 2010.

1. Scipione, Paesaggio con cavaliere, 1929. Private collection

79 Title Natura morta con piuma [Still Life with Feather]

Date 1929 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 45.5 × 50.7 cm80 Title Autoritratto [Self-Portrait] Date 1930 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 54 × 37 cm top right: Scipione

Gino Bonichi, better known as Scipione, was born in Rome in 1904 and died at Arco in November 1933 at the age of just 29, as prophesied by a Spanish monk a few years earlier during one of his stays in the province of Frosinone (Ciociaria). Having survived the initial onslaught of his illness at the age of 15, Scipione grew up strong and athletic. He met Mario Mafai, his closest friend, and forgot about his illness, which instead did not forget him and reappeared ten years later during a night of rev-elry in Rome. A few months later he appeared to have recovered completely and set to work with such vigour and voracity as to produce the finest works of his extraordinary art between the autumn of 1929 and the spring of 1931. Looking forward to Francis Bacon with his fiery colours and portraits of unusual figures, he was a fre-quent presence during this period in the salon of the Marchese Venosti and Principessa Caetani di Bassiano, for whom he painted Il principe cattolico [The Catholic Prince] [FIG. 2]. As attest-ed by Virgilio Guzzi in Primato on 15 May 1943, the back of this work originally bore a painting of the artist’s face.1 This self-portrait, which was detached so as to obtain two works from the one support during its time in the Ungaretti col-lection between 1941 and 19432, presents not only his features but also his inner life in all the shades of red, mastered with unique and wholly personal power, under the influence of painters

like El Greco. “A man who awaits death amid red will-o’-the-wisps: ‘I hear the cries of angels / Who want me to be saved / But saliva is sweet / And the blood rushes to sin…’ A man burnt out in just a few years. This accumulation of sunset reds, reds in a graduated range, reds derived from the bolus of grounds as in eight-eenth-century canvases, gentle reds and reds of abandonment, reds confused with the blacks of feathers and the dark green of fruit. All red and always red”.3 The face occupying most of the surface looks weary and the eyes have a far-away expression. “The self-portrait is a work of great emphasis in which the features take pre-cise shape and undergo distortion, the volume expands in colour and is intensified in a small number of lights. Here we find a breathless, ba-roque Scipione and a disguise reminiscent of a Goya-like soldier, which was suggested by the traces of an earlier painting beneath that he kept exposed to the very end”.4 The signature on the side prompts us to observe the work in a hori-zontal position, a new angle that reveals further details: three faces (perhaps those of Raphaël, Mafai and Mazzacurati, his closest friends) faint-ly sketched beneath the tambourine and a fig leaf behind the head. Radiographic examination has revealed a preparatory study for the Natura morta con piuma (1929). The painter Mario Mimì Lazzaro, Scipione’s friend, shed some light on the origin is this work: “I met him one morning in the market on Via dei Gracchi and he hugged me. We had not seen each other for a year. he was holding two coconuts and looking for two lemons ‘as big as breasts’. I had the pleasure of being able to offer him one of truly phenomenal size. He rushed off in childlike glee promising to show me what he did with it. He used it for a splendid still life The decidedly erotic study for the still life with feather leaves no room for any other interpretation. The lemon really are like two breasts and the other sibylline elements

include a huge fig leaf, a sensual feather, a tam-bourine and a comb as well as a fairly explicit cucumber. “[...] Bare of glazing and still in the phase of gestation, these hectic spectres are more full of life, aggressive and spontaneous than finished works. Like Ungaretti, Scipione is an artist who pours out his expressive potential all at once. His impulses are full-blooded. His style becomes swollen with strength and vigour only when all the faculties of heart, mind and sex are in a state of erection, so to speak. His driving force is erotic. Those who have seen him work remember him as worn out and drip-ping with perspiration in a post-coital state of exhaustion”.5 It was probably in order to avoid offending the literate Principessa Marguerite Caetani di Bassiano and making her change her mind about buying the Principe cattolico [FIG. 2] that he painted over the somewhat ex-plicit work on the back with the self-portrait. And just as death had the better of Scipione in the end, his desperate face covered his great passion for life. His great love of women was in any case poured into the Natura morta con piuma we still have today, where realism is transformed with no lapse in technique into blunt sensuality, what Corrado Maltese called “decadent realism”. The objects are not placed there only to be observed but to tell a story with the material he called his “drug”. “His hands sweat with creative frenzy, his eyes and nos-trils are dilated, he gasps for breath”.6 So pas-sionate and sensual as to blend the scent of a coy lady with the smell of a whore from across the Tiber. The two lemons are large and juicy, separated by a string of red beads that lie sin-uously on cloth the colour of Bordeaux, whose sensual folds recall the amorous inebriation of wine. A primordial glove or a fig leaf: the ambi-guity of the object is the very embodiment of desire. Alongside this, the small white comb is an almost cloying presence, as though its pure,

300 301

Scipione Natura morta con piuma Autoritratto

1. Natura morta con piuma, X-ray

302 303

innocent colour were unsuitable, inappropriate for the woman whose possessions these are. A wickerwork basket can be glimpsed on the far left with a blue ribbon in a bow, an immaculate remembrance of childhood. A shift appears to by lying on the right side of this dressing table, as though thrown there by its owner in her haste to disrobe. A feather of coquettish lightness lies in the middle of the work on a hairy coconut of orange colour. “The objects swirl around a linchpin that is nearly always in the centre of the painting to create a sort of spiral over the oval table, a genuine magical table”.7 Magic is present but perhaps the black magic repre-sented by the playing card, so dear to his friend Antonietta Raphaël and so ill-omened for him. The mannerist jeu d’esprit does not end here, as the back of the work reveals a large naked body the arouses man’s sinful desire. “He was sensually bewitched by life but saw the human void and the apocalypse of 1930 and could not and would not deny it. On beholding Scipione’s masterpieces I am obsessively reminded of [...] another European destiny, the one traced by Thomas Mann in The Magic Mountain, pub-lished in German in 1924 and translated into Italian in 1932. His hero Hans Castorp discovers life in a sanatorium in Davos, where he embrac-es illness and death because his very first con-tact with them already afford him extraordinary

and disturbing understanding as well as excit-ing progress in the rediscovery of life, the world, and reality”.8 Scipione fell ill for the last time in the spring of 1931 and was never to paint again. R.P.

1 “The self-portrait of Scipione recently presented at the show of some Roman artists at the Zodiaco gallery had previously remained unexhibited, being painted on the back of the celebrated panel (from which it has now been detached) of the Principe cattolico.” V. Guzzi, in Primato, 15 May 1923.

2 Examination of the provenances listed in the general catalogue of Scipione’s work reveals that the two paintings were still a single work when they entered the Ungaretti collection, after which the Principe cattolico entered the Vittorio De Sica collection in Rome while the Autoritratto went to a collection in Milan. Indirect confirmation of this is provided by L. Sinisgalli in Furor Mathematicus, where the study for a self-portrait is mentioned as part of Ungaretti’s collection during the period when the poet owned Il principe cattolico, and by Guzzi’s article (see note 1).

3 R. Carrieri, Pittura e scultura d’avanguardia in Italia (1890-1950), Milan: Edizioni della Conchiglia, 1950, p. 223.

4 V. Guzzi, “Corriere delle arti”, in Primato, 15 May 1943, p. 189.

5 L. Sinisgalli, Furor Mathematicus – Ricordo di Scipione, Milan: Mondadori, 1950, p. 296.

6 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by), Scipione. Vita e opere, Turin: Allemandi & C., 1988, p. 118.

7 L. Sinisgalli, Furor..., cit., 1950, p. 300.8 D. Micacchi, “La montagna incantata di Scipione”,

in l’Unità, 13 August 1985.

2. Scipione, Il principe cattolico, 1930. Vatican City, Musei Vaticani

304 305

Scipione Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme

81 Title Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem]

Date 1930 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 42.3 × 46.5 cm

With his thirst for art and an “illness that could give him nothing other than spiritual agony, an apocalypse”,1 Scipione wrote some verses that capture the poetic atmosphere of this extraor-dinary painting: “I hear the cries of angels / Who want me to be saved / But saliva is sweet / And the blood rushes to sin. / The air is still, / everything as pink as flesh. / If bliss pervades, / we must break and fall. / The sun enters my breast / like a basket / and I feel empty. / The hand detaches itself from the earth, / touches air, light, flesh. / The lance plunges into the back of the horse, / which runs and screams with its head in the sky.” Enveloped in the tempest of reds of which the poet Ungaretti also wrote: “Then Scipione appeared and did whatever he wanted with red: the almost purple red of split figs, the reds of shame, the secret reds, the trag-ic red of the sky. Whatever he wanted, Scipione did with the red of purple, the reds in shadow, the red of wounds, of passion and glory, the red that swallowed up the old travertine stone and the sluggish waters of the Tiber in the summer sunsets of Rome.” A horse in an inferno, clad in a lion skin that recalls the prophet John the

Baptist [FIG. 1]. A painter of great sophistication, he did not resign himself to the grim prophecy of the Spanish monk in Collepardo who predicted his death before the age of thirty. He went into and out of the sanatorium. He had a great de-sire to live, and his works show this. Like a soul in torment, he used the handle of his brush as though it were the sword of the second horse-man, making red incisions in the panel, creat-ing furrowed lines to heighten the barrenness of the burning landscape. The hands joined in prayer seem to entreat the Lord to save him from his sins: “Punish me. Let me feel my guilt in life, but I want to be saved. I want to sleep as pure as bread. I want to throw myself onto the ground without polluting it. Let me come closer to you. Give me the strength to overcome”.2 To defeat sin, represented by a serpent that, like a slithering Eve, slips between the legs of the enraged horse, allowing him to approach the bucranium placed in the foreground as a sign of probable eternal punishment. In the left corner, like two withered branches entangled, two small figures, probably lovers, are sketched in quick brushstrokes like the entwined souls in Dante’s Purgatory: “We all died violent deaths and were sinners till the last hour. Then, warned by light from Heaven, repenting and forgiving, we de-parted from life reconciled with God, who fills us with longing to see Him.”3 Scipione wishes perhaps to guide us and warns us, like Virgil, to

pay them no heed, to look and pass by. The two figures that turn to behold the prophet saviour and us are a warning of a past, too brief and fleeting, which can have meaning only through the salvific works of the man on horseback, only through the future is there any hope in the possibility of rebirth. A note on the painting of El Greco reveals his way of reading the works of the great visionary: “His figures are spectres that take concrete shape with terrible tactile re-ality, subtle links that never end. The intangible beauty of the divine figures takes shape and is corrupted [...]”.4 Formerly in the De Luca col-lection, the work was first shown in the Mafai-Scipione show of 1930 at Pier Maria Bardi’s gallery in Rome. It entered the Iannaccone col-lection in 2008 and was exhibited at the Museo del Novecento in Milan on temporary loan from 2010 to 2013.R.P.

1 L. Sinisgalli, Furor Mathematicus – Ricordo di Scipione, Milan: Mondadori, 1950, p. 288.

2 Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Biella, Centro Internazionale di Arti Figurative, 27 November – 20 December 1963), introduction by G. Marussi, Biella: Centro Internazionale di Arti Figurative, 1963, p. 8.

3 Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio, canto V, 52–57: “Noi fummo tutti già per forza morti, / e peccatori infino a l’ultima ora; / quivi lume del ciel ne fece accorti, / sì che, pentendo e perdonando, fora / di vita uscimmo a Dio pacificati, / che del disio di sé veder n’accora”.

4 L. Sinisgalli, Furor Mathematicus, cit., 1950, p. 302.

1. Raphael, San Giovanni Battista nel deserto, 1517–18.Florence, Gallerie degli Uffizi

306 307

Scipione Flagellazione di Cristo

82 Title Flagellazione di Cristo [The Flagellation of Christ]

Date 1929 Technique ink wash on paper Dimensions 206 × 261 mm bottom right: Scipione 29

Scipione’s Flagellazione is similar in iconogra-phy and composition to the early Renaissance depictions of the subject. Christ is portrayed frontally dressed only in a loincloth (all the other figures being oddly nude) bound to the column by his wrists. The attention is focused, howev-er, on the desperation of one of the onlookers, the angel submissively leaving the scene on the left, an evident citation of Masaccio’s Cacciata dei progenitori dal Paradiso terrestre [The Expulsion from the Garden of Eden] [FIG. 1]. As in many later paintings, animals also partake in the atmosphere of resigned grief of the scene of martyrdom, like the horse in the middle ground looking to the heavens for some sign of mercy,

which served him as a study for the subject then addressed pictorially in Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem] [W. NO. 81]. The work appeared on 14 July 1929 on the cover of L’Italia Letteraria, marking the start of Scipione’s work for the periodical.1 It is probable that the critic Michelangelo Masciotta, who owned the work from 1944 if not earlier,2 bought it from Enrico Falqui, who came into possession of a large number of the artist’s drawings as a member of the editorial board of L’Italia Letteraria. Scipione wrote to ask him in 1932 for a number of drawings published in the magazine so that he could submit them for a competition at the Accademia d’Italia, includ-ing “my first drawing, a Flagellation of Christ, published I think in the July or August of 1928 or ’29”.3 The work was shown in the retrospective of 1954 curated by Palma Bucarelli at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome4 and in 1970 in the interwar section of the second

International Biennial of Graphic Art in Florence with a presentation by Michelangelo Masciotta.5 It also appeared recently in the retrospective exhibition L’artista, il poeta at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.6

R.P..

1 L’Italia Letteraria, y. I, no. 15, Rome, 14 July 1929, p. 1.2 See G. Marchiori, Disegni di Scipione, Bergamo:

Istituto Italiano di Arti Grafiche, 1944, p. 13.3 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by),

Scipione. Vita e opere, Turin: Allemandi & C., 1988, pp. 173−74.

4 See P. Bucarelli (edited by), Mostra di Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, April), Rome: De Luca, 1954, p. 21.

5 See Seconda Biennale Internazionale della grafica. La grafica tra le due guerre 1918/1939, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 30 April − 29 June 1970), Florence: Edizioni Unione Fiorentina, 1970, p. 147.

6 See F. Gualdoni, A. Pellegatta (edited by), L’artista, il poeta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 12 November 2010 − 9 January 2011), Milan: Skira, 2010.

1. Masaccio, Cacciata dei progenitori dal Paradiso terrestre, 1424–25, detail. Florence, Santa Maria del Carmine, Cappella Brancacci

308 309

Scipione La toeletta

83 Title La toeletta [The Dressing Table] Date circa 1929 Technique India ink on paper Dimensions 220 × 275 mm

“Scipione drew effortlessly with a happiness devoid of all doubt. When he did not like a draw-ing, he tore it up and began all over again. He tried out several versions of some drawings but the final one, the one accepted, fully expressed the image suggested by his imagination. Seen together, the sheets of paper still bear witness to the artist’s care and determination in explor-ing the most immediate signs of a script that was elegant and persuasive by a natural gift of grace”.1 Giuseppe Marchiori thus described the talent displayed by Scipione for drawing since his time at the Accademia di Belle Arti in Rome together with Mario Mafai and Marino Mazzacurati. Scipione used drawing as a tool to study subjects he would then develop in painting. Drawing for him was something nec-essary, an occupation in no way inferior to painting, and he used it as an illustrator for var-ious periodicals and publishing houses.2 With the screen, the trunk in the background and the stockings left lying on the floor, La toelet-ta suggests the setting of a brothel. The view of the table from above, showing all of its top, is a feature shared with many of the still lifes painted by Scipione between 1929 and 1930, including Piovra [Octopus], Asso di spade [Ace of Swords] [FIG. 1], Natura morta con beccacci-ni [Still Life with Snipes] [FIG. 11, P. 49] and Fichi spaccati [Split Figs]. According to Corrado Maltese, this unusual angle serves to endow the dressing table with a simultaneously “de-monstrative and symbolic” function.3 The artist uses a handful of female articles to tell a sto-ry, recount a dream, describe a setting or cir-cumstance. Though presented as a previously

unpublished work in 1948 by Corrado Maltese in an article written on the occasion of the ret-rospective at the Venice Biennial,4 the drawing had in fact already been published in 1930 in the Almanacco degli Artisti, when Scipione was still alive,5 and in 1944 as an illustration to a text by Gianna Manzini entitled Forte come un leone.6 Part of the collection of Riccardo Gualino until his death in 1964,7 it was includ-ed by Palma Bucarelli in the exhibition of 1954 at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome8 and shown recently at Villa Torlonia in the Casino dei Principi9.R.P.

1 G. Marchiori, Disegni di Scipione, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano di Arti Grafiche, 1944, p. 8.

2 Scipione worked most of all for L’Italia Letteraria and Fronte but some drawings also appeared in Tribuna and Il Tevere. As regards illustrations for books, attention should be drawn to his work for the Carabba publishing house in Lanciano, where his friend Enrico Falqui was a consultant.

3 C. Maltese, “Scipione e il suo tempo”, in A. C. Toni (edited by), Atti del Convegno: Scipione e la Scuola Romana, Rome: Multigrafica Editrice, 1989, p. 10.

4 C. Maltese, “Presentazione di alcuni inediti di Scipione”, in Emporium, y. LIV, no. 11, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, November 1948, [p. 231].

5 Almanacco degli Artisti. Il vero Giotto, Rome-Foligno: Campitelli Editore, 1930, p. 216. See G. Appella, Scipione. 306 disegni, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, p. 314.

6 G. Manzini, Forte come un leone, Rome: Documento Editore, 1944.

7 The work is indicated as on loan from the Gualino collection in Mostra di Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Biella, Centro Internazionale di Arti Figurative, 27 November – 20 December 1963), introduction by G. Marussi, Turin: Editrice T.e.c.a., 1963, p. 18, no. 7.

8 See Mostra di Scipione alla Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna), catalogue edited by P. Bucarelli, Rome: De Luca, 1954, p. 21.

9 See Scipione 1904-1933, (Rome, Musei di Villa Torlonia-Casino dei Principi, 7 September – 6 October 2007), catalogue edited by C. Terenzi, N. Vespignani, Rome: Palombi Editori, 2007.

1. Scipione, Asso di spade, 1929. Private collection

310 311

Scipione Il cardinale Vannutelli sul letto di morte

84 Title Il cardinale Vannutelli sul letto di morte [Cardinal Vannutelli on His Deathbed]

Date 1930 Technique ink wash on paper Dimensions 210 × 320 mm bottom left: Scipione

“Scipione was fascinated by the 90-year-old Cardinal Vannutelli and never lost sight of him. He watched him, described him and smelled with avid nostrils his odour, the odour of sanc-tity beneath the purple and the ermine. In the end, he even observed him decompose on his deathbed in the funeral chamber on Via della Dataria”.1 Scipione appears to have regarded the great prelates as “worn-out, flaccid thor-oughbreds, fed with Latin and choice foods, old men with dried out cartilages, something chicken-like in their skin, pride in the garments and the ferocity of turkeys in their blood”.2 The immobility of the Cardinal’s now lifeless body contrasts with the “trembling, jerky, acute and extremely fine line of the profile”3 accentuated by the use of wash. The artist’s edgy, agitated strokes seem designed to recall that this body will soon disintegrate and decompose. Even the powerful are doomed to leave the earthly world. The sacredness of the figure collapses before the inevitability of human fate, which forces even “holy symbols to come to terms with far more terrestrial matters”.4 The theme of death and bodily corruption was deeply felt by the

painter, who was physically robust, as indicated by his nickname Scipione, but beset by illness. The drawing was shown in the major events commemorating the artist after his death, in-cluding the personal room at the second Rome Quadrennial in 1935. By statute, this exhibition was exclusive for living artists but an excep-tion was made for Gino Bonichi (Scipione)5 by Cipriano Efisio Oppo, an admirer of his art from the very outset: “Scipione […] was an artist. I realized this the first time I ever saw one of his paintings”.6 Oppo also wrote the introductory text on Scipione published in the catalogue: “Scipione’s painting was an apparition amongst us, a fan-tastic and tragic apparition with new and discon-certing overtones, something terribly hurried and dense, like an attempt to halt the ending of a day for an instant in the glow of sunset. His friends had long realized the reason for the feverish, breathless, painful, ironic intonation of his art, his blood-like colour, his trembling, jerky, acute and extraordinarily fine drawing; in short, for all his form of expression, which still appeared undefined but which those who knew nothing of his illness took to be merely dark and tangled”.7 The subsequent retrospectives were held in 1941 at the Regia Pinacoteca di Brera, curator Antonino Santangelo8, in 1948 at the Venice Biennial,9 and in 1954 at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome, curated by Palma Bucarelli.10

R.P.

1 L. Sinisgalli, Aretusa, 1945; now in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by), Scipione. Vita e opere, Turin: Umberto Allemandi & C., 1988, pp. 306−07.

2 Ibidem.3 C. E. Oppo, in Seconda Quadriennale d’Arte

Nazionale, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, February−July 1935), Rome: Tumminelli & C., 1935.

4 V. Rivosecchi, “L’idolo e il corpo”, in L. Gavioli (edited by), Visionari, primitivi, eccentrici da Alberto Martini a Licini, Ligabue, Ontani, exhibition catalogue (Potenza, Galleria Civica di Palazzo Loffredo, 14 October 2005 − 29 January 2006), Venice: Marsilio, 2005, pp. 73−79.

5 Two retrospectives had actually been held in the previous edition, one for Armando Spadini and the other for Medardo Rosso. For the 1935 Quadrennial, see E. Pontiggia, C. F. Carli (edited by), La grande Quadriennale 1935. La nuova arte italiana, Milan: Electa, 2006.

6 C. E. Oppo, Forme e colori nel mondo, Rome: Carabba Editore, 1938, pp. 317−23.

7 C. E. Oppo, in Seconda Quadriennale d’Arte Nazionale, cit., 1935.

8 See A. Santangelo (edited by), Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Regia Pinacoteca di Brera, 8−23 March 1941), Milan: La Tipocromo, 1941, work no. 36.

9 See XXIV Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Venezia, exhibition catalogue, Venice: Edizioni Serenissima, 1948, p. 141. Corrado Maltese was responsible for organizing the room.

10 See P. Bucarelli edited by), Mostra di Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, April), Rome: De Luca, 1954, p. 23.

312 313

Scipione Studio per “Gli uomini che si voltano”

85 Title Studio per “Gli uomini che si voltano” [Study for “Men Who Turn Around”]

Date 1930 Technique ink wash on paper Dimensions 230 × 187 mm bottom right: Scipione 3 bottom centre: Gli uomini che si voltano

One of the series of “apocalyptic works” pro-duced by Scipione in 1930, the drawing was probably inspired by these verses of Eugenio Montale: “Perhaps one morning, walking in barren, glassy air, / I’ll turn and see the miracle take place, / nothing at my back, the void / be-hind me, with a drunkard’s terror. Then, as on a screen, trees, houses and hills / will quickly gather for the usual illusion. / But it will be too late and I’ll walk on in silence, / among men who do not turn around, with my secret”.1

Like the poet, Scipione hoped to turn around one day and end the deception of his life, sens-ing death looming over him while others con-tinued on their way unaware. Some have seen a self-portrait in the man unnaturally raising a flat, shapeless arm and looking to the viewer for pity, while the figure on the right observes him instead with a warning expression. The bodies are distorted in the act of turning round, recalling the “painful, terrified contortions of

the apostles in the Byzantine mosaic of the Ascension in the Hagia Sophia in Thessaloniki”.2 In the canvas [FIG. 1] (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna), for which the drawing is a preparatory study, both men wear an irrever-ent, devilish mask symbolizing the impenetra-bility of the secret in their keeping. Formerly owned by Michelangelo Masciotta together with the Flagellazione di Cristo [The Flagellation of Christ] [W. NO. 82], the drawing was shown for the first time in the retrospective of 1948 at the Venice Biennial3 and then more recently in the exhibition L’artista, il poeta at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.4

R.P.

1 P. Baldacci, “Scipione spartiacque tra due mondi”, in N. Vespignani, C. Terenzi (edited by), Scipione 1904-1933, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Villa Torlonia, 7 September 2007 – 6 January 2008), Rome: Palombi Editori, 2007, pp. 13–22. The poem by Montale is part of the collection Ossi di seppia, first published in 1925. The Carabba edition of 1931 has illustrations by Scipione.

2 A. Santangelo, in Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Regia Pinacoteca di Brera, 8–23 March 1941), Milan: La Tipocromo, 1941, p. 4.

3 See XXIV Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Venezia, exhibition catalogue, Venice: Edizioni Serenissima, 1948, p. 141.

4 See F. Gualdoni, A. Pellegatta (edited by), L’artista, il poeta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 12 November 2010 – 9 January 2011), Milan: Skira, 2011.

1. Scipione, Uomini che si voltano, 1930. Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna

314 315

Ernesto Treccani Autoritratto

86 Title Autoritratto [Self-Portrait] Date 1940–41 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 40 × 35 cm bottom left: Ernesto

Ernesto Treccani was just 20 when he painted what he later described in a letter of April 1991 as his “yellow self-portrait”.1 This was probably his first canvas, produced in 1940, when he began painting after Corrente, the periodical he had founded two years earlier with financial support from his father, was closed down by the Fascist regime. The artist’s youth is evident not only in his still adolescent features but also and above all in the intensity and shyness of his expression. There are few details: a ruffled and barely sketched shirt, the mouth slightly open, an unruly curl on the forehead and eyes that are pensive but not anxious about the se-riousness of the historical moment. The back-ground too is devoid of any indications or hints of context. This concentration, which gives the work its distinctive communicative immediacy, is due to the influence of Bruno Cassinari, who introduced Treccani to Cézanne and Cubism. There are, however, still some overtones of Van Gogh drawn from the example of Renato Birolli, especially the wavy line of the brushstrokes and the bold black outline. The use of his first name alone as a signature, “a childish man-nerism born out of live for Vincent”, was also a sort of tribute to the Dutch master.2. A review by Vincenzo Costantini in Emporium appears to confirm the presence of the work in the group show organized in the summer of 1941 when the Bottega di Corrente also closed down: “Now we come to Treccani, whose only portrait known to us (on show here), is very promising”.3 It then appeared in Cassinari-Morlotti-Treccani, a joint show of work held in February 1943 at the newly opened Galleria della Spiga e Corrente. The group show of 1943 marks the symbolic di-vide between the two phases of Corrente: from the period of the “big brothers”, as Birolli and

Guttuso were described in the catalogue pres-entation, to that of the “young artists [who] de-velop a direct discourse and endeavour not to lose the immediacy of dialogue with painting at the cost of dangerous formulation after the man-ner of great masters, starting with Picasso”.4 The numerous post-war exhibitions on Corrente in which it appeared included two shows in 1960 and 1975 at the Galleria Gian Ferrari in Milan5 and the exhibition Gli artisti di “Corrente” curat-ed by Marco Valsecchi in 1963.6 It has also been shown more recently in Carla Maria Maggi e il ritratto a Milano negli anni Trenta, at the Palazzo Reale Milan7, and in Gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre at the Fondazione Stelline.8

R.P.

1 Letter from Ernesto Treccani to Antonio Stellatelli, former owner of the work, dated 15 April 1991; now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Artisti di Corrente 1930/1990, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Palazzo Bandera, 16 November 1991 – 12 January 1992), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, pp. 42–43.

2 Ibidem.3 V. Costantini, “Corrente”, in Emporium, y. XLVIII, no.

1, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, January 1942, p. 41. The reconstruction was developed by Elena Pontiggia in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano anni Trenta. L’Arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 246.

4 Treccani presented four drawings and four other paintings together with the self-portrait: L’Arlecchino [Harlequin], Paesaggio [Landscape], La caffettiera [Coffee Pot] and Omaggio a Cézanne [Homage to Cézanne]. See Cassinari-Morlotti-Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, from 6 February 1943), Milan: Edizioni della Spiga e Corrente, 1943.

5 See C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Verifica di “Corrente”, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Gian Ferrari, from 13 May 1975), Milan: Galleria Gian Ferrari, 1975.

6 See M. Valsecchi (edited by), Gli artisti di “Corrente”, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 25 September – 20 October 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità, 1963.

7 See E. Pontiggia (edited by), Carla Maria Maggi e il ritratto a Milano negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 15 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010.

8 See L. Sansone (edited by), Gallerie milanesi tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Fondazione Stelline, 24 February – 22 May 2016), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2016.

316 317

Ernesto Treccani Colombi assassinati

87 Title Colombi assassinati [Murdered Doves]

Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 70 × 55 cm top left: E. Treccani

The early forties saw a change in the stylistic points of reference of the Corrente group: “First all the talk was about Van Gogh and then above all about Picasso”.1 The Spanish master’s influ-ence thus led some artists to abandon the wavy, expressionistic brushstroke and move closer to the iconography of the “Picasso of bulls, horses injured in the bullring, still lifes with bucranium and finally Guernica [FIG. 8, P. 133]”.2 Their works were filled with what Mario De Micheli called “pictorial equivalents”, symbolic images refer-ring to the drama of the closure of the group’s pe-riodical: “This use of symbolism stemmed partly from our residual Hermeticism and partly from the impossibility of expressing ourselves clear-ly in the political conditions of the time”.3 It is thus significant that both Treccani and Cassinari should have produced paintings of dead doves [FIG. 1], inspired by a poem of Federico García Lorca, at the same time. This pair of dead birds thus became an emblem of betrayed innocence, political assassinations and the widespread vi-olence of the Fascist regime and World War II. The work was first shown in the exhibition on the Corrente group held at the Galleria Gian Ferrari, Milan, in 1960.4 The following year it left the col-lection of Luigi Ardemagni and entered that of Enrico Brambilla Pisoni.5

R.P.

1 E. Treccani, “Il movimento di ‘Corrente’”, in Arte per amore, Milan: Teti, 1973, pp. 131−83.

2 M. De Micheli, “Saggio critico su Ernesto Treccani”, in Ernesto Treccani, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1962, pp. 9−10.

3 Ibidem. 4 See Belvedere, Bollettino della Galleria Gian Ferrari,

no. 5, Milan, 1960, p. 7.5 Luigi (Gino) Ardemagni is the subject of the artist’s

dedication on the back of the painting: “10 dicembre 1946. A Gino con affetto Ernesto”.

1. Bruno Cassinari, I colombi morti (I colombi assassinati), 1942. Milan, Boschi collection

318 319

Ernesto Treccani Ritratto di Beniamino Joppolo

88 Title Ritratto di Beniamino Joppolo [Portrait of Beniamino Joppolo]

Date 1941 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 45 × 35 cm bottom left: Ernesto 41

Described by Mario De Micheli as a “tireless and fertile reasoner”,1 Beniamino Joppolo wrote poems, narratives and essays for the periodi-cal Corrente and directed the associated pub-lishing house with Treccani when it was closed down. The portrait was painted during one of the many gatherings of the Milanese group in Bruno Cassinari’s studio on Via San Tomaso and shows the influence of his “passionate figura-tive psychology”,2 above all in its concentration and the absence of details. Treccani focuses in Joppolo’s features, his big eyes and the pensive turn of his mouth. As Raffaele De Grada wrote, “He is well aware that in order to understand a figure, it is necessary to understand how that human being lives and the things that interest him”.3 The artist thus seeks to capture thoughts and psychology, overlooking indications of con-text to concentrate on the face, interpreted by Treccani as a metaphor of the dialogic poten-tial of art: “A painter frees himself by address-ing others. These are not your eyes? They are the ones I give you. This is not my mouth? It is the one you have given me”.4 In pictorial terms, just a year after the self-portrait, Treccani had clearly eliminated the residual influence of Van Gogh. His brushstroke was less wavy and his application of paint more compact. The artist gave the portrait to Joppolo in the forties and it was first shown in 1967 at the Galleria L’Indiano in Florence, where Treccani presented “all (or nearly all) figure paintings, portraits and studies for portraits. One head a day […] a highly partial parade of the people I love”.5

R.P.

1 M. De Micheli, “Testimonianza per Migneco”, in L. Barbera (edited by), Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Messina, Palazzo Zanca, December 1983 – February 1984), Milan: Vangelista, 1983, pp. 16–21.

2 M. De Micheli, Ernesto Treccani, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1962.

3 R. De Grada, in 12 opere di Renato Birolli, Bruno Cassinari, Ennio Morlotti, Ernesto Treccani, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1950.

4 E. Treccani, in A. Negri (edited by), Ernesto Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 May – 25 June 1989), Milan: Fabbri, 1989.

5 E. Treccani, “Dedica”, in Ernesto Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Florence, L’Indiano Galleria d’Arte Moderna, 28 January – 10 February 1967), Florence: Nuova Grafica Fiorentina, 1967.

320 321

Italo Valenti Gabbiani

89 Title Gabbiani [Seagulls] Date 1939 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 40 × 50 cm bottom right: I. VALENTI

This painting of deliberately elementary draughtsmanship encapsulates the key ele-ments of Italo Valenti’s art in the late thirties, above all the natural lyricism that lends his work its touch of magic and timelessness. His compositions are simple and consist of a few stylized and unconventional objects or fig-ures. This emblematic work shows three huge seagulls with gleaming and almost enamelled wings flying over the bare, dark branches of a row of trees. The proportions are reversed so that these birds, usually seen in the distance, display a vast wingspan.1 The contrast between their vitality and the barrenness of the land-scape conceals the allegorical meaning of a hymn to freedom and the ability to “rise above hardship”2 in line with the link between art and life that distinguishes Corrente.3 Valenti joined the group in “a reaction against form (or at least against form as it was conceived by those who are now the living masters of our pictorial art) that is certainly the most interesting develop-ment in the painting of the last few years. It was a radical rejection of objective, finished art, of formed and external beauty, a rejection of art through art”.4 The young painter’s use of fa-ble, in line with the neo-romanticism imbibed through contact with Birolli and company, was also accompanied by an intense explo-ration of colour, as shown here and in other paintings of 1939 like Gli amanti [The Lovers] [FIG. 1] and Il sogno [The Dream] [FIG. 2]. Forms are built up out of colour in deliberately uncer-tain brushstrokes with vibrations that constitute

a personal style, as recognized also by the critics who had initially manifested reservations about his talent. By comparison with his fellow mem-bers of Corrente, various critics noted his initial immaturity, his “frail and overly sweet style” and “excessively weak and uncertain vocabulary” (L. Anceschi). “At first sight, you sensed a sen-suous temperament and the danger of his work petering out in lazy indulgence in morbid mental states and stagnant imaginings (G. Piovene). “The primary object of his study is the painting, the construction, the balance of tones […] His art develops in an area midway between the natural and the abstract, and what there is of abstrac-tion seems to perform the function of forcing him into clear-cut pictorial construction and evident rhythms. And by debasing his tendency towards fable in semi-abstraction, Valenti has given his paintings another kind of poetry, a sort of reli-gious contemplation”.5

R.P.

1 E. Pontiggia, in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 238.

2 Ibidem. 3 Valenti showed work with the Corrente group

as from their first exhibition in March 1939 in the upper rooms of the Palazzo della Permanente, where he presented five works (La passeggiata [Walk], Nudo [Nude], La pesca [Fishing], Estate [Summer], Bozzetto [Sketch]) and was presented in the catalogue by Duilio Morosini. See D. Morosini, “Italo Valenti”, in Corrente di Vita Giovanile, issue in catalogue form, y. II, no. 6, Milan, 31 March 1939, p. 5. He also took part in the Corrente exhibition in December the same year at the Galleria Grande, Milan, with Il sogno [The Dream], Le orfanelle [Little Orphans], Cani [Dogs], Composizione [Composition] and Gli amanti [The Lovers].

4 G. Piovene, in Italo Valenti, Novara: Edizioni di Posizione, 1943 (edition of 200 numbered copies, no. 47), pp. 11−12.

5 G. Piovene, in Italo Valenti, cit., 1943, pp. 20−21.

1. Italo Valenti, Gli amanti, 1939. Private collection 2. Italo Valenti, Il sogno, 1939. Private collection

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Italo Valenti I giovani Greci

90 Title I giovani Greci [The Young Greeks] Date 1939 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 40 × 50 cm bottom left: I. Valenti 39

An idyll of young people on the shores of a lake or the sea, or on an enchanted island, where the bathers of nineteenth and twentieth-century art take on overtones of fable through the addition of a miraculous flying figure in the sky to those utopian visions. This is perhaps how we can de-scribe the magic of I giovani Greci, one of Italo Valenti’s most lyrical paintings. According to Croce, culture is what remains after everything else has been forgotten. And Persico, quoting Venturi, claimed that the Impressionists (but also the artists close to him in the early thir-ties) had forgotten perspective and anatomy: “They replaced what they knew with what they believed”.1

Valenti too is a cultured painter who forgets culture. It is known that in 1936 he drew the attention of his friend Birolli to the edition of Wackenroder’s writings on poetry and aesthet-ics published two years earlier by Bonaventura Tecchi. A note to that effect appears on the first page of Birolli’s copy.2 And an old card of Birolli’s found amongst his papers bears a phrase from the Tao Te Ching of Laozi written by Valenti (“The Tao of all beings is the treasure of the good and the refuge of the bad) together with a greeting. The wording of the greeting is as follows (with the word tesoro crossed out): “Condividendo il tuo tesoro ti penso sempre nel tao”.3

It is therefore against this sophisticated philo-sophical background, ranging from romanticism to Taoism, that we must consider the apparently simple painting of Valenti and a work like I gio-vani Greci. The figures in the composition are related above all to the Bathers of Cézanne [FIG.

2] as filtered through Birolli, who had visited Paris in 1936 and returned with a copy of the

monumental monograph on Cézanne given to him by its author Lionello Venturi, a work richly illustrated with photographs that Valenti must have read and examined at his friend’s home. The nudes of I giovani Greci are drawn in the intentionally primitive style also found in other works of 1939 by Valenti (Il sogno [The Dream] [FIG. 2, P. 320], Le fanciulle dell’isola [The Maiden of the Island]). Like Birolli, Valenti read Rousseau in the light of lyrical expressionism as against the magical realism of many of the Douanier’s Italian followers, such as Donghi, Usellini and Garbari, with their precise, motionless figures. The version he developed is instead more agi-tated and fraught with subtle vital tension.The painting appears to have been exhibited only in recent years,4 even though it could be the work simply entitled Composition in the sec-ond Corrente show of December 1939 at the Galleria Grande. The title I giovani Greci is, how-ever, to be found in the monograph of 1987 by Sylvio Acatos, compiled while the artist was still alive and therefore with his approval. The subject is rare in the Corrente group. In the art of the twenties and thirties the Greek world had been evoked through the mythology taken up by the Return to Order movement as a whole and explored in Italy above all by De Chirico (e.g. in his Pomeriggio di Arianna [Afternoon of Ariadne], 1913; Partenza degli Argonauti [Departure of the Argonauts], 1920; and Sala di Apollo [Room of Apollo], 1921), by Savinio (Edipo e Antigone [Oedipus and Antigone], 1928 [FIG. 1]), and more marginally by Sironi (Pandora, circa 1921) and other members of Novecento.Sassu was the only one of the young Corrrente group to have painted mythological sub-jects — e.g. I Dioscuri [Castor and Pollux], 1931 [W. NO. 75], Gli Argonauti in Colchide [The Argonauts in Colchis] (1935) and Gli Argonauti [The Argonauts] (1938) — but from a different interpretive angle than De Chirico. Consider the Argonauts. While De Chirico depicted

motionless figures waiting in a deserted square, Sassu captured the scene of the heroes re-sponding eagerly to Jason’s call. The entire work is characterized by dynamism as the meta-phor of ideal impetus. Valenti’s young Greeks are also far removed from classicism and mythology. Like the quickly sketched figures of his Ragazzi al bagno [Boys Bathing], 1937, Primavera 1860 [Spring 1860], 1939, and Al fiume [At the River], 1940, these adolescents are the image of an Edenic life completely immersed in the energies of nature. Seated on rocks as in a watery Garden of Eden, they differ in no way from the youths on the river bank in Il sogno [The Dream] [FIG. 2, P. 320] or the flying lovers in Gli amanti [The Lovers] [FIG. 1, P.

320]. Everything in the composition expresses an idea of innocence, rebirth and freedom from the totems and taboos of civilization. More than any other artist of the Corrente group, Valenti thus approaches the utopian world depicted by Birolli in works like La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene] [W. NO. 13], L’Eletto [The Chosen One] and Eldorado [FIG. 3, P. 93]), albeit with more inti-mate overtones, replacing his friend’s visionary prophecies with the tenderness of fable.E.P.

1 E. Persico, “L’Ottocento nella pittura europea”, 17 February 1934; now in E. Pontiggia (edited by), E. Persico, Destino e modernità. Scritti d’arte (1929-1935), Milan: Medusa, 2001.

2 A. Della Latta (edited by), Renato Birolli. Biblioteca, Milan: Scalpendi, 2014, p. 168.

3 I. Valenti to Birolli, n.d., Florence, Gabinetto Scientifico Letterario G.P. Vieusseux, Archivio Contemporaneo Alessandro Bonsanti, Fondo Rosa e Renato Birolli.

4 The first certainly known exhibition of I giovani Greci was the one of 1991 at Villa dei Cedri, Bellinzona, curated by the present author and Matteo Bianchi. The works presented by Valenti in the Corrente show of December 1939 were Il sogno [The Dream], Le orfanelle (Le fanciulle dell’isola) [Little Orphans (The Maiden of the Island], Cani (L’isola dei cani) [Dogs (The Island of Dogs)], Composizione [Composition] and Gli Amanti (Gli innamorati) [The Lovers].

1. Alberto Savinio, Edipo e Antigone, 1928. Cortina d’Ampezzo, Regole d’Ampezzo, Galleria d’Arte Moderna “Mario Rimoldi”

2. Paul Cézanne, Bathers, circa 1892. Paris, Musée d’Orsay, on loan to the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon

324 325

Italo Valenti Nudo in un interno

91 Title Nudo in un interno [Nude in an Interior] Date circa 1944 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 40 × 50 cm bottom left: I. VALENTI

This work of 1944 shows a nude female figure alone in a bare and unwelcoming interior, a subject that appears to refer the widespread wartime use of brothels. The woman’s pose is, however, not provocative and sensual but rath-er subdued and pensive, making her appear defenceless. The dreamlike and indeed almost childlike world of the works painted by the artist in the thirties gave way in the following decade to bitter reflection on the madness of the period, as in this blunt representation. Reserved and self-effacing by nature, Valenti used painting to express “what was joyful in his mind and exor-cise what was disturbed”.1

In the almost geometric construction of vol-umes, the Nudo shows the influence of Picasso, which was very strong in the forties. This was short-lived for Valenti, however, as he preferred the “stylization” of forms to their “re-construc-tion”.2 The work appeared in the exhibition of 2003 Ernesto Treccani e il movimento di Corrente.3

R.P.

1 C. Carena, “Italo e i suoi quadri”, in C. Carena, S. Pult (edited by), Catalogue Raisonné of the Paintings, Milan: Skira, 1998, pp. 9−14.

2 E. Pontiggia, “Italo Valenti. Il sogno e la magia”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Italo Valenti. Mostra antologica, exhibition catalogue (Bellinzona, Villa dei Cedri, April−June 1991), Bellinzona: Civica Galleria d’Arte, 1991, pp. 11−24.

3 M. Pizziolo (edited by), Ernesto Treccani e il movimento di Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Fondazione Bandera, 25 October 2003 − 29 February 2004), Milan: Skira, 2003.

326 327

Emilio Vedova Il caffeuccio veneziano

92 Title Il caffeuccio veneziano [Venetian Café]

Date 1942 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 43 × 55 cm bottom left: VEDOVA 42

Emilio Vedova wrote as follows to a collector of his works from Venice on 22 January 1958 to draw his attention to the magazine Quadrum pub-lished in Brussels, prompting him to buy it: “The latest issue includes a large number of pages on my work with 18 black and white reproductions and two full-page photographs in colour. Those in black and white include your Caffeuccio. It is a great satisfaction for me and I believe you will also be pleased to see your work reproduced there. [...] I warmly remember and cordially greet you, please pay my respects to your wife.”He evidently attached great importance to this work, which was one of those he took with him to Milan. As he wrote in his diary: “I had seen the Rouaults probably and the Vlamincks in some books in the [Venice] Biennial library, works of dense colour in which post-Impressionism arrived at disruptions and rearrangements of planes going from Cézanne all the way to ex-pressionism. The Bergamo Prize was an ap-pointment […] I immediately realized where I had friends and soon left that Venetian isolation for Milan He thus took his Caffeuccio and a few drawings and moved to Milan, where he became one of the Corrente group straight away. With his bushy beard, he looked like a character “from the pages of a nineteenth-century novel, as tender hearted as the anarchists in novels”.1 It was with the group that he took part in 1942 in the fourth Bergamo Prize exhibition of nation-al painting. “All the most progressive forces in Italy had made an unspoken agreement to meet

at the Bergamo Prize. I recall the truly alarming atmosphere of that day, the authentic anarchy with plates flying into the air in the upper town of Bergamo, glasses smashing against glasses, a Fascist in a black shirt who was so furious that he pulled out a dagger to stab me in the back, the air of conspiracy circulating amongst us at the table, the works of Migneco, Guttuso, Birolli, Treccani and Apollonio as well as Elio Vittorini […]. A strange gathering of anti-fascist intellec-tual forces at a prize created by certain Fascists but almost turned into an official anti-fascist point of departure. I remember the afternoon of that day, at least twenty of us in that bedroom, halfway between slaughter and chaos: certainly not an edifying symbol of the structure, organ-ization, will power and order that was or was supposed to be second nature to people run-ning an empire. Every time I recall those hours, I am almost forced to see an entire symbolism in the actions and events of the day. For exam-ple, Vittorini’s dismantling of the bed — and the room and more besides if it had been possible — [...] like an automatic detector of an appara-tus to be destroyed, etc., etc. That little piazza in the upper part of Bergamo certainly saw some alarming episodes that day: precise symptoms of a more or less conscious upheaval. Guttuso with the Crocifissione [Crucifixion] that had caused such outcry, everything was really out of line [...]”.2 Emilio Vedova’s artistic origins were very different from all the rest of the group and he drew on the dynamism of Futurism to depict the violence of the human spirit in a cramped, claustrophobic space where the figures are just inches apart, where shimmering red, yellow and green lines undergo distortion, and his al-ternately violent and gentle brushwork conveys the sense of pain. His intense Caffeuccio is set in a café, a place in those years of discussion

and formation for artists, one that “took on a role of intellectual opposition to the official tra-dition, a gathering place for angry young men […] eager to open the windows to light against the mists of Novecento”.3 The central figure holds a cigarette and the one beside him has a resigned air. The standing figure, who ap-pears to hold a glass, has a wide-open mouth that recalls Munch’s The Scream [FIG. 3, P. 160] or Schiele’s self-portraits. The figure behind them, probably the waiter leaning against the bar, is terrified. The curved lines of his face and mouth promise nothing good. All of them, “laden with hallucinatory pictorial sensuality […] present an intensely dramatic human figure carved into the surface with brutal, violent strokes that tear and make wounds. Vedova understands ‘being’ as fracture and absence but also as a condition of the constant alteration of the relations between things, the never-ending change that gives real-ity its specificity and that is the stigmata of the period he lived through with torment and anx-ious forebodings, as indicated also by his initial contacts with antifascist circles [...]”.4 R.P.

1 R. De Grada, Il movimento di “Corrente”, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1952.

2 P. 18 (published in June 1960 by Galleria Blu, Milan; first published in April 1960 as Blätter aus dem Tagebuch, Prestel Verlag, Munich); now in M. Lorandi, F. Rea, C, Tellini Perina (edited by, with the assistance of O. Pinessi), Il premio Bergamo 1939-1942 – Documenti, lettere, biografie, Milan: Electa, 1993, p. 360.

3 See E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 − 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, p. 41.

4 R. Chiappini (edited by), Emilio Vedova. Antologica, exhibition catalogue (Lugano, Museo d’Arte moderna della Città di Lugano, Villa Malpensata, September–November 1993), catalogue of works edited by M. Vescovo, Milan: Electa, p. 115.

1. Artists and critics of the Corrente group in Bergamo in 1942. From the left: Renato Birolli, Emilio Vedova, Renato Guttuso, Duilio Morosini, Marco Valsecchi, Giuseppe Migneco and Cesare Peverelli

328 329

Alberto Ziveri Giocatori di birilli

93 Title Giocatori di birilli [Ninepin Players] Date 1934 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 75 × 100 cm bottom left: A. Ziveri

In 1934 Alberto Ziveri developed a personal style based on tonalism. Influenced by the painting of Piero della Francesca, the subject of the mon-ograph published in 1927 by Roberto Longhi,1 he sought a new spiritual and artistic dimension understood as a new sense of space and light. Dario Sabatello visited his studio the same year and selected him by virtue of his “highly poet-ic temperament”2 as one of the young artists to represent contemporary Italian painting in the United States.3 The opening of the Galleria della Cometa, run by his friends Corrado Cagli and Libero de Libero, in 1935 offered him the oppor-tunity to hold his first solo show there in March 1936. The works shown included Giocatori di birilli, which the Contessa Anna Laetitia Pecci Blunt, owner of the gallery, bought for her per-sonal collection. The presentation in the cata-logue was written by Roberto Melli, who spoke of Ziveri’s “full-bodied, calm and joyful colour” with “extremely personal blues” and “yellows, reds and pinks born out of the wholly rural sin-cerity of his emotions, whose transcendental nature is born out of the spiritual intimacy of the world from which they come in communion with the artist’s purity of spirit”.4 As Romeo Lucchese wrote, Giocatori di birilli was born out of the art-ist’s relationship with nature and his portrayal of “the countryside of the Emilia region, its inhabit-ants and their way of life [...] in an aura of joy and

abandon fully reflecting the age and the moral and physical health of his figures, their delight in living a life that is modest but full and joyous and bright”.5 The work was shown together with four others at the 1936 Venice Biennial in the same room as paintings by Corrado Cagli, Giuseppe Capogrossi, Guglielmo Janni, Afro Basaldella, Mirko Basaldella and Renato Guttuso.6 Giuseppe Marchiori’s review in Emporium spoke of Ziveri’s “combinations of colour in the highest and brightest key”, which dispel “the greyness of be-fore in the warm light of a setting sun and tonal balance”.7

R.P.

1 R. Longhi, Piero della Francesca, Rome: Valori Plastici, 1927.

2 D. Sabatello, “Pittura in America”, in L’Italia Letteraria, y XI, no. 3, Rome, 19 January 1935, p. 6.

3 The Exhibition of Contemporary Italian Painting, curated by Dario Sabatello, opened in the United States in February 1935.

4 R. Melli, in Un’esposizione di Alberto Ziveri, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria della Cometa, 26 February − 15 March 1936), Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1936.

5 R. Lucchese, in Alberto Ziveri, presentation by L. Sinisgalli, note by R. Lucchese, Rome: De Luca, 1952.

6 Room XXII. The other works presented by Ziveri were Giovani atleti [Young Athletes], Giovane col guanto [Young Man with a Glove] and two portraits; see XX Esposizione Biennale d’Arte, exhibition catalogue, Venice: Officine Grafiche Carlo Ferrari, 1936, pp. 84−85.

7 See G. Marchiori, “La Biennale Veneziana”, in Emporium, y. XLII, no. 9, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, September 1936, p. 125. The quotation refers to the painting of Ziveri and Capogrossi. For the Biennial, see also the articles by G. Marchiori, in Corriere Padano, Ferrara, 31 May 1936, and C. E. Oppo, in La Tribuna, Rome, 31 May 1936.

330 331

Alberto Ziveri Autoritratto

94 Title Autoritratto [Self-Portrait] Date 1937 Technique oil on panel Dimensions 18 × 13.2 cm bottom left: a Katy, a. ZIVERI bottom right: 1937

Alberto Ziveri liked to portray himself in his works from the very beginning, often in the faces of the figures depicted. The small-sized self-portraits like one in the Iannaccone collec-tion, produced long after the artist’s period of tonalism, display a particular focus on light. As Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco observed, “Anyone who produces the image of his own face so many times is either in love with himself (a mod-ern Narcissus) or in search of something inside himself (ultimately the best model) or seeking self-knowledge (painstaking self-analysis)1 In particular, Ziveri “is more attracted by his face in times of the most intense search for vocab-ulary, in the tonal period and the discovery of realism”.2 The latter phase saw the production of the present work, where light focuses on the artist’s face, his “Pinocchio-like nose, gleaming eyes”3 and faint smile. The dedication4 indicates that it was painted as a gift for his friend Katy Castellucci. They had met in Rome in the ear-ly thirties and shared a modest studio on Via Margutta. Ziveri’s Composizione [Composition](1933) was indeed inspired by her face and ges-tures. The self-portrait was not shown until 1988 in the monographic exhibition Z at the Studio d’Arte Scuola Romana in Turin.5

R.P.

1 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Z, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Studio d’Arte Scuola Romana, October 1988), text by P. Fossati, Turin: Umberto Allemandi & C., 1988.

2 Ibidem.3 M. Venturoli, “Cronache romane”, in Sabato

del lombardo, y. II, no. 2, 11 January 1947, p. 5.4 On the canvas, bottom left: “a Katy, a. ZIVERI”.5 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Z, cit., 1988.

332 333

Alberto Ziveri Studio per “La rissa”

95 Title Studio per “La rissa” [Study for “The Brawl”]

Date 1937 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 65 × 70 cm bottom right: a. ZIVERI

In 1937 Alberto Ziveri decided to set off for Paris in search of new stimuli: “I discovered a previously unknown life whose violent pressure could only give birth to violently expressionistic dreams”.1 He discovered El Greco at the Musée des Beaux-Arts. The numerous works painted af-ter his return to Rome include these two young brawlers, whose “contorted limbs” and “green-ish hues” recall the master’s paintings.2 Ziveri himself confirmed this predilection for El Greco, refuting the critics who claimed to discern the in-fluence of Caravaggio in his use of incident light.3 He depicted “people from the market in Piazza Vittorio [FIG. 2] knocking the hell out of each oth-er”4 in response to this new need for realism and “without donning any linguistic armour, armed only with his eyes and colours”.5 According to Valerio Rivosecchi, the paintings of brawls are not simply genre pieces but “a bitter and disen-chanted reply to Guernica [FIG. 8, P. 133]”,6 which Ziveri saw at the Exposition Universelle in Paris:

“War never changes. It is always the same old brutish brawl around a chicken coop”.7 The work is a study for La rissa [The Brawl] (1938) [FIG. 1], now in the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, Rome. Originally owned by the artist, it was first shown in Mostra del rinnovamento dell’arte in Italia dal 1930 al 1945, an exhibition of 1960 cu-rated by Eugenio Riccomini.8

R.P.

1 A. Ziveri, unpublished notes for the monograph published by De Luca, on loan to the Archivio della Scuola Romana; now in D. Durbè (edited by), Ziveri, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 19 December 1984 − 3 February 1985), Milan: Electa, 1984, p. 103.

2 Interview of October 1984 at the Archivio di Scuola Romana; now in D. Durbè (edited by), Ziveri, cit., p. 41.

3 C. Augias, “Quant’era bella Roma”, interview with A. Ziveri, in Panorama, y. XXII, no. 927, Milan: Mondadori, 23 January1984, pp. 66−69.

4 Ibidem.5 V. Rivosecchi, “Elogio dell’ombra”, in V. Rivosecchi

(edited by), Alberto Ziveri. “Elogio dell’ombra”, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Netta Vespignani, December 1990 − January 1991), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani, 1990, pp. 13−24.

6 Ibidem. 7 Ibidem.8 See E. Riccomini (edited by), Mostra del

rinnovamento dell’arte in Italia dal 1930 al 1945, exhibition catalogue (Ferrara, Casa Romei, June−September 1960), Bologna: Edizioni Alfa, 1960.

2. Alberto Ziveri, Piazza Vittorio di notte, 1961. Milan, Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone

1. Alberto Ziveri, La rissa, 1938. Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna

334 335

Alberto Ziveri Il postribolo

96 Title Il postribolo [The Bawdy House] Date 1945 Technique oil on canvas Dimensions 100 × 125 cm

Rome was the centre of lively artistic rebirth in the post-war period. Unlike all those who fol-lowed the new European trends, Alberto Ziveri decided to continue on his own path towards realism. “He does not do like so many artists today, who experiment with style after style. He does not seek to construct a vocabulary whose causes and aims he does not feel”.1 He instead depicted his everyday life in a romantic vein. In a brothel, with its atmosphere of waiting and tedi-um, Ziveri takes us behind the scenes in a world that is dirty and bitter but also attractive and sen-sual. As Enzo Siciliano wrote, “These whores stage a tangle of impulses whose tragic nature they are unaware of, just as filthy, greedy people stage the vile blackmail of life in Moravia’s sto-ries”.2 “Realism demands this too, as Ziveri well understood”.3 The setting is the sham lounge of a brothel with an atmosphere of stale air and the acrid tang of sweat that, for all their differenc-es, is in no way inferior to the sensual, refined world depicted by Ingres in his Turkish Bath. In the foreground on the left, a woman clad only in a sort of Arabian loincloth leans her soft, plump body against the wall and looks with folded arms at a whore and her soldier customer on the other side of the room. There are two more women in the background. One, the madam, is the only one fully dressed. Seated at a desk, paying no attention to anything around her, she gazes in boredom out of the canvas. The other, perhaps younger and more roguish, with a strip of cloth concealing her charms, looks with inter-est at her colleague with the soldier. Locked in a close embrace on a chair, they wait their turn to enter a brown door set in the wall. The wom-an wear slippers like those of Manet’s Olympia [FIG. 1, P. 294], tawdry jewellery and a blue head-scarf. She is not naked but dressed in yellow

rags that barely conceal her abundant charms. The soldier wears a dark uniform and fondles her breast while gazing intensely into her eyes. Like Canova’s Amore e Psiche [Cupid and Psyche], that are not shown in a passionate kiss but an instant before.The elements distinguishing the couple ap-pear in the bottom right corner: a helmet on the ground, the symbol of a soldier’s victory, and a red flower, the symbol of a prostitute’s chastity. Everything in the lounge is mercilessly bathed in a cold Flemish light. “No one after Hopper had ever been so closely linked to everyday contem-porary life as Ziveri. To real life I mean, not to current political and social events like the more fortunate Guttuso. But Ziveri! Having started out like Janni and Capogrossi with a tonalism mod-elled on Piero della Francesca (1931−36), he ar-rived parallel to Sciltian at a realism (1945−46) of such intense and direct physical and bodily reality as to reflect his era like no one else, with no theories or programmes”.4 Il postribolo was shown at the Galleria di Roma in 1946 together with some more recent works5 and in 1960 at the Galleria Nuova Pesa with a presentation in the catalogue by Virgilio Guzzi.6 Having entered the Iannaccone collec-tion in 2008, it was exhibited at the Museo del Novecento in Milan on temporary loan from 2010 to 2013.R.P.

1 R. Lucchese, in Alberto Ziveri, presentation by L. Sinisgalli, Rome: De Luca, 1952.

2 E. Siciliano, “Corpo romano”, in Il corpo, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Studio d’Arte Scuola Romana, December 1986), Turin: Allemandi & C., 1986.

3 R. Longhi, in Alberto Ziveri, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria La Nuova Pesa, 22 April – 9 May 1964), Rome: La Nuova Pesa, 1964.

4 V. Sgarbi, “Hopper? È italiano. Si chiamava Ziveri”, in il Giornale, 31 January 2015.

5 Mostra personale del pittore Ziveri, Rome, Galleria di Roma, 1946.

6 Alberto Ziveri, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria La Nuova Pesa, March–April 1960), presentation by V. Guzzi, Rome: La Nuova Pesa, 1960, work no. 2.

LIST OF WORKS

340 341

1 – 10LIST OF WORKS — EDITED BY RISCHA PATERLINI

2004, pp. 228–29; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 48–49; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 41, 146–48, 150, 232; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, p. 41; AA.VV. 2012, p. 78, pl. 25; Iannaccone, Paterlini 2016, pp. 3, 6, 21.

4v verso:Il suicidio del pittore (L’impiccagione dell’artista) [The Painter’s Suicide]1937oil on plywood, 58 x 48 cm

Provenance: as back of Caffè: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Galleria Genova, Genova; Emilio Libero collection, Genova; Emilio Libero’s heirs collection, Genova; Galleria Narciso, Torino; Giovanni Rosa collection, Milano; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza.Exhibitions: Milano, 1937.Exhibitions as back of Caffè: Milano, Genova, 1941; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Vigevano, 2001; Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Milano, Badodi, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bucci 1937; Falciano 1995, pp. 297, 323; Agnellini 1996, p. 26; Pizziolo 2008, p. 49; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 21, 42, 150, 231.

5 Donna al caffè (Ragazza al caffè)[Woman at the Café] 1940oil on panel, 40 x 30 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: badodi 40

Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Galleria Gussoni, Milano; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio.Exhibitions: Milano, 1969; Napoli, 1978; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Mastrolonardo 1941; Valsecchi 1969, p. [19]; Crispolti, Fagone, Ruju 1978, p. 180; De Micheli 1985, pp. 114–15; Pirovano 1992, p. 742; Falciano 1995, pp. 199, 331; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 228; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 10, 148, 232; Pontiggia, Carla Maria Maggi 2010, p. 57; AA.VV. 2012, p. 80.

6Il circo [The Circus]1941oil on canvas, 55 x 70 cmsigned at bottom left: badodi

Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza. Exhibitions: Milano, 1969; Torino, 1971; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Lacchiarella, 1987; Milano, Corrente, 1998; Busto Arsizio, 2003-2004; Chieti, 2012; Milano, Badodi, 2016; Milano, 2017.The catalogue of the posthumous show held at the Galleria La Colonna in 1952 includes a work entitled Il pagliaccio (The Clown, no. 8 in the list), which may be the same painting.Bibliography: Valsecchi 1969; Crispolti, Fagone, Ruju 1978, p. 59; De Micheli 1985, p. 117; Bossaglia, De Micheli, Pontiggia 1987, p. 25; Pontiggia 1991, p. 8; Falciano 1995, p. 353; AA.VV., Novecento 1996, p. 37; Pizziolo 1998, pp. 26, 112; Pizziolo 2003, p. 129; AA.VV. 2012, p. 81; Iannaccone, Paterlini 2016, pp. 3, 7, 25.

7Ragazza (Lettura, Ritratto di ragazza) [Young Woman]1941oil on canvas, 39,5 x 55 cmsigned at bottom right: badodi

Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Galleria Genova, Genova; Emilio Libero collection, Genova; Emilio Libero’s heirs collection, Genova; Galleria Narciso, Torino; Galleria Appiani Trentadue, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, Genova, 1941; Milano, Maggi, 2010; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Piovene 1941; Agnellini 1995, p. 48; Falciano 1995, pp. 207, 337, 339–40; Pontiggia 2010, p. 57; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 154, 232; Pontiggia, Carla Maria Maggi 2010, pp. 30, 57.

8Soprabito su divano (Soprabito animato, Il cappotto grigio, Interno con cappotto) [Overcoat on a Sofa]1941oil on canvas, 60 x 70 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: badodi 41 Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Pietro Porro collection, Milano; private collection of heirs Alfredo, Gianni Porro and Jacqueline Bonello.Exhibitions: Milano, Corrente,

1939; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Milano, 2008; Milano, Badodi, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Mastrolonardo 1942; Di Genova 1982, p. 54; Falciano 1995, pp. 209, 341; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 129, 158; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 22, 52; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 156, 232; Audoli 2010, pp. 86–91; Iannaccone, Paterlini 2016, pp. 7, 25.

Renato Birolli (1905–1959)

9L’Arlecchino [Harlequin]1931oil on canvas, 84 x 56 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: R. Birolli 31

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Galleria Narciso, Torino; private collection Moreni family, Torino; private collection Maria Luisa Moreni, Modena.Exhibitions: Milano, 1932; Ferrara, Mantova, 1970; Torino, 1976; Lodi, 1982; Milano, Roma, Verona, 1989-1990; Milano, 2010; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Birolli 1960; Maltese 1970, p. 27, pl. 2; AA.VV., Renato Birolli 1976, pp. 17, 242; Narciso 1976, pp. 4, 7; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, p. 186; Quintavalle 1989; Vivarelli 1989, p. 140; Pontiggia 1996; Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997; Pontiggia, Cecchetti 2001, p. 12; Pontiggia 2006, pp. 66, 67; Pontiggia 2010, p. 112; AA.VV. 2012, p. 59; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 19.

10Periferia (Grottammare) [Outskirts (Grottamare)]1932 oil on canvas, 54 x 53 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: R. Birolli 932

This is not the artist’s autograph title for the work. See Zeno Birolli, Catalogo delle opere, in Renato Birolli, Milan: Feltrinelli, 1978, p. 179; illustration n. 49 p. 188). Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Birolli heirs collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, Espressionismo, 1990; Volta Mantovana, 1996; Roma, Birolli, 1997; Vigevano, 2001; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.

Arnaldo Badodi (1913–1943)

1L’armadio (Guardaroba, L’armadio aperto) [The Wardrobe]1938oil on canvas, 54.5 x 43.5 cmdated and signed at bottom right: 38 badodi

Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Galleria Genova, Genova; Galleria Gian Ferrari, Milano; Tosi collection, Milano; Galleria il Chiostro, Saronno. Exhibitions: Milano, Corrente, 1939; Milano, Genova, 1941; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, 1969; Milano, 1971; Milano, 2007; Milano, 2008, Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Anceschi 1939; Bini, Arnaldo Badodi, 1939, p. 5; Bonardi 1939; Mastrolonardo 1940; Mastrolonardo 1941; Piovene 1941; Sette Giorni 1942; Cairola 1946, p. 2; De Grada 1952; Ballo 1956, p. 166; Valsecchi 1963, pp. 52, 110; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 39; Ballo 1964, p. 298; Mascherpa 1969; Valsecchi 1969, p. 5; AA.VV. 1971, p. 154; De Grada 1975; Di Genova 1982, p. 53; Di Genova 1990, p. 69; Pirovano 1992, p. 742; Falciano 1995, pp. 15, 91, 116, 119, 299–300, 304, 339, 399; AA.VV., Arte moderna 2000, p. 12; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, p. 306; Gian Ferrari 2007, p. 129; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 22, 45; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 21, 140, 231; AA.VV. 2012, p. 79.

1v verso: Abbozzo di una sartoria [Sketch of a Tailor’s Shop]1938oil on canvas, 43.5 x 54.5 cm

2Ballerine [Ballerinas]1938oil on canvas, 65.5 x 49.5 cmdated and signed at bottom right: 38 badodi

Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Giuseppe Prisco collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Falciano 1995, pp. 175, 301; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 228–230; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 142, 144, 231.

3Il biliardo (Giocatori di bigliardo, Giocatori di biliardo) [Billiards]1940oil on canvas, 69 x 49.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: badodi 40 Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Giuseppe Migneco collection, Milano; Orazio Zanmattei collection, Milano; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio.Exhibitions: Verona, Ivrea, Milano, 1963; Milano, 1969; Milano, Ravenna, Napoli, 1971; Napoli, 1978; Trezzano sul Naviglio, 1980-1981; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Milano, 2008; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Valsecchi 1963, pp. 54, 110; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 38; Mascherpa 1969; Valsecchi 1969, p. 6; Fagone 1970, pp. 6–7; De Grada 1971; Ricci 1971; Crispolti, Fagone, Ruju 1978, pp. 61, 180; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, pp. 140, 635; Di Genova 1982, p. 54; Anzani, Caramel 1983, p. 276; De Micheli 1985, pp. 114–15; Di Genova 1990, p. 66; Pirovano 1992, p. 227; Falciano 1995, pp. 104–05,189, 318–19; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 50–51; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 10, 172, 232.

4Caffè (Il caffè) [Café]1940oil on plywood, 48 x 58 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: badodi 40

Provenance: private collection of the artist Arnaldo Badodi, Milano; Galleria Genova, Genova; Emilio Libero collection, Genova; Emilio Libero’s heirs collection; Galleria Narciso, Torino; Giovanni Rosa, collection Milano; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza.Exhibitions: Milano, Genova, 1941; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Vigevano, 2001; Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Milano, Badodi, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: De Grada 1941; Mastrolonardo 1941; Piovene 1941; Radius 1941, p. 3; Sette Giorni 1942; Valsecchi 1963, p. 51; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 38; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, p. 387; Falciano 1995, pp. 119, 193, 323; Agnellini 1996, p. 26; De Grada 2001, p. 82; Pontiggia, Colombo

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Mascherpa 1989; Vivarelli 1989, pp. 57, 143–44; Lanza Pietromarchi 1990, p. 26; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1990, p. 10; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1991, p. 32; Pontiggia 1991, p. 57; AA.VV. 1993, p. 140; AA.VV. 1995, p. 81; Falciano 1995, pp. 62, 63; Lanza Pietromarchi 1996, pp. 22, 31, 32, 33, 37, 58, 90, 109, 126–28; Pontiggia 1996, p. 199; Agnellini 1997; Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997, p. 10; Pizziolo 1998, p. 126; Sebastiani 1998, p. 113; Salvagnini 2000, pp. 122–23, 466; Fagone 2001, pp. 63–64, 340; Menato 2001, p. 17; Belli 2002, p. 254; Castellaneta 2002, p. 36; Righetti 2003, pp. 90, 149, 168; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 206–08; Spagnesi 2004; AA.VV., Arte moderna 2005, p. 27; Barilli 2007, p. 352, 552; Pizziolo 2008, p. 22, 57; Troisi 2008, pp. 38–40; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 130, 134, 230; Pontiggia 2010, p. 102; AA.VV. 2012, p. 66; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, pp. 90–92; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 43; Zangrando 2016, p. 34.

15Il caos [Chaos]1936oil on canvas, 110 x 90 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: R. Birolli ’36

There is another version of the work, entitled Il caos 2 and dated 1937 (oil on canvas, 91 × 113 cm), in the Fondazione Museo Boschi-Di Stefano in Milan. The existence of a third version (Caos terza scena) is suggested by the catalogue of the solo show Birolli held at the Galleria Genova in 1938. The unfortunate lack of an illustration makes it, however, impossible to establish whether the painting was actually one of the two already known versions presented under another title or another, perhaps subsequently destroyed and in any case now of unknown location.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Sandro Bini collection, Milano; Giuliana Bini collection; Galleria dello Scudo, Verona; Galleria Tega, Milano.Exhibitions: Venezia, 1960; Verona, 1963; Venezia, 1966; Ferrara, Mantova, 1970; Milano, 1971; Parma, 1976; Verona, 1996; Mendrisio, 2005; Marsala, 2008; Firenze, 2012–13; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Interlandi 1938; Bini

1939; Capasso 1940; Interlandi 1940; Bini, Birolli 1941, p. 107; Birolli 1943, pp. 17, 30, 48; Carrieri 1950, p. 267; De Grada 1950, p. [4]; Maltese 1950; Valsecchi, Apollonio 1950, p. 5; Venturi 1954; Ballo 1956, p. 184; Marchiori 1957, p. 306; Venturi 1958, p. 46; Birolli 1960, pp. 49, 253; Gambillo 1960; Valsecchi 1960, pp. 36–39; Marchiori 1962; Marchiori 1963, p. 58; Ballo 1964, p. 119; De Grada 1967; Maltese 1970, p. 38, pl. 17; AA.VV. 1971, p. 148; Gian Ferrari 1975; AA.VV., Renato Birolli 1976, p. 95; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, pp. 156, 202; Passoni 1982, p. [4]; Erbesato 1986, p. 19; Pontiggia 1991, p. 15; Falciano 1995, p. 62; Lanza Pietromarchi 1996, pp. 96–97; Pontiggia 1996, p. 199; Salvagnini 2000, pp. 12, 415–16, 466; Fagone 2001, pp. 63, 289, 299; Righetti 2003, p. 90; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 34-37; Bruno, Soldini 2005, p. 33; Pizziolo 2008, p. 18; Troisi 2008, pp. 38–40, 49, 160; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 21, 136, 231; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 38,40; AA.VV., Anni ’30 2012, p. 153; D’Amico 2012, pp. 50, 51; Il movimento di Corrente 2012, pp. 90–92, 102; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 50.

16Le signorine Rossi [The Misses Rossi]1938oil on canvas, 100 x 120 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: birolli 38

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; private collection G. Rossi, Milano.Exhibitions: Genova, 1938; Venezia, 1938; Milano, Corrente, 1939; Venezia, 1960; Ferrara, Mantova, 1970; Milano, 1971; Roma, Birolli, 1997; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Balestrieri 1938; Silva 1939, p. 7; Birolli 1960, p. 102; Marchiori 1963, p. 60; Maltese 1970, p. 27; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, p. 80; Birolli Z.; Bruno, Rusconi 1997; p. 88, 127; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 305, 306; Pizziolo 2008, p. 23; Dei 2011, p. 56; AA.VV. 2012, p. 74; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 55.

17Maschere (Maschere vaganti, Maschere vaganti sulla pianura, Maschere viaggianti, Maschere fluttuanti) [Masks]1938–39

oil on canvas, 63 x 77.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: Birolli 38

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Pietro Feroldi collection, Brescia; Emilio Jesi collection, Milano; Galleria Annunciata, Milano; Emilio Jesi collection, Milano; Finarte Milano; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza; Finarte Milano; Cogolo collection, Udine; Finarte Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, Annunciata, 1972; Genova, 1995–96; Roma, Birollli, 1997; Milano, 2004–05; Mendrisio, 2005; Taranto, 2006; Fabriano, 2007; Milano, 2008; Seravezza, 2011; Chieti, 2012; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bini, Birolli 1941, p. 99; Apollonio 1950, p. 144; Ballo 1956, pp. 158, 184; Marchiori 1960, p. 244; Marchiori 1963, pp. 26, 28; Ballo 1964, vol. I p. 289, vol. II p. 119; p. 289; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, p. 206; Di Genova 1982, p. 58; Vivarelli 1989, pp. 15, 30; Di Genova 1990, p. 69; AA.VV., Novecento 1993, p. 36; Sborgi 1995, pp. 27, 226, 346; Agnellini 1997, p. 28; Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997, pp. 89, 127; Di Genova 1997, pp. 175–76; AA.VV., Arte moderna 2002, p. 121; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, p. 24; Bruno, Soldini 2005, pp. 34, 152; Pontiggia, Perrone 2006, pp. 46–47; Dehò, Pontiggia 2007, p. 46; Pizziolo 2008, p. 58, AA.VV. 2009, pp. 138, 139, 231; Barbera, Ruta 2009, p. 33; Dei 2011, p. 54; AA.VV. 2012, p. 74; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, pp. 90–93; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 57.

18Paese a Monluè [Landscape at Monluè]1939oil on canvas, 65 x 70 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: 39. Birolli

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Ernesto Treccani collection, Milano; private collection, Milano; Galleria Mazzoleni, Torino; private collection, Torino.Exhibitions: Londra, 1935; San Francisco, 1935; Verona, 1959; Ivrea, Verona, 1963; Firenze, 1967; Milano, 1982; Milano, 1985; Lacchiarella, 1987; Milano, Roma, Verona 1989–1990; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bini, R. Birolli, 1939, p. 113; Ballo 1964, p. 119; Z. Birolli

Bibliography: Maltese 1970, p. 27; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, p. 188; Lanza Pietromarchi 1990, AA.VV., Novecento 1994 p. 60; Pontiggia 1996, pp. 70, 191; Krumm 1996, p. 31; Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997, pp. 74, 124; De Grada 2001, p. 49; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 21, 126, 230; Audoli 2010; Pontiggia, Birolli V. 2016, p. 29.

11Tassì rosso (Taxi rosso) [Red Taxi] 1932oil on canvas, 58 x 60 cmdated and signed at bottom right: 32 R. Birolli There are another three coeval works with the same subject and title produced by the artist in the period 1931–32. As pointed out by Professor Zeno Birolli, the critical debate about two of the four versions of the Tassì rosso, one of which being the Iannaccone work, stems from the fact that they are unanimously regarded as those best representing the series.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; private collection Maria Birolli; Cesare Tosi collection, Milano; Finarte, Milano; Raimondo Rezzonico collection; Studio A.Z. Galleria d’Arte, Milano; Galleria Tega, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, 1951; Milano, Corrente, 1960; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, Roma, Verona, 1989–1990; Milano, 1998; Medole, 1999; Brescia, 2000; Milano, 2004–05; Mantova, 2006; Milano, 2008: Milano, 2010; Milano, Expo, 2015; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bini, Birolli 1941, p. 21; Ballo 1956, p. 184; Belvedere 1960; Marchiori 1962, p. 25; Marchiori 1963, pp. 9, 52–53, 106; Valsecchi 1966, pp. X, XI; Bini 1971, pp. 30–32; AA.VV., Renato Birolli 1976, pp. 134, 240; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, p. 63; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, p. 132; Zeri 1982, pp. 251, 253; Anzani, Caramel 1983, pp. 259, 261; Crispolti 1983, p. CXI; De Micheli 1985, p. 35; Quintavalle 1989; Vivarelli 1989, pp. 12, 13, 29, 33–35, 49, 141; AA.VV., Toni 1989, p. 49; Pontiggia 1991, p. 171; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1992, p. [35]; Anzani, Pirovano 1992, p. 204; Falciano 1995, p. 56; Lanza Pietromarchi 1996, pp. 15, 16; Pontiggia 1998, pp. 136-139; Pontiggia 1999, p. 17–21; AA.VV. 2000, p. 235; De

Santi 2000; Salvagnini 2000, pp. 22, 23, 466; Pontiggia, Cecchetti 2001, p. [80]; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 122, 123, 330; Spagnesi 2004; Butturini 2006, pp. 34, 211; Barilli 2007, pp. 351, 550; Pizziolo 2008, p. 54, AA.VV. 2009, p. 15, 21, 128, 230; Vanzetto 2010, p. 25; Vanzetto, I colori degli angeli impacciati 2010, p. 19; Pontiggia 2010, p. 99; AA.VV. 2012, p. 33; Expo 2015, p. 106; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 19.

12La città degli studi [Città degli Studi, the Milan University District]1933oil on canvas, 67.5 x 84.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: R. Birolli 1933

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; private collection Lurani, Milano; private collection Mario, Piero and Emilio Strada; Casa d’Aste Farsetti Arte, Milano.Exhibitions: Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bini, Birolli 1941 [pp. 78, 79]; Valsecchi 1960, p. 35; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978 [p. 192]; Lanza Pietromarchi 1996 [p. 14]; Pontiggia, Cecchetti 2001, p. 12; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, pp. 33, 34.

13La nuova Ecumene (La visione di Ezechiele, La nuova ecumenica, Nuova Ecumene, Visione di Ezechiele) [The New Ecumene]1935oil on canvas, 136 x 155.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: B. 1935

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Galleria La Colonna, Milano; Galleria La Nuova Pesa, Roma; Alberto Mondadori collection, Milano; Finarte, Milano; Mondadori heirs collection, Milano; Paolo Baldacci collection, Milano; Galleria dello Scudo, Verona; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza. Exhibitions: Londra, 1935; Milano, 1936; L’Aquila, 1955; Ferrara, 1960; Firenze, 1967; Milano, Espressionismo, 1990; Verona, 1996; Roma, Birolli, 1997; Milano, 2004–05; Marsala, 2008; Chieti 2012; Torino 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Franco-Italian 1935; AA.VV., Sindacato 1936, p.

18; Carrà 1936; Bini, Birolli 1941, pp. 24, 94–95; De Micheli 1941; De Grada 1950, p. [4]; Mostra panoramica 1955, p. 25; Marchiori 1960, pp. 231, 239, 244; Riccomini 1960, p. 38; De Grada 1967; Ragghianti 1967, pp. LII, 417; Gian Ferrari 1975; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, p. 156; Del Guercio 1980, p. 94; Crispolti 1983, p. CV; De Micheli 1985, p. 37; Morosini 1985, pp. 131-132; Galmozzi 1989, p. 178; Vivarelli 1989, pp. 143, 159; Lanza Pietromarchi 1990, pp. [59], [65]-[66]; AA.VV. 1993, p. 140; AA.VV., Novecento 1993, p. 37; Di Genova 1996, pp. 173–74; Lanza Pietromarchi 1996, pp. 31–32, 90-91; Pontiggia 1996, p. 136; Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997, pp. 81, 125; Pirani 1998, p. 106; Rusconi 2000, p. 10; Fagone 2001, p. 208; Righetti 2003, p. 90; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 206–07; Troisi 2008, pp. 38–40, 48, 160; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 28, 132, 134; Pontiggia 2010, p. 166; AA.VV. 2012, p. 66; Pontiggia, Birolli V., 2016, p. 47.

14I poeti [The Poets]1935oil on canvas, 90 x 108 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: R. Birolli 935

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Giuliano Buttini collection, Carrara; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza.Exhibitions: Londra, 1935; San Francisco, 1935; Verona, 1959; Verona, 1963; Firenze, 1967; Milano, 1982; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Milano, Mantova, 1986; Lacchiarella, 1987; Milano, Roma Verona 1989–1990; Busto Arsizio, Ferrara, 1991–92; Milano, 1995; Verona, 1996; Milano, Corrente, 1998; Rovereto, 2002–03; Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2008; Chieti 2012; Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Franco-Italian 1935; Joppolo 1935; Marchiori 1963, p. 57, 106; De Micheli 1967, p. 211; Ragghianti 1967, p. 360; AA.VV., Renato Birolli 1976, pp. 246, 247; Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978, pp. 156, 196; Passoni 1982, p. [6]; Crispolti 1983, p. CXI; AA.VV., Migneco 1984, p. 12; De Micheli 1985, pp. 94–95; Margonari, Modesti 1986, p. 109; Bossaglia, De Micheli, Pontiggia 1987; Bruno 1987, p. 15; De Micheli 1987; AA.VV., Toni 1989, pp. 49, 50; Argan 1989, p. 348; Barilli 1989; Hulten, Celant 1989, p. 249; Galmozzi 1989, p. 178;

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18v – 28LIST OF WORKS — EDITED BY RISCHA PATERLINI

22Ballerina1938bronze sculpture, 32 x 19 x 17 cmsigned on the base: Brogginicopy number one of three

Provenance: private collection of the artist Luigi Broggini, Milano; collection of the artist’s son Stefano Broggini, Milano.Exhibitions: Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, 1970; Milano, 1977; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Busto Arsizio, 1989; Milano, 1991; Varese, 1991; Saronno, 1995; Civitanova Marche Alta, 1998, Milano, 2010, Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Carrieri 1950, p. 308; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 42; Vitali 1970; Gatto 1977, p. [25]; Broggini 1983; De Micheli 1985, pp. 78–79; Luigi Broggini, 1989; Pontiggia 1989; Cavallo 1990, pp. 15–25, 92–93; Modesti 1991, p. 68; Modesti, Luigi Broggini, 1991, pp. 75, 177; Bossaglia 1995, pp. [18–19]; Pontiggia, Broggini, 1998, pp. 62–63, 186; Pontiggia 2000, pp. 156, 161, 179; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, p. 222; Pontiggia 2009; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 180, 235; Di Marzio 2010, p. 54; Gualdoni, Pellegatta 2010, pp. 55, 112; AA.VV. 2012, p. 111.

23Figura al sole (Figura allo specchio, Ragazza allo specchio, Ragazza con cappello, Figura) [Figure in the Sun]1938–39bronze sculpture, 43.5 x 29 x 13 cmsigned on the base: Brogginicopy number five of six

Provenance: private collection of the artist Luigi Broggini, Milano; collection of the artist’s son Stefano Broggini Stefano Broggini, Milano; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza.Exhibitions: Milano, 1943, Milano, 1977; Busto Arsizio, 1989; Milano, 1991; Busto Arsizio, Ferrara, 1991–92; Civitanova Marche, 1998, Milano, 2008; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Gatto 1940; Valsecchi 1954; Gatto 1977, p. [22]; Cavallo 1990, p. 94; Modesti 1991, pp. 16, 53, 77; Pontiggia 1991, p. 71; Pizziolo 1998, p. 230; Pontiggia 1998, pp. 68, 138, 177; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004 p. [321]; Pizziolo 2008, p. 24.

24Paesaggio romano con figura sdraiata (Paesaggio romano

con satiro, Paesaggio romano con figura) [Roman Landscape with Reclining Figure]1932ink wash on paper, 330 x 240 mmdated and signed at bottom left: Roma 1932 Broggini

Provenance: private collection of the artist Luigi Broggini, Milano; “A.F.”, Roma; Eredi Broggini collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, 1957; Borgomanero, 1974; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Saronno, 1995; Civitanova Marche, 1998; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Broggini, Sereni 1957; Carrieri 1957, p. 91; Broggini disegni 1974, p. 38; De Micheli 1985, p. 83; Margonari, Modesti 1986, 125, 126; Modesti 1990; Bossaglia 1995, pp. [39], [46]; Pontiggia, Broggini 1998, pp. 33, 184; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 182, 235.

25 Paesaggio romano con statua di Nettuno (Paesaggio con statua di Nettuno, Roma 1933) [Roman Landscape with Statue of Neptune]1933ink wash on paper, 320 x 220 mmsigned and dated at bottom left: Broggini Roma 1933

Provenance: private collection of the artist Luigi Broggini, Milano; “A.F.”, Roma; Galleria Bottega d’Arte Repetto & Massucco, Acqui Terme; Galleria Il Chiostro, Saronno.Exhibitions: Milano, 1957; Civitanova Marche, 1998; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Broggini, Sereni 1957; Valsecchi 1975; Modesti, Luigi Broggini, 1991, p. 140; Pontiggia, Broggini 1998, pp. 34, 184; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 182, 236.

26 Donna che allaccia la calza (Ragazza che si allaccia le calze) [Woman Fastening her Stocking]1937pencil and wash, 350 x 250 mmsigned and dated at bottom right: Broggini 1937

Provenance: private collection of the artist Luigi Broggini, Milano; private collection of the artist’s son Stefano Broggini, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, 1991.Bibliography: Broggini, Sereni 1957; Valsecchi 1975; Pontiggia, Broggini 1998, pp. 34, 184.

Bruno Cassinari (1912–1992)

27Ritratto di Ernesto Treccani (Ritratto di Treccani) [Portrait of Ernesto Treccani]1941oil on panel, 60 x 45 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: cassinari 41

Provenance: private collection of the artist Bruno Cassinari, Milano; Luigi Ardemagni collection, Milano; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio.Exhibitions: Milano, Cassinari, 1941; Milano, 1962; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, Cassinari, 1970; Milano, 1971; Napoli, 1978; Busto Arsizio, 1981; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Piacenza, 1983; Milano, 1986; Ferrara, 1993; Ivano Fracena, 2003; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Vittorini 1941, p. [5]; Carrà 1962, p. [9]; Valsecchi 1963, pp. 43, 49, 110; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 36; Pirovano 1969, pp. 8, [34]; Pirovano 1970, pp. 14, [42]; AA.VV. 1971, p. 162; Crispolti, Fagone, Ruju 1978, pp. 76, 180; Bruno Cassinari 1981; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, pp. 134, 635; Di Genova 1982, p. 62; Dell’Acqua, Anzani 1983, pp. 16, 196-198; Rosci 1983; Anzani 1984, pp. 31, [81], 170; AA.VV. 1986, pp. 2, 117, 121, 217; Pirovano 1992, p. 807; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, pp. 203–04; Pirovano 1993, p. 657; Rosci 1996, pp. 18, 36, 106; Eccher, Auregli 1997, p. 76; Rosci 1998, vol. I, pp. 14, 50, vol. II 658; Anzani, Staudacher 2003, pp. 28, 63; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 131, 168; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 243, 246, AA.VV. 2009, pp. 164, 233; Pontiggia 2010, p. 61; AA.VV. 2012, p. 90; Sansone 2016, p. [181].

Gigi Chessa (1898–1935)

28Nudo (Nudo sdraiato) [Nude]1934 oil on canvas, 65.7 x 50.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: Chessa 1934. Agli amici Aloisio con migliori auguri Gigi Chessa

Provenance:private collection of the artist Gigi Chessa, Torino; private collection, Torino;

1978, p. 212; Vivarelli 1989, p. 66; De Grada 1990; AA. VV., Arte Moderna, 1990, p. 15.

18vverso:Gineceo [Gynaeceum]1934oil on canvas, 70 x 65 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: R. Birolli 1934

Provenance as back of Paese a Monluè: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Ernesto Treccani collection, Milano; private collection, Milano; Galleria Mazzoleni, Torino; private collection, TorinoExhibitions as back of Paese a Monluè: Londra, 1935; San Francisco, 1935; Verona, 1959; Ivrea, Verona, 1963; Firenze, 1967; Milano, 1982; Milano, 1985; Lacchiarella, 1987; Milano, Roma, Verona 1989–90; Milano, 2017.Exhibitions: Busto Arsizio, 1991; Verona, 1996; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Pontiggia 1991, p. 55; Lanza Pietromarchi 1996, p. 48.

19Signora col cappello (Ritratto di Enrica Cavallo, Signora con cappello, Ritratto di pianista) [Lady in a Hat]1941oil on canvas, 84 x 57 cmdated and signed at top left: 41. Birolli

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Birolli, Milano; Emilio Jesi collection, Milano; Galleria Ettore Gian Ferrari, Milano; private collection Serena Corvi Mora Coloni, Piacenza; Galleria Claudia Gian Ferrari, Milano, Sotheby’s Milano. Exhibitions: Bergamo, 1941; Chieti, 2012, Torino, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: AA.VV. 1941, p. 39; Gorgerino 1941, p. 3; Piovene, Primato 1941, pp. 17–19; Birolli Z. Sambonet 1978, p. 218; Galmozzi 1989, p. 178; Vivarelli 1989, p. 146; AA.VV. 1993, pp. 90, 141; AA.VV. 2012, p. 54; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, p. 77; Pontiggia, Birolli V. 2016, p. 63.

Jessie Boswell (1881–1956)

20Marina [Seascape]1929oil on cardboard, 33 x 34 cm

signed at bottom left: [Jessie] Boswell

Provenance: private collection of the artist Jessie Boswell, Torino; private collection, Torino; Galleria del Ponte, Torino; private collection, Torino.Exhibitions: Aosta, 1999; Bra, 1999; Torino 2004; Torino 2009; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bandini 1993; Bandini 1999, p. 63; Testa 2004, p. 13; Mulatero 2009.

Luigi Broggini (1908–1983)

21Testa di ragazzo (Testa di fanciullo, Ritratto di ragazzo) [Boy’s Head]1932–35bronze sculpture, 28 x 17 x 20 cmdated and signed on the neck: 932 Brogginisole copy

Provenance: private collection of the artist Luigi Broggini, Milano; private collection of the artist’s son Stefano Broggini, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, Broggini, 1943; Varese, 1944; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Milano, 1986; Busto Arsizio, 1989; Milano, 1991; Varese, 1991; Saronno, 1995; Volta Mantovana, 1996; Civitanova Marche, 1998; Mantova, 2006; Milano, 2008, Milano 2010; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Gatto 1940; Gatto 1941; Gatto, Broggini e Valenti, 1941; Podestà 1941; Radius, Broggini 1941; Luigi Broggini, 1943; Gatto 1944; Gatto, Mostra personale, 1944; Montanari 1944; Cairola 1946, p. 109; Veronesi 1954, p. [23]; Valsecchi, Broggini, 1969, pp. [2–3]; Vitali 1970; Caramel, Pirovano 1973, p. 15; Gatto 1977; De Micheli 1985, p. 78; Margonari, Modesti 1986, p. 128; Luigi Broggini, 1989; Cavallo 1990, pp. 23, 70–71; Modesti 1991, pp. 61, 137; Modesti, Luigi Broggini, 1991, pp. 62–63, 177; Bossaglia 1995, pp. [4], [6–7], [10–11]; Pontiggia 1996, pp. 32, 80, 192; Pontiggia, Broggini, 1998, pp. 46–47, 185; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 144, 147, 330; Butturini 2006, pp. 122, 211; Pontiggia 2006, p. 72; Barilli 2007, p. 354; Pizziolo 2008, p. 62; Pontiggia 2009; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 178, 235; Fergonzi, Negri, Pugliese 2010, p. 175; Pontiggia 2010, p. 122.

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Monchietto collection, Torino; Galleria Biasutti, Torino.Exhibitions: Milano, 1929; Torino, 1963; Torino, 1965; Torino, 1977; Torino, 1983; Torino, 1993; Milano, 1998; Aosta, 1999; Monsummano Terme, 2002–03; Settimo Torinese, 2005–06; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Bardi 1929, p. [2]; L’Ambrosiano 1929, p. [6]; Pinottini 1963, pp. [28], [62]; AA.VV. 1965, pp. 100, 107; Bovero 1965, pp. 131, [243], 268; Guasco, Martinengo 1977, pp. 22, 31; Pinottini 1983; Bandini 1993, pp. 115, 171, 192, 234; Di Genova 1994, pp. 922, 923; AA.VV., Novecento 1996, pp. 111–12; Pontiggia 1998, pl. 41, p. 99; Bandini 1999, pp. 15, 115, 202; Moretti 2002, p. 72; Bellini, Mulatero 2005, pp. 215, 298; AA.VV. 2009; pp. 192, 193, 236.

Tullio Garbari(1892–1931)

35 La famiglia [The Family]1931oil on canvas, 65 x 80 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Tullio Garbari, Milano; private collection Gino Lizzola, Milano; Galleria del Milione, Milano; Galleria dell’Annunciata, Milano; private collection Gianmaria Battiato; private collection, Milano. Exhibitions: Milano, 1936; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Sironi 1931 Il popolo; Severini 1936; Villari Cataldi 1971; Silvio Branzi 1975; Mascherpa 1984; Belli 1986; Primerano Turrina 2007.

Renato Guttuso (1912–1987)

36Natura morta con garofani e frutta (Mele e fiori, Garofani e frutta sul tavolo, Natura morta con fiori) [Still Life with Carnations and Fruit]1938oil on pasteboard mounted on canvas, 47 x 54 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: Guttuso 38Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Mimise Guttuso collection; Carapezza Guttuso collection, Roma; Antonello Trombadori collection, Roma; Duccio

Trombadori collection, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, 1938; Bagheria, Milano, 1987–88; Milano, 1988; Roma, Verona, 1989–1990; Roma, 1995; Parigi, 1997–98; Castelbasso, 2011; Roma, 2012–13; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Savarese 1938; Savarese, Pittura di Renato Guttuso 1938, p. 4; Crispolti 1983, pp. LXXV, 50; Favatella Lo Cascio 1987, pp. 66, 370; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, pp. 122, 269, 314; Fagiolo dell’Arco, I fiori, 1989; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Roma, 1989; Hulten, Celant 1989, p. 705; D’Amico 1995, pp. 52–53, 81; AA.VV. 1997, p. 105; Crispolti, Ruta 2001, p. 142; Morelli, Rivosecchi 2006, p. [96]; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 21, 100–02, 104, 227; Poli 2011, pp. [24, 25]; Carapezza, Crispolti 2012, pp. 28, 29, [95], 197, 198.

36v verso:Studio per “Ritratto di Mimise” (incompiuto) [Study for “Portrait of Mimise” (unfinished)]1938oil on pasteboard mounted on canvas, 54 x 47 cm

The female figure on the back can be identified as a portrait of Mimise Dotti, later the artist’s wife. It was sketched in all probability shortly after they met in Rome in 1937.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Mimise Guttuso collection, Roma; Carapezza Guttuso collection, Roma; Antonello Trombadori collection, Roma; Duccio Trombadori collection, Roma.Exhibitions as back of Natura morta con garofani e frutta: Roma, 1938; Bagheria, Milano, 1987–88; Milano, 1988; Roma, Verona, 1989–1990; Roma, 1995; Parigi, 1997–98; Castelbasso, 2011; Roma, 2012–13; Milano, 2017.

37 Ritratto di Mimise [Portrait of Mimise]1938oil on cardboard mounted on canvas, 70.6 x 50 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Archivi Guttuso, Roma. Exhibitions: Frascati, 2000; Torino, Guttuso, 2005, Castelbasso, 2011; Chieti, 2012; Bagheria, 2015; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Crispolti 1983, pp.

Galleria del Ponte, Torino; private collection, Torino.Exhibitions: Torino, 1984; Torino, 2004; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Guasco, Mistrangelo 1984, p. 16; Fossati, Sanfo 1988, pp. 159, 291; Testa 2004, p. 11.

Filippo de Pisis (Luigi Filippo Tibertelli de Pisis)(1896–1956)

29Il suonatore di flauto [The Flute Player]1940oil on canvas, 65 x 60 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: Pisis 40

Provenance: private collection of the artist Filippo de Pisis; Milano; Galleria Edmondo Sacerdoti, Milano; Galleria Farsetti, Prato; Galleria Davico, Torino; Salice collection, Torino; Galleria Sant’Agostino, Torino.Exhibitions: Taranto, 2006; Milano, Maggi, 2010; Parma 2013; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Marchiori, Zanotto 1973, p. 304; Briganti 1991, p. 480; Pontiggia, Perrone 2006, pp. 28–29; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 218, 219, 238; Pontiggia 2010, p. 48; Campiglio 2013, pp. 122, 182.

30Pesce e coltello [Fish and Knife]1940oil on cardboard, 30 x 50.5 cmsigned at bottom left: de Pisisdated at bottom right: XVIII on the knife handle: […] Elba 1940

Provenance: private collection of the artist Filippo de Pisis, Milano; Galleria d’Arte Maggiore, Bologna; private collection, Pisa; Pandolfini Casa d’Aste, Firenze.Exhibitions: San Giovanni in Valdarno, 2001; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Cavallo 2001, pl. 11, p. 109.

31Il Foro Bonaparte a Milano [The Foro Bonaparte in Milan]1941oil on canvas, 70 x 50 cmsigned at bottom right: [De] Pisis

Provenance: private collection of the artist Filippo de Pisis,

Milano; Galleria dell’Annunciata, Milano; Mazzotta collection, Milano; Falsetti Arte, Prato; private collection, Firenze; Farsetti Arte, Prato.Exhibitions: Cortina d’Ampezzo, 1967–68; Prato, 1973; Focette, 1976; Parma, 2013; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Raimondi 1952, p. [102]; Briganti 1991, p. 538; Campiglio 2013, p. 18.

Francesco De Rocchi (1902–1978)

32Popolana (Giovane contadina) [Young Peasant Woman]1933oil on panel, 93 x 65 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: F. De Rocchi – 12.33 XII

Provenance: private collection of the artist Francesco De Rocchi, Milano; Pier Rosa De Rocchi Cresseri collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Vienna, 1933; Firenze, 1967; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Milano, Mantova, 1986; Milano, 1990; Milano, 1994; Viggiù, 1994; Saronno, 2002; Mantova, 2006; Milano, 2010; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Ragghianti 1967, p. 374; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, pp. 116, 634; Anzani, Caramel 1983, pp. 247–48; Margonari, Modesti 1986, p. 85; Modesti, Mascherpa 1987, pp. 11, 82; Colombo 1990, pl. I; Pontiggia 1994, pp. 5, 24, 25; Anzani 1994, pp. 1, 2, 6; Pontiggia 2002, pp. 16, 70–72, 157; Pontiggia 2006, pp. 47, 48, 81; Butturini 2006, pp. 139, 211; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 200, 237; Pontiggia 2010, pp. 37, 57.

32v verso:Nudo di donna (incompiuto) [Female Nude (unfinished)]1932 oil on panel, 93 x 65 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Francesco De Rocchi, Milano; Pier Rosa De Rocchi Cresseri collection, Milano.Exhibitions as back of Popolana: Vienna, 1933; Firenze, 1967; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Milano, Mantova, 1986; Milano, 1990; Milano, 1994; Viggiù, 1994; Saronno, 2002; Mantova, 2006, Milano, 2010; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Modesti, Mascherpa 1987, p. 76.

Angelo Del Bon (1898–1952)

33Rocca delle Caminate n. 21935oil on canvas, 127 x 148 cmsigned at bottom left:A. Del Bon

Rocca delle Caminate, painted by Del Bon in 1935, was shown in the first edition of the Bergamo Prize and subsequently reworked by the artist, who eliminated the scene of ploughing in the foreground and renamed the work Rocca delle Caminate n. 2.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Angelo Del Bon, Milano; Bruno Grossetti collection, Milano; private collection, Mantova; Galleria d’arte B&B, Mantova.Exhibitions: Bergamo, 1939; Milano, Del Bon, 1959; Milano, 1960; Milano, 1968; Milano, Del Bon, 1972; Milano, Del Bon, 1981; Milano, Mantova, 1986; Bergamo, 1993–94; Volta Mantovana, 1996; Milano, Del Bon, 1998; Monza, 2003–04; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Sellani 1939, p. 46; Veronesi 1959; Taccani 1960, p. 97; Giani 1961, cover; Venti anni, 1972, p. 19; Carrà, Marchiori 1977, p. 179; Carluccio 1981, p. 42; Margonari, Modesti 1986, p. 69; AA.VV. 1993, pp. 148, 226; Froldi 1996; Pontiggia 1996, pp. 115, 137, 194; De Stasio, Pontiggia 1998; Biscottini, Crispolti, Negri 2003, p. 72; Pontiggia 2006, p. 119; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 202, 203, 237; Pontiggia 2010, p. 170; Sansone 2016, pp. [171, 191].

Nicola Galante (1883–1969)

34Paese per la Casetta (Vasto)(Paesaggio a Vasto, Paesaggio per la Casetta, Vasto: la casetta, Casetta per l’Uliveto, Paese per la Casetta) [Little House in the Country (Vasto)]1929oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: N. GALANTE 1929

Provenance: private collection of the artist Nicola Galante, Torino; Cesare Ghiglione collection, Pegli; Galleria Narciso, Torino; Rinaldo

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Crispolti 1983, pp. LXVII, LXXIV, CLV, 121; Rubiu 1984, p. 22; AA.VV. 1985, p. 22; Favatella Lo Cascio 1987, pp. 42, 48; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, p. 113; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, p. 305; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, p. [58]; Hulten, Celant 1989, p. 724; Di Genova 1990, p. 82; AA.VV. 1991, pp. [60], 107; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, p. 176; D’Amico 1995, pp. 124–25; Borgese 2001, p. 59; Rusconi 2001, pp. 12, 14–16; Testori 2001, p. 153; Hamel 2003, p. 58; Sgarbi 2003, p. 157; Sgarbi, La ricerca, 2003, p. 243; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 27, 85; AA.VV. 2009, pp. [13]–15, 21, 99, 112, 228; Ragozzino 2011, pp. 19, 20, 30, 36, 40–49; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 60, 94, [99]; Carapezza Guttuso, Crispolti 2012, pp. 31, 200; Mafai G. 2012, p. 99; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, pp. 83, 105; Sgarbi 2014, p. 52; Vallora 2014, p. 35; Arte 2015, p. 38; Salò 2016, p. 350.

42Autoritratto [Self-Portrait]1936India ink on paper, 450 x 320 mmsigned and dated at bottom right: Guttuso 36

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio.Exhibitions: Reggio Emilia, Como, Salerno, Milano, 1983–85; Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: De Micheli 1963, pp. [43], 47, [49]; Ragghianti 1963, p. 16; S. 1963, p. 67; De Micheli 1966, p. [41]; Crispolti, Guttuso nel disegno 1983, pp. 26–27; Crispolti 1987, pp. 43, 237; Bernabei 1993, p. 191; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, p. 202; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 10, 114, 115, 229; AA.VV. 2012, p. 38; Sgarbi 2014, p. [19].

Carlo Levi (1902–1975)

43Ritratto di donna [Female Portrait]1932–33oil on canvas, 60 x 50 cmProvenance: private collection of the artist Carlo Levi, Torino; private collection Fondazione Carlo Levi, Roma; Galleria F. Russo, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, Levi, 2014; Milano, 2017.

Bibliography: Ragghianti 1948; Fondazione Carlo Levi 2000; Fondazione Carlo Levi 2014, p. 84.

44Nudo sdraiato (Nudo di schiena, Nudo dormiente) [Reclining Nude]1934oil on canvas, 92 x 73.5 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Carlo Levi, Torino; Galleria Accademia, Torino; Fiz collection, Torino; Christie’s, Milano.Exhibitions: Genova, 1936; Torino, 1980; Torino, 1997; Bergamo, 2014; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Ferrata 1936; Ragghianti 1948, p. 48; Carlo Levi 1980, p. 7; Vescovo 1997, pp. 100–01, 169; Bellini, Mulatero 2005, p. 99; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 190, 236; Piazzoli, Ubiali 2014, p. 33.

Umberto Lilloni (1898–1980)

45Uliveto ad Arenzano [Olive Grove at Arenzano]1931oil on canvas, 65 x 80 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: 193 lilloni 1931

Provenance: private collection of the artist Umberto Lilloni, Milano; Adele Lilloni Schubert collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Volta Mantovana, 1996; Medole, 1999; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: AA.VV., Novecento 1994, p. 138; Pontiggia 1996, pp. 100, 194; Pontiggia 1999, pp. 15–17, 70; R. Lilloni 2002, p. 353; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 198, 237; Sansone 2016, pp. [168, 191].

Mario Mafai (1902–1965)

46Strada con casa rossa (Strada sul Palatino, La casina rossa) [Street with Red House]1928oil on canvas, 38 x 38.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: Mafai 28Provenance: private collection of the artist Mario Mafai, Roma; Alfredo Casella collection, Roma; Eredi Casella collection; Studio Sotis, Roma; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.

CXVIII, 50; Crispolti 1987, p. 49; Masi, Turco Liveri 2000, pp. [88, 89]; Carapezza Guttuso 2005, pp. 20, 58, [59]; Haftmann 2005, pp. 14, 15; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 99, 100–02, 103, 104, 105, 227; Poli 2011, pp. [24, 25]; Ragozzino 2011, pp. 40–49; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 94, 95; G. Mafai 2012, p. 106; Carapezza Guttuso, Favatella Lo Cascio 2015, pp. [26], 102–04; Grasso 2015, p. 49.

38Ritratto di Mario Alicata [Portrait of Mario Alicata]1940oil on canvas, 55 x 45 cmdedicated and signed at bottom right: a Mario Guttuso

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; private collection Mario Alicata, Roma; Eredi Alicata collection, Roma; Galleria Toninelli Arte Moderna, Milano-Roma; private collection, Bologna; Pieri collection, Faenza; Trivelli Casavecchia collection, Faenza; Farsetti Arte, Prato.

In a number of publications, including the monographs published by Fabbri in 1976 and 1983, the location of the portrait of Mario Alicata is confused with that of the portrait of Alberto Moravia, painted by Guttuso in the same year (1940) and owned by the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan (see “Indice delle illustrazioni”, in Renato Guttuso, F.lli Fabbri, Milan, 1976, work no. 20 in the list on p. 54; C. Brandi, “Indice delle illustrazioni”, in Guttuso, 2nd ed., F.lli Fabbri, Milan, 1987, work no. 20 in the list on p. 56.

Exhibitions: Palermo, 1971; Parigi, 1971; Berlino, 1972; Praga, Budapest, Bucarest, 1973; Colonia, 1977; Ravenna, 1987; Lodève, 2003; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Bagheria, 2015; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Rosi 1942, pp. 6, 9; Del Guercio, Lassaigne 1971, pp. [29], [86]; Sciascia, Russoli, Grasso 1971, pp. 35, [104]; AA.VV. 1972, p. 27; Deac 1973; Del Guercio 1973, p. [5]; AA.VV. 1976, pp. 54, 75; Renato Guttuso, 1977, pp. 78, [85]; Brandi, Rubiu 1983, p. 56, pl. 20; Crispolti 1983, pp. LXII, LXVII, LXVIII, LXXIV, [95, 102], CXL, CCXLVI; Trombadori 1987, pp. [5], [11], [29]; Fergonzi 1994,

p. 322; Agnellini 1995, pp. 134, 264; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1995, p. 167; AA.VV., Novecento 1995, p. 129; Sacchi 1999, p. 89; De Chirico et la Peinture 2003, pp. 249–250; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 133, 178, 179; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 27, 80, 81; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 99, 106, [107], 228; Ragozzino 2011, pp. 19, 20, 30, 36–38, 40-49; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 94, [96]; Carapezza Guttuso, Favatella Lo Cascio 2015, pp. 56, 142, [143], 144; Grasso 2015, p. 49.

39La finestra blu [The Blue Window]1940–41oil on canvas, 45 x 50 cmsigned at bottom right: Guttuso (in an earlier version the signature was in the upper right section, where the background was subsequently altered)

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Galleria della Spiga, Milano; Galleria Medea, Milano; Galleria Alessandro Gazzo, Bergamo; private collection, Verona; Galleria d’Arte Mazzoleni, Torino.Exhibitions: Milano, Corrente, 1985; Verona, 1987; Torino, 2005; Milano, 2008; Castelbasso, 2011; Chieti, 2012; Roma, 2012–13; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Crispolti 1983, pp. 100, 110; De Micheli 1985, pp. 100, 139, 140; Cortenova, Mascelloni 1987, pp. 24–25, 56; Mistrangelo 2005, pp. 36, 37, 134; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 27, [82]. AA.VV. 2009, pp. 108–10, 228; Poli 2011, pp. [36, 37]; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 94, [97]; Carapezza, Crispolti 2012, pp. 32, 70, 200 [110].

40 Gabbia bianca e foglie (Natura morta con gabbia bianca e foglie) [White Cage and Leaves]1940–41oil on canvas, 45 x 55 cmsigned at bottom right: Guttuso

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Alberto Della Ragione collection, Genova; Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, Milano; Mario De Ponti collection, Milano; Galleria d’Arte Mazzoleni, Torino.Exhibitions: Parma, 1963–64; Darmstadt, Recklinghausen, 1967; San Giminiano, 1970; Parigi, 1971; Berlino, 1972; Venezia, 1982; Torino, 2005; Taranto, 2006;

Milano, 2008; Castelbasso, 2011; Chieti, 2012; Roma, 2012–13; Milano, Expo, 2015; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Longhi 1963, p. 70; Del Guercio, Lassaigne 1971; AA.VV. 1982; Crispolti 1983, pp. 100, 112; Cortenova, Mascelloni 1987, p. 23; Mistrangelo 2005, pp. 9, 32–33; Pontiggia, Perrone 2006, pp. 52–53; Pizziolo 2008; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 99, 108–10, 228; AA.VV. 2012, p. 94; Carapezza, Crispolti 2012, pp. 32, 70, 198; Expo 2015, p. 548.

41Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo (Ritratto di Santangelo) [Portrait of Antonino Santangelo]1942oil on canvas, 100 x 70 cmsigned and dated at upper left: Guttuso 43

The work was painted in the studio on Via Pompeo Magno in Rome during a period of leave from the army and subsequently dated by the artist.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Renato Guttuso, Roma; Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, Milano; Alberto and Fausta Mancini Lapenna collection, Strassoldo; Ottavio Jacorossi collection, Roma; Galleria Tega, Milano.Exhibitions: Roma, Quadriennale, 1943; Parma, 1963–64; Trieste, 1965; Udine, 1970; Milano, 1981; Venezia, 1982; Bagheria, Milano 1987–88; Venezia 1989; Tubinga, Düsseldorf, Amburgo, 1991–92; Ferrara, 1993; Roma, 1995; Milano, 2001; Cagliari, 2003; Palermo, 2003–04; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Roma, 2012; Favignana, 2014; Bagheria, 2015; Salò, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: AA.VV. 1943, p. IX; Guzzi 1943; Podestà 1943; Rizzo 1943; Torriano 1943; Venturoli 1943, p. [41]; Marchiori 1952, pp. 65, 107; Berger 1957; Castelfranco, Durbè 1960, pp. 19, 38; Morosini 1960, p. 16; Moravia, Grasso 1962, p. 189; Longhi 1963, p. 72; Il Contemporaneo 1964; Omaggio a Guttuso, 1964; Portalupi 1964; Salvi 1964, p. 3; La collezione Mancini 1965; I.N. 1965; Longhi 1965; De Micheli 1966, p. 162; Del Guercio 1971, p. 157; Renato Guttuso 1981; Testori 1981; AA.VV. 1982, p. 136; Benincasa, Calvesi 1982, p. 27; Di Genova 1982, p. 70; Micacchi, Guttuso, 1982; Zeri 1982, p. 556;

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46v – 53LIST OF WORKS — EDITED BY RISCHA PATERLINI

oil on panel, 24 x 34 cmsigned at bottom right: mafai 41

Provenance: private collection of the artist Mario Mafai, Roma; Galleria Bonaparte, Milano.Exhibitions: Fabriano, 2007; Milano, 2008; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Dehò, Pontiggia 2007, pp. 22, 49; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 28–88; AA.VV. 2009, pp. [40], 222.

49Autoritratto (Doppio ritratto) [Self-Portrait]circa 1933 oil on unprimed canvas, 56.5 x 44 cmsigned at bottom left: mafai

The first version, shown at the Venice Biennial in 1934, was signed “Mafai 33”. The “33” was then eliminated by the artist in his subsequent reworking of the painting.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Mario Mafai, Roma; private collection, unknown location; Casa d’aste Capitolium Art, Brescia.Exhibitions: Venezia, 1934; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Appella, Gualdoni, D’Amico 1986, p. 194; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986, p. 187; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994, pp. 90, 91; Siciliano 2004, p. 143.

50Garofani bianchi con mammole (Garofani bianchi) [White Carnations and Sweet Violets]circa 1936 oil on canvas, 51 x 39 cmsigned at bottom right: mafai

A smaller canvas, probably not by the same artist, was mounted on the back of the painting. It presents a still life of flowers in a vase with other objects.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Mario Mafai, Roma; Luisa and Giuseppe Natale collection, Roma; Enrica and Gabriella Caligiuri collection.Exhibitions: Roma, 1945–46; Roma, 1947; Roma, 1967; Roma, Mafai, 1969, Roma, Verona, 1989–1990; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Guttuso 1941; Ballo 1956, p. 107; Micacchi 1967, p. 20; AA.VV. 1969, pp. 66, 125; De Grada 1969, p. 38; Appella,

D’Amico, Gualdoni 1986, pp. 21, 202–03; Fagiolo dell’Arco, I fiori, 1989, pp. 44, [134, 135]; Agnellini 1994, p. 50; AA.VV. 2004, pp. 23, 157, 159, AA.VV. 2009, pp. 22, 42, 223; G. Mafai 2012, p. 106.

Roberto Melli (1885–1958)

51La lettura [The Reading]1942oil on canvas, 80 x 90 cmsigned and dated at top right: Melli 42

Provenance: private collection of the artist Roberto Melli, Roma; Giuseppe Natale collection, Roma; Erica Fiorentini collection, Roma.Exhibitions: Firenze, 1950; Milano, 1950; Roma, 1957; Pordenone, 2005–06; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Ragghianti 1950, p. 28; Calvesi 1954, p. 46; Sangiorgi 1957, p. 10; Appella, Calvesi 1992, p. 229; Pauletto 2005, pp. 17, 50; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 80, [81], 226.

Francesco Menzio (1899–1979)

52Ritratto di giovane [Portrait of a Young Man]1929oil on canvas, 72 x 59 cmsigned at bottom right: Menzio

Provenance: private collection of the artist Francesco Menzio, Torino; private collection, Torino; Galleria del Ponte, Torino; private collection, Torino.Exhibitions: Torino, 2004; Settimo Torinese, 2005-2006; Salò, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Solmi 1937; Galvano 1971; Testa 2004; Bellini, Mulatero 2005; Salò 2016, p. 348.

53Lo scialle verde (La sciarpa verde) [The Green Shawl]1929oil on canvas, 53 x 45 cmsigned at bottom left: Menzio

Provenance: private collection of the artist Francesco Menzio, Torino; Colongo collection, Biella; Galleria d’arte Biasutti e Biasutti, Torino. Exhibitions: Torino, 1930; Ivrea, 1959; Torino, 1966; Torino, 1978; Torino, 1983; Verona, Roma, 1992;

Exhibitions: Roma, 1984–85; Macerata, 1986; New York, 1987; Milano, 1988; Bologna, 1991; Ferrara, 1993; Roma, I Mafai, 1994; Modena, 1995–96; Conegliano, 1996–97; Parigi, 1997–98; Brescia, 2000; Ravenna, 2003; Roma, 2004–05; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Casella 1939, p. 256; Trombadori 1984, p. 11; Calvesi 1985, p. 80; Appella, Gualdoni, D’Amico 1986, p. 37; Di Genova 1986, pp. 73, 76; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1986, p. 75; Rivosecchi, Trombadori 1986, p. 76; Baldacci 1987, p. 53; Fagiolo dell’Arco, 1988, pp. 59, 62, 256, 264; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Realismo Magico, 1988, pp. 119, [126, 297]; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1989, p. 16; Hulten, Celant, 1989, p. 108; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1990, p. 180; Di Genova 1990, p. 40; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1990, p. 58; D’Amico 1991, p. 53; D’Amico, Il cuore 1991, p. 14; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, p. 129; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994, p. 48; Fergonzi 1994, p. 785; Mafai 1994; D’Amico, Guadagnini 1995, p. 50; Di Genova 1996, pp. 95, 97; AA.VV. 1997, p. 57; Goldin 1997, p. 90; Vescovo, Vespignani 1997, p. 22; AA.VV. 2000, p. 230; Spadoni 2003, p. 310; AA.VV. 2004, pp. 21–22, 54; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, p. 19; Siciliano 2004, pp. 91, 132; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 38, 222.

46v verso:Ritratto (Ritratto femminile, Testa) [Portrait]circa 1928oil on canvas, 38.5 x 38 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Mario Mafai, Roma; Alfredo Casella collection, Roma; Eredi Casella collection; Studio Sotis, Roma; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.Exhibitions as back of Strada con casa rossa: Roma, 1984–85; Macerata, 1986; New York, 1987; Milano, 1988; Bologna, 1991; Ferrara, 1993; Roma, M. Mafai, 1994; Modena, 1995–96; Conegliano, 1997; Parigi, 1997–98; Brescia, 2000; Ravenna, 2003; Roma, 2004–05; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Trombadori 1984, p. 10; Appella, Gualdoni, D’Amico 1986, p. 84; Di Genova 1986, p. 98; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, p. 264; AA.VV. 2009, p. 222.

47Tramonto sul Lungotevere (Ponte Garibaldi, Tramonto su Roma, Tramonto sul ponte Garibaldi) [Sunset on the Lungotevere]1929oil on plywood, 41.3 x 50.8 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: Mafai Mario 1929

Provenance: private collection of the artist Mario Mafai, Roma; Principessa Marguerite Caetani di Bassiano collection, Roma; Lelia Caetani Howard collection, Roma; Sotheby’s, Milano; Marisa Romualdi collection, Como; Farsetti Arte.Exhibitions: Roma, Sindacato, 1929; Roma, Mafai, 1969; Roma, 1984–85; Milano, 1988; Ravenna, 2003; Brescia, 2005; Milano, 2008; Roma, 2014; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: AA.VV. 1929, p. 39; Longhi 1929; De Libero 1949; Carrieri 1950, p. 230; Ballo 1956, p. 104; Castelfranco, Durbé 1960, p. 27; Ballo 1964, pp. 232–33; Martinelli 1967, pp. 16-158; Mafai 1969, p. [15]; De Grada 1969, pp. 22, 248, 256; AA.VV. 1969, pp. 118, 146; Terenzi 1977, p. 96; La Scuola romana 1983, p. 6; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1984, pp. 345–46; Trombadori 1984, p. 16; AA.VV. 1985, p. 140; D’Amico, I misteri 1985; Appella, D’Amico 1986, p. 18; Appella, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1986, pp. 13, 192; Di Genova 1986, pp. 84–85; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986, p. 232; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1986, pp. [23], 47, 75; Rivosecchi, Trombadori 1986, pp. 74–75, 233; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, p. 107; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, pp. 27–28, 259, 285; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, p. [80]; AA.VV., Scuola romana 1989, p. 6; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1989, p. 111; Hulten, Celant 1989, p. 669; Rivosecchi 1990, pp. 160, 161; Vespignani 1992, pp. 115, [147, 368]; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994, p. 83; Di Genova 1996, pp. 96, 104–05; Moravia 1997, cover; Lamberti 1998, p. 202; Salvagnini 2000, p. 483; Castellaneta 2002, p. 118; Goldin 2002, p. 85; Spadoni 2003, pp. 304–11; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, pp. 25–26, 58–59, 116; Spagnesi 2004; Barilli 2007, p. 357; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 28, 88; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 20, 40, [41], 222; Walch 2010, p. 32.

48 Tramonto su Roma [Sunset over Rome]1941

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Milano, 1985; Milano, 1987; Riva del Garda, 1988; Marina di Pietrasanta, 1990; Ferrara, 1993; Ferrara, Morlotti, 1994; Milano, Le ragioni, 1995; Conegliano, 1996–97; Milano, 2001; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: De Micheli, Ennio Morlotti 1963; Politi 1963; Volpe 1963, pp. [33], [103]; Crispolti, Del Guercio 1967; Tassi 1970, pp. [33-34]; AA.VV. 1971, p. 164; De Grada 1971; Ricci 1971; Biamonti 1972, pp. 21, 46, 55; Tassi 1972, p. 19; Tassi 1975, pp. 14, 22; Bruno Cassinari, 1981; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, pp. 144, 635; Quintavalle 1982, pp. 47, 62, [187], 284; Anzani, Caramel 1983, p. 273; Castagnoli 1983, pp. 17, 51–52; Ennio Morlotti, 1983, p. 9; De Micheli 1985, p. 151; Bruno 1987, pp. 42, 128; Fossati 1988, pp. 40, 85; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1990, p. 25; Garboli 1990, pp. [16–17]; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1992, p. 159; Pirovano 1992, pp. 232, 234, 988; Quintavalle 1992, pp. 47, 62, [187], 284; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, p. 195; Tassi, Pirovano 1993, p. 58; Agnellini 1994, p. 188; Buzzoni 1994, pp. 40–41, 43, 70, 163; AA.VV. 1995, p. 102; Goldin 1996, p. 85; Bruno, Castagnoli, Biasin 2000, pp. 55, 61; Rusconi 2001, p. [12]; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 30, 102; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 10, 172, [173] 234; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 59, 60, 61, 102, 105.

Fausto Pirandello (Calogero Fausto Pirandello)(1899–1975)

58Composizione (Siesta rustica) [Composition (Rustic Siesta)] 1924-1926oil on canvas, 100 x 126 cmdated and signed at bottom right: 24 F. Pirandello

Provenance: private collection of the artist Fausto Pirandello, Roma; private collection, Roma; Galleria Russo, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, 1976–77; Milano, Bologna, 1977; Ferrara, 1982; Palermo, 1982-1983; Verona, 1988; Milano, Pirandello, 1995; Roma, 1999–2000; Roma, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Mantura 1976, p. 1; Mascherpa 1981, pl. 1; Mascherpa, D’Amico 1982, pp. 2, 15; Mascherpa, D’Amico,

Pirandello 1982, p. 15, pl. 5; Giuffré 1984, pp. 15, 19; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, p. 87; Gian Ferrari 1991, pp. 15, 100. 101; Gian Ferrari 1995, pp. 80, 165; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1999, pp. 134, 228; Gian Ferrari 2009, pp. 27, 90; Benzi, Matitti 2016, pp. 64, 65.

59La lettera (Tavolo e sedia con carte e drappo bianco, Lettre) [The Letter]1929 oil on cardboard, 70 x 53 cmsigned and dated at bottom centre: PIRANDELLO 29 Provenance: private collection of the artist Fausto Pirandello, Roma; Galleria dello Zodiaco, Roma; Domenico Maselli collection, Belluno; Raccolta Silvano Lodi, Milano; Christie’s, Londra.Exhibitions: Parigi, 1929; Vienna, 1929; Roma, 1951; Venezia, 1956; Gerusalemme, 1994; Tokyo, Niigata City, Hokkaido, Toyama, Ashikaga, Yamagata, 2001; Ravensburg, 2003; Marsala, 2008, Bergamo, 2014; Milano, Expo, 2015; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Reichpost 1929; Bellonzi 1951; Guzzi, 1951; AA.VV. 1956, p. 246; Appella, Giuffré 1990, pp. 173, 187, 193; Natura morta italiana 1994, p. 123; D’Amico, De Chirico, 2007, p. 34; D’Amico, Goldin 2007, pp. 106–07, 158, 177, 191; Troisi 2008, pp. [56, 160], AA.VV. 2009, pp. 11, 68, 225; Piazzoli, Ubiali 2014, p. 10, [26], 53; Expo 2015, pp. 542–43.

60Spiaggia [Beach]circa 1940 oil on panel, 74 x 106 cmsigned at bottom left: PIRANDELLO

Provenance: private collection of the artist Fausto Pirandello, Roma; Galleria Penelope Arte Contemporanea, Roma; Bianca Lucherini Attolico collection, Roma; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.Exhibitions: Verona, 1988; Alessandria, 1997; Marsala, 1998; Roma, 1999–2000; Milano, 2008; Roma, 2010; Favignana, 2014; Londra, 2015; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Giuffrè 1984, p. 121; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, pp. 91, 113; Gian Ferrari 1991, pp. 120–21; Gian Ferrari

1995, p. 35; Vescovo, Poli 1997, pp. 44, [128]; Troisi, Gian Ferrari 1998, p. [47]; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1999, pp. 23, 179, 239; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 31, 110; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 70, 225; Gian Ferrari 2009, pp. 55, 129; Gian Ferrari 2010, p. 83; D’Amico, Bonani 2013 pp. 19, 21 [56]; Sgarbi 2014, pp. 19, [36], Benzi 2015, p. [53].

61La famiglia dell’artista [The Artist’s Family]circa 1942 oil on panel, 100 x 67.5 cmsigned at bottom left: PIRANDELLO

Provenance: private collection of the artist Fausto Pirandello, Roma; private collection of the artist’s son Pier Luigi Pirandello, Roma; private collection Claudia Gian Ferrari, Milano. Exhibitions: Roma, 1976–77; Ferrara, 1982; Palermo, 1982–83; Macerata, 1990; Ferrara, 1993; Milano, Pirandello, 1995; Roma, 1999–2000; Sorrento, 2005; Milano, 2006, Favignana, 2014; Londra, 2015; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Mantura 1976; Mascherpa, D’Amico 1982, pp. 24, 97; Mascherpa, D’Amico, Pirandello, 1982, pp. 34, 47; Appella, Giuffré 1990, p. 80; Gian Ferrari 1991, pp. 122, 123; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993; Gian Ferrari 1995, p. 109; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1999, pp. 121, 225; Gian Ferrari 2005, pp. 39, 76–77; Gian Ferrari 2006, p. 13; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 72, [73] 74, 225; Gian Ferrari 2009, p. [46]; D’Amico, Bonani 2013, pp. 21, 27, [62, 63]; Sgarbi 2014, p. [40]; Benzi 2015, p 53; Salò 2016, p. 349.

62Natura morta con strumenti musicali [Still Life with Musical Instruments]circa 1942oil on panel, 50.5 x 60 cmsigned at top left: PIRANDELLO

Provenance: private collection of the artist Fausto Pirandello, Roma; private collection Igino Zanda, Roma; private collection of one of Igino Zanda’s children, Roma; Casa d’aste Dorotheum, Vienna.The work has been in the possession of the Zanda family ever since its purchase from

Torino, 1993; Torino, Menzio, 1993; Aosta, 1999; Settimo Torinese, 2005-2006; Bergamo, 2014; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Francesco Menzio 1959; Bovero 1965, pp. 42, 250, 269; Fossati 1966, p. 35; Pinottini 1983, pp. 21, 28; AA.VV., Da Cézanne 1992, p. 112; Bandini 1993, pp. 131, 173; I Sei Pittori 1993; Bandini 1999, pp. 151, 206; Bellini, Mulatero 2005, pp. 227, 300; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 188, [189], 236; Piazzoli, Ubiali 2014, p. [27].

Giuseppe Migneco (1908–1997)

54Amanti al parco (Sedile al parco, Panchine, Amanti, Gli amanti sulla panchina, Amanti sulla panchina) [Lovers in the Park]1940oil on canvas, 50 x 40 cm signed and dated at bottom right: Migneco 40

Provenance: private collection of the artist Giuseppe Migneco, Milano; Renato Birolli collection, Milano; Eredi Birolli collection.Exhibitions: Genova, 1940; Milano, 1941; Milano, Migneco, 1945; Ferrara, 1960; Milano, Corrente, 1960; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Napoli, 1978; Messina, 1983–84; Milano, 1984; Milano, 1985; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2008; Taormina, 2009; Chieti, 2012; Milano, Caglio, 2015; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Joppolo 1940; Silva 1941, p. [4]; Anceschi 1945; Anceschi, Migneco, 1945, pp. [30–31], 65; De Grada 1952; Ballo 1953; G.B. 1953; Ballo 1956, p. 160; Riccomini 1960, pp. 65, 118; Valsecchi 1963, pp. 34, 36, 110; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 32; Ballo 1964, pp. 289, 300; Quasimodo, Raffa 1967, pp. 15, [29], pl. 1; Valsecchi, Migneco, 1969; Carrieri, Migneco, 1971; De Grada 1975; Crispolti, Fagone, Ruju 1978, pp. 96, 180–81; Fagone 1982; AA.VV., Migneco 1983, p. 45; Quasimodo, Fagone 1983, pl. 1, pp. 23, [24–25]; AA.VV., Migneco 1984, pp. 45, 172; De Micheli 1985, pp. 102, 148; Morosini 1985, p. 148; D’Eramo 1986, pp. 93, 397; Bossaglia, De Micheli, Pontiggia 1987, p. 16; Luciani 1990, p. 420; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1990, p. 20; Pirovano 1992, p. 232; Luciani 1994, p. 367;

AA.VV., Novecento 1995, p. 161; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 134, 189; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 240–41; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 29, 96; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 168, 234; Barbera, Ruta 2009, pp. 16, 24, 31; AA.VV. 2012, p. 86; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, pp. 58–61; AA.VV. 2015, p. [13]; Sansone 2016, pp. [186, 191].

55L’uomo dal dito fasciato (Il dito fasciato) [The Man with a Bandaged Finger]1940oil on canvas, 60 x 46 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: Migneco 40

Provenance: private collection of the artist Giuseppe Migneco, Milano; Piero Porro collection, Milano; Alfredo Porro collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Genova, 1940; Milano, 1941; Monaco di Baviera, 1957; Milano, Corrente, 1960; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, 1971; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Messina, 1983–84; Milano, 1984; Milano, 1985; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Milano, 2004–05; Taranto, 2006; Milano, 2008; Taormina, 2009; Chieti, 2012; Favignana, 2014; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Joppolo 1940; Silva 1941; Anceschi 1945; Anceschi, Migneco, 1945; De Grada 1952; Ballo 1956, p. 167; Anceschi 1958; De Micheli 1960; Valsecchi 1963, pp. 34, 36, 110; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, p. 32; Quasimodo, Raffa 1967, p. 149; AA.VV. 1971, p. 161; Barilli, Fagone, Caroli 1982, p. [635]; AA.VV., Migneco 1983, pp. 48, 173; Quasimodo, Fagone 1983, pl. 4, pp. 23, 30; AA.VV., Migneco 1984, pp. 12, 20, 48, 172; De Micheli 1985, pp. 147–48; D’Eramo 1986, pp. 91, 399; Luciani 1990, p. [422]; Pontiggia 1991; Luciani 1994, p. [369]; Luciani 1997, p. [419]; Fagone 2001, pp. [203, 341]; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 134, 189; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 240–42; Pontiggia, Perrone 2006, pp. 50–51; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 29, 96; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 166, [167] 234; Barbera, Ruta 2009, pp. 15, 16, 24, 30, 31; [52]; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 86, 87; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, pp. 58–61, 65, 102, 103; Pontiggia 2014, p. 36; Sgarbi 2014, p. [47].

56Natura morta con maschere (Natura morta con tre maschere)

[Still Life with Masks]1941oil on canvas, 49 x 39 cmsigned at bottom left: migneco

The painting is often referred to as Natura morta con tre maschere [Still Life with Three Masks]. It is hard to understand why it should bear this title, as there are unquestionably only two masks. The reason may be a misreading of the artist’s title in italics on the back of the work as Tre maschere rather than Le maschere.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Giuseppe Migneco, Milano; Galleria dello Scudo, Verona; Galleria Bonaparte, Milano; Boscolo collection, Busto Arsizio; Galleria Bonaparte, Milano. Exhibitions: Genzano, Verona, 1987; Milano, Migneco, 1995; Torino, 1998; Vigevano, 2001; Milano, 2008; Taormina, 2009; Chieti 2012; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Butturini 1987, p. 38; Fabiani 1987, p. 38; Luciani 1990, pp. 74, [426]; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1991, p. 142; Luciani 1994, p. [373]; Grasso 1995; Krumm 1995, p. [25]; Agnellini 1996, p. 145; Di Genova 1996, p. 178; Levi 1998, p. 27; De Grada 2001, p. 81; Castellaneta 2002, p. [220]; Pizziolo 2008, p. [97], Barbera, Ruta 2009, pp. [58, 59]; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 170, 234; AA.VV. 2012, p. 86, pl. 32; AA.VV. 2016, p. 86.

Ennio Morlotti (1910–1992)

57Natura morta con bucranio (Bucranio, Natura morta) [Still Life with Bull Skull]1942oil on canvas, 46 x 60 cmsigned at top left: Morlotti (the signature is hard to read because it is in the same colour as the painting)

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ennio Morlotti, Milano; private collection Orazio Zanmattei; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio.Exhibitions: Lecco, 1963; Arezzo, Roma, 1967; Milano, 1970–71; Milano, Ravenna, Napoli, 1971; Parma, 1975; Busto Arsizio, 1981; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Ravenna, Ivano Fracena, 1983;

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oil on panel, 27.4 x 21 cmunsigned, undated

Provenance: private collection of the artist Antonietta De Simon Raphaël, Roma; Nicola Maria De Angelis, Roma.Exhibitions as back of Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour: Roma, Sindacato, 1929; Todi, 1979; Roma, Raphaël, 1983; Milano, 1988; New York, 1989–90; Ferrara, 1990; Modena, 1991; Roma, 1993; Ferrara, 1994; Roma, I Mafai, 1994; Brescia, 2000; Ravenna, 2003; Brescia, 2005; Roma, 2007; Padova, 2013; Roma, 2014; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: D’Amico 1991, p. 116; AA.VV. 2009, p. 223.

66Yom Kippur in the Sinagogue (Yom Kippur alla sinagoga)1931oil on canvas, 48 x 64 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: Raffael 1932dated subsequently by the artist

Two letters of 1931 to Mario Mafai provide proof that the work was painted 1931 and subsequently dated on the front and back of the canvas. We have chosen to retain the misspelling “Sinagogue”, as written by the artist on the back of the canvas, rather than correct it to “Synagogue”.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Antonietta De Simon Raphaël, Roma; private collection of Antonietta De Simon Raphaël’s heirs, Roma.Exhibitions: Ivrea, 1960; Torino, 1960; Milano, 1982; New York, 1989–90; Roma, I Mafai, 1994; Padova, 2013; Roma, 2014; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Mezio 1960, p. 45, pl. XIV; Narciso 1960; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1978, pp. 2, 16; Mann 1989, p. 173; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994, p. 52; Appella, D’Amico, Vespignani 2003, p. 152; De Dominicis 2006, pp. 38, 40; D’Amico 2007, p. 47; G. Mafai 2012, pp. 42, 43, 53; Bakos, Baradel, De Dominicis 2013, pp. 35, 89, 172; Pontiggia 2013; Bakos, Malasecchi, Pirani 2014; pp. 18, 41, 156, 161; Appella 2016, pp. [110], 112.

67La strada al mare (La strada del Mar, Via del mare) [The Road to the Sea]1939

oil on canvas, 44 x 55.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom left near the centre: RAphAEL 39signed and dated on right edge: Raphaël 39

Provenance: private collection of the artist Antonietta De Simon Raphaël, Roma; Galleria Narciso, Torino; Appiani Arte Trentadue, Milano.Exhibitions: Ferrara, 1960; Torino, Narciso, 1961; Genova, 1979; Torino, 1985; Oslo, Helsinki, 1988; Conegliano, 1997; Torino, 2003; Roma, 2007; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Riccomini 1960, p. 73; Carluccio 1961, p. [77]; Bruno 1979, p. 34; Pinottini 1985, p. [37]; Mantura 1988, p. [46]; Goldin 1997, p. 95; Mattarella, Pontiggia, Sparagni 2003, p. 177; D’Amico 2007, p. 50; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 48, [49], 223.

Ottone Rosai (1895–1957)

68L’attesa [Waiting]1920oil on canvas, 29 x 32 cmsigned at bottom right: O. ROSAI

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ottone Rosai, Firenze; private collection Agnese Brown, Firenze; Emilio Jesi collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Firenze, 1960; Torino, Roma, Firenze, 1983; Firenze, 1995; Firenze, 2008; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Volta 1931, pl. IX; Santini 1960, p. 21, pl. 21; Santini, Rosai, 1960, pp. 35, 152; Cavallo 1973, p. 58; Santini 1983, pp. 64, 235; Cavallo 1995, pp. 42, 43; Parronchi, Capecchi 1995, pp. 57, 133; Cavallo, Rosai 2001, pp. 11, 16, 237; Cavallo 2008, pp. 24, 29, [56, 57], 167–70, pl. 8.

69L’intagliatore (Scultore in legno, Ritratto del padre, L’artigiano) [The Wood Carver]1922 oil on pressed cardboard attached to a wooden panel, 62.3 x 46.5 cmsigned at bottom left: O. ROSAI

According to the studies of Pier Carlo Santini (Rosai, Vallecchi Editore, Florence, 1960, pl. 19) the original title of the work is

the artist and has never been published or shown in public exhibitions, presumably in accordance with the owners’ wishes.

Antonietta Raphaël(Antonietta De Simon Raphaël)(1895–1975)

63Natura morta con chitarra (Natura morta con la chitarra, Natura morta, La chitarra) [Still Life with Guitar]1928oil on panel, 39 x 45 cmsigned and dated at top right: Raffaël 28

Provenance: private collection of the artist Antonietta De Simon Raphaël, Roma; private collection Giulia Mafai, Roma; private collection Ovidio Jacorossi, Roma; Galleria Arco Farnese, Roma; private collection Serena Corvi Mora Coloni, Piacenza; Casa d’Asta Sotheby’s, Milano.Exhibitions: Roma, 1929; Firenze, 1967; Grosseto, 1970; Firenze, 1971; Roma, 1972; Roma, 1983; Mesola, 1987, Milano, 1988; New York, 1989–1990; Modena, 1991, Roma, 1997; Roma, 1998, Padova, 2013; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Dottori 1929; Strinati 1929; Mottola 1962, p. 26; Ragghianti 1967, p. [LIX]; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1978 pp. [35], 36, [37]; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, p. [634]; Daverio 1984, pp. 69, 76; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1984, p. 137; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986, p. 38; Sgarbi 1987, p. [61]; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, pp. 80, 82, 265; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. 86, 87, 89; Mann 1989; D’Amico 1991, pp. 19, 53, 62–66, 115–16; Vespignani 1992, pp. [190], 192, [369]; Baldacci 1995, p. 26; Benzi, Mercurio, Prisco 1998, p. [264]; La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2002, p. [44]; Appella, D’Amico, Vespignani 2003, pp. [146, 168]; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, p. 56; De Dominicis 2006, pp. [1], 38; G. Mafai 2012, p. 72; Bakos, Baradel, De Dominicis 2013, pp. 92, 172; Appella 2016, pp. 10, [165]; La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2016, [p. 48].

64Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba (Arco di Severo all’alba, Arco di Settimio Severo, Foro dall’Arco di Settimio Severo, Foro romano, Veduta con l’Arco di Settimio Severo, L’Arco di Severo) [Arch of Septimius Severus at Dawn]1929oil on canvas, 48 x 41 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: Raffael ’29

There is an inscription on the architrave of the arch.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Antonietta De Simon Raphaël, Roma; Silva collection, Genova, Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani.Exhibitions: Roma, 1929; Roma, 1952; Roma, 1a Mostra di Pittura, 1952; Roma, 1955; Torino, 1957; Ivrea, 1960; Ferrara, 1990; Bologna, 1991; Modena, 1991; Roma, I Mafai, 1994; Modena, 1995–96; Conegliano, 1997; Parigi, 1997–98; Ravenna, 2003; Roma, 2007; Marsala, 2008; Padova, 2013; Roma, 2014; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Pavolini 1929; Strinati 1929; AA.VV. 1952; Guzzi 1952; Guzzi, Raphaël Mafai 1952; M.M. 1952, p. 3; Mezio 1952; Venturoli 1952; D’Arrigo 1955; Del Guercio 1955; Mezio 1955; Micacchi 1955; Venturoli 1955; Brandi, Mezio, Moravia 1956; Martinelli 1959, p. 12; Maltese 1960, p. 387; Mezio 1960, pp. 45, [64]; Mezio, I Romanisti, 1960, p. 13; De Grada 1969, p. 57; AA.VV. 1985, pp. 144, 147; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, p. 107; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. 86, [88, 89]; Hulten, Celant 1989, p. 671; Mann 1990, p. 310; D’Amico 1991, pp. 21, 53, 59, 60, 61, 116; D’Amico, Il cuore, 1991, pp. 2, 15; Maltese 1992, pp. 224, 387; Vespignani 1992, pp. 192-193, 369; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994, pp. 46, 103; D’Amico 1995, p. 51; AA.VV. 1997, p. 57; Goldin 1997, pp. 94–95, 211; Appella, D’Amico, Vespignani 2003, p. 146; Spadoni 2003, p. 307; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, p. 50; Siciliano 2004, p. 91; De Dominicis 2006, p. 36; D’Amico 2007, pp. 16, 45; Troisi 2008, p. 160; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 46, 47, 223; G. Mafai 2012; Bakos, Baradel, De Dominicis 2013, pp. 34, 91, 171; Bakos, Malasecchi, Pirani 2014, p. 159; Appella 2016, p. 107.

65Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour (Paesaggio, Paesaggio dalla terrazza, Via Cavour, Veduta dal balcone di via Cavour, Veduta dal terrazzo dello studio, Il Colosseo visto da via Cavour) [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour]1929oil on panel, 21 x 27.4 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: Raffaël ’30

Provenance: private collection of the artist Antonietta De Simon Raphaël, Roma; Nicola Maria De Angelis, Roma; Associazione Culturale Il Carmine, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, Sindacato, 1929; Todi, 1979; Roma, Raphaël, 1983; Milano, 1988; New York, 1989–1990; Ferrara, 1990; Modena, 1991; Roma, 1993; Ferrara, 1994; Roma, I Mafai, 1994; Brescia, 2000; Ravenna, 2003; Brescia, 2005; Roma, 2007; Padova, 2013; Roma, 2014; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: AA.VV. 1929; Longhi 1929; Pavolini 1929; Castelfranco, Durbé 1960, p. 27; Martinelli 1967, p. 158; Pinottini 1971, p. 257; Briganti 1977, p. 68; Vinca Masini 1979, pp. 5, 35, 71; La scuola romana 1983, cover; p. 6; AA.VV. 1984, p. 68; D’Amico 1985, pp. 14, 88; AA.VV. 1986, p. 36; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1986, pp. 44, 47; Rivosecchi, Trombadori 1986, pp. 74, 82, 83, 227, 233; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, pp. 76, 78, 265; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, p. [70]; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1989, p. 111; Mann 1989, pp. 152–53, 172, 173, 325; Mann 1990, pp. 172–73, 325; D’Amico 1991, pp. 8, 22, 52, 116; Pirovano 1992, p. 525; Vespignani 1992, pp. [193, 218, 369]; Bonito Oliva 1993, p. 104; AA.VV. 1994, pp. 88, 126; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994, p. 44; AA.VV. 1997, pp. 24–26; AA.VV. 2000, p. 232; AA.VV. 2003, pp. 304–06; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, pp. 56, 57; Siciliano 2004, p. 133; De Dominicis 2006, p. [1]; D’Amico 2007, pp. 12, 13, 46; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 15, 20, 44, 45, 223; Bakos, Baradel, De Dominicis 2013, pp. 34, 92, 172; Bakos, Malasecchi, Pirani 2014, p. 158.

65v verso:Mario MafaiPaesaggio con figura [Landscape with Figure]1929

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Provenance: private collection of the artist Ottone Rosai, Firenze; Aldo Gonnelli collection, Firenze; Barsotti collection, Firenze; Galleria Pananti, Firenze; Farsetti Arte, Prato.Exhibitions: Firenze, 1920; Firenze, 1922; Firenze, 1953; Firenze, 1995; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Franchi 1942, p. 11; Torriano, Pittura, 1943, p. 17; Parronchi 1952, p. 38, pl. 23; Ragghianti 1953, p. [16]; Santini 1957, pp. 15, 66; Parronchi 1958, pp. 154, 314; Santini 1960, pp. 150-151; Cavallo 1968, p. 14; Santini 1972, pp. 150–51; Cavallo 1973, pp. 77, 168, 244; Santini 1977, pp. 150–51; AA.VV., Ottone Rosai 1983, pp. [45], 152, 177; Parronchi, Capecchi 1995, pp. 45, 91, 152, 177; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1997, p. 76; Agnellini 1997, p. [186] 280; Salvagnini 2000, pp. 294, 493; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 210, [211], 238.

Aligi Sassu (1912–2000)

74Concerto 1930oil on canvas glued onto plywood, 65 x 57 cmsigned at bottom right: SASSU

Provenance: private collection of the artist Aligi Sassu, Milano; Ballo collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, Sassu, 1941; Milano, 1945; Milano, Sassu, 1945; Milano, Sassu, 1959; Torino, 1961; Genova, 1966; Milano, Sassu, 1984; Monaco di Baviera, 1987; Rivoli, 1987; Bergamo, 1995–96; Finalborgo, 1996-1997; Firenze, 1999; Taranto, 2006; Milano, Sassu, 2008; Milano, 2010; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Anceschi 1941; Emanuelli, Bo 1945; Emanuelli, Sassu, Tullier 1945 p. [9]; De Grada 1952; Ballo 1956, pp. 124, 160, [161], 164, 178; Ballo 1959; Guttuso 1959; Ballo 1961, pp. [10], [11], [19]; Ballo 1964, pp. 290, 298; Pittura di Birolli 1966, p. 18; Russoli, Maltese, Naitza 1967, p. 29; Carrieri 1971, p. 196; Bonini, De Micheli 1984, pp. 17, 33; AA.VV., Sassu 1985, p. 18; Ballo 1987, pp. 40, 119; Steingräber 1987, pp. 27, 28; Fagone 1995, p. 21; De Micheli, Riolfo Marengo 1996, pp. [18], [106]; Pizziolo 1999, pp. 60, 235; Pontiggia, Perrone 2006, pp. 44–45; Bonini 2008, pp. 44, 45; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 120, [121], 229; Pontiggia

2010, pp. 117, 118; Negri, Pirovano 2011, p. 60.

75I Dioscuri [Castor and Pollux]1931oil on canvas, 70 x 58 cmdated and signed at bottom right: 31 SASSU

Provenance: private collection of the artist Aligi Sassu, Milano; Galleria d’Arte Cafiso, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, 1932; Milano, Sassu, 1941; Milano, 2004–05; Mantova, 2006; Marsala, 2008; Milano, 2010; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Esposizione 1932; Anceschi 1941; Ballo 1956, p. 164; Valsecchi 1963, p. 58; Carrieri 1971, n. 274; Solmi 1984, pp. 12, 170, 232, 240; De Martino 1994, p. 12; Fagone 1995, pp. 8, 44; Negri 1995, p. 49; Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997, pp. 34, 51; Oteri 1997, pp. 17, 111; Pizziolo 1999, p. 257; Fagone 2001, p. 191; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 124–25; Butturini 2006, pp. 123, 211; Barilli 2007, pp. 353, 550; Bonini 2008, pp. 129, 135; Troisi 2008, p. 160; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 122, [123], 229; Pontiggia 2010, p. 117, [119], 166; Negri, Pirovano 2011, p. 46; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 11, [18].

76Nu au divan vert (Nudo su una poltrona verde) [Nude on a Green Couch]1941oil on canvas, 97 x 65 cmsigned at bottom right: SASSU

Provenance: private collection of the artist Aligi Sassu, Milano; Museo Svizzero, Lugano; Galleria Brera, Milano; Sotheby’s, Milano.Exhibitions: Genova, Sassu, 1941; Roma, 1994; Oderzo, 1994–95; Bergamo, 1995–96; Finalborgo, 1996–97; Firenze, 1999; Vigevano, 2001; Milano, Lugano, 2008–09; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Anceschi, Aligi Sassu 1941; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1993, p. 225; AA.VV., Novecento 1993, p. 210; De Martino 1994, p. 96; Lombardo 1994, p. [45]; Fagone 1995, p. 37; De Micheli, Riolfo Marengo 1996, pp. [47], [106]; Pizziolo 1999, pp. 108, [109], 239; De Grada 2001, p. 83; Fagone 2008, pp. [2], 22–23, [41]; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 31, 117; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 124, [125]; 230; Negri, Pirovano 2011, p. 219; Sansone 2016, p. [187].

Scipione (Gino Bonichi)(1904–1933)

77Villa Corsini1929oil on panel, 36.5 x 29.5 cm

The autograph inscription “Opera di Scipione” by Mario Mafai is clearly visible on the back of the work.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Zoccoli collection, Roma; Barbaroux collection, Milano; Galleria Annunciata, Milano; Marmont collection, Milano; Pandolfini Casa d’Aste, Firenze.Exhibitions: Roma, 1930; Milano, Scipione, 1941; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Neppi 1930; Bucarelli 1954, p. 17; Mafai 1984; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. 117, 118, [197], 300; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, p. 130; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, p. 101.

78Angolo di Collepardo (Paesaggio, Collepardo) [A Corner of Collepardo]circa 1929oil on panel, 44 x 44 cm

The work was part of a panel painted on two sides and divided around 1949. The front shows a landscape with riders.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Galleria Sandri, Venezia; private collection Carlo Cardazzo, Venezia; Galleria d’Arte del Cavallino, Venezia; Galleria Toninelli, Milano; Galleria d’Arte del Naviglio, Milano; Galleria La Bussola, Torino; Blotto collection, Biella; Valla collection, Torino; Galleria Tega, Milano.Exhibitions: Venezia, 1949; Torino, 1967; Brescia, 2000; Roma, 2007–08; Pesaro, 2008; Venezia, 2008–09; Milano, 2010–11; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: S.B. 1949; Emporium 1950; Capolavori di Natale 1967; AA.VV. 1985, p. 188; Di Genova 1986, p. 80; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988; pp. 204, 302; Di Genova 1996; p. 101; AA.VV. 2000, p. 231; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, pp. 46, 87; Barbero 2008, pp. 77, 113; Morelli, Pirani, Pratesi 2008; p. 26; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 50, 224; Gualdoni, Pellegatta 2010, pp. 39, 112.

L’artigiano. The title L’intagliatore, which the artist placed on the back of the work, has been retained here, however, as L’artigiano is also the title of a work of 1930 (oil on panel, 50 × 70 cm) published in the Farsetti catalogue of 1983 (pl. II), where the figure’s eyes are open.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ottone Rosai, Firenze; Francesca Rosai collection, Firenze; Galleria d’Arte Santa Croce, Firenze; Benesperi collection, Pistoia; private collection Luigi Poggi, Firenze; Farsettiarte, Prato.Exhibitions: Firenze, 1932; Firenze, 1953; La Spezia, 1953; Torino, 1953; Ivrea, 1957; Pontedera, 1957; Firenze, 1960; Pistoia, 1964–65; Prato, 1965; Firenze, 1967; Torino, Roma, Firenze, 1983; Firenze, 1995; Firenze, 2008; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Luchini 1932; Ragghianti 1952; p. 30; Novi 1957, p. 3; Santini 1957, pp. 86, 87; Del Guercio 1959, p. 46; Mucchi 1959; Santini 1960, p. 37, pl. XIII; Santini, Rosai, 1960, pp. [51], 77, 163, 164; pl. 92–95; Betocchi 1965, pl. 37; Ragghianti 1967; Cavallo 1968, p. 8; Cavallo 1973, p. 67; Rosai, Corti 1974; Santini 1983, pp. 24, 59; Parronchi, Capecchi 1995, pp. 50, 134, pl. 14; Cavallo 2008, pp. [70, 71], 190–92.

70Conversazione [Conversation]1922oil on canvas, 43 x 33.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: O. ROSAI 1922

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ottone Rosai, Firenze; Sergio Colongo collection, Biella; private collection, Lucca; private collection.Exhibitions: Torino, 1953; Biella, 1959; Firenze, 1963; Prato, Milano, 1995; Milano, 2011; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Cavallo 1995, pp. 98, 228; Cavallo Rosai 2001, p. 17; Pontiggia 2011, p. 228.

71I fidanzati (Gli innamorati) [The Betrothed]1934 oil on panel, 70 x 49.7 cmsigned and dated in basso a destra: O. ROSAI XIIThere is another work with the same subject and title (signed and

dated “O. Rosai XIII” in the bottom right) produced the following year (1935) and shown at the 1936 Venice Biennial.

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ottone Rosai, Firenze; Alberto Mondadori collection, Milano; Galleria Rotta, Genova; Merlini collection, Milano; Leopoldo Tega collection, Milano.Exhibitions: Milano, Rosai, 1939; Milano, 1959; Firenze, 1960; Fabriano, 2007; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Rosai 1939; Santini 1960, p. 61, pl. 59; Santini, Rosai, 1960, pp. 97, 104, [109], 134, 192; Dehò, Pontiggia 2007, p. 37; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 209–11, 238.

72All’osteria [In the Tavern]1938oil on canvas, 75.5 x 65.5 cmsigned and dated at bottom right: O. ROSAI XVI

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ottone Rosai, Firenze; Rossini collection, Torino; private collection, Firenze; Farsetti arte, Prato.Also the following galleries are to be considered, which we do not insert in the list because neither the period not the order of affiliation are known: Galleria del Cavallino, Venezia; Galleria d’arte Edmondo Sacerdoti, Milano; Galleria d’arte Piemonte artistico e culturale, Galleria Gissi, Torino.Exhibitions: Venezia, Rosai, 1938; Torino, 1957; Firenze, 1960; Prato, 1965; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: AA.VV. 1938, p. 117; Rosai, Raimondi 1960; Santini 1960, p. 66, pl. 168; Santini, Rosai, 1960, p. 167; Betocchi 1965, pp. 120, 121, pl. LIV; Parronchi 1982, pp. 72–73, pl. 29.

73Giocatori di toppa (Giuocatori di toppa) [“Toppa” Players]1920charcoal on cardboard mounted on canvas, 490 x 690 mmsigned at bottom right: ROSAI

The back of the work bore a well-executed sketch of the same subject until 1995. The two drawings were shown separately for the first time in the exhibition of December 1995 at the Accademia del disegno in Florence, after which one ended up at the Pananti gallery and the other at the Farsetti.

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82Flagellazione di Cristo (Bozzetto per la “Flagellazione di Cristo”) [The Flagellation of Christ]1929ink wash on paper, 206 x 261 mmsigned and dated at bottom right: Scipione 29

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione Roma; Enrico Falqui collection, Roma; Michelangelo Masciotta collection, Firenze; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, 1954; Firenze, 1970; Macerata, 1985; Torino, 1987; Torino 1989; Bologna, 1991; Parigi, 1997-1998; Venezia, 2001–02; Roma, 2007–08; Pesaro, 2008; Milano, 2010–11; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: L’Italia Letteraria 1929; Marchiori 1944, p. 13; Carrieri 1950, p. 223; Bucarelli 1954, p. 21; AA.VV. 1970, p. 147; Appella 1984, pp. 65, 312; AA.VV. 1985, pp. 53, 151, 152; De Angelis 1985, pp. 30, 32, 57, 89; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986, pp. 29, 156; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Il corpo, 1986, p. 21; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, p. 107; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, pp. 13, 238, [241]; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. 95, 97, 295, 325; AA.VV., Scuola romana 1989; D’Amico, Il cuore, 1991, p. 15; Pirovano 1992, p. 1062; Vespignani 1992, pp. 154, 163, 343, 369; Bernabei 1993, p. 208; AA.VV., Novecento 1995, p. 391; Agnellini 1995, p. 212; Di Genova 1996, p. 96; AA.VV. 1997, pp. 60, 143; Antomarini, Stewart 2001, p. 6; Salvagnini 2001, p. 183; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, pp. 60–62, 93; Morelli, Pirani, Pratesi 2008, p. 30; AA.VV 2009, pp. 58, [59], 224; Gualdoni, Pellegatta 2010, pp. 38, 112.

83La toeletta (Tavolo di una cortigiana) [The Dressing Table]circa 1929India ink on paper, 220 x 275 mm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Riccardo Gualino collection, Roma; Eva Menzio collection, Torino; Pistoi collection, Torino; Studio Scuola Romana, Torino; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, 1954; Biella, 1963; Roma, 1983; New York, 1987; Torino, 1987; Roma, 1988; Torino, 1997–98; Roma, 2007–08; Milano, 2017.

Bibliography: Almanacco degli artisti 1930, p. 216; Manzini 1944, p. 18; Maltese 1948, pp. 229, 231, Bucarelli 1954, p. [21]; Marussi 1963; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1983, p. 146; Appella 1984, pp. 82, 314; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. [270], 323; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1989, p. 10; AA.VV., Scuola romana 1989; Vespignani 1992, pp. 160, 369; La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2002, p. [42]; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, pp. 66, 93; AA.VV. 2009, p. 56, [57], 224; La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2016 [p. 46].

84Il cardinale Vannutelli sul letto di morte [Cardinal Vannutelli on His Deathbed]1930ink wash on paper, 210 x 320 mmsigned at bottom left: Scipione

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Arduini collection, Roma; Galleria della Lanterna, Genova; Barbaroux collection, Milano; Visconti collection, Roma; De Blasio collection, Roma; Jesi collection, Milano; Galleria Philippe Daverio, Milano; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, 1935; Milano, Scipione, 1941; Venezia, 1948; Roma, 1954; Roma, 1983; Macerata, 1985; New York, 1987; Roma, 1988; Parigi, 1997–98; Potenza, 2005–06; Roma, 2007–08; Pesaro, 2008; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Domus 1935, p. 21; Marchiori 1939, pl. XIV; Santangelo 1941; Marchiori 1944, pl. 6; AA.VV. 1948, p. 141; Maltese, Scipione 1948; Carrieri 1950, p. 223; Bucarelli 1954, p. 23; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1984, p. 148; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986, p. 242; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. 86, 207 [277], 323; Vespignani 1992, pp. 170, 369; Gavioli 2005, pp. 76, 81, 186; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, pp. 80, 95; Morelli, Pirani, Pratesi 2008, p. 31; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 60, 235.

85Studio per “Gli uomini che si voltano” [Study for “Men Who Turn Around”] 1930ink wash on paper, 230 x 187 mmsigned at bottom right: Scipione 3at bottom centre: Gli uomini che si voltano

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Michelangelo Masciotta collection, Firenze; Galleria Farsetti Arte, Prato.Exhibitions: Macerata, 1948; Venezia, 1948; Roma, 1954; Firenze, 1970; Macerata, 1985; Roma, 2007–08; Pesaro, 2008; Venezia, 2008–09; Milano, 2010–11; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Masciotta 1941, p. 173, pl. 4; Marchiori 1944; Parronchi 1944, pp. 61, 65, 89; AA.VV. 1948, p. [141]; Carrieri 1950, p. 223; Bucarelli 1954, p. 21; Ballo 1956, p. 101; Appella 1984, p. 129; AA.VV. 1985, pp. 50, 54; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, p. 85; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, p. [123]; D’Amico, Goldin 2005, p. [22]; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, pp. 78, 81, 95; Barbero 2008, p. 114; Morelli, Pirani, Pratesi 2008, p. 31; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 56, [57], 224; Gualdoni, Pellegatta 2010, pp. [12, 19].

Ernesto Treccani (1920–2009)

86Autoritratto [Self-Portrait]1940–41oil on canvas, 40 x 35 cmsigned at bottom left: Ernesto

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ernesto Treccani, Milano; Luigi Ardemagni collection, Milano; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio; Antonio Stellatelli collection, Monza.Exhibitions: Milano, Broggini, 1941; Milano, 1943; Milano, 1952; Livorno, 1958; Milano, 1959; Milano, Corrente, 1960; Ferrara, 1960; Torino, 1962; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, Ravenna, Napoli, 1971; Ferrara, 1974; Milano 1975; Milano, Premio, 1975; Roma, 1978; Todi, 1980; Berlino, 1981; Brugherio, 1981; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Caserta, 1983; Genova, 1985; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Milano, 1989; Busto Arsizio, Ferrara, 1991–92; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Milano, 2004–05; Milano, 2008; Milano, Maggi, 2010; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Costantini 1942; De Grada 1943; De Grada 1952; Ballo 1956, p. 170; De Grada 1958; Taccani 1959, p. 31; De Micheli 1962, pp. 41, 46; Ernesto Treccani 1962; Valsecchi 1963, pp. 94–95, 111; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente, 1963, pp. 52–53;

79Natura morta con piuma (Natura morta con trine) [Still Life with Feather]1929oil on panel, 45.5 x 50.7 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Galleria del Milione, Milano; Francesco De Dombrowski collection, Milano; Francesco De Dombroso collection, Roma; Christie’s Casa d’Aste, Milano.Exhibitions: Roma, 1954; Macerata, 1985; Torino, 1987; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Bucarelli 1954, p. 19; Borghi 1960, p. 107; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1978, p. 41; AA.VV. 1985, p. 50; Micacchi 1985, p. 11; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. 107, 150, 305, [213], pl. II; AA.VV., Toni 1989, p. 9; Vespignani 1992, pp. 156, 163; La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2002, p. [42]; Iannaccone 2015, p. 25; La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2016 [p. 48].

80Autoritratto [Self-Portrait]1930oil on panel, 54 x 37 cmsigned at top right: Scipione

The work was originally painted on the back of Il principe cattolico (L’assistente al Soglio, Ritratto del principe Ruspoli) [The Catholic Prince]. The panel was divided between 1941 and 1943 while it was owned by Giuseppe Ungaretti, who sold Il principe cattolico to Vittorio De Sica. The self-portrait instead ended up in a private collection in Milan.

Provenance as back of Il principe cattolico: private collection of the artist Scipione, Rome; private collection Marguerite Caetani di Bassiano, Rome; private collection Giuseppe Ungaretti, Rome. Provenance: private collection, Milano; private collection Falsetti, Prato; Galleria dell’Oca, Roma; private collection Antonio and Marina Forchino, Torino; private collection Marina Grisolia, Forchino widow, Torino.Exhibitions as back of Il principe cattolico: Roma, 1930; Roma, 1935; Milano, Scipione, 1941; Milano, 2017.Exhibitions: Roma, 1943; Macerata, 1948; Milano, 1950; Roma, 1954; Todi, 1979; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Roma, 1983;

Macerata, 1985; Roma, 1998; Brescia, 2005; Monchiero, 2013; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Masciotta 1941, p. 166; Guzzi 1943, p. 189; Cairola 1946; Macerata 1948; Carrieri 1950, p. 223, pl. 271; Sinisgalli 1950, p. 295; Borghi 1960, p. 106; Marussi 1963, p. 9; Vinca Masini 1979, p. 43; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, pp. 109, 634; Poggio 1983, pp. 79–84; AA.VV. 1985, p. 71; Cialini 1985, p. 3; Micacchi 1985, p. 11; Spadoni 1985; p. 3; Zoccoli 1985; p. 4; Appella 1988; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. [247], 313, pl. XII; Vespignani 1992, p. [152]; Benzi, Mercurio, Prisco 1998, p. 255; D’Amico, Goldin 2004, p. 32; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, p. 25; AA.VV. 2009, p. [37].

81Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem]1930oil on panel, 42.3 x 46.5 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Scipione, Roma; Luigi De Luca collection, Roma; private collection Hilde De Luca; Christie’s Milano.Exhibitions: Roma, 1930; Roma, 1954; Monaco di Baviera, 1957; Roma, 1964; Città del Messico, 1966; Roma, 1968; Roma, 1968–69; Bochum, 1969; Pesaro, 2008; Milano, 2010–13; Milano, Expo, 2015; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Neppi 1930; Trombadori 1930; Marchiori 1939, p. 30; De Libero 1949, p. 11; Bucarelli 1954, p. 21; Borghi 1960, p. 103; Marussi 1963; Ballo 1964, pp. 223, 231; Lucchese 1964; Bucarelli 1968, p. [89]; Bucarelli, Argan, Ponente 1968, pp. [5], [24]; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1978, p. 39; AA.VV. 1985, pp. 19, 163, 164; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, p. 108; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, p. 85; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1988, pp. [120], 121, 125, [244], 312; Vespignani 1992, p. 158, 177; AA.VV. 2004, p. 42; Ratti 2004, p. 12; Vespignani, Terenzi 2007, p. 20; D’Amico 2008, p. 38; Morelli, Pirani, Pratesi 2008, pp. 21, 25; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 11, 21, 52, 54, 224; Colombo 2010, p. 40; Di Marzio 2010, p. 54; Fergonzi, Negri, Pugliese 2010, pp. 170, 188, 189; Vanzetto 2010, p. 25; Expo 2015, p. 344; Sgarbi, Dipingere tra le due guerre 2015, p. 29.

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1939oil on canvas, 40 x 50 cmsigned and dated bottom left: I. Valenti 39

Provenance: private collection of the artist Italo Valenti, Milano; Archivio Italo Valenti collection, Svizzera, Mendrisio.Exhibitions: Milano, Corrente, 1960; Bellinzona, 1991; Vicenza, 2001; Milano, 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Acatos 1987, p. 134; Pontiggia, Italo Valenti 1991, pp. 16, 38, 39; Carena, Pult 1998, p. 47; Menato 2001, p. 20; Bianchi 2012, p. 38; Sansone 2016, pp. [185, 191].

91Nudo in un interno [Nude in an Interior]circa 1944 oil on canvas, 40 x 50 cmsigned at bottom left: I. VALENTI

Provenance: private collection of the artist Italo Valenti, Milano; Galleria Schettini, Milano; Galleria del Milione, Milano; Galleria Mediterranea, Napoli; Finarte casa d’aste, Milano.Exhibitions: Busto Arsizio, 2003-2004; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Carena, Pult 1998, p. 74; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 137, 208; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 176, [177], 235; AA.VV. 2012, p. 85.

Emilio Vedova (1919–2006)

92Il caffeuccio veneziano (Caffeuccio veneziano, Cafferuccio veneziano, Al caffè, Al caffeuccio) [Venetian Café]1942oil on canvas, 43 x 55 cm signed and dated at bottom left: VEDOVA 42

Provenance: private collection of the artist Emilio Vedova, Venezia; private collection Renzo Camerino, Venezia; private collection Maurizia Camerino, Venezia-Milano.Exhibitions: Bergamo, 1942; Milano, 1959; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Trezzano sul Naviglio, 1980–81; Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982; Venezia, 1984; Bergamo, 1993–94; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: AA.VV. 1942; De Grada 1952, p. [38]; Quadrum

1958; Valsecchi 1963; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, p. 634; AA.VV. 1993, vol. I pp. 218, 233, vol. II pp. 359, 360.

Alberto Ziveri (1908–1990)

93Giocatori di birilli (I Birilli, Giuocatori di birilli) [Ninepin Players]1934oil on canvas, 75 x 100 cmsigned at bottom left: A. Ziveri

Provenance: private collection of the artist Alberto Ziveri, Roma; Galleria della Cometa, Roma; Countess Anna Laetitia Pecci Blunt collection; Alberto Marircucci collection; Finarte, Roma; Semenzato case d’aste, Roma.Exhibitions: Roma, 1936; Venezia, 1936; Roma, Fazzini e Ziveri, 1984–85; Modena, 1992; Marsala, 2008; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Melli 1936; Castelfranco, Durbé 1960, p. 33; Lucchese 1964, p. 14; Crispolti, 1982, p. 33; AA.VV. 1983, pp. 298, 299; AA.VV. 1984, p. 38; Durbé 1984, pp. 9, 28, 101; Appella, D’Amico 1986, p. 246; Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988, pp. 111, 228, 241; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Alberto Ziveri, 1988, pp. 24–25; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1989; AA.VV., Scuola romana 1989; De Libero, Appella 1989; D’Amico 1992, p. 15; Vespignani 1992, p. 303; Troisi 2008, p. 160; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 86, 87, 226.

94Autoritratto [Self-Portrait]1937oil on panel, 18 x 13.2 cmdedicated and signed at bottom left: a Katy, A. ZIVERIdated at bottom right: 1937

Provenance: private collection of the artist Alberto Ziveri, Roma; Katy Castellucci collection, Roma; Ovidio Jacorossi collection, Roma, Farsetti arte, Prato. Exhibitions: Torino, 1988; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Fagiolo dell’Arco, Z, 1988, p. [9]; AA.VV., Scuola romana 1989; Agnellini 1995, p. 290; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 90, 91, 227.

95Studio per “La rissa” (Una rissa) [Study for “The Brawl”]

1937oil on canvas, 65 x 70 cmsigned at bottom right: a. ZIVERI

Provenance: private collection of the artist Alberto Ziveri, Roma; Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, Roma.Exhibitions: Ferrara, 1960; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Riccomini 1960, p. 87; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Alberto Ziveri, 1988, p. [120]; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 88, 89, 226; Sgarbi, Hopper, 2015, p. 24.

96Il postribolo (Postribolo, Interno) [The Bawdy House]1945oil on canvas, 100 x 125 cm

Provenance: private collection of the artist Alberto Ziveri, Roma; private collection Nella ZiveriExhibitions: Roma, 1946; Roma, 1960; Roma, 1982; Roma, 1983–84; Milano, 1988, Milano, 1988–89; Viareggio, 1989; Roma, 1990–91; Modena, 1992; Ferrara, 1993; Milano, 2010–13; Salò 2016; Milano, 2017.Bibliography: Sinisgalli 1952, p. 16; Guzzi 1960; Micacchi 1960; Micacchi 1982; Augias 1983; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Rivosecchi 1983, p. 305; Durbé 1984, p. 53; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986, p. 98; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988, pp. 141, 271, 315; Fagiolo dell’Arco, Alberto Ziveri, 1988, pp. [136, 137], 188; Sgarbi 1988, pp. 35, 306; AA.VV., Scuola romana 1989; Fagiolo dell’Arco 1989, pp. 15, 92–93; Rivosecchi 1990, pp. 18, 23, 66, 133; D’Amico 1992, p. 10, 14, [40]; Vespignani 1992, pp. 312, 322, 369; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, pp. 140, 143; Piermattei Masetti 1994, p. 126; Troisi 2005, pp. 39, 145; Barilli 2007, p. 364; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 92, 94, 227; Fergonzi, Negri, Pugliese 2010; pp. 170, 189; Sgarbi, Hopper, 2015, p. 24, Salò 2016, p. 354.

Ballo 1964, p. 300; De Grada 1971, p. [3]; AA.VV. 1974; De Grada 1975; De Santi 1975, p. 11; Gian Ferrari 1975; De Bartolomeis 1978; De Micheli 1978; Amendola, De Santi, Sereni 1979, pp. [26], [27]; Del Guercio 1980, p. 93; Ernesto Treccani 1980; De Micheli 1981, pp. 15, 25, 33; Ernesto Treccani 1981, pp. 13, 19; Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982, pp. 144, 635; De Micheli 1982, pp. 15, 25, 33; De Micheli 1983, pp. 15, 25, 33; Bugatti 1985, pp. 2, 35; Caprile 1985, p. 84; Caprile, La mia corrente, 1985; De Micheli 1985, pp. 166, 168; Negri 1989, pp. 14, 49, 51, 219; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1990, p. 20; Di Genova 1991, p. 14; Pontiggia 1991, pp. 19, 42, 140, 141, 177; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1992, p. 220; Pirovano 1992, p. 1095; Bossaglia 1996, p. 428; Eccher, Auregli 1997, p. 82; Pizziolo, Ernesto Treccani 1999, p. 18; Grasso 2000, p. 29; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 18–19, 34–35; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 246–47; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 32, 124, 125; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 158, 159, 233; Pontiggia, Carla Maria Maggi 2010, pp. 30, 60; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 100, 101; Sansone 2016, pp. [180, 191].

87Colombi assassinati (Colombi uccisi, Colombi morti) [Murdered Doves]1941oil on canvas, 70 x 55 cmsigned at top left: E. Treccani

Provenance: private collection of the artist Ernesto Treccani, Milano; Luigi Ardemagni collection, Milano; Enrico Brambilla Pisoni collection, Busto Arsizio. Exhibitions: Milano, Corrente, 1960; Torino, 1962; Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963; Milano, Ravenna, Napoli, 1971; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Ferrara, 1993; Milano, Le ragioni, 1995, Torino, 1998; Busto Arsizio, 2003–04; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Belvedere 1960, p. 7; De Micheli 1962, pp. 41, 46, 47; Ernesto Treccani 1962; Valsecchi 1963, pp. 95, 111; Valsecchi, Artisti di Corrente 1963, pp. 52–53; De Grada 1971; Ricci 1971; De Santi 1975, p. 11; De Micheli 1985, pp. 108, 168; AA.VV., Arte moderna 1990, p. 29; Pontiggia, Italo Valenti 1991; Pirovano 1992, p. 1095; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, pp. 12, 207-208; AA.VV. 1995, pp. 100–03;

Eccher, Auregli 1997, p. 82; Levi 1998, p. [40]; Pizziolo 1998, p. 90; Pizziolo 2003, pp. 19, 37, 126, 127; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 21, 128; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 162, [163], 235; Il Movimento di Corrente 2012, p. 107; AA.VV. 2012, pp. 100, 101.

88Ritratto di Beniamino Joppolo [Portrait of Beniamino Joppolo]1941oil on canvas, 45 x 35 cmsigned and dated at bottom left: Ernesto 41

Provenance: private collection of the artista Ernesto Treccani, Milano; Beniamino Joppolo collection, Paris; Museo Treccani, Milano. Exhibitions: Firenze, 1967; Palermo, 1968; Milano, Ravenna, Napoli, 1971; Ferrara, 1974; Urbino, 1975; Milano, Corrente, 1985; Sondrio, 1985; Montichiari, 1986; Milano, 1989; Feltre, 1992; Milano, 2008; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Morosini 1949; De Grada 1950, p. [14]; De Micheli 1962, pp. 9, 10; Treccani 1967; De Grada 1971; Ricci 1971; De Santi 1975, p. 6; De Micheli 1985, p. 169; Monforte 1985; De Santi 1986, p. 22; Negri 1989, pp. 49, 51; De Grada, Guarnieri 1992; Buzzoni, D’Amico, Gualdoni 1993, pp. 206–08; Pizziolo 2003, p. 144; Pizziolo 2008, pp. 126–27, AA.VV. 2009, pp. 160, [161], 233.

Italo Valenti (1912–1995)

89Gabbiani [Seagulls]1939oil on canvas, 40 x 50 cmsigned at bottom right: I. VALENTI

Provenance: private collection of the artist Italo Valenti, Milano; Giuliano Girotto collection, Vicenza; Archivio Italo Valenti, Mendrisio. Exhibitions: Vicenza, 2001; Milano, 2004–05; Fabriano, 2007; Milano, 2008; Chieti, 2012; Milano, 2017. Bibliography: Carena, Pult 1998, p. 52; Menato 2001, p. 43; Pontiggia, Colombo 2004, pp. 238–39; Dehò, Pontiggia 2007, p. 47; Pizziolo 2008, p. 133; AA.VV. 2009, pp. 174, [175], 235; AA.VV. 2012, p. 8; Bianchi 2012, p. 38.

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CRITICAL CHRONOLOGY 1920–1945

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CRITICAL CHRONOLOGY 1920–1945 — EDITED BY ALESSANDRA ACOCELLA AND CATERINA TOSCHI 1920 – 1924

1923

Mussolini delivers the speech inaugurating the Novecento group exhibition at the Galleria Pesaro.

Carlo Levi makes his debut at the Turin Quadrennial in a room organized by Felice Casorati, a key figure in his development first encountered during the year. Another participant is Gigi Chessa, now resident in Rome.

► F. de Pisis, La città delle 100 meraviglie, Rome: Casa d’Arte Bragaglia, 1923 (with a watercol-our by the author on the cover).

1924

Victory of the national list in a general election marked by violence. The Socialist politician Giacomo Matteotti is murdered after accusing the Fascists in parliament of rigging the election and calling for the results to be declared null and void.

Members of the opposition led by Giovanni Amendola abandon parliament and withdraw to the Aventine.

Mario Mafai and Scipione begin to attend classes in drawing together in Rome at the Scuola libera del nudo, where Mafai and Antonietta Raphaël meet the following year.

Solo show of work by Filippo de Pisis organized in November by the magazine La Fiamma in the foyer of the Teatro Nazionale in Rome.

Ottone Rosai joins the movement L’Italia Liberista but is expelled for dissidence.

A room at the XIV Venice Biennial is devoted to six painters of the Novecento group, while the seventh, Oppi, is given a personal room. The Sei di Torino (Six Painters of Turin) also take part with Jessie Boswell, one of the Six, showing work in the Italian section as a foreign artist.

Gigi Chessa takes part in the Esposizione di venti artisti italiani at the Galleria Pesaro in Milan.

1922

Intensification of armed clashes in the streets and Fascist attempts to take over “red” towns. The headquarters of the Socialist party newspaper Avanti! devastated and set on fire.

March on Rome organized by Benito Mussolini to take power by force. Victor Emanuel III asks Mussolini to form a new government.

Anselmo Bucci, Leonardo Dudreville, Achille Funi, Emilio Malerba, Pietro Marussig, Ubaldo Oppi and Mario Sironi combine to form a group of Sette Pittori del Novecento (Seven twentieth-century painters) in Milan and an exhibition bearing its name, Sette pittori del Novecento, as its title is organized by Margherita Sarfatti at the Galleria Pesaro.

Carlo Levi begins to write for the journal La rivoluzione Liberale, editor Piero Gobetti.

Felice Carena and the sculptor Attilio Selva open an art school in Piazza degli Orti Sallustiani, Rome. The pupils include Fausto Pirandello (as from 1922) and Giuseppe Capogrossi (as from 1923).

Show of work by Ottone Rosai at the Casa d’Arte Bragaglia in Rome and the Saletta Gonnelli in Florence.

Ill and overburdened with debt, Ottone Rosai’s father drowns himself in the Arno and the artist is obliged to take over his carpenter’s shop in Via Maggio, Florence, and reduce his artistic activities for a number of years.

Inauguration in Florence of La Fiorentina Primaverile. Prima esposizione nazionale dell’opera e del lavoro d’arte nel Palazzo del Parco di San Gallo a Firenze. The participants include Roberto Melli.

Founding in Milan of the newspaper L’Ambrosiano.

► (69) Ottone Rosai, L’intagliatore [The Wood Carver], 1922oil on pressed cardboard attached to a wooden panel, 62.3 × 46.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2012

“The fashioning of the eye socket, the way the face is built up of echoes and stressed contrasts of plastic and graphic elements, and basically all the adaptation of the figuration with a precise reduction of style to customary modules (suffice it to observe the corner of the garment in front as it moves from the barely creased wrinkle of the face to continue in a soft roundness that the hands docilely take up): all this recalls the characteristics of the group of works of 1922 too closely […] not to provide us with new grounds for dating this masterpiece a few years earlier. Nor should too much importance be attached to the summary execution of the garment, as it is not unreasonable to suggest that the painting was not entirely finished.”

[P. C. Santini (edited by), Mostra dell’opera di Ottone Rosai 1911-1957, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, May–June 1960)]

► (70) Ottone Rosai, Conversazione [Conversation], 1922oil on canvas, 43 x 33.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2016

“It could seem a paradox that the period of 1920–30, marked by intemperance, disruption and violence, was the very period in which Rosai expressed an almost transcendent serenity, a combination of things expressed as a confession and as an aspiration, of these very years: ‘The world should be inhabited by those who strive to understand it, by those who endeavor to love it’, far removed from the hate, the divisions and the ongoing struggles of the time, like a new Franciscan hermitage. a Leopardian detachment, which is far from the turbulent political waves and clamor, deadly and futile. It is the pure and illuminated current, that of an authentic vision which is inviolably intangible.”

[C. L. Ragghianti, Introduzione, in C. Santini (edited by), Ottone Rosai. Works from 1911–1957, exhibition cata-logue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 20 July – 18 September 1983), Florence: Vallecchi, 1983, p. 15]

“And so he can finally look on the mankind around him with a gaze of deep penetration. And what is the mankind that he discovers? Rosai’s man is the one we encounter every day, laden with experience, marked by sorrow, vice and disillusionment, but still worthy of love. A far cry from experimentalism! Rosai is denied to us. He has only to seek an idea of art in himself. […] The discovery of mankind is never-ending. Rosai’s painting becomes constant investigation, an eye piercing man and nature. No man sets himself up as an ideal or term of comparison, and every face is different from all the others.”

[A. Parronchi, “Rosai: centenario della nascita”, in Ottone Rosai nel Centenario della nascita. Opere dal 1919 al 1957, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Galleria Pananti, 18 March – 15 June 1995), Florence: Edizioni Pananti, 1995, p. 13]

1921

Socialist Congress in Livorno and founding of the Italian Communist Party.

Birth of the National Fascist Party.

Victory of the nationalist bloc in the general election.

Roberto Melli joins the editorial staff of the Rome-based industrial magazine Energia.

► G. D’Annunzio, Notturno, Milan: Tip. Treves, 1921.

► G. Severini, Du cubisme au classicisme, Paris: J. Povolozky & Co, 1921.

1920

Treaty of Rapallo, marking the end of D’Annunzio’s occupation of Fiume.

Economic depression and occupation of factories by workers in Turin. Increase in episodes of violence by Fascist squads.

Ottone Rosai presents 29 paintings, 16 drawings and 48 notes in Florence at his first solo show.

Founding in Florence of Rete Mediterranea, a quarterly journal edited by Ardengo Soffici and published by Vallecchi, which folds after just a year.

Filippo de Pisis moves from Ferrara to Rome and holds his first solo show at the Casa d’Arte Bragaglia.

Paul Cézanne is granted a personal room at the Venice Biennial.

Enzo Ferrieri founds Il Convegno, a journal of art and literature, in Milan.

The first issue of the art journal Dedalo, editor Ugo Ojetti.

► Filippo de Pisis, Il signor Luigi B., Milan, 1920 (autobiographical novel).

► (68) Ottone Rosai, L’attesa [Waiting], 1920oil on canvas, 29 × 32 cmIannaccone collection since 2004

“The result of pensive, incisive expressive power is attained through careful calibration of volume and space, and draws meaning from the gradation of shadows from dark to light, from a dense, dark colour to a diffuse luminosity that seems to embrace and enclose the figures in an organism of rare intensity. Rosai’s language is concentrated, not so much embracing reality as transforming it into real mystery, a condition of presence-absence in which Rosaian man acquires memory of the past and an awestruck sense of the present in an instant. This, in the group of mute figures, is Rosai’s metaphysics, suggested by a timeless atmosphere of drama and certainly not by any formal or theoretical models of De Chirico or Carrà. A condition which, if not philosophical, is existential and palpable in the gloom of the post-war period, where life struggled to resume acceptable rhythms. The ‘tomorrow’ of peace had finally arrived but anguish, anxiety and alarm still weighed heavily. Anything physical that appeared was devoid of fully human attributes. People with their feelings and things remained indefinite in a sort of limbo — also in cultural terms — that we can describe as metaphysical (emphasizing the semantically improper use of the word), as a psychological screen or imperfect approach to reality, almost with the desire to avoid it. In this Rosai seeks to dilute something drawn from antiquity, from myth, timeless inflections as though to eliminate contingency.”

[L. Cavallo, “Schede delle opere”, in L. Cavallo (edited by), Cinquanta dipinti di Ottone Rosai a 50 anni dalla scomparsa, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Medici Riccardi, 27 January – 25 March 2008), Florence: Edizioni Pananti, 2008, pp. 169–70]

► (73) Ottone Rosai, Giocatori di toppa [“Toppa” Players], 1920charcoal on cardboard mounted on canvas, 490 × 690 mm Iannaccone collection since 1996

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1929

Inauguration of the Accademia d’Italia with Enrico Fermi, Filippo Tommaso Marinetti and Guglielmo Marconi among its members.

Signing of the Lateran Pacts and reconciliation between the Italian state and the Catholic Church after the long conflict that began with the struggle for national unification and independence.

Group show of work by Roman artists including Mario Mafai, Antonietta Raphaël and Scipione at the Casa d’Arte Anton Giulio Bragaglia. Raphaël also takes part in Otto pittrici e scultrici romane at the Camerata degli Artisti and receives praise from the critics.

Mario Mafai, Antonietta Raphaël and Scipione take part in the Prima Mostra del Sindacato laziale fascista at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni in Rome. Roberto Longhi coins the name “School of Via Cavour” in the second of two articles on the exhibition in L’Italia Letteraria.

Mario Mafai and Scipione take part in the show Giovani pittori romani at the Circolo di Roma in Palazzo Doria.

Gigi Chessa, Carlo Levi and Francesco Menzio take part in the Prima Esposizione sindacale fascista in Turin.

Carlo Levi starts to produce work of a more markedly expressive character with Modigliani and the Matisse of the twenties as his models.

First show of the Sei di Torino (Six Painters of Turin: Jessie Boswell, Gigi Chessa, Nicola Galante, Corrado Levi, Francesco Menzio and Enrico Paulucci) at the Casa d’Arte Guglielmi with a poster by Menzio based on Manet’s Olympia.

Show of work by the Sei di Torino at Pier Maria Bardi’s gallery on Via Brera, which acts as a showcase until 1934 for the new generations seeking to revolutionize painting, including the Roman School (Cagli, Capogrossi, Cavalli), the Chiaristi, the Quattro di Palermo and the abstract painters of Milan.

Ottone Rosai and Filippo de Pisis take part in the second Novecento Italiano exhibition at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.

Edoardo Persico and Bruno Cassinari move to Milan.

Solo show of work by Fausto Pirandello — including La lettera (The Letter), now in the Iannaccone collection — at the Galerie Vildrac in Paris. Giorgio de Chirico, Alberto Savinio, Fausto Pirandello and Carlo Carrà take part in Art Italien Moderne, organized by Mario Tozzi, at the Galerie Bonaparte.

Birth in Florence of the magazine Frontespizio with Ottone Rosai among the contributors and Piero Bargellini subsequently appointed as editor.

Umberto Lilloni holds his first solo show at the Galleria Bardi in Milan.

Aligi Sassu begins the Uomini rossi [Red Men] series (1929–33), comprising some 500 depictions of gamblers playing dice, musicians, the Argonauts, riders and Castor and Pollux.

Renato Guttuso frequents the local artists of Bagheria, friends of his father Gioacchino, and begins to paint landscapes. He shows work for the first time in the 2. Mostra del Sindacato siciliano.

► C. Pav. (C. Pavolini), “Mostre romane. Antonietta Raphaël”, in Il Tevere, y. VI, no. 142, 14 June 1929.

► A. Moravia, Gli indifferenti, Milan: Alpes, 1929.

1928

Mario Mafai takes part in the XCIV Esposizione di Belle Arti della Società amatori e cultori.

Fausto Pirandello moves to Paris, where he comes into contact with the painting of Chaïm Soutine, André Derain and the Italiens de Paris (1928–33), a group including Giorgio de Chirico, Gino Severini, Massimo Campigli, Alberto Giacometti and Alberto Savinio.

A stay in Paris (1928–29) plays a part, together with Venturi’s theories, in Carlo Levi’s move away from the Novecento group.

Gigi Chessa is appointed to teach scenography at the Scuola Superiore di Architettura in Turin.

Henri Matisse is granted a personal room at the XVI Venice Biennial. Gigi Chessa, Ottone Rosai and Umberto Lilloni are among those taking part. Chessa is responsible for the installation design of the exhibition Mostra dell’Arte del Teatro, presented in the catalogue by Margherita Sarfatti.

Aligi Sassu meets Filippo Tommaso Marinetti and draws closer to the Futurist movement without fully embracing its theoretical principles. He takes part in the Venice Biennial the same year at the age of just 16 and is co-author with Bruno Munari of the manifesto Dinamismo e riforma muscolare.

Paolo Menzio takes part in the Salon de l’Escalier in Paris.

► R. Vailland, “Le fils de Pirandello est peintre à Montparnasse”, in Paris-Midi, 8 October 1928.

► G. Waldemar, Filippo de Pisis, Paris: éd. Chroniques du jour, 1928.

► (46) Mario Mafai, Strada con casa rossa [Street with Red House], 1928oil on canvas, 38 × 38.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1993

“[...] The only centre of the work is on the axis of the tower, in the extreme, ‘real’ depth of the road sloping down to draw upwards the light, which turns the plants, walls and cobbles red and prepares to scorch the sky and fill the opening.”

[G. Appella, “Mafai, Giotto, e la piacevole fatica della pittura”, in G. Appella, F. D’Amico, C. Terenzi, N. Vespignani (edited by), Mario Mafai 1902-1965. Una calma feb-bre di colori, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo Venezia, 6 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Skira, 2004, p. 22]

► (46v) Mario Mafai, Ritratto [Portrait], circa 1928oil on canvas, 38.5 × 38 cmIannaccone collection since 1993

“Mafai and Scipione were aware of the unrest in Italian art during the 1920s but detached themselves from it immediately with the arrival of Raphaël, who helped them to discover the deep connections between art, literature and magic, eliminating any distance between the vision of reality and fantastic interpretation, and opening up the reservoir of secrets that is painting and that must be tapped little by little if every mystery is to be penetrated and dispelled.”

[G. Appella, “Mafai e Scipione: l’arte come rivelazione”, in G. Appella, G. D’Amico, F. Gualdoni (edited by), Mario Mafai (1902-1965), exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci and Pinacoteca Comunale, 6 July – 15 September 1986), Rome: De Luca, 1986, p. 9]

► (63) Antonietta Raphaël, Natura morta con chitarra [Still Life with Guitar], 1928oil on panel, 39 × 45 cmIannaccone collection since 2011

“The still life of 1928 encapsulates all the elements of Raphaël’s poetic world in a condensed image: music, her first great passion and one she cultivated also after her arrival in Rome […] the East, in the coloured drapes and carpets, even in the crescent moon peeping through the window, and the mirror, because the small picture hanging on the wall is nothing other than one of the portraits of Mafai painting.”

[V. Rivosecchi, “Catalogo - I tempi, i temi, le opere”, in V. Rivosecchi, M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola romana. Artisti tra le due guerre, exhibition cata-logue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 April – 19 June 1988), Milan: Mazzotta, 1988, p. 82]

1926

Mussolini introduces the death penalty.

Publication of Lionello Venturi’s book Il gusto dei primitivi, born out of a series of lectures delivered in Turin and Milan, with a drawing by Nicola Galante as its frontispiece. Venturi is in contact during this period with Carlo Levi, whose work is still bound up with the Novecento group and its support for the return to order.

Benito Mussolini inaugurates the exhibition Novecento Italiano at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan. Filippo de Pisis and Francesco Menzio agree to take part but Gigi Chessa declines the invitation.

Publication of the first issue of the magazine L’Arte Fascista in Palermo.

Filippo de Pisis and Francesco Menzio are among the artists featured in the Italian room at the XV Venice Biennial.

Birth in Rome of 900. Cahiers d’Italie et d’Europe, a quarterly journal of literature published in French, edited by Massimo Bontempelli with Ottone Rosai among the contributors.

► L. Venturi, Il gusto dei primitivi, Bologna: Zanichelli, 1926.

1927

Antonietta Raphaël and Mario Mafai move into an apartment on Via Cavour in Rome, the home of what Roberto Longhi was to call the School of Via Cavour. Their first child, Miriam, is born the same year.

Official debut of Mario Mafai in the show Mostra di studi e bozzetti organized by the Associazione Artistica Nazionale di via Margutta in Rome.

Renato Birolli moves from Verona to Milan, where he joins the editorial staff of L’Ambrosiano and comes into contact with the artistic and intellectual scene, whose leading figures include Carlo Carrà, Edoardo Persico, Giacomo Manzù and Aligi Sassu.

Edoardo Persico, founder of the Milanese gallery Il Milione, moves to Turin, where he remains until 1929.

Scipione holds a show at the Casa d’Arte Anton Giulio Bragaglia.

By invitation of Mino Maccari, Nicola Galante begins to contribute to Il Selvaggio, where Ottone Rosai also works.

Gigi Chessa, Felice Casorati, Nicola Galante, Carlo Levi, Francesco Menzio, Enrico Paulucci, Emilio Sobrero and Giacomo Debenedetti sign a letter of protest against the purchase of Giacomo Gandi’s painting La preghiera [The Prayer] by the Museo Civico d’Arte in Turin.

Umberto Lilloni and Virgilio Ghiringhelli are joint winners of the Principe Umberto Prize at the Brera Biennial.

► R. Longhi, Piero della Francesca, Rome: Valori Plastici, 1927.

► (58) Fausto Pirandello, Composizione (Siesta rus-tica) [Composition (Rustic Siesta)],1924–26oil on canvas, 100 x 126 cmIannaccone collection since 2016

“The paintings, entitled Composizioni, are focused above all on the female nude, using slightly heavy materials, with illustrating strong perspective angles that create linear tension on the canvas, as if the bodies are forced into the image by their size, provoking a strongly expressive disharmony. This composition is a precise feature of Pirandello’s work, which can be found throughout his artistic career. Although such structural style has classical roots (from Mantegna to Paolo Uccello) Pirandello’s interpretation was, however, different. It is said that he has an anti-classical nature which explains the use of foreshortening, the element of expressionistic tension underlining the anguish of the modern world, rather than the utterly unreal idyll of peace and suspended serenity, typical of a great number of artists close to ‘Valori Plastici’ and magic realism”.

[C. Gian Ferrari, “Fausto Pirandello: l’in-quietudine della forma”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, catalogue of the exhibition (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 23 June – 1 October 1995), p. 12]

1925

The restrictive enforcement of decrees introduced during the previous two years puts an end to the freedom of the press and the freedom of assembly and association.

Publication in the major periodicals of the Manifesto degli intellettuali Fascisti, drawn up by Giovanni Gentile, in response to which, Antonio Gramsci writes the Manifesto degli intellettuali Antifascisti, which is published in Il Mondo.

Filippo de Pisis moves to Paris, where he remains until 1939. He teaches at the Sorbonne and holds a solo show at the Carmine gallery.

Ottone Rosai meets Mino Maccari and begins to contribute to the journal Il Selvaggio (1926–29).

Publication in Milan of the first issue of the weekly magazine La Fiera Letteraria, which then moves its headquarters to Rome in 1928 under the direction of Giovanni Battista Angioletti and Curzio Malaparte, and becomes L’Italia Letteraria in 1929. Its contributors include Mario Mafai and Scipione, who produces the first cover of the renamed periodical in 1929 (the drawing of which, entitled Flagellazione di Cristo [The Flagellation of Christ], now belongs to the Iannaccone collection).

Mario Mafai and Scipione show two small paintings at the third Rome Biennial in a room set up by Cipriano Efisio Oppo for works rejected by the official jury.

Gigi Chessa designs the costumes and scenery for a production of Rossini’s opera L’Italiana in Algeri at the Teatro di Torino (Turin).

► F. Roh, Nach Expressionismus-Magischer Realismus: Probleme der neuesten europäischen Malerei, Leipzig: Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1925.

368 369

CRITICAL CHRONOLOGY 1920–1945 — EDITED BY ALESSANDRA ACOCELLA AND CATERINA TOSCHI 1929

an impure white where the traces of lime still linger. A pale blue in the centre or margin of the composition is the only brief note of dissonance often inserted into the tonal concert of colour. The space occupied by a handful of objects is reduced to a narrow chasm and, nearly always seen from above, devoid of an ideal horizon to endow the image with stability and normality. It thus looms over the foreground to take concrete shape there in a sort of anxious, anguished disarray.”

[F. D’Amico, “Pittura di Fausto Pirandello”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Catalogo generale, Milan: Electa, 2009, p. 10]

► (20) Jessie Boswell, Marina [Seascape], 1929oil on cardboard, 33 × 34 cmIannaccone collection since 2014

“The Six Painters of Turin were renowned figures with the possible exception of Boswell […] first of all because she was British (subjects of perfidious Albion being still allowed, surprisingly enough, to exhibit work in 1929) and a woman. (Contrary to what might be expected, women obtained some emancipation during Fascism, simply becoming ‘young Italians’ between 1908 and 1918 or at least after a certain date, namely the birth of the consolidated Fascist youth movement. Compulsory and detested by many, this was in any case an unquestionable step forward from the retrograde, bigoted Italy of before.) As Marzio Bernardi wrote, ‘Jessie Boswell, let us remember, is a curious case. Self-taught [but of undeniable talent] despite her various teachers, the last being Micheletti, she has retained a singularly independent approach. It is not possible to assign her to any schools or masters or even to predict how she will paint tomorrow on the basis of what she has already painted’.”

[R. Bellini, “Scenari dei Sei pittori di Turin di prima e di dopo”, in R. Bellini, I. Mulatero (edited by), Il gruppo dei Sei e la pittura a Turin 1920-1940, exhibition catalogue (Settimo Torinese, Casa per l’arte Giardiniera, 16 December 2005 – 26 March 2006), Turin: Edizioni Fondazione Torino Musei, 2005, p. 12]

► (52) Francesco Menzio, Ritratto di giovane [Portrait of a Young Man], 1929oil on canvas, 72 × 59 cmIannaccone collection since 2014

“In the Six Painters of Turin, Menzio was an introverted, fretful experimenter and skilful engineer of individual trajectories […] ‘Recalcitrant, suspicious, prickly and ironic by nature, among the painters of his generation and the Novecento group, Menzio has always been and remains in opposition.’ [E. Zanzi, 1965] But just a few months later [as from the first group exhibition of the Six in January 1969] and in the same rooms, he displayed what almost amounted to the desire to jettison ‘form in light’, as Galvano pointed out, with ‘his basic character, the role of leader, rising to the surface’.”

[I. Mulatero, “Nuovi valori a certe parole”, in R. Bellini, I. Mulatero (edited by), Il grup-po dei Sei e la pittura a Torino 1920–1940, exhibition catalogue (Settimo Torinese, Casa per l’arte Giardiniera, 16 December – 26 March 2006), Turin: Edizioni Fondazione Torino Musei, 2005, p. 90]

► (53) Francesco Menzio, Lo scialle verde [The Green Shawl], 1929oil on canvas, 53 × 45 cmIannaccone collection since 2003

“When the period of the Six Painters of Turin arrived — a primarily moral period in the sense of aesthetic morality — the welding of details was fully accomplished in Menzio. His horizon was defined, as was the way of imparting poetic rhythm to the meeting between autobiographic pressure, with all its passions, provocations and inclinations, and the poetic counterpart: an acknowledgment of indivisibility, a measure of the necessity of one in the other, thus allowing the physical sense of the objects, faces and nudes to agglutinate and mature in the shadow shell of its own rhythm, flow and development.”

[P. Fossati, cit. in Francesco Menzio, exhi-bition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Narciso, 16 January – 2 February 1966), Turin: Galleria Narciso, 1966, n.p.n.]

painting and Boswell with English neo-Impressionism […] Soffici saw similarities between his cool, archaic painting with its deft interweaving of chromatic timbres and the ‘simplicity or sincerity of Rosai’. Persico spoke of it as ‘an example of coherence […] with a deep ethical inspiration’ and Carlo Carrà described him as ‘one of the first Italian painters to embrace and understand the teaching of Cézanne’ in L’Ambrosiano in 1937.”

[M. Bandini, foreword to M. Bandini (edited by), I Sei Pittori di Turin 1929-1931, exhibition catalogue (Aosta, Museo Archeologico Regionale, 24 April – 4 July 1999), Saint-Christophe: Musumeci Editore, 1999, p. 13]

► (47) Mario Mafai, Tramonto sul Lungotevere [Sunset on the Lungotevere], 1929oil on plywood, 41.3 × 50.8 cmIannaccone collection since 1998

“Colour has the naturalness of a happy blossoming in Mafai’s work, like something belonging to it from birth, suggested by the atmosphere and the place. And just as James Ensor’s painting seems to draw intimate sustenance from the pearly, dawn-like light of Ostend and the grotesque masquerades that throng its beaches, so Mario Mafai’s appears to feed spontaneously on the gilded, vermilion dust of Rome, the ancient, decadent air that drifts around the venerable palaces and theatrical piazzas, wafting the ashes of bygone carnivals past the massive walls of the Tiber all the way to the pink buildings of the new districts. His first landscapes of 1929 present the apparition of a searing, congested city where every house is like a burning face, every façade a blazing mask. The colours pounce on one another in a leap that is never purely tonal and stereoscopic but in some way spectral and sudden, almost like an image imprinted on the retina by a flame that the eye then goes on seeing wherever it looks.”

[T. Scialoja, “Mafai”, in Il Selvaggio, y. XVIII, no. 1-2-3, 15 March 1942, pp. 184–85]

► (65v) Mario Mafai, Paesaggio con figura [Landscape with Figure], 1929oil on panel, 27.4 × 21 cmIannaccone collection since 1996

“The most explosive mixtures remain. The border of that dark, disrupted zone where decrepit impressionism turns into

expressionistic hallucination, cabala and magic is in fact the precise location of Mafai’s turbulent villages of bacterial virulence, whose overheated temperature […] could suggest the work of a home-grown Raoul Dufy.”

[R. Longhi, in L’Italia Letteraria, 7 April 1929; now in F. D’Amico, “Antonietta Raphaël. Vita, opere, fortuna critica”, in F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël, exhibition catalogue (Modena, Galleria Civica, 7 April – 16 June 1991), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1991, p. 53]

► (59) Fausto Pirandello, La lettera [The Letter], 1929oil on cardboard, 70 × 53 cmIannaccone collection since 2007

“In his first solo show in Paris, at the Galerie Vildrac on Rue de Seine, 9−23 March 1929 […] among a large number of peintures et dessins of which we have unfortunately no complete list, Fausto Pirandello presented an important group of still lifes. This attests to the great and indeed possibly predominant extent to which the genre had occupied his thoughts during the year spent thus far in the French capital, not least perhaps because the large-scale figure painting on which he had largely concentrated from the outset was hardly practicable in the logistically precarious conditions in which he was living. The result was a formidable series of small works whose markedly innovative character in terms of artistic vocabulary — a marked departure both from the icy perfection of Braque and a fortiori from the models he had left behind him in Italy — was clearly not understood in the skimpy reviews of the time. They were described as ‘amusements’ and indeed as a ‘trompe-l’œil à rebours. Chacun sa vérité’ (a misplaced reference to the plays of Luigi Pirandello, already well established in France but having nothing whatsoever to do with those still lifes). The reviewers then did not notice that Pirandello had leapt beyond the current academic gospel of Cubism and returned to the irreconcilable malaise of Cézanne, torn between the obligation to the surface and the dogged resistance of the object — its body and volume — within the painting. Barely altered colour, always gathered closely around a dominant, is encamped in the bleak and rugged body of matter, often an ochre, inflamed or dull, or a grey, soon veering towards a burnt red or

► (78) Scipione, Angolo di Collepardo [A Corner of Collepardo], circa 1929oil on panel, 44 × 44 cmIannaccone collection since 1997

“Scipione’s painting was an apparition amongst us, a fantastic and tragic apparition with new and disconcerting overtones, something terribly hurried and dense, like an attempt to halt the ending of a day for an instant in the glow of sunset. His friends had long realized the reason for the feverish, breathless, painful, ironic intonation of his art, his blood-like colour, his trembling, jerky, acute and extraordinarily fine drawing; in short, for all his form of expression, which still appeared undefined […] Though there are not many of his works that remain, they suffice to mark the furrow of his passage down here. While I am adverse overstatement and do not believe I can say any more about Scipione’s paintings than I said on the occasion of his show at the Galleria di Roma, I do believe it possible to say that there was a great deal to be hoped for from this young painter. The barely glimpsed spectre of the development of Scipione’s art certainly cannot compensate for the lack of works but the brilliant intuitions that appeared during his brief artistic trajectory will remain unforgettable.”

[C. E. Oppo, cit. in A. Trombadori, “La pit-tura di Scipione”, in Scipione, 1904-1933, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 6 July – 15 September 1985), Rome: De Luca Editore, 1985, p. 24]

► (64) Antonietta Raphaël, Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba [Arch of Septimius Severus at Dawn], 1929oil on canvas, 48 × 41 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“On arriving in Italy, Raphaël was deeply struck by the southern light. As she later wrote, ‘I seemed to feel the colours vibrate around me, perhaps even more than someone who has always lived in the south.’ She observed Rome from the high vantage point of the terrace on Via Cavour and walked by the Colosseum, passing beneath the Arch of Constantine but giving the Arch of Titus a wide berth in memory of the atrocities perpetrated in the temple in Jerusalem in 70 AD. Ancient Rome was one of her first sources of inspiration. The first challenge she and her companions took up was the reality of the Roman landscape,

even though she painted the city as she saw it, enchanted by the surfaces saturated with matter and palpable chromatic freshness, giving it fantastic overtones that aroused the critics’ curiosity. Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour (1929) and Arco di Settimio Severo all’alba (1929) present a Rome distorted by her foreign eyes into a sensual city of the east.”

[S. De Dominicis, “Antonietta Raphaël. L’identità, il femminile, la maternità”, in M. Bakos, O. Melasecchi, F. Pirani (edited by), Artiste del Novecento tra visione e identità ebraica, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Roma Capitale, 12 June – 5 October 2014), Venice-Trieste: Trart, 2014, p. 40]

► (65) Antonietta Raphaël, Veduta dalla terrazza di via Cavour [View from the Terrace in Via Cavour], 1929oil on panel, 21× 27.4 cmIannaccone collection since 1996

“I used to get up early in the morning, at five, to go and paint by the Colosseum, the Arch of Septimius Severus, the Palatine, and I often found Scipione painting too by the first light of dawn […] Scipione and Mafai had always lived in Rome or the provinces and were fascinated by my stories and artistic experiences, as I had been to Paris before coming to Rome and therefore seen what French painters were doing in that period. What I said served as stimuli for Scipione and Mafai.”

[A. Raphaël, 1971, cit. in F. D’Amico, Antonietta Raphaël. Estasi e dramma, in F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël. Sculture in villa, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Musei di Villa Torlonia - Casino dei Principi, 29 March – 15 July 2007), Rome: Palombi & Partner, 2007. p. 13]

► (34) Nicola Galante, Paese per la Casetta (Vasto) [Little House in the Country (Vasto)], 1929oil on canvas, 50 × 60 cmIannaccone collection since 1996

“Galante joined the Six Painters of Turin because that was what Venturi wanted. In the finely calibrated initial balance of the Six (it appeared at first that Giulio Da Milano was also going to join and then Spazzapan), he constituted not only a figure already making a name for himself, like the other five, but also a link with the Italian painting of the Macchiaioli and Strapaesani groups, to which he accorded priority in that period. Chessa, Levi, Menzio and Paulucci were instead links with French

► (77) Scipione, Villa Corsini, 1929oil on panel, 36.5 × 29.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2015

“It has often and rightly been said that Scipione’s world is essentially an idea and a vision of Rome. It should be noted, however, that this is in any case a Rome that — as in the verses of Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli — takes on fantastic and hyperbolic dimensions of ‘always solemn remembrance’ even when prompted by the observation of a single fragment or hint of truth. The poet Leonardo Sinisgalli once recalled, nor is there any reason not to believe him, how during those nights up on the Capitol [nights spent with Scipione, recalling the title of Alessandro Verri’s Roman Nights at the Tomb of the Scipios, Ed.], ‘we would recite aloud the verses of Gongora newly translated by our friend De Blasi, the hymns of Ungaretti or the Chants de Maldoror, but not one line of Gioachino Belli ever came to mind’.”

[A. Trombadori, “La pittura di Scipione”, in G. Appella et al. (edited by), Scipione, 1904-1933, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 6 July – 15 September 1985), Rome: De Luca Editore, 1985, p. 24]

► (79) Scipione, Natura morta con piuma [Still Life with Feather], 1929oil on panel, 45.5 × 50.7 cmIannaccone collection since 2015

“Because if Giuseppe Marchiori is right to say that Scipione, being ‘forced to look inside himself, concentrated all his intellectual faculties with almost maniacal attention on psychological analysis, which sometimes slackened in despair or anger’, then the limit of the fantastic reality that he sought to translate into painting can be found precisely in this intellectual and literary premise. In actual fact, nearly all his paintings possess an illustrative quality, granting an albeit sparing and subdued prominence to symbolic objects and allusive gestures, which impair the elevation that the work initially appeared to possess.”

[U. Apollonio, introduction to Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Venice, Galleria del Cavallino, March 1945), Venice: Edizioni del Cavallino, 1945, n.p.]

► (83) Scipione, La toeletta [The Dressing Table], circa 1929India ink on paper, 220 × 275 mmIannaccone collection since 2005

“Dramas of a ‘Catholic’ and hence universal nature, as Corrado Maltese recalls, became hallmarks of the new moral demands that took shape in the Italian artistic culture of the thirties. The still lifes themselves become pagan representations, remnants of magical and esoteric rituals where shellfish, feathers, severed heads of lambs, playing cards or figs obsessively opened out like vaginas, seen from above, spread out and almost offered on red leather tablecloths emerging from seventeenth-century shadow, are like the nightmares of a condemned man.”

[P. Baldacci, “Scipione spartiacque tra due mondi”’, in N. Vespignani, C. Terenzi (edited by), Scipione, 1904–1933, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Musei di Villa Torlonia-Casino dei Principi, 7 September 2007 – 6 January 2008), Rome: Palombi & Partner, 2007, p. 20]

► (82) Scipione, Flagellazione di Cristo [The Flagellation of Christ], 1929ink wash on paper, 206 × 261 mmIannaccone collection since 1993

“Scipione’s drawings are nearly always executed all at once, immediate translations of images enclosed in a linear fabric of modulated grace or pungent character. Scipione is one of the last children of a time that we saw ending and that admired stylistic exquisiteness, allusive words, hidden meanings and sage vices. Scipione is the mirror of that time with its unhealthy fatigue full of bitter ferment, discordant outbursts, short-lived resentment and conflicted abandonment to pleasure and death. The sense of Scipione’s art becomes clearer through reference to the time to which it naturally belongs. […] Scipione succeeded in reviving a genre that appeared to have become the preserve of humorous weeklies, namely literary satire, but with new elements and a wealth of formal inventions and motifs, so that these drawings transcend the contingent circumstances that prompted them and remain as artistically valid testimony of a clearly defined cycle of civilization and culture.”

[G. Marchiori (edited by), Disegni di Scipione, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1944, pp. 8–9]

370 371


Arti – Fondazione artistica Antonio Tantardini.

Scipione produces the cover for a new edition of Eugenio Montale’s Ossi di seppia (1st ed. 1925) published by Giuseppe Carabba.

Touring exhibition of the Novecento Italiano group in Stockholm, Helsinki and Oslo (the following year), curator Margherita Sarfatti. The participants include Mario Mafai.

Scipione and Francesco Menzio take part in the Exhibition of Contemporary Italian Paintings at the Baltimore Museum of Art.

► E. Persico, “Filippo de Pisis”, in La Casa Bella, April 1931.

► F. de Pisis, “La pagina dell’artista, confessioni”, in L’Arte, May 1931.

► S. Solmi, Filippo de Pisis, Milan: Hoepli, 1931.

► S. Volta, Ottone Rosai, Milan: Hoepli, 1931.

► (66) Antonietta Raphaël, Yom Kippur in the Sinagogue, 1931oil on canvas, 48 × 64 cmIannaccone collection since 2012

“The Jewish roots are asserted more as an complex question of identity than a matter of faith. In the days of exile in Genoa, Friday evening, the beginning of Shabbat, is transformed into a literary soirée with Antonietta seated at the piano and the daughters presenting their writings. It is, however, interesting to note that among the Jewish artists active in Italy in that period, she expressed more than others a ‘decided pride in difference’ (E. Braun, 1989) that runs like an underground stream through all her work, dramatic in the sculpture and dream-like in paintings like Mia madre benedice le candele (1932), La lamentazione di Giobbe (1967) and Yom Kippur nella Sinagoga. Antonietta described the development of the latter in a letter to Mafai, expressing her intention to paint a difficult interior teeming with all the different heads. In order to convey the mystical atmosphere of the place, she presents figures that seem to float in mid-air, as though drawn from a childhood memory or a hazy oneiric image. Raphaël’s difference manifests itself also in the pictorial construction of a distorted, unnatural space, the result of cultural indifference to the very concept of a realistic spatial dimension.”

[S. De Dominicis, “Antonietta Raphaël. L’identità, il femminile, la maternità”, in M. Bakos, O. Melasecchi, F. Pirani (edited by), Artiste del Novecento tra visione e identità ebraica, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Roma Capitale, 12 June – 5 October 2014), Venice-Trieste: Trart, p. 41]

► (45) Umberto Lilloni, Uliveto ad Arenzano [Olive Grove at Arenzano], 1931oil on canvas, 65 × 80 cmIannaccone collection since 1995

“The landscape is now built up above all through colour, the attenuation of volumes, the dissolution of light and a primitive perspective, deliberately clumsy and anti-academic. The fact is, however, that nature no longer lives in a condition of eternity. The landscape now seems anxious and laden with omens, bringing to mind the apparition of an instant rather than a monumentum aere perennius. The quivering, uncertain lines, the vulnerability of the

beside pronounced and still sensual lips, reproducing and emphasizing authoritative and ‘heraldic’ wrinkles like those of ancient Chinese parchment with deep incisions and scratches.”

[P. Baldacci, Scipione spartiacque tra due mondi, in N. Vespignani, C. Terenzi (edited by), Scipione, 1904-1933, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Musei di Villa Torlonia-Casino dei Principi, 7 September 2007 – 6 January 2008), Rome: Palombi & Partner, 2007, p. 19]

► (80) Scipione, Autoritratto [Self-Portrait], 1930oil on panel, 54 x 37 cmIannaccone collection since 2015

“Scipione’s Autoritratto recently appeared at the Zodiaco Gallery, where it was exhibited among the works of some well-known Roman artists and until then had remained unpublished. Having been painted on the reverse side (from which it has since been removed) of his recognized piece Principe cattolico, considered the superior of the two works by the artist himself, the Autoritratto was, in other words disregarded by the painter. This is a painting full of emphasis, in which the features of the physiognomy are precise and deformed, the volume increases and the colour and intensifies in the shade. Here, we have a yearning and baroque Scipione, in costume reminiscent of a Goya soldier, and which was alluded to him by the traces of an underlying painting which remained visible until the last moment.”

[V. Guzzi, Corriere delle arti, in “Primato”, 15 May 1943]

1931

Start of the draining and reclama-tion of the Pontine Marshes.

Fausto Pirandello’s first solo show is held at Pier Maria Bardi’s Galleria di Roma.

Solo show of work by Francesco De Rocchi at the Galleria del Milione.

The Six Painters of Turin break up.

Renato Guttuso, Scipione, Mario Mafai, Alberto Ziveri, Filippo de Pisis, Carlo Levi and Francesco Menzio take part in the first Rome Quadrennial.

First issue in Rome of Fronte, a magazine of art and literature with Marino Mazzacurati as editor and Giuseppe Ungaretti, Alberto Savinio, Scipione, Mario Mafai, Carlo Carrà, Arturo Martini and Alberto Moravia among the con-tributors.

Jessie Boswell holds a solo show at the Sala d’arte Guglielmi in Turin.

Giuseppe Migneco moves to Milan and enrols in the faculty of medicine. Through contact with Beniamino Joppolo (a former schoolmate) and his new friends Aligi Sassu, Renato Birolli and Raffaele De Grada, he decides to stop studying and devote his energies to painting.

Carlo Levi joins the anti-fascist Giustizia e Libertà movement led by Carlo Rosselli from his exile in Paris. His political activities lead to arrests in 1934 and 1935.

Antonio Banfi becomes a lecturer on philosophy at Milan University and develops an aesthetic of art as expression of the feeling and dramas of existence that is later to influence the artists of the Corrente group.

Lionello Venturi loses his chair in art history at Turin University through his refusal to swear an oath of loyalty to the Fascist regime and goes into political exile in Paris.

Luigi Broggini wins the prize for sculpture in a competition held by the Milan City Council for students of the Accademia di Belle

► (85) Scipione, Studio per “Gli uomini che si voltano” [Study for “Men Who Turn Around”], 1930ink wash on paper, 230 × 187 mmIannaccone collection since 2004

“In Uomini che si voltano — probably inspired by ‘some verses of Montale and, figuratively, by the painful, terrified contortions of the apostles in the Byzantine mosaic of the Ascension in the Hagia Sophia in Thessaloniki’ — Scipione reaches one of the highest peaks of modern figurative painting. Giuseppe Marchiori provided an exemplary reading of the work in 1939, pointing out both its compositional and technical aspects (especially the way of scraping through the paint with the brush handle to uncover the white of the canvas in bold lines) and the contrast between the anatomical and rhythmic grace of the nudes and the primitive frontality of unexpected, bestial faces, as frightening as black masks, struck by an astral light in which the whites of the eyes and the fierce teeth gleam.”

[P. Baldacci, Scipione spartiacque tra due mondi, in N. Vespignani, C. Terenzi (edited by), Scipione, 1904-1933, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Musei di Villa Torlonia-Casino dei Principi, 7 September 2007 – 6 January 2008), Rome: Palombi & Partner, 2007, pp. 20–21]

► (74) Aligi Sassu, Concerto, 1930oil on canvas glued onto plywood, 65 × 57 cm Iannaccone collection since 1995

“The Concerto […] is an example of primitivism, as can be seen from the summary construction of space and the rapid outline of figures and things. The colour and warmth of the setting, the nakedness of the musicians, the performance of the concert amid the shabby tables of a café and the fact that the two violinists are improvising before an empty stand because the score is being blown away in the background all suggest that music is not an Apollonian art, a sign of universal order, but an untidy moment of life, both serene and melancholy.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Anticipatori e compagni di strada”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milan negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010, p. 117]

► (81) Scipione, Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme [Prophet in Sight of Jerusalem], 1930oil on panel, 42.3 × 46.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2008

“The Book of Revelation is not exclusively fraught with death and destruction. In it Scipione sees ‘a message of comfort and love that precedes and accompanies the history of humanity’. His attention is concentrated on the prophetic character of the book, on the foreseeing and foretelling of the future. He seeks manifestations of the divine will, signs that he interprets for himself in the hope of deriving counsel and warnings. Everything becomes prophecy: visions, symbolic events, allegories, parables and riddles; the four horsemen, the seventh seal, the one hundred and forty-four thousand marked with the seal, the woman clothed with the sun, the great whore, the dragon, the new Jerusalem. Everything regards the future, investigates the mystery and interprets the divine will to punish or save, to free from oppression after purification through testing. The test is drawing, which Scipione practices in order to encourage himself, to illuminate and explain the symbols as a proclamation of faith and testimony. As Jesus says in the fourth Gospel: Examine the Scriptures, since you think that in them you have eternal life. They also testify about me.”

[G. Appella, Scipione. 306 disegni, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa, 1984, p. XI]

► (84) Scipione, Il cardinale Vannutelli sul letto di morte [Cardinal Vannutelli on His Deathbed], 1930ink wash on paper, 210 × 320 mmIannaccone collection since 2005

“Through deeply rooted and authentic Catholic faith, as deeply rooted and authentic as the sensual life he lived of lechery and sin, almost an incarnation of the beast that fed the black humour of flagellant monks, Scipione restored to art a moral imperative too long forgotten behind the screens of theoretical, philosophical and formal speculations […] In the very face of the cardinal, scrutinized in numerous studies, Scipione captures and emphasizes the physiognomy of the role in the suspicious eyes beneath half-open lids, the bitter fall of the cheeks

1930

Show of work by Scipione and Mario Mafai organized at the Galleria di Roma by Pier Maria Bardi and Cipriano Efisio Oppo.

Antonietta Raphaël and Mario Mafai move to Paris, where she takes up sculpture.

Second show of the Six Painters of Turin. Jessie Boswell leaves the group.

By invitation of Edoardo Persico, Umberto Lilloni takes part in a group show at the Galleria Il Milione, where Ottone Rosai holds a solo show the same year.

Formation of a group of young artists around Edoardo Persico in Milan comprising Renato Birolli, Aligi Sassu, Giacomo Manzù, Luigi Broggini, Fiorenzo Tomea, Lucio Fontana and Domenico Cantatore.

The magazine Belvedere, widely read by the Milanese artists, publishes two works by Scipione: Il risveglio della bionda sirena [The Awakening of the Blonde Mermaid] and Il Cardinal Decano [The Dean of the College of Cardinals]. The latter is shown at the Venice Biennial that year.

Prima mostra di pittori italiani residenti a Parigi. Campigli, De Chirico, De Pisis, Paresce, Savinio, Tozzi at the Galleria Milano.

One of the last exhibitions of the Novecento Italiano group, including work by Gigi Chessa and Filippo de Pisis, is held in Buenos Aires.

Filippo de Pisis and Fausto Pirandello are among the artists taking part in the Ausstellung Moderner Italiener in Basel.

Scipione takes part in the Prima Mostra Nazionale dell’Animale nell’Arte at the zoological gardens in Rome.

Renato Birolli, Gigi Chessa, Carlo Levi and Francesco Menzio take part in the XVII Venice Biennial.

► M. Mafai, “Arte nuova a Parigi: ‘I Surindépendants’”, in L’Italia Letteraria, 3 August 1930.

► M. Mafai, “Pittura parigina”, in L’Italia Letteraria, 19 October 1930.

► O. Rosai, Via Toscanella, Florence: Vallecchi, 1930.

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► (12) Renato Birolli, La città degli studi [Città degli Studi, the Milan University District], 1933oil on canvas, 67.5 × 84.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2014

“We perceive […] in the pleasure of his pictorial creation, an inclination that I would describe as determined by deep melancholy without resignation, the melancholy of one who observes and contemplates the pitiless fate of mankind. The urban landscapes painted in the years up to 1936, the deserted suburbia that only the light of a faraway Eldorado, streaming down from open skies, was able to redeem in visionary delirium, were the themes of his intuition of malaise beneath the hush of an apparition that would still appear ‘metaphysical’ in the pictorial sense.”

[M. Valsecchi, presentation of room V dedicated to Renato Birolli, in XXX Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Venezia, Venice: Stamperia di Venezia, 1960, p. 35]

► (49) Mario Mafai, Autoritratto [Self-Portrait], circa 1933oil on unprimed canvas, 56.5 × 44 cmIannaccone collection since 2013

“PORTRAIT ‘This little man with short, tousled hair (two deep and unforgettable little eyes, laughter that prompts pity and bursts out every now and then, at the wrong moment, and the slouching gait of a tramp).’ From an article by Renato Guttuso (L’Ora, Palermo, 11 February 1933).”

[M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, foreword to M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I Mafai. Vite parallele, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Netta Vespignani, February–March 1994), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani, 1994, p. 12]

► (25) Luigi Broggini, Paesaggio romano con statua di Nettuno [Roman Landscape with Statue of Neptune], 1933ink wash on paper, 320 × 220 mmIannaccone collection since 1997

“A playful, whimsical game of displacement that transposes the splendours of pontifical baroque into the countryside and the sky: columns, obelisks, bridges, Castel Sant’Angelo, huge volutes, flying angels and statues. Signs and signals of intense meditation that say a lot about that period 1932−33 as regards the artist’s development, the exchange of ideas between Broggini and the members of the

Roman school and the introduction of the ‘baroque constant’ into modern art, whether dreaded or joyfully encouraged we do not know. And the bold, unbridled line, now inclined to curve, is nothing other than the ribbing beneath, amplified in broad accentuations of black and red ink, diluted with water here and there in shadows and half-shadows to become light, movement and expression.”

[R. Modesti, “Broggini: la vitalità è tutto”, in R. Modesti (edited by), Luigi Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 13 September – 27 October 1991), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, p. 26]

► (32) Francesco De Rocchi, Popolana [Young Peasant Woman], 1933oil on panel, 93 × 65 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“To the gallery of hieratic figures De Rocchi adds figures of workers captured in the setting of the everyday life, albeit now far away from the realism of the twenties. Here […] he portrays Cesarina, the family servant, leaning against the railing with her large hand, accustomed to toil, in her apron pocket. He endows her, however, with the regal monumentality of an ancient Madonna. It is no coincidence that she is placed in front of a light-coloured pillar, which recalls the drapes hung behind fifteenth-century Virgins in the paintings of Giorgione and Bellini as well as the fresco in the church of Santa Maria della Neve in Cislago.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Francesco De Rocchi”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milan negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010, p. 57]

the work lies in this mixture of the instant and eternity, adolescent freshness and age-old antiquity.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Anticipatori e compagni di strada”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milano negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010, p. 122]

► (43) Carlo Levi, Ritratto di donna [Female Portrait], 1932–33oil on canvas, 60 × 50 cmIannaccone collection since 2014

“[...] This undated and unexhibited portrait belongs to the work of the early thirties, when Levi’s painting had undergone a metamorphosis and jettisoned the intimate, lyrical accents characterizing his production as one of the Six Painters of Turin. The exploration of the expressive power of colour undertaken here is evident in the detail of the red hands.”

[A. Lavorgna, description of the work, in Fondazione Carlo Levi (edited by), Carlo Levi. La realtà e lo specchio, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Russo, 20 November – 12 December 2014), Rome: Palombi, 2014, p. 84]

► (24) Luigi Broggini, Paesaggio romano con figura sdraiata [Roman Landscape with Reclining Figure], 1932ink wash on paper, 330 × 240 mmIannaccone collection since 1997

“Previously clean and sharply defined, Broggini’s draughtsmanship exploded in Rome. I think of it as a fervent vacation, interrupted by quick trips back to Milan, entirely devoted to drawing. As he wrote, ‘[...] I rambled from one part of the city to another but my days were spent not so much in town as outside on the hills, along the Tiber. Above all, I loved the Roman countryside. Rome was renewed for me in a vision of enchantment. I drew everything that my imagination filtered, seeking the most natural of transpositions for that wonderful scene. Monuments, churches and buildings were the figures of these illustrations. But above all it was the sky of Rome that aroused in me the heady desire for fabulous drawings. That sky always seemed red to me.”

[R. Modesti, “Broggini: la vitalità è tutto”, in R. Modesti (edited by), Luigi Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 13 September – 27 October 1991), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, p. 26]

1933

Antonietta Raphaël returns to Rome after stays in Paris and in London, where she had gone to resume contact with old artistic acquaintances.

Solo show of Ottone Rosai at the Galleria delle Tre Arti in Milan, organized by Edoardo Persico with an inaugural presentation by Alberto Savinio and a closing address by Persico. Rosai moves to a new studio at number 49 Via San Leonardo in Florence.

Luigi Broggini, Renato Birolli and Aligi Sassu take part in the IV Mostra d’arte del Sindacato regionale fascista delle Belle Arti di Lombardia at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan. Edoardo Persico organizes a show of work by Broggini at the Galleria delle Tre Arti in Milan.

Fausto Pirandello holds a solo show at the Galleria Milano in Milan.

Filippo de Pisis makes his first trip to London, followed by others in 1935 and 1938.

Publication of the first issues of Quadrante, mensile di arte, lettere e vita, edited by Massimo Bontempelli and Pier Maria Bardi, and of Quadrivio, Grande setti-manale letterario illustrato di Roma.

The 5th Milan Triennial takes place. Mario Sironi decorates the Palazzo dell’Arte with frescoes and Corrado Cagli presents the large fresco Preludi alla guerra [Prelude to War]. Mario Mafai takes part in the Mostra dell’Abitazione.

Scipione dies at the age of 29 in the San Pancrazio sanatorium at Arco Trento.

Gigi Chessa produces the cover for an Italian edition of Kafka’s The Trial, published by Frassinelli in its Biblioteca Europea series.

Roberto Melli, Giuseppe Capogrossi and Emanuele Cavalli are the signatories of the Manifesto del primordialismo plastico.

Alberto Ziveri holds his first solo show at the Galleria Sabatello in Rome.

1932

The Mostra della Rivoluzione Fascista is held at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni in Rome to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the March on Rome.

New and prolonged stay of Carlo Levi in Paris, during which he comes into contact with the Montparnasse group of Jewish artists. His painting attains full maturity in the expressionistic style that will characterize all the rest of his career.

The Galleria Il Milione holds a show of work by six Sicilian painters (6 pittori siciliani) including Renato Guttuso, who is soon closely involved with the Roman School.

Ten young artists from Rome (including Cagli and Pirandello) and Lombardy (like Birolli and Sassu) are featured in Dieci pittori at the Galleria di Roma. The owner Pier Maria Bardi, who moved from Milan to Rome in 1930, plays an important role as a link between the two art scenes.

Mario Mafai returns definitively to Rome while Raphaël moves instead to London. Mafai shows work in the XVIII Venice Biennial.

Ottone Rosai shows over a hundred drawings and paintings at the Galleria di Palazzo Ferroni in Florence.

Luigi Broggini makes a trip to Rome and comes into contact with the School of Via Cavour. He and Roberto Melli take part in the III Mostra d’arte del Sindacato regionale fascista Belle Arti di Lombardia (Biennale di Brera) at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.

Scipione and Filippo de Pisis take part in 22 Artistes Italiens Modernes at the Galerie Georges Bernheim in Paris.

► C. Brandi, “Il pittore Filippo de Pisis”, in Dedalo, May 1932.

► (11) Renato Birolli, Tassì rosso [Red Taxi], 1932oil on canvas, 58 × 60 cmIannaccone collection since 1997

“Between 1931 and 1932, with the suburbia and red taxi series, Birolli created one of the manifestos of the Milanese neo-romanticism of the thirties. […] Here too, as in Taxi rosso sulla neve [Red Taxi in the Snow], the artist paints a garden-like city where the pavement is tinged with pink, the street is paved with white gold, the lampposts becomes as blue as Murano glassware, the houses have the colour of stars and the taxi with the open door is about to set off for the heavens of the imagination.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Anticipatori e compagni di strada”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milan negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010, p. 112]

► (10) Renato Birolli, Periferia (Grottammare) [Outskirts (Grottammare)], 1932oil on canvas, 54 × 53 cmIannaccone collection since 1997

“We perceive […] in the pleasure of his pictorial creation, an inclination that I would describe as determined by deep melancholy without resignation, the melancholy of one who observes and contemplates the relentless destiny of mankind. The urban landscapes painted in the years up to 1936, the deserted suburbia that only the light of a faraway Eldorado, streaming down from open skies, was able to redeem in visionary delirium, were the themes of his intuition of malaise beneath the hush of an apparition that would still appear ‘metaphysical’ in the pictorial sense.”

[M. Valsecchi, presentation of room V, in XXX Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Venezia, catalogue, Venice: Stamperia di Venezia, 1960, p. 35]

► (21) Luigi Broggini, Testa di ragazzo [Boy’s Head], 1932–35bronze sculpture, 28 × 17 × 20 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“The Ritratto di ragazzo […] combines archaic, Egyptian solemnity with contemporary ‘primitivism’. The motionless face, in which echoes of republican Roman statuary and the Louvre Scribe can be perceived, is humanized in the primitive detail of the big ears. All the poetry of

forms, the liquid transparencies of colour and the very errors of anatomy and perspective combine to represent a fleeting event, to express an absolute time […] Lilloni’s Paesaggio ad Arenzano thus returns precisely to the végétal irrégulier, the irregular luxuriance of green (patch of colour rather than architectonic construction) that Sarfatti had always criticized.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Dal paesaggio classico al paesaggio esistenziale. L’idea del paesaggio nell’arte a Milan 1919-1959”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Sognare la natura. Il paesaggio nell’arte a Milan dal Novecento all’Informale, exhibition catalogue (Mantua, Casa del Mantegna - Medole, Torre Civica, 4 September – 31 October 1999), Mantua: Casa del Mantegna, 1999, pp. 15–17]

► (75) Aligi Sassu, I Dioscuri [Castor and Pollux], 1931oil on canvas, 70 × 58 cm Iannaccone collection since 2004

“The essential question for the young Sassu was to decide between myth and truth […]. The entire period is dominated in Sassu’s work by this oscillation, between the drive for timeless generalization and the need to speak clearly about life and reality (to which his socialist convictions were by no means extraneous) […] We talked at the time in Rome and Milan of things in time and outside time, of symbols and blood, of men and demigods. The echo of De Chirico’s ‘sounding sea’ still lingered in the air. Those were the years of Persico, Pagano, Bontempelli, Ciliberti and Giolli, of Quasimodo’s ‘dead heron’ and Vittorini’s ‘red carnation’. The years of our first libertarian socialism, our first romantic conspiracies. We did not distinguish between science and utopia or Christ and Marx. Sassu’s works, more indicative than any others of our passion and perhaps also our confusion, were born in this context.”

[R. Guttuso, “Il prezzo della libertà”, in Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria delle Ore, May 1969), Milan: Galleria Delle Ore, 1959]

► (9) Renato Birolli, L’Arlecchino [Harlequin], 1931oil on canvas, 84 × 56 cmIannaccone collection since 2015

“The beginnings of Birolli’s work proceed from opposite directions. Non-homogenous elements must be taken into account if we are to view his first fully defined works of the early thirties — such as Arlecchino

(1931). La sposa (1932), Giocatori di polo (1933) and Eva (1933) — in the right perspective. There is the liberating influence of Persico — already in Milan in 1929 after two years in the Turin of Casorati, the Six and Gobetti — and his close attention to the young artists of Via Solferino and the Mokador café; the confident faith in colour and his inner resources; and the indirect influence of the painters later called Chiaristi by Piovene, Del Bon above all, engaged in mediating an encounter between the Lombard tradition of Gola and Ranzoni and French Impressionism. These early works by Birolli bear witness, however, to other fundamental choices: the pursuit of a ‘Venetian’ tension of colour even in its most fragile pulsations […] the emphasis on an anti-heroic world of everyday fairytale through the vibrations of an imagination halted in the distance as in a fresco, in a movement as fully declared as on a Bembo tarot card.”

[V. Fagone, “L’opera e il tempo di Renato Birolli”, in G. C. Argan et al. (edited by), Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Parma, Università degli Studi di Parma, 1976), Quaderni/Centro Studi e Archivio della Comunicazione, Parma, 1976, p. 17]

► (35) Tullio Garbari, La famiglia [The Family], 1931oil on canvas, 65 x 80 cmIannaccone collection since 2016

“While others confined themselves to aspects of ‘savage’ and provocative reduction (Gino Rossi, Lorenzo Viani), he went further and sketched out a more complex and harmonious system. The variant of a primitivism tinged also with a sacral aura was practically his alone. In a certain sense, he did not limit himself to challenging, disrupting and destroying, albeit with elements of highly effective synthesis imbued with appreciable fury (the very gifts we must recognize Rossi and Viani as possessing). He worked rather in positive terms, reconstituting a coherent and organic system of ‘primitive’ figuration by drawing inspiration from the world of children’s art: an autonomous system, as it were, not erected in opposition through any spirit of protest but endowed with a serene legality and diverse normality of its own.”

[R. Barilli, “Presentazione”, in Tullio Garbari. Opere grafiche 1912-1931, exhi-bition catalogue (Trento, Galleria d’arte Il Castello, December 1986 − January 1987), Trento: Edizioni d’arte Il Castello, 1986, n.p.n.]

374 375


guilt in the Babylonian exile but also the energy of rebirth, he who unleashed destruction on Jerusalem and then forged the image of the temple to come, a lover of justice and light. With his dramatic, radiant idea of light (‘a torturing phenomenon that disorients the senses’), Birolli recalled him in a key section of his theory of colour: ‘The fire of the wheels revealed to Ezekiel in the second vision transcends sensory illusion by so much that it can be expressed with any colour and best of all with absolute white.’ It is precisely fire, the smouldering red of sunset, that links the two paintings, the second of which should be, and indeed certainly is La nuova Ecumenica.”

[F. Lanza Pietromarchi (edited by), Renato Birolli 1935, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 18 October 1996 – 23 November 1996), Verona: Edizioni Galleria dello Scudo, 1996, pp. 31–32]

► (14) Renato Birolli, I poeti [The Poets], 1935oil on canvas, 90 × 108 cmIannaccone collection since 2001

“His interrelated exploration of Cézanne and Van Gogh, based on reproductions, began in 1933, possibly prompted by the exhibition of the Roman School at the Milione in February and March 1933 (but already filtered in Milan by the Roman experience of Broggini), which should also have brought to mind other expressionistic points of reference, German or otherwise. In this expressionism, which continued in any case until 1937−38 and in which the heat of the crisis spurred the endeavour to bring man and painting together through the emotive magma of colour, the titles Gynaeceum, Poets, Eldorado and Chaos seem to emphasize the aspect of allegory more than the ‘emblem’ of the everyday experience of disintegration. In short, the intentional and voluntary nature of the project undermines the already undermined reading of the two terms of reference and especially the second, carried out — as previously stated — not first-hand but through reproductions: beautiful but unfaithful. Birolli must indeed have sensed this himself, as he felt the need in 1936 for first-hand knowledge in Paris.”

[“Renato Birolli”, in R. Margonari, R. Modesti (edited by), Il Chiarismo Lombardo, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Bagatti-Valsecchi – Mantua, Casa del Mantegna, 1986), Milan: Vangelista, 1986, p. 109]

1936

Mussolini supports Franco by sending Fascist volunteers to fight on his side in the Spanish Civil War.

Signing of the agreement between Italy and Germany known as the Rome-Berlin Axis.

Ottone Rosai holds a solo show and delivers a lecture at the Lyceum in Florence that is subsequently published under the title Difesa in the magazine Frontespizio.

The artists participating in the Mostra di pittura moderna italiana at Villa Olmo in Como include Francesco Del Bon, Filippo de Pisis and Ottone Rosai (with L’intagliatore).

Mario Mafai, Roberto Melli and Fausto Pirandello take part in the VI Mostra del Sindacato fascista del Lazio.

The participants in the XX Venice Biennial include Ottone Rosai, Francesco De Rocchi, Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Francesco Menzio and Fausto Pirandello, whose father Luigi Pirandello dies after visiting the event.

Works related to Carlo Levi’s internment in the region of Lucania are featured in his show at the Galleria Il Milione and in the one held the following year at the Galleria della Cometa.

Renato Birolli and Aligi Sassu take part in the VII Sindacale interprovinciale lombarda at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan, which displays a more expressionist character and looks forward to the Corrente movement.

The Principe Umberto prize is awarded jointly to Manzù and to Francesco De Rocchi for his painting La popolana lombarda. De Rocchi opens a studio in Milan the following year and lives there on a permanent basis as from 1940 in contact with Gio Ponti, Alfonso Gatto and Sergio Solmi.

Death of Edoardo Persico.

Renato Birolli makes his first trip to Paris, where he meets Lionello

Luigi Broggini takes part in the VI Mostra del Sindacato interprovinciale fascista di Belle Arti di Lombardia at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan and the Mostra di bianco e nero at the Galleria Il Milione.

Death of Gigi Chessa.

Italo Valenti’s passport is confiscated by the Fascist authorities on his return from a trip to Brussels and Paris, and not returned until 1946.

Filippo de Pisis, Francesco De Rocchi, Carlo Levi, Francesco Menzio and Fausto Pirandello take part in L’Art Italien des XIXe et XXe siècles at the Jeu de Paume in Paris.

► B. Joppolo, “Renato Birolli”, in Corriere padano, 22 June 1935.

► C. Belli, Kn, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1935.

► (33) Angelo Del Bon, Rocca delle Caminate n. 2, 1935oil on canvas, 127 × 148 cmIannaccone collection since 1999

“Together with Lilloni, De Rocchi, Padova and others, Del Bon introduced into the sphere of the prize the character of the Lombard Chiarismo at which he had arrived after his Fauvist period. The work, other versions of which were also painted by the artist, was numbered 150 and shown in room XVIII on the upper floor. It is a landscape with a castle then of great renown in Fascist ‘hagiography’, namely the Rocca delle Caminate in the hills not far from Predappio, Mussolini’s place of birth. There is, however, no trace of celebration in the pale and wholly emotive landscape.”

[Description of the work in F. Rossi, C. Solza (edited by), Gli anni del Premio Bergamo. Arte in Italia intorno agli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Bergamo, Galleria d’arte moderna e contemporanea e Accademia Carrara, 25 September 1993 – 9 January 1994, Milan: Electa, 1993]

► (13) Renato Birolli, La nuova Ecumene [The New Ecumene], 1935oil on canvas, 136 × 155.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“While 1935 opened with some oil paintings rich in consequences (La nuova Ecumene, I poeti and Eldorado), nearly all of the following months were spent with pastels investigating the motif from which those canvases partially derived, the theme that took shape in the iconography of the gynaecea and expanded at the same time to encompass the whole of nature: forests, sky and water, man and the landscape. As he wrote in a letter to Giuseppe Marchiori on 22 January 1935, ‘I have painted a composition of young men in suits (I poeti) in a landscape at sunset and a vision of Ezekiel in a suburban setting.’ What vision is this? And why Ezekiel? The fact that the two works are mentioned in the same breath suggests a very close relationship, the presence of internal cross-references shedding reciprocal light. Another striking aspect of the letter is the bitter judgement passed on the Milanese world, a personal and collective life characterized by pain and solitude, ending with a reference to Ungaretti’s poem Allegria di naufraghi, the joy of the shipwrecked. Consider the moral reverberation of the prophetic figure. Ezekiel is the awareness of

[C. L. Ragghianti, introduction to P. C. Santini (edited by), Ottone Rosai. Opere dal 1911 al 1957, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 20 July – 18 September 1983), Florence: Vallecchi, 1983, p. 25]

► (44) Carlo Levi, Nudo sdraiato [Reclining Nude], 1934oil on canvas, 92 × 73.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2004

“This work is painted by Levi in quick, concise strokes so that the back of the figure is completely embedded in a landscape brimming with mythic silence.”

[M. Vescovo (edited by), Luci del Mediterraneo, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Palazzo Bricherasio, 27 March – 29 June 1997), Milan: Electa, 1997, p. 169]

► (28) Gigi Chessa, Nudo [Nude], 1934oil on canvas, 65.7 × 50.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2014

“Chessa sought to obtain this greater consistency of image by simplifying the use of sign and outline to the utmost, a reduction that bewildered the few critics that noticed it, and through greater chromatic intensity and contrast in the application of colour. Not the intimacy of the scene but the minimal indication of its reality that painting is capable of offering in its firmest intonations. With some hesitation in the case of the nudes between large, obtrusive figures with almost mythological overtones (maternal figures with a certain sculptural quality; while the approaches of Derain and Picasso are not too distant, the dialogue with the sculptor Martini shows no interruption) and small figures of greater intimacy shown almost nostalgically on the point of making their departure. The game is played out, however, not so much in this iconographic development, crucial though it certainly is, as between the presence of the figure (nude or still life) and the setting, between the suspended visibility of the image and place, with a shift in plane marked by the outline of an armchair, a trace of drapery, an isolated note of colour.”

[P. Fossati, “Il ruolo di Gigi Chessa pit-tore”, in Gigi Chessa 1898-1935, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Mole Antonelliana, 14 November 1987 – 14 February 1988), Milan: Fabbri Editori, 1987, pp. 31–32]

1935

Start of the African campaign and the imposition of sanctions on Italy.

Italian troops cross the Ethiopian border and the League of Nations votes to impose sanctions on Italy for an attack on one of its member countries. Victor Emanuel III assumes the title of emperor of Ethiopia the following year.

Fausto Pirandello takes part in the editions of the International Exhibition of Paintings held at the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh from 1935 to 1939.

Fausto Pirandello, Mario Mafai and Ottone Rosai are among the artists taking part in the Exhibition of Contemporary Italian Painting at the Museum of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco (followed by other venues in the United States).

Carlo Levi is interned in the town of Aliano in the province of Matera. This experience, which ends the following year, is followed by the introduction of a vein of realism with marked humanistic overtones into his painting.

Wedding of Antonietta Raphaël and Mario Mafai.

Ottone Rosai takes part in an exhibition of contemporary Italian art in Warsaw and produces two mural panels for the new railway station in Florence.

The second Rome Quadrennial, held at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni, marks the triumph of the Roman School. The exhibition is normally limited to living artists but an exception is made to hold a retrospective of work by Scipione. Personal rooms are assigned to Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello and Corrado Cagli. The other participants include Ottone Rosai, Lugi Broggini, Roberto Melli, Alberto Ziveri, Filippo de Pisis, Francesco De Rocchi and Renato Guttuso (in Rome for the occasion). Francesco Menzio is a member of the selection panel.

Filippo de Pisis holds a solo show at the Zwemmer gallery in London.

Opening of the Galleria della Cometa, directed by Libero de Libero, in Rome.

1934

The first meeting between Hitler and Mussolini takes place in Venice.

Ottone Rosai, Mario Mafai, Filippo de Pisis, Fausto Pirandello and Francesco De Rocchi take part in the XIX Venice Biennial.

The dialogue between Renato Guttuso (in Milan in 1934 and 1935) and the Roman School continues with a show at the Galleria Il Milione including work by Corrado Cagli and Mario Mafai as well as the Sicilian Gruppo dei Quattro (Group of Four).

Aligi Sassu spends three months in Paris in contact with Filippo de Pisis, Alberto Magnelli, Massimo Campigli and Fernand Léger.

Luigi Broggini takes part in the V Mostra del Sindacato interprovinciale fascista delle Belle Arti di Lombardia at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.

Bruno Cassinari and Italo Valenti are admitted to the Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera.

Mario Mafai shows work at the Wertheim Gallery in London and decides not to take part in the IV Mostra del Sindacato fascista Belle Arti del Lazio due to the absence of many leading Roman artists.

► O. Rosai, Dentro la guerra, Rome: Quaderni di Novissima, 1934.

► (93) Alberto Ziveri, Giocatori di birilli [Ninepin Players], 1934oil on canvas, 75 × 100 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“In Ziveri there is invention, the witty or indeed caustic power to discover elements forming a very particular expressive whole; there is the energy, still latent but highly transparent, of determination to say in complete freedom what he feels and how he feels it, which is something simultaneously ‘natural’ and inventive. This energy is fed by a satirical turn of mind that could even be a third sense in the artist, but fits in so well with the ‘natural’ sense of nature and stems from the same. The jocund, the biting rustic, the Virgilian sense of nature as quality and sonority of the environment, diffuse poetics, amatory, all abound […] An ancient, rustic spirit thus dwells in Ziveri’s painting of which he seeks to rediscover the original ‘natural’ and ‘primal’ senses, the original colour, the original motions, through the conquests of contemporary pictorial originality. The atmosphere of Sundays and games of bowls that reaches all the way to the mystical flavour of the Ragazza con velo [Girl with a Veil], a female saint for a small church in the country, the fragrance of wild flowers, the truth of wild flowers.”

[R. Melli, cit. in the description of the work by V. Rivosecchi in N. Vespignani (edited by), Fazzini e Ziveri, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 19 December 1984 – 3 February 1985), Milan: Electa, 1984, p. 28]

► (71) Ottone Rosai, I fidanzati [The Betrothed], 1934oil on panel, 70 × 49.7 cmIannaccone collection since 2007

“This series can be seen as pervaded by a new sense of nature and common humanity in which the artist is unreservedly immersed with an organic symbiosis. It is an obvious and indisputable fact that this authentic proletariat (side by side with the boys and pubescent youths that constitute an amorous or erotic fugue) rises and sets up camp, mute and imperious, in the landscapes and the streets of country and town, which have in their solitude and silence, like the figures, a premonitory quality of the calm before the storm.”

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bring those new discoveries into play all together, this impetus found at first, sometimes confusedly and as though laboriously, a fully resolved outcome in image […] Even a classic, age-old subject like the model in the studio could thus turn into threatening, sneering drift of senses. La rissa [The Brawl], a painting of great size and great commitment that in some ways recapitulates Ziveri’s very first step towards a new approach in painting and that strives to restate everything about a gory scene of plebeian violence, stops just one step short of the conscious, exhibition of vulgarity in its effort to capture the form, the stupidity and the brutality of fighting everywhere.”

[F. D’Amico, “Alberto Ziveri”, in F. D’Amico (edited by), Alberto Ziveri, exhibition cata-logue (Modena, Galleria Civica-Palazzina dei Giardini, 27 September – 29 November 1992), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1992, pp. 8–10]

► (4v) Arnaldo Badodi, Il suicidio del pittore [The Painter’s Suicide], 1937oil on plywood, 58 × 48 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“Badodi’s painting is informed by a predisposition to consider reality in the light of ‘everyday tragedy’, as can be seen not only in the choice of certain subjects, like Il suicidio del pittore, but also in the crepuscular gloom of the colours with their dull, muted shades. Curious and not devoid of a certain relish is the contrast between the sombre spirit of this painting and the intentional or involuntary humour introduced into the artist’s figuration by his penchant for distortion, sometimes going over the top into caricature.”

[V. Bucci, “Artisti che espongono. Due giovani”, in Corriere della Sera, 28 January 1937]

► (26) Luigi Broggini, Donna che allaccia la calza [Woman Fastening her Stocking], 1937pencil and wash, 350 × 250 mmIannaccone collection since 2005

“To return to drawing, this displays the constant operation of a filter for correspondence between the intimate needs and emotions and the outer manifestation of the image, always bashfully reluctant to reveal itself, made graceful by instinct, by the inflected, reflected

and meditated impression, and elevated by gesture, sensitive to the quality of thought. Almost as though the image always required justification in depth, a reason for liberation from indeterminacy, to win the right to appear. Drawing also partakes of this ‘timelessness, a sort of nobility enclosed in a measure of perfection’, to quote the painter Ruggero Savinio. Broggini indeed lays claim to timelessness himself by seldom dating his drawings. On leaving his studio, they can speak of today as of a recent but already mythical past […] All or nearly all of Broggini’s drawings represent a closed, intimate place, a room where quick, pale nudes are apparitions, flashes of light in the enveloping shadow. The intimate tone is, however, always turned into the sharpness and almost pitilessness of an incisive, piercing line that appears to caress the forms while it imposes motion on the features of a face and the folds of a body that brings them to the most immediate actuality of lived experience.”

[L. Cavallo, “Luigi Broggini, itinerario critico”, in Luigi Broggini opere 1929-1945, Milan: Edizioni Galleria Il Mappamondo, 1990, pp. 15–17]

► S. Bini, Metamorfosi - 46 disegni di Renato Birolli, Milan: Campo Grafico, 1937.

► P. Fierens, De Pisis, Paris: Chroniques du jour, 1937.

► (94) Alberto Ziveri, Autoritratto [Self-Portrait], 1937oil on panel, 18 × 13.2 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“Ziveri’s painting was both timid and daring then and so was his mental attitude, prudent and rash, wise, aware of what was growing all around and stubbornly determined at the same time to carve out his own place, his own individual consistency. A great deal naturally came in the years that followed to make that juvenile vocation more ramified and complex, but for some reason — or many — that mental and pictorial predisposition remained exactly the same apart from the accentuation of its initial characteristics. Once timid, he became still more introverted, surly and doggedly wrapped up in his thoughts. Once daring, he became a savage and unyielding foe of all convention, the silent adversary of all facile deference and reluctant even to engage in any dialogue with whatever was happening around him, near or far. Thus he became a solitary and distant presence in the panorama of Italian painting.”

[F. D’Amico, “Alberto Ziveri”, in F. D’Amico (edited by), Alberto Ziveri, exhibition cata-logue (Modena, Galleria Civica-Palazzina dei Giardini, 27 September – 29 November 1992), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale, 1992, p. 7]

► (95) Alberto Ziveri, Studio per “La rissa” [Study for “The Brawl”], 1937oil on canvas, 65 × 70 cmIannaccone collection since 1995

“On returning to his studio in Rome, he thought again of what he had seen in Paris, Belgium and the Netherlands during the trip made in 1937 in search of ancient things so different from those (Piero della Francesca above all, Giotto and Masaccio) that he and so many other young ‘restorers’ of Italian greatness had loved: Titian and Rembrandt, Delacroix and Courbet, but also the smeared light of El Greco, the sumptuous chromatic substance of Rubens, and everything able in one way or another — in the Louvre, Les Halles or the seventeenth-century Dutch interiors of the Rijksmuseum — to speak to him of ‘penetrating and sensual reality’ and ‘strong, swift, realistic life’. Transcribed in the heat of the moment, immediately after his return to Italy and certainly in an anxious rush to

► (50) Mario Mafai, Garofani bianchi con mammole [White Carnations and Sweets Violets], circa 1936oil on canvas, 51 × 39 cmIannaccone collection since 2008

“From 1931, when Scipione seemed to abandon his Roman friends, to 1935. the year of the partial success at the Rome Quadrennial, all of Mafai’s work shows us a painter endeavouring to rediscover a self cut in half […] The sense of a mythology to be constructed always remains implicit, however, in these five years of immersion in himself, face-to-face with the easel, and refuge in the studio of a Roman who has lived in Saint-Germain. Withered flowers and demolitions, figures in the sunshine and studio interiors, posed objects and chaste landscapes remain a legend in the Roman painting that was, after the sulphurous, surrealistic-expressionistic detonation, well on the way (precisely with Mafai) to becoming exquisitely tonal with sophisticated nonchalance and the most harmonious dissonance.”

[M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, foreword to M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I fiori di Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Netta Vespignani, October–November 1989; Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 9 December 1989 – 20 January 1990), Turin: Allemandi, 1990, p. 15]

1937

Hitler receives Mussolini in Berlin’s Olympic Stadium.

Introduction of the racial laws in Italy.

Planning begins for the Expo scheduled to be held in Rome in 1942. Mussolini inaugurates the Cinecittà film studio complex.

Show of work by Ottone Rosai and his pupils (Rosai Ottone e i suoi Allievi) at the Galleria Genova, then directed by Stefano Cairola (who subsequently shows works by the Corrente group). Francesco De Rocchi also holds a show there.

The series of events leading up to the Corrente group’s opposition to the Fascist regime includes the arrests of Aligi Sassu (sentenced to ten years but pardoned in 1938), Luigi Grosso, Renato Birolli (who spends six weeks in prison), Italo Valenti, Beniamino Joppolo and Giuseppe Migneco, who are released after a few days.

Ennio Morlotti makes his first trip to Paris and visits the Expo, where Picasso presents Guernica.

Renato Guttuso moves to Rome and stays in the house of the Marchesa Maria de Seta, owner of the Galleria Mediterranea in Palermo. It is there that he meets Maria Luisa Dotti, known as Mimise, who becomes his wife in 1950.

Ottone Rosai begins to frequent the large group of writers, including Eugenio Montale and Mario Luzi, who gather at the Giubbe Rosse café in Florence.

Afro, Corrado Cagli, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello and Alberto Ziveri take part in the VII Mostra del Sindacato Fascista Belle Arti del Lazio in Rome.

Luigi Broggini takes part in the VIII Mostra del Sindacato interprovinciale fascista Belle Arti di Lombardia at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.

Alberto Ziveri goes on a trip around Europa and experiences the painting of Rembrandt, Goya and the Flemish masters first hand.

Venturi. During his military service in Milan, he meets Beniamino Joppolo and Renato Guttuso, who has a studio in the city. Mario Mafai starts work on the reading room of the Casa del Balilla (Fascist Youth centre) in the Trastevere district of Rome, designed by the architect Luigi Moretti. Alberto Ziveri, Renato Marino Mazzacurati and Antonietta Raphaël are also involved in the decorations, which are completed in 1937.

Aligi Sassu is arrested and serves an 18-month sentence for political conspiracy.

Luigi Broggini takes part in the VII Mostra del Sindacato interpro-vinciale fascista Belle Arti di Lombardia at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan.

The Galleria della Cometa holds solo shows of work by Roberto Melli (presented by Libero de Libero) and Alberto Ziveri (with an introduction in the catalogue by Roberto Melli).

► C. Carrà, “La VII Mostra Sindacale Lombarda alla Permanente”, in L’Ambrosiano, anno XIV, no. 40, 15 February 1936.

► L. Vitali, Vincent van Gogh, Milan: Hoepli, 1936.

► (15) Renato Birolli, Il caos [Chaos], 1936oil on canvas, 110 × 90 cmIannaccone collection since 2001

“The first photographic reproduction of the painting appeared in Valori primordiali (pl. XIX) in February 1938 together with works by Carrà, De Chirico, Ghiringhelli, Radice, Rho and Fontana, examples of the modern trends of contemporary Italian art. They were then reprinted, with a shocking reversal of intent, by Telesio Interlandi in Il Tevere, 24–25 November, as evidence of the degenerate character of a ‘foreign, Bolshevik, Jewish art. While Interlandi chose Caos because of its title and openly expressionistic nature, the possibility cannot be ruled out of an allusion in the article to the appearance of some artists from Milan and Turin before the Fascist special tribunal and the trial of Birolli, who was imprisoned in 1937. The work’s scandalous first appearance in 1938 was followed by its publication in Sandro Bini’s monograph of 1941 for Edizioni di Corrente. The painting’s reception was in any case problematic and even the most up-to-date critics were confused in their reading of such a complex and enigmatic work.”

[P. Rusconi, description of the work in A. Negri, S. Bignami, P. Rusconi, G. Zanchetti (edited by), Anni Trenta. Arti in Italia oltre il fascismo, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 22 September 2012 – 27 January 2013), Florence: Giunti, 2012, p. 153]

► (42) Renato Guttuso, Autoritratto [Self-Portrait], 1936India ink on paper, 450 × 320 mmIannaccone collection since 1995

“Every morning when I shave, I see a slightly different man in the mirror; a touch, just enough to sense that nothing happens inside me without leaving trace. The face is everything. The story that we are living through and the trials of all the days are there on people’s faces. We wear it inscribed with the events that happen to us directly and those that take place far away. We are the real film of reality, and this is what I paint.”

[Renato Guttuso cit. in M. Farinella, “I 70 anni del giovane Guttuso”, in L’Ora, Palermo, 10 December 1981]

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sense […] If Broggini appears to share the basic attitude, if he at first declared his inclination towards a return to the impression, there appear to be no secure grounds for the identification of ancestry as regards the specific aspect of movement […] It seems to me, however, that at present, at best, sculpture tends to accord priority to the tension of forms rather than movement in itself; that, in particular, the history of movement in action, of instantaneity, has been eluded or is present at worst but as though frozen by monumentality, established by rhetoric and mannerism.”

[R. Modesti, “Luigi Broggini”, in R. Modesti (edited by), Luigi Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Varese, Musei Civici di Villa Mirabello, 23 March – 28 April 1991), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, p. 28]

1939

Galeazzo Ciano and Joachim von Ribbentrop sign the Pact of Steel military alliance between Italy and Germany in Berlin.

Creation of the Bergamo Prize (1939–42) by Giuseppe Bottai, Minister of Education, in op-position to the Cremona Prize (1939–41), founded by Roberto Farinacci.

Ottone Rosai, Alberto Ziveri, Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Francesco Menzio and Fausto Pirandello take part in the third Rome Quadrennial.

The first two exhibitions organized by the journal Corrente di Vita Giovanile take place in Milan at the Palazzo della Permanente and the Galleria P. Grande. The artists taking part include Renato Birolli, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai and Fausto Pirandello.

Antonietta Raphaël is forced by anti-Semitic discrimination to move with her daughters to the region of Liguria, where she can count on the support of Emilio Jesi and Alberto Della Ragione. Mario Mafai frequently visits them there and meets Giacomo Manzù, Renato Guttuso and Renato Birolli through relations with the two collectors and shows at the Galleria Genova. He also holds a show at the Galleria Arcobaleno in Venice with a catalogue edited by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti. Called up as a reservist, Mafai is stationed in Macerata, where he remains until 1942 (with periodical trips to Rome and Genoa).

Ottone Rosai shows work at the Galleria Barbaroux in Milan.

A celebration of Sicilian painting at the Teatro Massimo Vittorio Emanuele in Palermo with five shows including the IX Mostra Sindacale d’Arte, in which Renato Guttuso takes part.

Filippo de Pisis returns to Milan and remains there until 1943.

Luigi Broggini is awarded the Fumagalli Prize by the Accademia di Brera, where Italo Valenti begins to teach a course on the nude.

► (2) Arnaldo Badodi, Ballerine [Ballerinas], 1938oil on canvas, 65.5 × 49.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2000

“Painted in 1938 and first exhibited in the artist’s solo show of February−March 1941 at the Bottega di Corrente, Ballerine presents a melancholy gynaeceum. The dancers in tutus and red slippers (an unlikely colour for ballet and used by Badodi to accentuate the chromatic values of the composition) are portrayed in what appears to be a tense moment. The seated girl in the centre has a bitter expression and another puts an arm protectively around her shoulders in a vain attempt to comfort her. The artist also introduces some touches of irony into the group portrait, however, such as the figure on the left with her arms dangling like a puppet.”

[E. Pontiggia, description of the work in E. Pontiggia, N. Colombo (edited by), Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la città, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Spazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Mazzotta, 2004, p. 228]

► (1v) Arnaldo Badodi, Abbozzo di una sartoria [Sketch of a Tailor’s Shop], 1938oil on canvas, 43.5 × 54.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1995

“This painting reveals Badodi’s interest in the world of labour, where acute observation discovers the presence of a sort of minor epic in every action, object and activity of the working day. This was the approach of the Hermetic artists, who accepted the painful reality of city life and the urban outskirts and recognized in that downtrodden world elements of melancholy and unassuming pride inherent in everyone and part of the human condition.”

[M. Falciano, Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995, p. 305]

► (72) Ottone Rosai, All’osteria [In the Tavern], 1938oil on canvas, 75.5 × 65.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2012

“The story of his real relations with nature, people and the world lies here in his paintings. It is here that it is expressed and endures. First of all, his relations with nature, understood as inhabited nature, the respect and love for its innocence that endures but

that he clothes and endows — but does not counterfeit — with human characteristics, so as to express with it and for it the deep varieties of his incorruptible love. But here are the people too, who instead appear so often counterfeited and distorted in his works, not through any game of mentally formal falsification, however, but in a human and revelatory meeting with them, as with nature; creatures of his dismay, his distortions and his delights, reflections in a heart and a love that were anything but a smooth mirror.”

[C. Betocchi, preface to 100 opere di Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Prato, Galleria d’Arte Falsetti, 1965), Prato: Edizioni Galleria d’Arte Falsetti, 1965, p. 8]

► (23) Luigi Broggini, Figura al sole [Figure in the Sun], 1938–39bronze sculpture, 43.5 × 29 × 13 cmIannaccone collection since 2010

“Light. I would describe it as full-bodied, like the sensuality. With strong contrasts, piercing, but also attentive to the shadowiest shadow, the lightest light, the most hidden and intimate darkness. For light too, Broggini’s work was born to move, in need of a self-propelling base. It and not the light must move round her. Light caressed over broad expanses but also slapped down in streaks, gleams, flares, patches, cutting sneers. Deep and dramatic but also tender, darting, sad and astonished. The world, it seems, began with light. And the use of the expression to see the light in the sense of to be born is not rhetoric, or at least not intended as such. Yes, every work by Broggini comes from light, from its own light, with which it lives and moves, enumerating its hypotheses in space, hypotheses that come true, that become projected, mobile reality.”

[R. Modesti, “Luigi Broggini”, in R. Modesti (edited by), Luigi Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Varese, Musei Civici di Villa Mirabello, 23 March – 28 April 1991), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, pp. 27–28]

► (22) Luigi Broggini, Ballerina, 1938bronze sculpture, 32 × 19 × 17 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“Movement. I believe I can rule out any possibility of Broggini having been touched even slightly by dynamism in the specific Futurist

► (37) Renato Guttuso, Ritratto di Mimise [Portrait of Mimise], 1938oil on cardboard mounted on canvas, 70.6 × 50 cmIannaccone collection since 2008

“[Guttuso] was to paint Mimise in intense portraits such as the Ritratto di Mimise con cappello rosso [Portrait of Mimise in a Red Hat] and Nudo sdraiato [Reclining Nude] and emphasize her love of animals in Mano di Mimise con la rondine [Mimise’s Hand with a Swallow]. The perfect German profile of the woman who became his wife in 1950 was to be ruined by a series of terrible accidents. Guttuso painted her again in Ritratto di Mimise (1947), reassembling her beautiful features in a post-Cubist perspective.”

[F. Carapezza Guttuso, “La Roma di Guttuso”, in F. Carapezza Guttuso, E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso 1912-2012, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Complesso del Vittoriano, 12 October 2012 – 10 February 2013), Milan: Skira, 2012, p. 30]

► (36) Renato Guttuso, Natura morta con garofani e frutta [Still Life with Carnations and Fruit], 1938oil on pasteboard mounted on canvas, 47 × 54 cmIannaccone collection since 2008

“An acute and unconcealed sense of colour, as revealed with greater sureness for example in the Natura morta di garofani e frutta, with a white that is a voice awakening the other things from their somnolent state.”

[N. Savarese (1938), cit. in F. Carapezza Guttuso, E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso 1912-2012, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Complesso del Vittoriano, 12 October 2012 – 10 February 2013), Milan: Skira, 2012, pp. 28–29]

► (17) Renato Birolli, Maschere [Masks], 1938–39oil on canvas, 63 × 77.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1993

“Although Birolli showed himself to be strong even during the most difficult of times, as demonstrated in his letters from prison, his painting is always embedded with elements of his religious or tortorous emotional state. Other than references to James Ensor and expressionist influences, already fully roused by Corrente, it is for this reason that Le maschere fluttuanti (1938) should be interpreted as an existentialist metphor of the difficult period of fascism, observed by an opposer, as

well as a foolish and empty turncoat who was willing to be transported by the political winds of the moment.”

[G. di Genova, Storia dell’arte Italiana del ‘900 per generazioni. Generazione primo decennio, 2nd ed., Bologna: Edizioni Bora, 1997, pp. 175–76]

► (16) Renato Birolli, Le signorine Rossi [The Misses Rossi], 1938oil on canvas, 100 × 120 cmIannaccone collection since 2016

“Shown in March 1939 at the first Corrente exhibition, Le signorine Rossi felicitously combines an everyday scene and a fantastic apparition. The subjects are Rosa Rossi, then aged 21, whom he was to marry in November 1938, with her sisters Gianna and Rinalda (on the right) and their cousin Carla Rossi, who later married Joppolo. Wearing a dress of cobalt blue with a scarlet pattern that set off her copper-coloured hair, Rosa, affectionately known as Ro, is the fulcrum of the composition by virtue of her almost central position and the fact that she is portrayed frontally looking towards the viewer. The presence of a huge orange hat (perhaps Rosa’s, as she is the only one bareheaded), the intrusive curtain encroaching on the foreground and above all the group of colourful tumblers in the distant background turn what could have been an innocuous family portrait into a visionary scene midway between a dream and an apparition.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Gli artisti di Corrente. Tavole”, in E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930/1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Palazzo de’ Mayo / S.E.T. Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin-London-Venice-New York: Umberto Allemandi & C., 2012, p. 74]

► (1) Arnaldo Badodi, L’armadio [The Wardrobe], 1938oil on canvas, 54.5 × 43.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1995

“Shown in the Corrente exhibition of March 1939, the Armadio only suggests a female presence through the violated intimacy of an open wardrobe. The clothes are stage costumes worn by an unseen figure. Art is a key used in an attempt to enter a strictly private and incomprehensible universe.”

[M. Pizziolo, “Dobbiamo parlare agli uomini le parole della vita”, in M. Pizziolo (edited by), Corrente. Le parole della vita. Opere 1930-1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 June – 7 September 2008), Milan: Skira, 2008, p. 22]

1938

Prohibition of marriage between Jews and “Arians” and introduction of anti-Semitic measures to eliminate Jews from the education system, art exhibitions, state institutes of culture and public offices. Birth of the magazine La difesa della razza.

Adolf Hitler visits Italy and is greeted with military parades in Rome, Naples and Florence.

Munich Conference between Hitler, Mussolini, Chamberlain and Daladier.

In Milan Ernesto Treccani founds the journal Vita Giovanile, subsequently renamed Corrente di Vita Giovanile and then Corrente (around which figures like Renato Birolli, Renato Guttuso and Aligi Sassu gather) until its closure by order of Mussolini in 1940. Vita Giovanile publishes the article ‘Pittura e pubblico’ by Arnaldo Badodi defending the intellectual and moral dignity of the artist and rebelling against the Fascist imposition of order.

Work by Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello, Ottone Rosai and Scipione is shown in the second Rome Quadrennial.

Renato Guttuso’s first solo show is held in Rome at the Galleria della Cometa, which is then closed down for showing the work of two Jewish artists, Corrado Cagli and Cecil Blunt, the husband of the Contessa Anna Letizia Pecci-Blunt.

Renato Birolli holds a show at the Galleria Arcobaleno in Venice.

The IX Mostra di Pittura del Sindacato interprovinciale fascista Belle Arti di Milano at the Palazzo della Permanente in Milan prompts an article by Giuseppe Marchiori in the Corriere padano on young Milanese artists including Renato Birolli, Fiorenzo Tomea, Gabriele Mucchi, Aligi Sassu, Giacomo Manzù, Italo Valenti, Renato Guttuso, Giuseppe Migneco and Arnaldo Badodi.

Ottone Rosai, Francesco De Rocchi, Mario Mafai and Alberto Ziveri take part in the XXI Venice Biennial.

Roberto Melli, Fausto Pirandello and Antonietta Raphaël take part in the Terza Mostra del Sindacato regionale fascista Belle Arti del Lazio.

► G. Marchiori, “Filippo de Pisis”, in Emporium, January 1938.

► N. Savarese, “Pittura di Renato Guttuso”, in Corrente, y. I, no. 7, 30 April 1938.

► F. de Pisis, “La cosiddetta arte metafisica”, in Emporium, XLIV, 11, November 1938.

► G. Marchiori, Scipione, Milan: Hoepli, 1938.

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completely new things. I would like to attain complete freedom in art, a freedom that, as in life, lies in truth.’”

[A. M. Ruta, “Percorsi culturali e strutture linguistiche negli scritti del giovane Guttuso”, in A. M. Ruta, E. Crispolti (edited by), Renato Guttuso. Gli anni della for-mazione 1925-1940, exhibition catalogue (Catania, Galleria d’Arte Moderna de “Le Ciminiere”, 6 April – 27 May 2001), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2001, p. 31]

► (40) Renato Guttuso, Gabbia bianca e foglie [White Cage and Leaves], 1940–41oil on canvas, 45 × 55 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“Thus finally freeing him from Primordialism (in the later thirties) and pushing him (in the early forties) towards a concreteness of existential interests and ultimately even a physicality of impressive sensory perception (above all in his renowned still lifes of the period). This concreteness also characterized his presence as anti-intimist at the time in the Milanese group gathered around Corrente. The realistic impact of Guttuso’s work unquestionably looked forward to a new sensitivity with respect to reality and destiny, and gradually came to predominate in Rome as against a hypothetical line of expressionist morphology, the expressionist relapses of Scipione’s neo-baroque visionary dimension or the ‘primordial’ imaginative projection of Cagli.”

[E. Crispolti, “Attraverso e oltre il centenario”, in F. Carapezza Guttuso, E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso 1912-2012, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Complesso del Vittoriano, 12 October 2012 – 10 February 2013), Milan: Skira, 2012, p. 69]

► (4) Arnaldo Badodi, Caffè [Café], 1940oil on plywood, 48 × 58 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“In the Caffè the violent reds of the chairs animate the entire scene with shrill notes and gleams, creating a great bustle among the figures inhabiting a lyrical atmosphere full of sounds and echoes.”

[E. Mastrolonardo, “Nota su Arnaldo Badodi”, in Meridiano di Roma, no. 4, 26 January 1941, p. IV]

► (3) Arnaldo Badodi, Il biliardo [Billiards], 1940oil on canvas, 69 × 49.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1995

“The ‘distance’ in which Badodi loved to paint the little people of his billiard halls and crowded interiors […] proved critical of the anonymous monumentality of the art of the Fascist regime, of post-romantic affability. The fragmented, acid colour expanded in closely woven patterns became a stage for heated encounters with objects and people. The very irony with which the warm atmospheres of these paintings are explored is the living boundary of an imagination that knew few pauses.”

[V. Fagone, “Fede nella pittura (Badodi all’Eunomia)”, in NAC-Notiziario Arte Contemporanea, no. 28, 1 January 1970, pp. 6–7]

► (5) Arnaldo Badodi, Donna al caffè [Woman at the Café], 1940oil on panel, 40 × 30 cmIannaccone collection since 1996

“At first sight, the painting [Donna al caffè] recalls the portraits Birolli painted around 1940, where the influence of the Vienna and Munich Secession movements was filtered through painters of the Veneto area like Gino Rossi and Maggioli as well as Trentini and Zamponi from Verona. [...] Birolli, Sassu and the others of the Corrente generation strove for greater clarity in that period, taking the Secession as a demonstration of the possibility of rational control of the work that did not preclude the emotional value of colour; almost a return to order understood as the dream of a happy art and life. In direct contact with a changing reality, Badodi’s vision instead splintered and took on a more openly expressionistic character that closely recalls some portraits by Kokoschka, the other indivisible face of that culture. His need for psychological penetration and thematic accentuation found an outlet here. Faced with the agitation of the female figure, the dramatic tension that initially struggled for expression explodes in free, open forms emphasized by harmonies and contrasts of colour bathed in artificial light.”

[Description of the work, M. Falciano (edited by), Arnaldo Badodi e “Corrente”, Rome: El Ma, 1995, pp. 327–28]

► (60) Fausto Pirandello, Spiaggia [Beach], circa 1940oil on panel, 74 × 106 cmIannaccone collection since 1997

Artisti di Corrente in Via della Spiga 9, Milan, directed by Duilio Morosini. Alberto della Ragione, a naval engineer from Sorrento but Genoese by adoption, becomes the primary supporter of Corrente.

► A. Capasso, “La condizione dell’arte”, in Quadrivio, y. VIII, no. 44, August 1940.

► A. Galvano, “Francesco Menzio”, in Le Arti, May 1940.

► R. Guttuso, ‘Nota a Mafai’, in Primato, y. I, no. 13, September 1940.

► T. Interlandi, “La condizione dell’arte”, in Quadrivio, 1940.

► E. Mastrolonardo, “Arnaldo Badodi”, in Augustea, y. XV, no. 23-24, October 1940.

► A. Gatto, Luigi Broggini, Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1940.

► (38) Renato Guttuso, Ritratto di Mario Alicata [Portrait of Mario Alicata], 1940oil on canvas, 55 × 45 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“Mario Alicata’s Sicilian parents moved in 1933 to Rome, where he attended the Tasso high school and embarked on political activities with companions like Zevi and Alatri. After various experiences, he joined the group of anti-fascist students and set off on the path that led him to communism in 1940 […] The first portrait of Alicata by Renato Guttuso was painted in 1940, the year he joined the party. The realism of the features leaves room for an intimate interpretation of the character of Alicata, who is presented in this painting with a gruff and determined expression. The red flag behind him, a clear reference to their shared political aims, forms part of the study of this specific object developed over the period in various works, especially still lifes.”

[G. Lotti, description of the work in F. Carapezza Guttuso, D. Favatella Lo Cascio (edited by), Guttuso ritratti e autoritratti, exhibition catalogue (Bagheria, Museo Guttuso, 18 April – 21 June 2015), Cava de’ Tirreni: Ediguida, 2015, pp. 142, 144]

► (39) Renato Guttuso La finestra blu [The Blue Window], 1940–41oil on canvas, 45 × 50 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“The artist sees the world through the filter of his strong individuality so as to attain a representation of the object that seeks to be first and foremost an assertion of his ‘lyrical personality’, a tool that turns reality into the basis of poetry. There is no incompatibility between reality and fantasy in the poetics of realism, as fantasy does not in fact exist outside things. Halted at the evocation of dream and memory, abstract art is instead reduced to an ‘intelligent amusement’, whereas the act of painting, for Guttuso as for the realists, admits no amusement whatsoever. Like every crucial choice, it ‘must be taken seriously’. The continuity of intent found between the work of the 1930s and his subsequent production is demonstrated by the unchanged sense of realism as the bearing of true witness that Guttuso maintained also in his maturity: ‘I would like to speak clearly and to appear obvious without actually being obvious and indeed saying

► (89) Italo Valenti, Gabbiani [Seagulls], 1939oil on canvas, 40 × 50 cm Iannaccone collection since 2004

“It was now 1939, however, a year that saw a series of works evocatively associated with a utopian ideal of happiness, lightness and freedom: I giovani Greci, Gli amanti, I gabbiani and the two versions of the Sogno. The Giovani Greci is an Edenic vision, the dream of an earthly paradise, of a golden age of life in complete harmony with nature. Valenti draws here on the gynaecea and Eldorados of Birolli but adds a flying figure that glides down towards the youths in the foreground: a surrealistic element vaguely reminiscent of Chagall that has few parallels in the Italian painting of the time […] In the Gabbiani three gigantic birds circle over a row of bare trees, symbolizing the ability (as in the Amanti) to soar above the surrounding wretchedness and set off for other horizons. The lyrical motif of the work consists, however, in the reversal of natural proportions. Rather than appearing small against a background of sky or sea, as they usually do (and as Valenti himself painted them in the Lovers and the first version of the Sogno), the gulls here have wings larger than some of the trees.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Tra Brera e Corrente. La prima stagione milanese di Valenti 1933-1943”, in M. Bianchi (edited by), Italo Valenti 1912-1995 il suo lirico candore, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Museo della Permanente, 25 May – 8 July 2012), Tesserete: Pagine d’Arte, 2012, p. 38]

1940

Italy declares war on France and Great Britain. Hitler and Mussolini meet in Munich to agree on the conditions of an armistice for France.

Italian troops occupy Sollum and Sidi el-Barrani in Egypt.

Tripartite pact between Germany, Italy and Japan to establish a “new order” in Europe and Central Asia directed against the Soviet Union.

Mario Mafai wins the Bergamo Prize with Renato Guttuso in third place.

Carlo Levi is forced to return to Italy after the German occupation of Paris.

Ottone Rosai, Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Umberto Lilloni and Francesco Menzio take part in an exhibition of contemporary Italian painters and sculptors at the Kunsthaus in Zurich.

The journal Corrente is closed down for its critical stance towards the Fascist regime.

First issue of Primato, edited by Giuseppe Bottai and Giorgio Vecchietti. The contributors include Mario Mafai, Ottone Rosai, Renato Guttuso and Filippo de Pisis.

Luigi Broggini holds a solo show at the Galleria del Milione in Milan.

Renato Guttuso, Virgilio Guzzi, Luigi Montanarini, Orfeo Tamburi, Pericle Fazzini and Alberto Ziveri hold a group show at the Galleria di Roma.

Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai and Fausto Pirandello take part in the IX Mostra del Sindacato interprovinciale fascista Belle Arti del Lazio.

Mario Mafai shows work in Milan at the Galleria Barbaroux.

Renato Guttuso holds a solo show at the Galleria Genova with a presentation by Alberto Moravia. Ottone Rosai also shows work there.

A show of work by Renato Birolli inaugurates the Bottega degli

A solo show of Umberto Lilloni at the Galleria Grande in Milan coincides with a monograph on the artist by Emilio Radius. Guido Piovene uses the term chiarismo in his review of the show.

After a trip to Paris, Ennio Morlotti moves to Milan and studies under Aldo Carpi and Achille Funi at the Accademia di Brera. He soon joins the Corrente group.

Work by Filippo de Pisis, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello and Scipione is featured in the Italian pavilion at the New York World’s Fair.

Work by Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai and Scipione is shown in San Francisco at the Golden Gate International Exhibition of Contemporary Art.

► S. Bini, “Arnaldo Badodi”, in Corrente, y. II, no. 6, 31 March 1939.

► F. de Pisis, Poesie, Rome: Modernissima, 1939.

► G. Raimondi, “Dodici dipinti regalati da Filippo de Pisis alla R. Galleria d’Arte Moderna”, in Le Arti, II, fasc. II, December 1939 – January 1940.

► O. Rosai, “Le mie esperienze”, in Il Tempo, 2 November 1939.

► R. Guttuso, “Appunti”, in Il Selvaggio, y. VIII, no. 9–10, 30 November 1939.

► (67) Antonietta Raphaël, La strada al mare [The Road to the Sea], 1939oil on canvas, 44 × 55.5 cmIannaccone collection since 1993

“Having abandoned painting almost completely during the 1930s, Antonietta took it up again in Genoa, far away from Mario. La strada al mare is one of the first paintings produced in her improvised studio […] The landscape is built up in thick, streaky brushwork where it is easy to trace the action of the hand. Her sculpture is also like this in that every moment of its gestation can be followed, all the slaps and caresses.”

[L. Mattarella, “Mario Mafai e Antonietta Raphaël”, in L. Mattarella, E. Pontiggia, T. Sparagni (edited by), Arte in due. Coppie di artisti in Europa 1900-1945, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Palazzo Cavour, 14 March – 8 June 2003), Milan: Mazzotta, p. 177]

► (90) Italo Valenti, I giovani Greci [The Young Greeks], 1939oil on canvas, 40 × 50 cmIannaccone collection since 2015

“He was always fascinated by the pre-Socratics and their enlightened, enlightening, visionary thought, simultaneously simple and complicated […] Mythology offered him the archetypes of our imagination and psyche translated into glowing poetry as well as allusive, evocative titles for his canvases, where he conjured up Helen’s striking dance or the adventurous vessel of Ulysses. But alongside Homeric luminosity lay the depths of awareness and intuition. Italo was no less impressed by the tombs of Mycenae than by the Parthenon, by the Eleusinian mysteries than by Epidaurus. He sought inspiration also from the oracles, at Knossos; he observed the dolmen and felt the Celtic spirit of the woods and the druids. To placate his own understanding and find certain impossible answers, he travelled all the paths along which the human mind has arrived at deep insights and created fertile symbols to give a sense to objects and events or express the same, to trace the archetypes of our imagination and the figures of our thought, to take refuge in the apparent simplicity of Chinese quatrains.”

[C. Carena, “Italo e i suoi quadri”, in C. Carena, S. Pult (edited by), Italo Valenti. Catalogo ragionato dei dipinti, Milan: Skira, 1998, p. 10]

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► (19) Renato Birolli, Signora col cappello [Lady in a Hat], 1941oil on canvas, 84 × 57 cmIannaccone collection since 2011

“The portrait of Enrica Cavallo was shown for the first time in the third Bergamo Prize in September 1941. Radius expressed some reservations, claiming that the ‘courageous beauty’ of the work ‘is ruined by the sudden stiffening of the figure precisely in the neck and head’. It is in actual fact a superb portrait that draws on Van Gogh’s Berceuse (as seen in the oblique position of the figure and the elevated viewpoint) but reworks it with different austerity and indeed almost with the rarefied mental cadence of which the artist spoke. The dark, solemn figure of the woman stands out against a yellow background where volume is annihilated and space severely contracted, reduced to no more than the semblance of a table and a series of crooked lines.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Gli artisti di Corrente. Tavole”, in E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (ed-ited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo / SET Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin-London-Venice-New York: Umberto Allemandi & C., 2012, p. 74]

► (8) Arnaldo Badodi, Soprabito su divano [Overcoat on a Sofa], 1941oil on canvas, 60 × 70 cmIannaccone collection since 2003

“[Badodi] was a wholly unostentatious man of natural courtesy and delicacy. One evening he looked in at the Bottega di Corrente and exchanged a few words with friends. He then pulled out his pocket watch, looked at it and said, ‘I’ll be leaving for military service in a couple of hours.’ He left and ended up on the Russian front, never to return.”

[M. De Micheli, “Gli anni di Corrente”, in M. De Micheli (edited by), Corrente: il movimento di arte e cultura di oppo-sizione 1930–1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 25 January – 28 April 1985), Milan: Vangelista, 1985, p. 104]

► (27) Bruno Cassinari, Ritratto di Ernesto Treccani [Portrait of Ernesto Treccani], 1941oil on panel, 60 × 45 cmIannaccone collection since 1994

“In addition to these works — characterized by the substantially lyrical-expressionist tendency peculiar to the first phase of Corrente and that can also be seen in the unbridled lyricism to which Vittorini yielded — Cassinari presented a series of portraits at the Bottega di Corrente including the well-known Rosetta (cat. 1941 2) and Treccani (cat. 1941 1). The more compact structuring of colour that takes shape in them marks a move beyond the quivering arabesque forms toward a vocabulary that is more solid and unadorned; in short, the authentically constructive vocabulary that characterizes the second phase of the Corrente group as from about 1942.”

[G. Anzani, “La prima attività di Bruno Cassinari (1930-1950). Da Milan ad Antibes via Parigi”, in M. Crisci (edited by), Cassinari. Catalogo generale dei dipinti, vol. I, Milan: Electa, 1998, p. 14]

► (48) Mario Mafai, Tramonto su Roma [Sunset over Rome], 1941oil on panel, 24 × 34 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“Mafai’s is the vision of a trembling, vulnerable Rome. The Eternal City is like a fragile Nativity crib, the array of monuments like papier-mâché scenery and the narrow, crooked bridge over the Tiber as though about to collapse into the river, taking a whole family of evanescent hovels along with it.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Aria e cieli nel paesaggio italiano della prima metà del Novecento”, in V. Dehò (edited by), Aria. Premio Internazionale d’Arte decima edizione, exhibition catalogue (Fabriano – Serra San Quirico, Ancona, Fondazione Ermanno Casoli, 7 July – 16 September 2007), Bologna: Grafis, p. 22]

► (87) Ernesto Treccani, Colombi assassinati [Murdered Doves], 1941oil on canvas, 70 × 55 cmIannaccone collection since 1996

“When the journal Corrente ceased publication, the role of politics and the party was crucial. I was now in the front line. I could not even conceive of painting as other than a specific way of asserting a political and revolutionary anti-fascist stance. For me, 1943 and 1944 were to be the years of paintings like Fucilazione, Colombi assassinati and Violette e coltello, above all in the months after my arrest and then my escape to Macugnaga. Painting then was my specific way of being a revolutionary. There was in any

► Renato Birolli. Trenta tavole in nero, una a colori, cinque disegni, with texts by Sandro Bini, R. Rirolli, Milan: Edizioni di Corrente, 1941.

► G. Scheiwiller (edited by), Ottone Rosai, Milan: Hoepli, 1941.

► (6) Arnaldo Badodi, Il circo [The Circus], 1941oil on canvas, 55 × 70 cm Iannaccone collection since 2010

“The Circo thus presents the spectacle of bullying arrogance. A melancholy Pierrot in white and his adolescent companion stand before a screaming mass of faces united by ambiguous relations of love and bullying. His bitter lucidity contrasts with the vulgarity of the crowd and the whiteness of his clothing, which stands out against the earthen hues of the background, takes on almost symbolic significance as a mark of useless innocence, useless awareness.”

[E. Pontiggia (edited by), Artisti di Corrente 1930/1990, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Museo delle Arti di Palazzo Bandera, 16 November 1991 – 12 January 1992), Milan: Vangelista, 1991, p. 8]

► (76) Aligi Sassu, Nu au divan vert [Nude on a Green Couch], 1941oil on canvas, 97 × 65 cmIannaccone collection since 1992

“The emphasis in the depiction of the nude — of conspicuous and almost ostentatious voluptuousness — is an element of poetic licence with respect to the Maupassant story, an interpretation whereby Sassu may have wished to highlight the value of the exhibition of the female body in terms of offering and solitary presence. An invitation to the viewer to look into the mirror of imposing forms, a nude steeped in melancholy that seems to shatter the limits of the pictorial support […] The compositional register characterizing the works of this series is multifaceted. Some present blazing colour verging on expressionism, e.g. Maison Tellier (1948) while in others, such as La mezzana (Maison Tellier) (1947) and Nu au divan vert (1941), a return to the diagonal cutting through the painting recalls classic models like Manet’s Olympia if not indeed Michelangelo’s Leda and the Swan or the odalisques of Delacroix, an artist Sassu loved.”

[A. Giglio Zanetti, “Specchi di casa Tellier”, in Fondazione Aligi Sassu e Helenita Olivares (edited by), Sassu. Maison Tellier, exhibition catalogue (Lugano, Villa Ciani, 17 October 2008 – 1 March 2009), Lugano: Edizioni Fondazione Sassu, 2009, pp. 22–23]

grey predominated and faces of the wretched invaded the studio, one sadder than the other in their desperate solitude.”

[P. Campiglio, “Le voyage de De Pisis”, in P. Campiglio (edited by), De Pisis en voyage. Rome, Parigi, Londra, Milan, Venezia, exhibition catalogue (Parma-Mamiano di Traversetolo, Fondazione Magnani Rocca, 13 September – 8 December 2013), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2013, p. 37]

► (30) Filippo de Pisis, Pesce e coltello [Fish and Knife], 1940oil on cardboard, 30 × 50.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2014

“Swollen with colour, this still life is characterized by great physicality. Even though the paint is applied in dots and patches, it gives an overall sense of visual compactness and the large fish is as though newly caught, just out of the water. The drawing is precise and morphologically correct. The depiction from life suggests ancient parallels in the art of Ferrara and a taste for efficiency realistically obtained, i.e. with respect for the model as a whole. A vein of anxiety cracks the realistic perspective, however, and introduces a metaphysical dimension.”

[Luigi Cavallo (edited by), Filippo de Pisis. Natura e contaminazione, exhibition cata-logue (San Giovanni in Valdarno, Galleria Il Ponte, 10 November – 29 December 2001), Florence: Il Ponte, 2001]

1941

Germany and Italy declare war on Yugoslavia. Joint German and Italian offensive also in Greece.

Ottone Rosai serves on the jury of the Bergamo Prize and shows work in Turin at the Società Amici dell’Arte.

Posthumous exhibition Scipione. Cinque tricromie raccolte dal Centro di azione per le arti at the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan with a critical study by Antonino Santangelo.

The Bottega di Corrente exhibits numerous works from Aligi Sassu’s Uomini rossi series and hosts a solo show of Giuseppe Migneco.

Arnaldo Badodi shows work at the Galleria della Spiga in Milan. A larger solo show is held the same year at the Galleria Genova, where Mario Mafai and Aligi Sassu also exhibit work.

Arrest of Luigi Broggini for anti-fascist activities during a visit to his mother in Ligurno near Varese. A show of his ceramics is held at the Galleria Il Milione in Milan (Mostra di ceramiche dello scultore Luigi Broggini).

Italo Valenti holds his first shows at the Galleria Genova with Luigi Broggini and the Bottega di Corrente in Milan, presented by Luciano Anceschi.

► M. De Micheli, “Commento a Birolli”, in Architrave, y. I, no. 8, 1941.

► R. Guttuso, “Una mostra di Pirandello”, in Primato, II, no. 6, March 1941.

► E. Mastrolonardo, “Nota su Arnaldo Badodi”, in Meridiano di Roma, y. VI, no. 4, January 1941.

► Podestà, “Luigi Broggini e Italo Valenti”, in Emporium, y. XLVII, no. 9, Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, Bergamo, September.

“Opposed to psychologism, like that of his friends, Pirandello’s work aimed not to create a dream world, but clearly to expose a condition suspended midway between pure form and naked reality: a paradox that lays bare the insoluble dialectic between suffering matter and sublimating spirit, held in check by the inevitability of existence. [...] Carnality is expressed with an anti-hedonistic objectivity, highlighting the defects and imperfections of the body, making no concessions to formal piety and starkly rendering the effects of time and nature.”

[F. Benzi, “Fausto Pirandello: From the Early Years to the Second World War”, in F. Benzi (edited by), Fausto Pirandello 1899-1975, exhibition catalogue (London, Estorick Collection, 8 July – 6 September 2015), London: Estorick Foundation, 2015, p. 11]

► (86) Ernesto Treccani, Autoritratto [Self-Portrait], 1940–41oil on canvas, 40 × 35 cmIannaccone collection since 1995

“This self-portrait, one of Treccani’s first paintings, retains a note of adolescent freshness, a psychological rather than physical feeling underscored also by the use of the first name alone as a signature (a tribute to Van Gogh, who signed some works simply Vincent) […] The work was first shown in the group exhibition Badodi, Birolli, Broggini, Cassinari, Cherchi, Fontana, Gauli, Lanaro, Migneco, Paganin, Sassu, Valenti at the Bottega di Corrente, June-July 1941. Even though Treccani took part without being included in the title, Costantini mentioned him in his review in Emporium: ‘Now it is the turn of Treccani, whose only portrait (exhibited here) is very promising.’”

[E. Pontiggia, “Il ritratto a Milan 1929-1942. Opere”, in E. Pontiggia (edited by), Carla Maria Maggi e il ritratto a Milano negli anni trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 15 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira, 2010, p. 60]

► (55) Giuseppe Migneco, L’uomo dal dito fasciato [The Man with a Bandaged Finger], 1940oil on canvas, 60 × 46 cmIannaccone collection since 2003

► (54) Giuseppe Migneco, Amanti al parco [Lovers in the Park], 1940oil on canvas, 50 × 40 cmIannaccone collection since 1997

“L’uomo dal dito fasciato and Gli amanti sulla panchina are among the most significant examples of how Migneco observes and distorts reality […] In the Amanti, once owned by Birolli, […] the narrative is made more dramatic by the cramped space. The photographic approach of the composition focuses on the anguish of the bodies and faces, while the gate behind the bench looks more like the bars of a prison. Though accentuated, the subject would not reach such a degree of tension without the artifice of style, a style that takes up the twisted, undulating line of Van Gogh but contaminates his golden light, soiling it with black and turning it into a rotten, bituminous green. The neurotic line and distasteful colour bring the pathos of the painting to a peak. The same thing happens in the Uomo col dito fasciato, where a small wound takes on elusive, threatening overtones […] Above all, the wound arouses an existential feeling. This is not a self-portrait of a man but a portrait of the irrational impulses — the principles of eros (the red flowers) and thanatos (the black fingerstall) — that drive him. Echoes of Van Gogh, filtered through Carlo Levi, are evident here too in the whirl of lines that destabilize the composition.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Gli artisti di Corrente. Tavole”, in E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (ed-ited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930-1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo / SET Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin-London-Venice-New York: Umberto Allemandi & C., 2012, p. 86]

► (29) Filippo de Pisis, Il suonatore di flauto [The Flute Player], 1940oil on canvas, 65 × 60 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“The return to Milan in 1939 marked a pause in the accentuated, dramatic tension of the urban landscapes and still lifes of the last period in Paris. London had galvanized him again the year before, in 1938, with its skies apparently incapable of communication but actually a void pregnant with pictorial energy, charged with light. Everything seemed to be in a lower key in Milan, the light more muted, the accents and faces more melancholy. There was evidently no light in this city, where he initially stayed at the Vittoria hotel. Shades of

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identifiable in a condition of bewilderment. At the same time, without falling into facile psychologism, we should not underestimate how much the mental illness of the artist’s mother Maria Antonietta Portolano must have affected his vision of the world, perhaps still more deeply than the obvious and unquestionable influence of his father’s work […] The melancholy things crowded into his paintings are placed at random like fragile remnants that have survived the storm of life. It is even hard to identify them sometimes because they appear somehow blurred, sinking into the background and almost fighting so as not to be sucked under. There is also the predominance of a downward viewpoint that tends to flatten the objects on the plane, which is, however, apparently tilted and therefore incapable of supporting them in their precarious balance, often poised on the very edge.”

[F. Matitti, “Tra poetica e iconologia. Donne con salamandra e altre storie”, in C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Catalogo generale, Milan: Electa, 2009, p. 22]

► (92) Emilio Vedova, Il caffeuccio veneziano [Venetian Café], 1942oil on canvas, 43 × 55 cm Iannaccone collection since 2013

“Caffeuccio veneziano [presented at the fourth Bergamo Prize in 1942 together with a still life] already looks forward to the artist’s subsequent work in the fields of abstraction and Art Informel in the immediate post-war period. Here the segmented sign combines the almost caricatural distortion of figures drawn from German expressionism with the satire of Daumier’s paintings and drawings.”

[M. Lorandi, description of the work in F. Rossi, C. Solza (edited by), Gli anni del Premio Bergamo. Arte in Italia intorno agli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Bergamo, Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea e Accademia Carrara, 25 September 1993 – 9 January 1994), Milan: Electa, 1993, p. 233]

► (57) Ennio Morlotti, Natura morta con bucranio [Still Life with Bull Skull], 1942oil on canvas, 46 × 60 cmIannaccone collection since 1997

“There is no scream in his canvases but rather the harrowing silence of afterwards. This is the key to penetrate the intent mystery of

the still lifes painted as from 1942 […] grim objects that have lost the clarity of Morandi to display their agitated presence as earthy concretions. But the influence of Picasso asserts itself forcibly to distort the pattern of reality into a painful grid, which rises in the Natura morta con bucranio of 1943 over the alarming red of a flag [...] A prelude to the transformation of Cubism into open linguistic revolt that Morlotti was to complete after the war.”

[M. Pizziolo,“Dobbiamo parlare agli uomini le parole della vita”, in M. Pizziolo (edited by), Corrente. Le parole della vita. Opere 1930-1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 June – 7 September 2008), Milan: Skira, 2008, p. 30]

► (51) Roberto Melli, La lettura [The Reading], 1942oil on canvas, 80 × 90 cmIannaccone collection since 2004

“The wholly modern close relationship between painting and architecture […] makes every work ‘a block of atmosphere solidified, condensed and subjected to an incessant dynamism of light and space’. Just as painting dispenses with the laws of the atmosphere in order to find expression, ‘architecture also opens up to the suasion of light and space, no longer a feeling of enclosure but openness, space in space and light in light. The levels unravel, the orders are decomposed and recomposed. Everything shifts and readjusts, rejoins and melds, restored to the human scale, geared to human requirements, the return to an ideal garden, the primal Eden so sadly violated by human covetousness.’ The religiosity of the human feeling begun and completed in a fruitful parabola by the painting of family attachments, quiet rooms, the neighbourhood and the constant relationship between nature and creation also returns at regular intervals to clarify the emotions that give birth to artistic impulses and thoughts, the identity of the image in terms of form and colour, the freedom of colour now able to create form in light.”

[G. Appella, “Ferrara, Genova, Roma: Percorsi formativi di Melli”, in G. Appella, M. Calvesi, Roberto Melli 1885-1958, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 13 June – 15 October 1992), Rome: Leonardo De Luca, 1992, pp. 14–15]

► (41) Renato Guttuso, Ritratto di Antonino Santangelo [Portrait of Antonino Santangelo], 1942oil on canvas, 100 × 70 cmIannaccone collection since 1998

“The paintings of Mario Alicata and Antonio Santangelo are equally emblematic examples of expressionist portraiture. Here too, the close-up focus restricts the field of vision and the setting is reduced to a cramped space with the figure squeezed into the background. The oblique rather than frontal pose gives a sense of mobility and immediacy, like the spontaneous gesture of the figures, who stick their fingers into the nooks and crannies of the objects. There are, however, two years between the two portraits. While the drawing

in the first is still partially fluid, as can be seen in the irregular streaks in the background, the wavy line of the hair and the jacket of Cézanne-like form and colour, the second displays a Picassan density of volume and accentuation of certain details […] The writer’s enormous, primordial hands are also reminiscent of Picasso. Above and beyond the stylistic elements, however, the picture the Sicilian critic looking up from the book as he follows the bitter thread of his thoughts remains the unforgettable image of a man immersed in meditation that harbours no illusions and is born out of the hard reality of facts rather than books.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Gli artisti di Corrente. Tavole”, in E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930/1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition cat-alogue (Palazzo de’ Mayo / S.E.T. Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin-London-Venice-New York: Umberto Allemandi & C., 2012, p. 94]

► (61) Fausto Pirandello, La famiglia dell’artista [The Artist’s Family], circa 1942oil on panel, 100 × 67.5 cmIannaccone collection since 2007

“If my father painted so did my brother, and this infuriated me, as I was not allowed to practice those fine arts on the grounds of age. If I turned to my mother in anger and despair, I found her intent on embroidering flowers and arabesques with various skeins of silk in incredible colours, works of inspiration too but disciplined by the lines of obligatory patterns carefully mark on the black cloth in chalk or large stitches of white thread. They were slippers but with a funereal air.”

[Fausto Pirandello, cit. in B. Marconi, “Luigi Pirandello pittore. ‘Spontaneità’ e ‘sincerità’”, in M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Fausto Pirandello “La vita attuale e la favola eterna”, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 20 October 1999 – 10 January 2000), Milan: Edizioni Charta, 1999, p. 31]

► (62) Fausto Pirandello, Natura morta con strumenti musicali [Still Life with Musical Instruments], circa 1942oil on panel, 50.5 × 60 cmIannaccone collection since 2015

“The relationship that Pirandello established with objects, which play the leading part in his compositions, therefore appears to reflect an attitude of often dazed sharing, a common destiny

1942

Exhibition of the Rino Valdameri collection at the Galleria di Roma with works by Filippo de Pisis, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello, Ottone Rosai and Scipione.

Renato Guttuso’s Crocifissione [Crucifixion] is placed second in the fourth and last edition of the Bergamo Prize, which is awarded to Francesco Menzio.

Mario Mafai is transferred from Macerata to the Celio barracks in Rome. An article by him entitled “La mia pittura” appears in Tempo. He also publishes some letters received from Scipione in 1932 in Prospettive (no. 25-27).

Renato Birolli holds a solo show at the Galleria della Spiga in Milan.

Arnaldo Badodi is called up and sent to the Russian front, where he is taken prisoner and dies the following year in a POW camp near Moscow.

Antonietta Raphaël obtains a space at the Accademia di Belle Arti in Rome with the help of Mino Maccari but moves back to Genoa due to financial difficulties.

Luigi Broggini is awarded the Ministry of Education’s first prize for his artistic activity but is unable to receive it because he is still in prison.

Bruno Cassinari and Ennio Morlotti take refuge from Fascist roundups at Mondonico in Lombardy and embark on a period of joint work that continues until 1946.

The collector Alberto della Ragione come to the financial aid of the Bottega degli Artisti di Corrente, which is renamed the Galleria della Spiga e Corrente and holds shows of work by Scipione and Emilio Vedova.

Filippo de Pisis and Fausto Pirandello take part in the XXIII Venice Biennial.

Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello and Alberto Ziveri are among the artists taking part in the X Mostra del Sindacato Interprovinciale fascista Belle Arti del Lazio in Rome.

Ottone Rosai takes part in the first show at the Galleria del Cavallino in Venice and obtains the chair in painting at the Accademia di Belle Arti in Florence.

► M. Rosi, “Prefazione a Renato Guttuso”, in Il Campano, no. 1-2, January-February, 1942.

► “Badodi”, in Sette Giorni, y. VIII, no. 21, May 1942.

► G. C. Argan, “Pitture di De Pisis”, in Primato, January 1942.

► V. Costantini, “Corrente”, in Emporium, y. XLVIII, no. 1, January 1942.

► R. Franchi, Disegni di Ottone Rosai, Milan: Hoepli, 1942.

► A. Galvano, Enrico Paulucci, Rome: Edizioni di Documento, 1942.

► F. de Pisis, Poesie, Florence: Vallecchi, 1942.

case still great unity amongst us as members of the Corrente group. The rift between Birolli and Guttuso came later. Suffice it to consider the Birolli of the Italia ’44 drawings to understand that the split came afterwards, at the time of the Group of Eight. There has, unfortunately, always been a tendency to read the history of Corrente backwards in the light of the events of the post-war period. What surprises me in any case is the shortness of the period in which Corrente ran its course and the speed with which views changed, not only their evolution but also their overlapping and interweaving in an intense internal dialectic.”

[Ernesto Treccani, cit. in M. Pizziolo (edited by), Ernesto Treccani e il movimento di Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Fondazione Bandera per l’Arte, 25 October 2003 – 29 February 2004), Milan: Skira, 2003, p. 127]

► (56) Giuseppe Migneco, Natura morta con maschere [Still Life with Masks], 1941oil on canvas, 49 × 39 cmIannaccone collection since 1993

“The Natura morta con maschere belongs to a later period when […] the linear undulation of Migneco’s works tended to diminish and lessen the degree of compositional vibration. The set of objects has a symbolic value. The masks, a motif borrowed from Ensor but frequent also in the painting of Birolli and Tomea, allude to camouflage, dissimulation, an appearance differing from reality. The lamp, whose cord describes a long arabesque before coming to rest on the table with the plug left visible in the foreground, seems to suggest a desire to cast light, to discover what lies hidden behind the deceptive appearance of things.”

[E. Pontiggia, “Gli artisti di Corrente. Tavole”, in E. Pontiggia, A. Paglione (edited by), Sassu e Corrente 1930/1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Palazzo de’ Mayo / S.E.T. Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin-London-Venice-New York: Umberto Allemandi & C., 2012, p. 86]

► (88) Ernesto Treccani, Ritratto di Beniamino Joppolo [Portrait of Beniamino Joppolo], 1941oil on canvas, 45 × 35 cmIannaccone collection since 2003

“If the self-portrait painted in the parental home at Vanzaghello appears to display discreet echoes

of expressionism and Van Gogh, the Ritratto di Joppolo, a work of more sculptural character built up of compact chromatic masses, is decidedly similar to the approach of Cassinari. A canvas like La collina, produced during a stay at Mendrisio, is instead comparable to some works painted by Morlotti in the same decade in terms of the composition and the use of thickly laden brushstrokes.”

[L. Capano, “Gli inizi”, in A. Negri (edited by), Ernesto Treccani. Mostra antologica, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 May – 25 June 1989), Milan: Fabbri Editori, 1989, p. 49]

► (31) Filippo de Pisis, Il Foro Bonaparte a Milano [The Foro Bonaparte in Milan], 1941oil on canvas, 70 × 50 cmIannaccone collection since 2012

“The artist’s wanderings en plein air and early détournement in the city streets often led him into urban parks (Il Foro Bonaparte a Milano, 1941), towards the nature juxtaposed in town to the orderly streets and rows of houses, by the waterside, on the canals (Il vecchio Naviglio a Milano, 1942), on the outskirts or by monuments in the old town centre, seldom in the cathedral square but in front of the eccentric Casa degli Omenoni (1942), in new and silvery views.”

[P. Campiglio (edited by), De Pisis en voyage. Roma, Parigi, Londra, Milano, Venezia, exhibition catalogue (Parma-Mamiano di Traversetolo, Fondazione Magnani Rocca, 13 September – 8 December 2013), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale, 2013, p. 38]

386 387


1945

Mussolini is caught by partisans after fleeing to Como and executed in Piazzale Loreto, Milan.

Work by Renato Birolli, Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Roberto Melli, Fausto Pirandello and Ottone Rosai is shown in the exhibition Artisti Moderni alla Galleria del Secolo in Rome.

Emilio Vedova shows work at the Galleria Venezia and later at the Galleria del Pioppo in Mantua.

Mario Mafai holds personal shows at the Galleria dell’Arco in Venice as well as the Secolo and the Zodiaco in Rome.

Publication of the book Cristo si è fermato a Eboli, written by Carlo Levi during his wartime period of clandestine activities in Florence.

Umbro Apollonio presents work by Scipione at the Galleria del Cavallino in Venice.

Roberto Melli starts teaching at the Accademia di Belle Arti in Rome.

Bruno Cassinari and Ennio Morlotti design a poster for the International Workers’ Day.

► M. Mafai, “Possibilità per un’arte nuova”, in Rinascita, no. 3, March 1945.

► L. Anceschi (edited by), Migneco. Dodici tavole in nero a otto colori, Milan: Galleria Santa Radegonda, 1945.

► (96) Alberto Ziveri, Il postribolo [The Bawdy House], 1945oil on canvas, 100 × 125 cmIannaccone collection since 2005

“It is the same light that almost makes visible the blood in the flesh — Chardin again — of the women who undress with the sweetness and violence of bygone times, a bit like the women of Baudelaire (the ‘servante au grand coeur’), Goya, Courbet and Manet. Female figures that — in the widespread wild and mortuary eroticism that makes up the erotic climate of today — are almost disturbing in their plebeian and sometimes proletarian sensuality. Ziveri is of course engaged in a type of realistic painting that began when the young Caravaggio took to producing paintings that ‘were not even capable of giving themselves a title’, thus inaugurating a ‘workaday realism’ that was to have followers everywhere in Europe (Rembrandt, Velázquez, Vermeer, the Le Nain brothers and Zurbaran are all substantially indebted to him) and to resurface as alleged subject matter in the ‘slices of life’ of modern painting.”

[D. Micacchi, “Alberto Ziveri: lo sguardo e le cose”, in Alberto Ziveri, Florence: Galleria d’Arte Moderna Sangallo, 1964, n.p.n.]

1944

The Allies enter Rome.

Antonietta Raphaël returns to Genoa.

Mario Mafai leaves for Naples, where he is elected vicepresident of the organizing committee of the Libera Associazione delle Arti Figurative. The president of the association is Gino Severini and the members include Giuseppe Capogrossi, Renato Guttuso, Mirko, Toti Scialoja and Alberto Ziveri.

Work by Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello, Ottone Rosai and Scipione is shown in 25 Artisti del Secolo alla Galleria del Secolo in Rome.

Work by Filippo de Pisis, Mario Mafai, Renato Guttuso, Fausto Pirandello, Ottone Rosai and Scipione is shown in the Esposizione d’Arte Contemporanea. Exhibition of Contemporary Italian Art at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome.

Renato Guttuso starts work on his anti-Fascist and anti-Nazi painting Gott mit uns (1944–45).

A reading of Carlo Levi’s text Paura della pittura (written in July 1942) is broadcast by Radio Firenze.

Ottone Rosai explains his activities during the Fascist regime and gradual detachment to the president of the national liberation committee. He is suspended from his teaching post at the academy.

Luigi Broggini takes part in the Esposizione d’arte contemporanea at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna.

G. Montanari, “Le sculture di Broggini”, in Cronaca Prealpina, 5 November 1944.

A. Gatto, Luigi Broggini, II ed., Milan: Edizioni del Milione, 1944.

G. Marchiori, Disegni di Scipione, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, 1944.

A. Parronchi, Nomi della pittura italiana contemporanea, Florence: Edizioni Arnaud, 1944.

► (91) Italo Valenti, Nudo in un interno [Nude in an Interior], circa 1944oil on canvas, 40 × 50 cmIannaccone collection since 2001

“Painting expressed what was joyous in his mind and exorcised what was disturbed, first in figures, then in their forms and finally in their annihilation. Such was in fact the man himself. Unobtrusive and intermittent but sudden and brilliant in conversation, engaging in healthy, intelligent enjoyment but scathing and even furious in discussions of justice and mercy […] On observing Italo’s painting (in Corrente, issue no. 7, 1940), Beniamino Joppolo discovered the ‘obsessive reappearance’ of humiliated figures, people in distress seeking help or attempting to detach themselves physically from the ground and soar into the air without wings. As he points out, however, this is an escape only attempted of necessity in dreams and prompted by the ‘constant, incessant anguish with which all this fantastic world is conjured up. Someone accused the painter at first of being overly delicate, suggesting that his intelligence led to impotence, that his taste for small, attractive compositions was an insuperable limitation and an ultimately sterile approach. Here too, however, anxiety soon manifested itself with the expressive need to make that painting necessary, exploding into intense and even violent colour.”

[C. Carena, “Italo e i suoi quadri”, in C. Carena, S. Pult (edited by), Italo Valenti. Catalogo ragionato dei dipinti, Milan: Skira, 1998, pp. 10–11]

1943

American, British and Canadian allied forces land in Sicily.

Victor Emanuel III informs Mussolini of his destitution at the Villa Savoia. The Duce is arrested and the country is placed under the military government of Marshal Pietro Badoglio.

Badoglio announces the armistice and abandons Rome together with the royal family.

German parachutists free Mussolini from imprisonment on the Gran Sasso mountain. Birth of the Fascist Republic of Salò, recognized and protected by Germany.

Show of work by Renato Guttuso at the Galleria dello Zodiaco in Rome in collaboration with the Galleria della Spiga. Work by Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Fausto Pirandello, Emilio Vedova and Scipione is also shown at the Zodiaco in the exhibition Undici pittori romani. The same year sees a show of Mafai and Manzù with a presentation by Alberto Moravia.

Ennio Morlotti and Ernesto Treccani write a manifesto of painters and writers (Primo Manifesto di Pittori e scultori).

Ottone Rosai shows work at the Galleria Cairola in Milan. He is attacked and insulted by a group of anti-fascists during the same year.

Filippo de Pisis, Renato Guttuso, Mario Mafai, Francesco Menzio, Fausto Pirandello, Ottone Rosai, Emilio Vedova and Alberto Ziveri take part in the IV Rome Quadrennial.

Show of work by Mario Mafai and Scipione at the Galleria Il Ponte in Florence.

Show of work by Bruno Cassinari, Ernesto Treccani and Ennio Morlotti at the Nuova Galleria della Spiga e Corrente in Milan.

Gio Ponti invites artists including Giorgio de Chirico, Achille Funi, Filippo de Pisis, Pompeo Borra, Aligi Sassu and Francesco De Rocchi to work on the decoration of a newly built villa at Cervignano d’Adda (Lodi).

Renato Guttuso leaves Rome to play an active part in the Resistance for two years.

Filippo de Pisis moves to Venice after the bombing of Milan and remains there until 1948.

Italo Valenti refuses to continue teaching after the institution of the Fascist Republic of Salò and takes refuge at Porcia in the Veneto region.

Mario Mafai and Antonietta Raphaël leave Genoa with their daughters and return to Rome.

► Mafai (in the series Quaderni del Disegno Contemporaneo), Milan: Edizioni della Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, 1943, with a preface by Antonino Santangelo.

EXHIBITIONS

391

1920 – 1945

1920–29

Firenze, 1920 Ottone Rosai Palazzo Capponi, 27 November – 17 December.

Firenze, 1922 Mostra personale di Ottone RosaiSaletta Gonnelli, 3–28 March.

Milano, 1929 6 pittori di TorinoGalleria Bardi, 16–26 November, curated by Pier Maria Bardi.

Roma, Sindacato, 1929 Prima Mostra del Sindacato Laziale Fascista degli ArtistiPalazzo delle Esposizioni, April–June.

Roma, 1929 Mostra di otto pittrici e scultrici romane Camerata degli Artisti di piazza di Spagna, 9–24 June, curated by R. Strinati.

Parigi, 1929 Peintures et Dessins de Fausto PirandelloGalerie Vildrac, 9–23 March.

Vienna, 1929 Fausto Pirandello, personaleGalleria Bakum, November.

1930–39

Roma, 1930 Scipione e Mafai Galleria di Roma, 8–27 November, curated by Pier Maria Bardi.

Torino, 1930 I sei pittori Sala Guglielmi, piazza Castello n. 25, 4–12 January. Note. The inscription on the invitation reads as follows: "Free admission. Complete freedom of discussion and courteous disagreement."

Milano, 1931Tullio Garbari Galleria del Milione, 18–31 January.

Firenze, 1932 RosaiGalleria di Palazzo Ferrari, 6–24 October.

Milano, 1932 Birolli, Cortese, Grosso, Manzù, Sassu, Tomea Galleria del Milione, 5–15 February.

Vienna, 1933 Italienische Kunstausstellung Künstlerhaus, 1 April – 4 June.

Venezia, 1934 XIX Biennale di Venezia, sala XXXVIII.

Londra, 1935Franco-Italian Exhibition Werthein Gallery, July.

Roma, 1935 II Quadriennale Palazzo delle Esposizioni per la II Quadriennale di Roma, February–July.

San Francisco, 1935Exhibition of Contemporary Italian Painting then Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia and New York, curated by Dario Sabatello.

Genova, 1936 Carlo Levi Galleria Genova, 1–16 December, curated by di Giansiro Ferrata.

Milano, 1936 VII Mostra del Sindacato Interprovinciale Fascista Belle Arti di Milano Palazzo della Permanente, 16 February – 15 March.

Milano, Mostra postuma, 1936Mostra postuma di Tullio GarbariGalleria del Milione, 25 January – 12 February.

Roma, 1936 Un’esposizione di Alberto Ziveri Galleria della Cometa, 26 February – 15 March, curated by Roberto Melli.

Venezia, 1936 XX Biennale Internazionale d’Arte, sala XXII, n. 22, June–September.

Milano, 1937 Sede del Gruppo Universitario Fascista “Ugo Pepe”, Salone degli Osii, 28 January – 5 February.

Genova, 1938 Renato Birolli Genova, Galleria Genova.

Roma, 1938Renato Guttusofirst solo show, Galleria della Cometa, 28 March – 8 April, curated by Nino Savarese.

Venezia, 1938Birolli, Mucchi, Pittino, Tomea Galleria Arcobaleno, July 1938.

Venezia, Rosai, 1938XXI Biennale di Venezia, sala 32. Bergamo, 1939Primo Premio Bergamo. Mostra Nazionale del paesaggio Italiano Palazzo della Ragione, room 18, upper floor curated by Orfeo Sellani, September–October.

Milano, Corrente, 1939 Mostra d’Arte Contemporanea (Prima mostra di “Corrente”) Palazzo della Permanente, dal 18 March.

Milano, Rosai, 1939 Ottone Rosai Galleria Barbaroux, from 4 November.

1940–49

Genova, 1940 Giuseppe Migneco Galleria Genova, 10–28 April.

Bergamo, 1941 III Premio Bergamo. Mostra Nazionale di Pittura Palazzo della Ragione, September–October.

Genova, Sassu, 1941 Aligi Sassu Galleria Genova, 1–15 February.

Milano, 1941 Giuseppe MignecoBottega di Corrente, with a presentation by Umberto Silva, 6–18 January, curated by Umberto Silva.

Milano, Cassinari, 1941 Bruno Cassinari Bottega di Corrente, 8–20 February, curated by Elio Vittorini.

Milano, Genova, 1941 Arnaldo Badodi Milano, Bottega di Corrente, 22 February – 5 MarchGenova, Galleria Genova, 29 March – 9 April, curated by Raffaele De Grada.

Milano, Scipione, 1941Scipione, Mostra postuma a cura del centro di azione per le arti retrospectiveSale della Regia Pinacoteca di Brera, 8–23 March.

Milano, Sassu, 1941 Aligi Sassu Bottega di Corrente, 19–31 March, curated by Luciano Anceschi.

Milano, Broggini, 1941 Mostra collettiva (Badodi, Birolli, Broggini, Cassinari, Cherchi, Fontana, Gauli, Lanaro, Migneco, Paganin, Sassu, Valenti) Bottega di Corrente, 18 June – 6 July.

Bergamo, 1942 IV Premio Bergamo. Mostra nazionale di Pittura Palazzo della Ragione, September–October, XX.

Milano, 1943 Cassinari – Morlotti – Treccani Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, from 6 February, curated by Raffaele De Grada.

Milano, Broggini, 1943 Luigi Broggini Galleria Cairola, from 9 March.

Roma, 1943 Collettiva di artisti romani Galleria dello Zodiaco.

Roma, Quadriennale, 1943 IV Quadriennale d’Arte NazionalePalazzo delle Esposizioni, May–July.

Varese, 1944 Mostra personale dello scultore Luigi Broggini e dei pittori Fiorenzo Tomea e Domenico Cantatore Galleria Varese [home of the Galleria Annunciata after the evacuation from Milan, Ed.], 28 October – 19 November.

Milano, 1945Aligi Sassu Galleria Ciliberti, June.

392 393

EXHIBITIONS — EDITED BY RISCHA PATERLINI 1945 – 1971

Venezia, 1960 XXX Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Veneziasala personale.

Torino, 1961 La figura nell’arte italiana contemporanea Galleria La Bussola, 3–29 June, curated by Guido Ballo.

Torino, Narciso, 1961 Il paesaggio nella pittura italiana contemporanea Galleria Narciso, 24 September – 15 October, curated by L. Carluccio.

Milano, 1962 Mostra Nazionale Arte Figurativa “Città di Milano” Palazzo della Permanente, June–September, curated by Carlo Carrà.

Torino, 1962Ernesto Treccani Galleria Gissi, 25 October – 8 November.

Biella, 1963Mostra di ScipioneCentro Internazionale di Arti figurative, 27 November – 20 December.

Firenze, 1963 Mostra mercato nazionale d’arte contemporaneaPalazzo Strozzi, 23 March – 28 April.

Ivrea, Verona, Milano, 1963 Gli artisti di “Corrente” Centro Culturale Olivetti, June; Verona, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July–August; Milano, Civica Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Palazzo Reale, 25 September – 20 October, curated by Marco Valsecchi.

Lecco, 1963Mostra antologica di Ennio MorlottiCentro Cultura, 18 May – 16 June, curated by Carlo Volpe.

Torino, 1963Motivi d’arte contemporanea Galleria Narciso, 20 May – 14 June, curated by Marzio Pinottini.

Verona, 1963Renato Birolli 1931–1959 Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July–August, curated by Giuseppe Marchiori, Zeno Birolli, Franco Bruno.

Parma, 1963–64 Renato Guttuso. Mostra antologica dal 1931 ad oggi Palazzo della Pilotta – Galleria Nazionale, 15 December 1963 – 31 January 1964, curated by Roberto Longhi, Franco Russoli, Giovanni Testori.

Roma, 1964 La Scuola romana Galleria La Barcaccia, 11–25 April, curated by Romeo Lucchese.

Pistoia, 1964–65Dipinti e disegni di O. RosaiGalleria d’Arte Vannucci, 13 December 1964 – 8 January 1965.

Prato, 1965100 Opere di Ottone Rosai Galleria Falsetti, December.

Torino, 1965 I Sei di Torino 1929–1932 Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna, September–October.

Trieste, 1965La collezione ManciniGalleria Torbandena, June–July.

Città del Messico, 1966Arte italiana dal 1910 ad oggi Museo de Arte Moderna, 24 March – 10 May.

Genova, 1966Pittura di Birolli e Mostra della Giovane Arte in Italia intorno al 1930Palazzo Reale – Sala del Falcone.

Torino, 1966Francesco Menzio Galleria Narciso, 16 January – 2 February.

Venezia, 1966 Exhibition in Venice.

Firenze, 1966–67Arte Moderna in Italia, 1915–1935Palazzo Strozzi, November 1966 – February 1967. Arezzo, Roma, 1967Burri – Cagli – Fontana – Guttuso – Moreni – Morlotti. Sei pittori italiani dagli anni Quaranta ad oggiArezzo, Galleria Comunale d’Arte Contemporanea, Sala di Sant’Ignazio, 6 May – 11 JuneRoma, Istituto Italo Latino-Americano, 28 June – 26 July.

Darmstadt, Recklinghausen, 1967 Renato GuttusoDarmstadt, Kunstverein; Recklinghausen, Städtische Kunsthalle.

Firenze, 1967Arte moderna in Italia 1915–1935 Palazzo Strozzi, 26 February – 28 May, curated by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti.

Roma, 1967Omaggio a MafaiGalleria La Nuova Pesa, 24 November – 13 December, curated by Dario Micacchi.

Torino, 1967Capolavori di NataleGalleria La Bussola, from 2 December.

Cortina d’Ampezzo, 1967–68Omaggio a Filippo de PisisGalleria Dolomiti, 25 December 1967 – 10 January 1968, cat. plate XVII, illustrated.

Milano, 1968Del Bonwith award of Cornice d’oroGalleria Annunciata prize.

Palermo, 1968Ernesto Treccani. Opere dal 1940 al 1967 Galleria La Robinia, February–March.

Roma, 1968Scipione Mafai Stradone Galleria Senior, from 18 May, curated by Palma Bucarelli, Giulio Carlo Argan, Nello Ponente.

Roma, 1968–69Cento opere d’arte italiana dal futurismo ad oggiGalleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 20 December 1968 – 20 January 1969, curated by Palma Bucarelli.

Bochum, 1969Italienische Kunst des XX Jahrhunderts.

Milano, 1969 Arnaldo Badodi Galleria Eunomìa, November–December.

Roma, Mafai, 1969MafaiPalazzo Barberini, January–March, curated by Valentino Martinelli, organized by Ente Premi Roma.

1970–79

Ferrara, Mantova, 1970 Renato Birolli Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna, Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 17 May – 30 July; Mantova, Palazzo Te.

Firenze, 1970Seconda biennale internazionale della grafica. La grafica tra le due guerre 1918/1939Palazzo Strozzi, 30 April – 29 June.

Grosseto, 1970 Antonietta Raphaël antologica di pittura e scultura Galleria Barbini, November.

Milano, 1970Luigi Broggini Casa dell’antiquario Luzzetti, via Bigli.

Milano, Cassinari, 1970Bruno CassinariGalleria dell’Annunciata, 7–24 November.

San Gimignano, 1970Guttuso, for the “Premio Raffaele De Grada per il paesaggio”.

Udine, 1970Renato GuttusoGalleria del Girasole, January–February.

Milano, 1970–71Morandi – Morlotti (for the forty years of the Milione)Galleria del Milione, 12 December 1970 – 12 January 1971, curated by Roberto Tassi.

Firenze, 1971Antonietta Raphaël personale di scultura e pittura Galleria Menghelli, October.

Milano, 1971Milano 70/70. Un secolo d’arte. Dal 1915 al 1945 Museo Poldi Pezzoli, 28 April – 10 June.

Milano, Ravenna, Napoli, 1971 Omaggio a “Corrente” trent’anni dopo Milano, Diarcon, 13–31 MayRavenna, Galleria dell’Accademia – Loggetta Lombardesca, 4–30 JuneNapoli, Galleria Mediterranea, November, curated by Raffaele De Grada.

Milano, Migneco, 1945Mignecosolo exhibition, Galleria Santa Radegonda, from 22 November, curated by Luciano Anceschi.

Milano, Sassu, 1945Aligi Sassu Galleria Santa Radegonda, 4–23 October, curated by E. Emanuelli, A. Sassu, N. Tullier.

Roma, 1945–46 Mario MafaiGalleria del Secolo, 23 December 1945 – 23 January 1946.

Roma, 1946 Alberto Ziveri Galleria di Roma.

Roma, 1947 Mostra personale di Mario Mafai Galleria Athena, 12–30 April.

Macerata, 1948 Scipione con opere provenienti dalle Biennale di Venezia e da gallerie private Pinacoteca Comunale, 12–26 December.

Venezia, 1948XXIV Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Veneziasala XXXIII, retrospective of Scipione curated by Carlo Cardazzo, Mario Mafai, Corrado Maltese, Giuseppe Marchiori, Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti, Lionello Venturi.

Venezia, 1949 Mostra collettiva Galleria Sandri, February.

1950–59

Firenze, 1950 Roberto Mellisolo exhibition, Galleria La Strozzina, March.

Milano, 1950L’opera di Roberto Melli (dal 1908 al 1948) Galleria Gian Ferrari, 1–10 April, curated by Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti.

Milano, Scipione, 1950ScipioneGalleria dell’Annunciata.

Milano, 1951 Renato Birolli Galleria La Colonna di Milano, November.

Roma, 1951 Fausto Pirandello Palazzo Barberini per la Fondazione Premi Roma per le Arti, February–March, curated by Fortunato Bellonzi.

Milano, 1952Ernesto Treccani Galleria Il Naviglio, January.

Roma, 1952 Raphaël Mafai Galleria Lo Zodiaco, 15–30 March, curated by Virgilio Guzzi.

Roma, 1a Mostra di PIttura, 1952 1a Mostra di Pittura. Il volto di Roma Circolo Artistico di via Margutta, May–June.

Firenze, 1953 Omaggio a Rosai Galleria La Strozzina, April–May.

La Spezia, 1953Mostra del V Premio Nazionale di Pittura Golfo della Spezia, Mostra monografica dell’opera di Ottone Rosai Ente Provinciale per il Turismo, 19 July – 13 September.

Torino, 1953Pittori d’oggi. Francia–Italia. Terza Mostra Palazzo Belle Arti, Parco del Valentino, September–October.

Roma, 1954 ScipioneGalleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, April, curated by Palma Bucarelli.

L’Aquila, 1955 Mostra panoramica Nazionale di Pittura Contemporanea Circolo “Incontri Culturali”, 26 June – 26 July.

Roma, 1955A. Raphaël Mafai Galleria La Tartaruga, from 12 May, curated by A. Mezio.

Firenze, Torino, 1956–57Antonietta Raphaël Mafai. Il ritorno dalla Cina Firenze, Galleria La Strozzina, from 1 December 1956, curated by C. Brandi, A. Mezio, A. Moravia; Torino, Unione Culturale, December 1956 – January 1957.

Venezia, 1956 XXVIII Biennale Internazionale d’Arte di Venezia16 June – 21 October.

Ivrea, 1957O. Rosai Centro Culturale Olivetti, May, curated by Pier Carlo Santini.

Milano, 1957 Luigi Broggini Galleria L’Annunciata, 8–21 June.

Monaco di Baviera, 1957Arte italiana dal 1910 ad oggi Haus der Kunst, 6 June – 15 September, with the patronage of Ente Quadriennale di Roma. Note. The presence of the works belonging to the collection in the exhibition at the Haus der Kunst in Munich (6 June − 15 September 1957, organized by the Quadriennale di Roma and curated by Gino Bacchetti, Fortunato Bellonzi, Giorgio Castelfranco, Franco Montanari and Marco Valsecchi) is deduced from the labels on the back of the paintings because the catalogue (Arte italiana dal 1910 ad oggi, Rome: Istituto Grafico Tiberino, 1957) provides no list.

Pontedera, 1957IX Mostra Nazionale di pittura “Premio Pontedera”exhibition in memory of Ottone Rosai.

Roma, 1957 Roberto MelliPalazzo Barberini, organized by Ente Premi Roma.

Torino, 1957Figure e Paesaggio di Ottone Rosai a Torino.

Livorno, 1958 Mostra antologica di Ernesto Treccani Casa Municipale della Cultura.

Biella 1959Maestri Italiani Contemporanei Galleria Colongo, 8–29 March.

Ivrea, 1959Francesco Menzio Centro Culturale Olivetti.

Milano, 1959Mostra storica di “Corrente” Galleria Gian Ferrari, 21 January – 21 February.

Milano, 50 anni, 195950 anni d’arte a Milano. Dal divisionismo ad oggi Palazzo della Permanente, 31 January – 15 March.

Milano, Del Bon, 1959Del Bon Galleria Annunciata.

Milano, Rosai, 1959Ottone Rosai Galleria Barbaroux.

Milano, Sassu, 1959SassuGalleria delle Ore, 11 April – 3 May, curated by Renato Guttuso.

Verona, 1959 LIV Biennale nazionale d’arte sala personale, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, May–June.

1960–69

Ferrara, 1960Mostra del rinnovamento dell’arte in Italia dal 1930 al 1945 Casa Romei, June–September, curated by Eugenio Riccomini, Raffaele De Grada.

Firenze, 1960Mostra dell’opera di Ottone Rosai 1911–1957 Palazzo Strozzi, May–June, curated by Pier Carlo Santini.

Ivrea, 1960Raphaël Centro Culturale Olivetti, July, curated by Alfredo Mezio.

Milano, 1960Mostra Commemorativa Pittori Soci Palazzo della Permanente, 9 April – 10 May, curated by Remo Taccani.

Milano, Corrente, 1960Mostra storica di “Corrente” Galleria Gian Ferrari, 21 January – 21 February, curated by Claudia Gian Ferrari

Roma, 1960Alberto Ziveri Galleria La Nuova Pesa, March–April, curated by Virgilio Guzzi.

Torino, 1960Raphaël Galleria Narciso, 15–30 September.

394 395


Caserta, 1983Treccani. Cento dipinti, disegni, incisioni 1940–1981 Palazzo Reale, 15 May – 12 June, curated by Mario De Micheli.

Piacenza, 1983 Cassinari. Mostra antologica Palazzo Farnese, 21 May – 24 July, curated by Gian Alberto Dell’Acqua, Giovanni Anzani.

Ravenna, Ivano Fracena, 1983Ennio MorlottiRavenna, Pinacoteca Comunale – Loggetta Lombardesca, 23 April – 5 June, curated by Pier Giovanni CastagnoliIvano Fracena, Castel Ivano Incontri, July–August.

Roma, 1983 Scuola Romana. Pittori tra le due guerre Galleria Cembalo Borghese, July, curated by Netta Vespignani, Claudio Gasparrini.

Roma, Raphaël, 1983La Scuola romana dal ’29 al ’33 (Mafai, Raphaël, Scipione, Mazzacurati, Lazzaro, Cagli, Capogrossi, Cavalli, Fazzini, Ziveri, Di Cocco, Ianni) Galleria privata Marino – La Tartaruga, April, curated by Dario Durbé.

Torino, 1983I Sei di Torino. Boswell, Chessa, Galante, Levi, Menzio, Paulucci Galleria Narciso, 19 February – 31 March.

Torino, Roma, Firenze, 1983Ottone Rosai. Opere dal 1911 al 1957 Torino, Circolo degli Artisti – Palazzo Graneri, April–MayRoma, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, July–SeptemberFirenze, Palazzo Strozzi, 13 November – 18 December, curated by Pier Carlo Santini.

Messina, 1983–84Migneco – Mostra antologicaPalazzo Zanca, December 1983 – February 1984, curated by Salvatore Quasimodo, Vittorio Fagone.

Roma, 1983–84Alberto Ziveri, le incisioni Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, December 1983 – January 1984, curated by Dario Durbé.

Reggio Emilia, Como, Salerno, Milano, 1983–85Guttuso nel disegno. Anni Venti/Ottanta Reggio Emilia, Festa Nazionale de “l’Unità”, 1–18 September 1983Como, San Francesco, 6 November – 18 December 1983Salerno, Museo Provinciale di San Benedetto, December 1984 – January 1985Milano, Arte Polivalente Bonaparte, February–March, curated by Enrico Crispolti.

Milano, 1984Anthological exhibition, MignecoRotonda della Besana, September, curated by Raffaele De Grada, Mario De Micheli, Vittorio Fagone, L. Barbera.

Milano, Sassu, 1984Sassu. Opere dal 1927 al 1984 Palazzo Reale, 10 October – 25 November, curated by Giuseppe Bonini.

Roma, 1984 Alberto Ziveri Galleria d’Arte Moderna, curated by Dario Durbé.

Torino, 1984 Chessa Da Milano Levi Menzio Piemonte Artistico e Culturale, February, promoted by Regione Piemonte – Assessorato alla Cultura, curated by Renzo Guasco, Angelo Mistrangelo

Venezia, 1984 Exhibition Ala Napoleonica e Magazzino del sale 266 alle Zattere, 12 May – 30 September, curated by Germano Celant.

Milano, 1984–85Roma tra espressionismo barocco e pittura tonale 1929–1943 Galleria privata Daverio, December 1984 – January 1985.

Roma, 1984–85Mario MafaiStudio Sotis, December 1984 – February 1985, curated by Duccio Trombadori.

Roma, Fazzini e Ziveri, 1984–85Fazzini e Ziveri Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 19 December 1984 – 3 February 1985, curated by Dario Durbé.

Genova, 1985Guttuso a Genova nel nome Della Ragione Villa Croce, October–November.

Macerata, 1985Scipione (1904–1933) Mostra antologica – Dipinti / DisegniGalleria d’Arte Contemporanea, 6 July – 15 September, curated by Giuseppe Appella, Claudio Mazzenga, Antonello Trombadori.

Milano, 1985 Corrente: il Movimento di Arte e Cultura di Opposizione 1930–1945Palazzo Reale, 25 January – 28 April, curated by Mario De Micheli.

Sondrio, 1985Ernesto Treccani. Dipinti, acquarelli, disegni, incisioni, litografie Villa Quadrio, October–November.

Torino, 1985Mafai e Raphaël. Una vita per l’arte Galleria privata Narciso, 19 October – 30 November, curated by M. Pinottini.

Macerata, 1986Mario Mafai 1902–1965 Palazzo Ricci e Pinacoteca Comunale, 6 July – 15 September, curated by Giuseppe Appella, Fabrizio D’Amico, Flaminio Gualdoni.

Milano, 1986 CassinariPalazzo Reale, September–November, curated by Enrico Crispolti.

Milano, Mantova, 1986Il Chiarismo LombardoMilano, Palazzo Bagatti–ValsecchiMantova, Casa del Mantegna, 6 October – 16 November, curated by Renzo Margonari, Renzo Modesti.

Montichiari, 1986Ernesto Treccani. Realtà e coscienza Teatro Sociale, chiesa del Suffragio and Biblioteca comunale, 20 September – 26 October, curated by Floriano De Santi.

Genzano, Verona, 1987Giuseppe MignecoGenzano, Galleria privata Poggiali e Forconi, April–May; L’Infiorata, June, curated by E. FabianiVerona, Galleria privata Ghelfi, November–December, curated by F. Butturini.

Lacchiarella, 1987 Dieci artisti di Corrente Il Girasole – Centro per il commercio internazionale – Marco Polo Fashion House, 1–22 March, curated by Rossana Bossaglia, Mario De Micheli, Elena Pontiggia.

Mesola, 1987La natura morta italiana del Novecento Castello Estense, 2 August – 15 October, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Milano, 1987Ennio Morlotti. Mostra antologica Palazzo Reale, 9 October – 29 November, curated by Gianfranco Bruno.

Monaco di Baviera, 1987Sassu. Sein schaffen von 1927 bis 1985 Munich, Staatsgalerie Moderner Kunst, 28 January – 15 March.

New York, 1987 Scuola Romana. Romantic Expressionism in Rome 1930–1945 New York, Philippe Daverio Gallery.

Ravenna, 1987Guttuso 1937–1974 Galleria Il Patio, 20 June – 30 September, curated by Duccio Trombadori.

Rivoli, 1987Sassu. Dipinti 1929–1987 Castello di Rivoli, 20 October – 29 November, curated by Guido Ballo.

Torino, 1987Il corpo Studio Scuola Romana, December, curated by Giovanni Audoli.

Verona, 1987Guttuso, 50 anni di pittura Palazzo Forti – Galleria d’Arte Moderna, 29 July – 15 October, curated by Giorgio Cortenova, Enrico Mascelloni.

Bagheria, Milano, 1987–88Renato Guttuso dagli esordi al Gott mit Uns 1924–1944Bagheria, Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea Villa Cattolica, 27 June – 30 September 1987Milano, Palazzo Isimbardi, 29 October 1987 – 10 January 1988, curated by Dora Favatella Lo Cascio.

Torino, 1971 Mostra di Arnaldo Badodi Galleria Gissi.

Palermo, 1971Mostra antologica dell’opera di Renato GuttusoPalazzo dei Normanni, 13 February – 14 March 1971, curated by Leonardo Sciascia, Franco Russoli, Franco Grasso.

Parigi, 1971Renato GuttusoMusée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris et Section A.R.C., 30 September – 1 November.

Berlino, 1972Guttuso Neue Gesellschaft für bildende Kunst, February–March.

Milano, Annunciata, 1972 Group exhibitionGalleria Annunciata, March.

Milano, Del Bon, 1972Del Bon. Venti anni dalla morte Galleria Annunciata.

Roma, 1972Antonietta RaphaëlGalleria Querinas, December.

Praga, Budapest, Bucarest, 1973Renato Guttuso: Obrazy z let 1931–1971 Praga, Národní galerie v Praze, January–FebruaryBudapest, Mücsarnok, 20 March – 15 AprilBucarest, Muzeul de Arta al Republicii Socialiste România, May–June.

Prato, 1973 100 opere di Filippo de Pisis Galleria d’Arte Moderna Falsetti, 19 May – 19 June 1973, cat. plate LXXXII, illustrated in colour, curated by G. Marchiori, S. Zanotto, E. Natali.

Borgomanero, 1974 Broggini disegni e acquarelli Galleria L’Incontro.

Ferrara, 1974Ernesto Treccani Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna, Palazzo dei Diamanti, March–April, curated by Raffaele De Grada, Vittorio Fagone, Franco Loi.

Milano, 1975Verifica di ‘Corrente” Galleria Gian Ferrari, from 13 May, curated by Raffaele De Grada.

Milano, Premio, 1975 Premio città di Marsala, Il premio di Pittura Città di Marsala, Palazzo della Permanente.

Parma, 1975 Morlotti. Figure 1942/1975 Palazzo della Pilotta, 8 March – 13 April, curated by Roberto Tassi.

Urbino, 1975Antologica di Ernesto Treccani Collegio Raffaello, October–November, curated by F. de Santi.

Focette, 1976Filippo de Pisis, venti opere vent’anni dopo Galleria d’Arte Moderna Falsetti.

Parma, 1976 Renato Birolliorganized by Università di ParmaCentro Studi e Archivio della Comunicazione, Dipartimento Arte Contemporanea, curated by Sandro Bini, Giulio Carlo Argan, Giuseppe Marchiori, Mario De Micheli, Giovanni Testori.

Torino, 1976Renato BirolliGalleria d’arte Narciso, 3–30 April.

Roma, 1976–77Fausto Pirandello (1899–1975) Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 21 December 1976 – 27 February 1977.

Colonia, 1977Renato Guttuso. Gemälde und HandzeichnungenKunsthalle Köln und des Museums Ludwig, 4 June – 24 July.

Milano, 1977 Mostra a MilanoEdizione delle Ore, May, curated by Alfonso Gatto.

Milano, Bologna, 1977 Fausto Pirandello. Opere dal 1923 al 1935 Milano, Galleria Gian Ferrari, from 27 OctoberBologna, Galleria Forni, from 10 December.

Torino, 1977Nicola Galante 1883–1969 Foyer del teatro Piccolo Regio, 18 October – 20 November, curated by Lorenzo Guasco.

Napoli, 1978 Corrente. Cultura e società 1938–1942 Palazzo Reale, 20 July – 10 September, curated by Enrico Crispolti, Vittorio Fagone, Cristiano Ruju.

Roma, 1978 Ernesto TreccaniGalleria La Gradiva, 4–22 February.

Torino, 1978 Torino tra le due guerre Galleria Civica d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea, March, curated by Anna Serena Fava, Rosanna Maggio Serra, Silvana Pettenati.

Genova, 1979 Immagine e paesaggio Liguria 1850–1970Galleria Rubinacci, 4 May – 4 June, curated by Lia Perissinotti.

Todi, 1979Scipione, Mafai, Raphaël nella collezione A. Della Ragione del Comune di Firenze e in collezioni privatePalazzo del Popolo, 29 April – 27 May, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco.

1980–89

Todi, 1980“Ernesto Treccani – Mostra antologica” Palazzo del Popolo, 19 April – 18 May.

Torino, 1980Carlo Levi Galleria d’Arte Accademia, 20 September – 12 October.

Trezzano sul Naviglio, 1980–81 Da Corrente ad oggi. Rassegna Nazionale di Pittura20 December 1980 – 15 January 1981.

Berlino, 1981Ernesto Treccani. Malerei, Grafik, Plastik Neue Berliner Galerie im Alten Museum, May–June.

Brugherio, 1981Treccani. Cento dipinti, sculture, disegni, incisioni 1940–1980Villa Fiorita, 14 March – 12 April, curated by Mario De Micheli.

Busto Arsizio, 1981 Cassinari. Mostra antologica Galleria Italiana Arte, 15 October – 6 December.

Milano, 1981Renato Guttuso. Mostra antologica Galleria Bergamini, June–July.

Milano, Del Bon, 1981Mostra retrospettiva Angelo Del BonPalazzo della Permanente, November–December, curated by Luigi Carluccio.

Ferrara, 1982Fausto PirandelloGalleria Civica di Arte Moderna, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 3 July – 1 October, curated by Giorgio Mascherpa, Fabrizio D’Amico.

Lodi, 1982Renato BirolliMuseo Civico, Salone dei Notai, 17 April – 9 May, curated by Contardo Passamonti.

Milano, 1982Renato Birolli. Dipinti dal 1928 al 1942 Palazzo Serbelloni, Circolo della Stampa, 3–27 November, curated by Franco Passoni.

Milano, Anni Trenta, 1982 Gli Anni Trenta. Arte e Cultura in ItaliaGalleria del Sagrato, Palazzo Reale ed ex Arengario, 27 January – 30 April, curated by Vittorio Fagone, Renato Barilli, Flavio Caroli.

Milano, Raphaël, 1982La rivolta antinovecento dei primi anni trenta 27 January – 30 April, curated by Alessandra Borgogelli, Dario Micacchi.

Roma, 1982 Alberto Ziveri Galleria Il Fante di Spade.

Venezia, 1982Guttuso: opere dal 1931 al 1981 Palazzo Grassi, 4 April – 20 June.

Palermo, 1982–83Fausto PirandelloCivica Galleria d’arte moderna Empedocle Restivo, 22 December 1982 – 22 January 1983, curated by Giorgio Mascherpa, Fabrizio D’Amico.

396 397


Roma, I Mafai, 1994I Mafai. Vite paralleleGalleria d’arte Netta Vespignani, February–March, curated by M. Fagiolo dell’Arco.

Viggiù, 1994Francesco De Rocchi – DipintiMuseo Butti, June–September, curated by Giovanni Anzani.

Oderzo, 1994–95Aligi Sassu. Opere 1930–1992Palazzo Foscolo, 11 December 1994 – 15 January 1995, curated by Enzo De Martino.

Firenze, 1995Ottone Rosai nel centenario della nascita. Opere dal 1919 al 1957Galleria Pananti, 18 March – 15 June, curated by A. Parronchi, R. Monti, G. dalla Chiesa, V. Corti.

Milano, Le ragioni, 1995 Le ragioni della Libertà. A cinquant’anni dalla ResistenzaPalazzo della Triennale, April–May, curated by Mario De Micheli.

Milano, Migneco, 1995Migneco Galleria Bonaparte, 15 November – 12 December, curated by Ermanno Krumm.

Milano, Pirandello, 1995Fausto Pirandello Palazzo Reale, 23 June – 1 October, curated by Claudia Gian Ferrari, Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco, Flavia Matitti, Flaminio Gualdoni, Mario Quesada.

Roma, 1995Guttuso Pirandello Ziveri. Realismo a Roma, 1938–1943Galleria Netta Vespignani, April–May, curated by Fabrizio D’Amico.

Saronno, 1995BrogginiGalleria Il Chiostro – Arte Contemporanea, October–November, curated by Rossana Bossaglia.

Bergamo, 1995–96Aligi Sassu. Dal 1930 a CorrenteAccademia Carrara – Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea, 20 December 1995 – 28 January 1996, curated by Vittorio Fagone.

Genova, 1995–96Arte della libertà. Antifascismo, guerra e liberazione in Europa 1925–1945Palazzo Ducale, 16 November 1995 – 18 February 1996, curated by Franco Sborgi.

Modena, 1995–96L’invenzione del paesaggio. Pittura italiana da Morandi a SchifanoGalleria Civica – Palazzina dei Giardini, 1 October 1995 – 7 January 1996, curated by Fabrizio D’Amico, Walter Guadagnini.

Prato, Milano 1995–96Ottone Rosai, 200 opere dal 1913 al 1957Prato, Farsettiarte, 23 September – 22 October 1995Milano, Palazzo Reale, 26 October 1995 – 6 January 1996, curated by Luigi Cavallo

Verona, 1996 Renato Birolli 1935 Galleria dello Scudo, 18 October – 23 November, curated by Fabrizia Lanza Pietromarchi.

Volta Mantovana, 1996I chiaristi. Milano e l’Alto Mantovano negli anni Trenta (Oltre il Novecento. Precursori e compagni di strada del chiarismo) Torre Civica, 14 April – 2 June, curated by Elena Pontiggia

Conegliano, 1996–97Morlotti. Opere 1936–1991 Palazzo Sarcinelli, 10 November 1996 – 6 January 1997.

Finalborgo, 1996–97Aligi Sassu. La Liguria, il Mediterraneo. Opere 1929–1990Chiostri di Santa Caterina, Oratorio de’ Disciplinati, 20 October 1996 – 19 January 1997, curated by Mario De Micheli, Silvio Riolfo Marengo.

Alessandria, 1997Anima & CorpoPalazzo Cuttica di Cassine, 10 May – 13 July, curated by Marisa Vescovo, Francesco Poli.

Conegliano, 1997Da Monet a Morandi. Paesaggi dello spirito Palazzo Sarcinelli, Galleria Comunale d’Arte, 13 April – 15 June, curated by Marco Goldin.

Roma, 1997 Arte a Roma tra le due guerre: dal ritorno all’ordine alla Scuola RomanaGalleria Arco Farnese.

Roma, Birolli, 1997 Renato Birolli Archivio di Scuola Romana, October–November, curated by Zeno Birolli, Gianfranco Bruno, Paolo Rusconi.

Torino, 1997Luci del Mediterraneo Palazzo Bricherasio, 27 March – 29 June, curated by M. Vescovo.

Parigi, 1997–98École romaine 1925–1945Pavillon des Arts, 24 October 1997 – 25 January 1998.

Torino, Scipione, 1997–98Le Capitali d’Italia. Torino–Roma 1911–1946. Arti, produzione, spettacolo Palazzo Bricherasio, 4 December 1997 – 22 March 1998, curated by Marisa Vescovo, Netta Vespignani.

Civitanova Marche, 1998Luigi Broggini e il suo tempo. Uno scultore nell’Italia degli anni ’30 tra chiarismo e Corrente Chiesa di Sant’Agostino, 5 July – 27 September, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Marsala, 1998Fausto Pirandello. Bagnanti 1928–1972Ex convento del Carmine, 4 April – 7 June, curated by Claudia Gian Ferrari, Sergio Troisi.

Milano, 1998Edoardo Persico e gli artisti 1929–1936. Il percorso di un critico dall’impressionismo al primitivismoPadiglione d’Arte Contemporanea, 11 June – 13 September, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Milano, Corrente, 1998 Corrente e oltre. Opere dalla collezione Stellatelli 1930–1990 Museo della Permanente, October–November, curated by Marina Pizziolo.

Milano, Del Bon, 1998Angelo Del Bon. Omaggio per il centenario, 1898–1998 Galleria del Centro Culturale San Fedele, 5 November – 19 December, curated by Marina De Stasio, Elena Pontiggia.

Roma, 1998Roma 1918–43Chiostro del Bramante, 29 April –12 July, curated by Fabio Benzi, Gianni Mercurio, Luigi Prisco.

Torino, 1998CorrenteSpazio SDA, 10 July – 6 September, curated by Raffaele De Grada.

Aosta, 1999I Sei Pittori di Torino 1929–1931 Museo Archeologico Regionale di Aosta, 24 April – 4 July, curated by Mirella Bandini.

Bra, 1999Boswell, Chessa, Galante, Levi, Menzio, Paulucci. Opere dal 1924 al 1973 Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio, April–July, curated by Mirella Bandini, Laura Riccio.

Firenze, 1999Sassu. Antologica 1927–1999 Palazzo Strozzi, 17 July – 30 September, curated by Marina Pizziolo.

Medole, 1999 Sognare la natura. Il paesaggio nell’arte a Milano dal Novecento all’informale (1919–1959) Torre Civica, 4 September – 31 October, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Roma, 1999–2000Fausto Pirandello. La vita attuale e la favola eternaexhibition for the centenaryPalazzo delle Esposizioni, 20 October 1999 – 10 January 2000, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco with the collaboration of Claudia Gian Ferrari.

2000–09

Brescia, 2000 Lo sguardo innocente – L’arte, l’infanzia, il ’900Palazzo Martinengo, 12 May – 5 November, curated by Renato Barilli, Rosa Persini, Maria Palladin.

Frascati, 2000Il Novecento allo specchio. L’arte italiana degli anni Trenta e Quaranta nelle Collezioni e negli ArchiviScuderie Aldobrandini, 11 April – 28 May, curated by Alessandro Masi, Laura Turco Liveri.

Milano, 1988 Scuola Romana. Artisti tra le due guerrePalazzo Reale, 13 April – 19 June, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco, Giovanni Audoli.

Oslo, Helsinki 1988Tilbakevending til orden og gjennopptagelsen av malerkunsten. Den figurative kontinuitet i italiensk malerkunst 1920–1987 [From the Return to Order to the Call of Painting. Figurative Continuity in Italian Painting from 1920 to 1987] Oslo, Kunstnernes Hus, 6–23 FebruaryHelsinki, Ateneumin taidemuseo, 9 March – 24 April.

Riva del Garda, 1988Immagini e figure. Momenti della pittura in Italia 1928–1942Museo Civico, 23 July – 9 October, curated by Paolo Fossati.

Roma, 1988 Nella scia della “Cometa”. Antologia del disegno a Roma – 1937Galleria privata Carlo Virgilio, curated by Mario Quesada.

Torino, 1988ZScuola Romana Studio d’Arte, from 7 October, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco.

Verona, 1988Le scuole romane. Sviluppi e continuità 1927–1988Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea di Palazzo Forti, 9 April – 15 June, curated by Fabio Benzi.

Milano, 1988–89Vitalità della figurazione. Pittura italiana 1948–1988Palazzo della Permanente, 22 December 1988 – 29 January 1989, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Busto Arsizio, 1989Luigi BrogginiGalleria privata Bambaia, 15 April – 28 May.

Milano, 1989Ernesto TreccaniPalazzo Reale, 18 May – 25 June, curated by Antonello Negri.

Torino, 1989 Apocalisse Scuola Romana Studio d’Arte, from 21 April, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco.

Venezia, 1989Arte Italiana. Presenze 1900–1945 Palazzo Grassi, curated by Pontus Hulten, Germano Celant.

Viareggio, 198960° Premio letterario Premio Viareggio – Rèpaci 1989Villa Borbone, 30 June – 31 August, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco.

New York, 1989–90Gardens and Ghettos. The Art of Jewish Life in ItalyThe Jewish Museum, 17 September 1989 – 1 February 1990.

Milano, Roma, Verona, 1989–1990Renato BirolliMilano, Palazzo Reale, September–November 1989Roma, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, December 1989 – January 1990Verona, Palazzo Forti e Galleria dello Scudo, February–March 1990, curated by Pia Vivarelli.

Roma, Verona, 1989–1990I fiori di Mafai Roma, Galleria privata Netta Vespignani, October–November 1989Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 9 December 1989 – 20 January 1990, curated by Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco.

1990–99

Ferrara, 1990I Tal Ya’ Palazzo dei Diamanti, 18 March – 17 June.

Macerata, 1990Fausto Pirandello Palazzo Ricci, 2 June – 16 September, curated by Giuseppe Appella, Guido Giuffré.

Marina di Pietrasanta, 1990Ennio Morlotti. Antologica Fabbrica dei pinoli – La Versiliana, July–August.

Milano, 1990Omaggio a Francesco De RocchiGalleria privata Carini, November–December.

Milano, Espressionismo, 1990 Milano. Espressionismo lirico 1929–1936 Galleria privata Philippe Daverio, March–April, curated by Fabrizia Lanza Pietromarchi.

Roma, 1990–91Alberto Ziveri. “Elogio dell’ombra” Galleria privata Netta Vespignani, December 1990 – January 1991, curated by Valerio Rivosecchi.

Bellinzona, 1991Italo Valenti. Mostra antologica Civica Galleria d’Arte, 1 May – 1 June, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Bologna, 1991Il cuore della Scuola Romana Forni Tendenze, 28 September – 16 November, curated by Fabrizio D’Amico.

Milano, 1991Luigi Broggini Palazzo della Permanente, 13 September – 27 October, curated by Renzo Modesti.

Modena, 1991Antonietta Raphaël Galleria Civica – Palazzina dei Giardini, 7 April – 16 June, curated by Fabrizio D’Amico.

Varese, 1991Luigi Broggini Musei Civici di Villa Mirabello, 23 March – 28 April, curated by Renzo Modesti.

Busto Arsizio, Ferrara, 1991–92 Artisti di Corrente. 1930–1990 Busto Arsizio, Museo delle Arti di Palazzo Bandera, November 1991 – January 1992Ferrara, Gallerie Civiche d’Arte Moderna, Palazzo dei Diamanti, January–March 1992, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Tübingen, Düsseldorf, Hamburg, 1991–92Renato Guttuso. Gemälde und Zeichnungen Tübingen, Kunsthalle Tübingen, 26 September – 24 November 1991Düsseldorf, Kunstmuseum Düsseldorf im Ehrenhof, 1 December 1991 – 16 February 1992Hamburg, Kunstverein in Hamburg, 29 February – 12 April 1992.

Feltre, 1992Ernesto Treccani. Opere 1941–1992 Palazzo Guarnieri, July–August, curated by Raffaele De Grada, Silvio Guarnieri.

Modena, 1992Alberto ZiveriGalleria Civica – Palazzina dei Giardini, 27 September – 29 November, curated by Fabrizio D’Amico, Walter Guadagnini.

Verona, Roma, 1992Da Cézanne all’Arte Astratta. Omaggio a Lionello Venturi Verona, Palazzo Forti, March–April 1992Roma, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 23 June – 24 October 1992, curated by Giorgio Cortenova, Roberto Lambarelli, Enrico Mascelloni, Maurizio Calvesi, Bruno Zevi, M. Abbruzzese.

Ferrara, 1993 Pittura e realtà Palazzo dei Diamanti, 28 February – 30 May, curated by Andrea Buzzoni, Fabrizio D’Amico, Flaminio Gualdoni

Roma, 1993Tutte le strade portano a Roma? Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 11 March – 26 April, curated by Achille Bonito Oliva.

Torino, 1993I Sei Pittori di Torino 1929–1931 Mole Antonelliana, 6 May – 4 July, curated by Mirella Bandini.

Torino, Menzio, 1993 I Sei Pittori di Torino 1928–1971 Galleria Biasutti.

Bergamo, 1993–94Gli anni del Premio Bergamo Galleria d’arte moderna e contemporanea e Accademia Carrara, 25 September 1993 – 9 January 1994.

Ferrara, 1994Sesta Biennale Donna Palazzo Massari, 8 May – 3 July.

Ferrara, Morlotti, 1994Morlotti. Opere 1940–1992 Civiche Gallerie d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 6 March – 12 June, curated by Andrea Buzzoni.

Gerusalemme, 1994Natura morta italiana. La raccolta Silvano LodiIsrael Museum, June–October.

Milano, 1994 Francesco De Rocchi Nuova Galleria Carini, 12 April – 10 May, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Roma, 1994Aligi Sassu. Dipinti 1930–1990 Galleria La Vite, 11 February – 10 March, curated by Mauro Lombardo.

398 399


Marsala, 2008Mediterraneo. Mitologie della figura nell’arte italiana tra le due guerreEx convento del Carmine, 13 July – 5 October, curated by Sergio Troisi.

Milano, 2008 Corrente. Le parole della vita. Opere 1930–1945Palazzo Reale, 18 June – 7 September, curated by Marina Pizziolo.

Milano, Sassu, 2008Sassu. Dal mito alla realtà. Dipinti degli Anni TrentaPalazzo Reale, 18 June – 7 September, curated by Giuseppe Bonini.

Pesaro, 2008Il segno marchigiano nell’arte del Novecento. Scipione, Licini, CucchiCentro Arti Visive Pescheria e Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio, 12 July – 14 September, curated by Francesca Romana Morelli, Federica Pirani, Ludovico Pratesi.

Lugano, 2008–09Sassu. Maison Tellier Villa Ciani, 17 October 2008 – 1 March 2009, curated by Fondazione Aligi Sassu and Helenita Olivares.

Venezia, 2008–09Carlo Cardazzo. Una nuova visione dell’arteCollezione Peggy Guggenheim, 1 November 2008 – 9 February 2009, curated by Luca Massimo Barbero.

Taormina, 2009 Migneco europeoChiesa del Carmine, 25 July – 1 November, curated by Lucio Barbera, Anna Maria Ruta.

Torino, 2009Jessie Boswell Sala Bolaffi, 17 March – 10 May, curated by Ivana Mulatero.

2010–17

Milano, 2010Il Chiarismo. Omaggio a De Rocchi. Luce e colore a Milano negli anni trentaPalazzo Reale, 16 June – 5 September, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Milano, Maggi, 2010 Carla Maria Maggi e il ritratto a Milano negli anni trentaPalazzo Reale, 5 June – 5 September, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Roma, 2010Fausto Pirandello alle Quadriennali del 1935 e del 1939Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 18 March – 2 May, curated by Claudia Gian Ferrari.

Milano, 2010–11L’artista, il poeta Palazzo della Permanente, 12 November 2010 – 9 January 2011, curated by Flaminio Gualdoni, Alberto Pellegatta.

Milano, 2010–13Works exhibited at the Museo del Novecento in Milan on temporary loan for a period of five years, which actually lasted only three years from its inauguration on 6 December 2010.

Castelbasso, 2011Renato Guttuso – Immaginazione realista Fondazione Malvina Menegaz per le Arti e le Culture, 2 July – 31 August, curated by Francesco Poli.

Milano 2011Lo stupore nello sguardo. La fortuna di Rousseau in Italia da Soffici e Carrà a BreveglieriFondazione Stelline, 24 March – 1 June, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Seravezza, 2011 Guttuso e gli amici di Corrente Palazzo Mediceo, 2 July – 11 September.

Chieti, 2012Sassu e Corrente 1930–1943. La Rivoluzione del colore Palazzo de’ Mayo – S.E.T Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October, curated by Elena Pontiggia, Alfredo Paglione.

Firenze, 2012–13Anni Trenta. Arti in Italia oltre il fascismo Palazzo Strozzi, 22 September 2012 – 27 January 2013, curated by Antonello Negri, Silvia Bignami, Paolo Rusconi, Giorgio Zanchetti, Susanna Ragionieri.

Roma, 2012–13Guttuso 1912–2012Complesso del Vittoriano, Ala Brasini, Via San Pietro in Carcere, Roma, 11 October 2012 – 3 February 2013, curated by Fabio Carapezza Guttuso, Enrico Crispolti.

Monchiero, 2013 Ritratto di Famiglia. Un secolo di arte italiana (1912–2013) attraverso le opere di una famiglia di artisti Eso Peluzzi, Scipione (Gino Bonichi), Claudio Bonichi, Benedetta Bonichi Arte Internazionale al Museo Eso Peluzzi, 21 June – 24 November.

Padova, 2013Ebraicità al femminile, Otto artiste del NovecentoCentro Culturale Altinate San Gaetano, 31 August – 13 October, curated by Marina Bakos, Virginia Baradel, Serena De Dominicis.

Parma, 2013 De Pisis en voyage. Roma, Parigi, Londra, Milano, Venezia Fondazione Magnani Rocca, Mamiano di Traversetolo, 13 September – 8 December, curated by Paolo Campiglio.

Bergamo, 2014Italiani a Parigi. Da Severini a Savinio, da De Chirico a CampigliPalazzo Storico Credito Bergamasco, 10–30 May, curated by Angelo Piazzoli, Paola Silvia Ubiali.

Favignana, 2014 Artisti di Sicilia. Da Pirandello a IudiceStabilimento Florio delle Tonnare di Favignana e Formica, 11 July – 12 October, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Roma, 2014Artiste del Novecento tra visione e identità ebraica Galleria d’Arte Moderna di Roma Capitale, 12 June – 5 October, curated by Marina Bakos, Olga Melasecchi, Federica Pirani.

Roma, Levi, 2014Carlo Levi. La realtà e lo specchioGalleria d’Arte Russo, 20 November – 12 December, curated by Fondazione Carlo Levi.

Bagheria, 2015Ritratti e Autoritratti Museo Guttuso, 18 April – 21 June, curated by Fabio Carapezza Guttuso, Dora Favatella Lo Cascio.

London, 2015Pirandello 1899–1975 Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art, 8 July – 6 September, curated by Fabio Benzi.

Milano, Expo, 2015 Il tesoro d’Italia. Storia, geografia e biodiversità dell’arte italiana Padiglione Eataly di Expo Milano 2015, 1 May – 21 October, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Milano, Caglio, 2015I luoghi di Corrente Milano, Fondazione di Corrente, via Carlo Porta 5, 14 May – 9 JuneCaglio, Sala Civica del Comune di Caglio (Como), 19 July – 30 August, curated by Nicoletta Colombo, Jacopo Muzio, Antonello Negri, Paolo Rusconi, Giorgio Seveso.

Milano, 2016Le gallerie milanesi tra le due guerreFondazione Stelline, 24 February – 22 May, curated by Luigi Sansone.

Milano, Badodi, 2016In pratica n. 2. Luca De Leva Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone, corso Matteotti 11, 9 April – 13 November, curated by Giuseppe Iannaccone, Rischa Paterlini.

Roma, 2016Fausto Pirandello. Opere dal 1923 al 1973Galleria Russo, 19 November – 14 December, curated by Fabio Benzi, Flavia Matitti.

Salò, 2016Da Giotto a De ChiricoMuseo di Salò, 13 April – 6 November, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Torino, 2016Renato Birolli. Figure e luoghi Museo Ettore Fico, 9 March – 26 June, curated by Elena Pontiggia, Viviana Birolli.

Milano, 2017Collezione Giuseppe Iannaccone. Italia 1920–1945. Una nuova figurazione e il racconto del séTriennale, 31 January – 19 March, curated by Alberto Salvadori, Rischa Paterlini, artistic director Edoardo Bonaspetti.

Milano, 2001Tempo di guerraPalazzo della Permanente, 13 September – 18 October, curated by Paolo Rusconi, Antonello Negri.

San Giovanni in Valdarno, 2001Filippo de Pisis. Natura e contaminazione Galleria Il Ponte, 10 November – 29 December 2001, curated by Luigi Cavallo.

Tokyo, Niigata City, Hokkaido, Toyama, Ashikaga, Yamagata, 2001Italian Still Life Painting April–May.

Vicenza, 2001Italo Valenti 1912–1995 Salone degli Zavatteri, nella Basilica Palladiana di Vicenza, 13 May – 22 July, curated by Giuliano Menato.

Vigevano, 2001 La pittura in Lombardia nel XX secoloLions Club Vigevano Colonne, Lions Vigevano Sforzesco, Fondazione di Piacenza e Vigevano, 31 March – 1 July, curated by Raffaele De Grada.

Venezia, 2001–02Da Rossi a Morandi, da Viani ad Arp Galleria Bevilacqua, 10 November 2001 – 14 January 2002, curated by Giuseppe Marchiori.

Saronno, 2002Francesco De Rocchi (1902–1978) Casa Morandi, Sala Nevera, 12 October – 16 November, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Monsummano Terme, 2002–03Tendenze del Novecento: naturalezza come stile: l’idea dell’arte nelle pagine de “Il Frontespizio” 1937/1939Museo di Arte Contemporanea e del Novecento, 15 December 2002 – 16 March 2003, curated by Marco Moretti.

Rovereto, 2002–03 Le stanze dell’arte. Figure e immagini del XX secoloMuseo di Arte Moderna e Contemporanea di Trento e Rovereto, 14 December 2002 – 13 April 2003, curated by Gabriella Belli.

Cagliari, 2003Da Tiziano a De Chirico. La ricerca dell’identitàCastel San Michele, 14 June – 26 October, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Ivano Fracena, 2003Cinquant’anni di pittura. Opere dal 1939 al 1989Associazione Castel Ivano Incontri, 12 July – 31 August, curated by Giovanni Anzani, Elisabetta Staudacher.

Lodève, 2003Musée de Lodève, Palazzo Hotel du Cardinal De Fleury, 20 June – 26 October.

Ravenna, 2003Da Renoir a De Staël. Roberto Longhi e il moderno Loggetta Lombardesca, 23 February – 30 June, curated by Claudio Spadoni.

Ravensburg, 2003Natura morta italiana: Italianische Stilleben aus vier Jahrunderten Schloss Achberg, April–October.

Torino, 2003Arte in due. Coppie d’artisti in Europa 1900–1945 Palazzo Cavour, 14 March – 8 June, curated by Lea Mattarella, Elena Pontiggia, Tulliola Sparagni.

Busto Arsizio, 2003–04 Ernesto Treccani e gli Artisti di CorrenteFondazione Bandera per l’Arte, 25 October 2003 – 29 February 2004, curated by Elena Pontiggia.

Monza, 2003–04Guido Pajetta – fra primo e secondo Novecento Serrone della Villa Reale, 26 October 2003 – 6 January 2004.

Palermo, 2003–04La ricerca dell’identità. Da Antonello a De ChiricoAlbergo delle Povere, 15 November 2003 – 15 February 2004, curated by Vittorio Sgarbi.

Torino, 2004I Sei di Torino. Per i quindici anni della Galleria del PonteGalleria del Ponte, 7 May – 26 June, curated by Stefano Testa.

Milano, 2004–05 Milano Anni Trenta. L’arte e la cittàSpazio Oberdan, 2 December 2004 – 27 February 2005, curated by Elena Pontiggia, Nicoletta Colombo.

Roma, 2004–05Mario Mafai 1902–1965. Una calma febbre di colori Palazzo Venezia, 6 December 2004 – 27 February 2005, curated by Claudia Terenzi, Fabrizio D’Amico, Giuseppe Appella, Netta Vespignani.

Brescia, 2005Casa Mafai, Da Via Cavour a Parigi (1925–1932) Museo di Santa Giulia, 14 January – 20 March, curated by Fabrizio D’Amico, Marco Goldin.

Mendrisio, 2005 Renato Birolli. Sentire la natura Museo d’Arte, 1 May – 3 July, curated by Gianfranco Bruno, Simone Soldini.

Sorrento, 2005Fausto Pirandello. Antologica Museo Correale di Terranova, 23 March – 29 May, curated by Claudia Gian Ferrari.

Torino, 2005Renato Guttuso. Opere scelte 1935–1986 Galleria D’Arte Mazzoleni, 11 March – 11 June, curated by Angelo Mistrangelo.

Torino, Guttuso, 2005Renato Guttuso. Capolavori dai museiPalazzo Bricherasio, 18 February – 25 June, curated by Fabio Carapezza Guttuso.

Pordenone, 2005–06Ado Furlan 1905–1971. Artisti e amici romani. Opere 1930–1945Complesso di San Francesco, Galleria Sagittaria – Centro Iniziative Culturali, Nuova sede della Provincia di Corso Garibaldi, 10 December 2005 – 26 February 2006, curated by Giancarlo Pauletto.

Potenza, 2005–06Visionari, primitivi, eccentrici da Alberto Martini a Licini, Ligabue, OntaniGalleria Civica di Palazzo Loffredo, 14 October 2005 – 29 January 2006, curated by Laura Gavioli.

Settimo Torinese, 2005–06Il gruppo dei Sei e la pittura a Torino 1920–1940 Casa per l’Arte La Giardinera, 16 December 2005 – 26 March 2006, curated by Rolando Bellini, Ivana Mulatero.

Mantova, 2006Semeghini e il Chiarismo fra Milano e Mantova Fruttiere di Palazzo Te, 11 March – 28 May, curated by Francesco Butturini.

Milano, 2006Fausto Pirandello. Opere dal 1935 agli anni estremi Galleria Gian Ferrari ’900 Italiano, Arte Contemporanea, 1 June – 21 July, curated by C. Gian Ferrari.

Taranto, 2006 Raffaele Carrieri Museo Nazionale Archeologico, 22 April – 22 May, curated by Elena Pontiggia, Aldo Perrone.

Fabriano, 2007Aria. Premio Internazionale d’Arte 10th editionSpedale di Santa Maria del Buon Gesù, 7 July – 16 September.

Milano, 2007 Camera con vista. Arte e interni 1900–2000Palazzo Reale, 18 April – 1 July, curated by Luigi Settembrini, Claudia Gian Ferrari.

Reggio Emilia, 2007Aligi Sassu. Uomini rossi 1930–1933. Tempere, acquarelli, inchiostri e pastelliGalleria La Scaletta, September, curated by Vittorio Fagone, Alessia Giglio Zanetti.

Roma, 2007Antonietta Raphaël. Sculture in Villa Casino dei Principi Villa Torlonia, 28 March – 15 July, curated by Archivio della Scuola Romana.

Roma, 2007–08Scipione 1904–1933 Casino dei principi dei Musei di Villa Torlonia, 7 September 2007 – 6 January 2008, curated by Netta Vespignani, Claudia Terenzi.

Firenze, 2008Ottone Rosai Cinquanta dipinti a 50 anni dalla scomparsaPalazzo Medici Riccardi, 27 January – 25 March, curated by Luigi Cavallo, Piero Pananti, Filippo Pananti.

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AA.VV. 2000Lo sguardo innocente. L’arte, l’infanzia, il ’900. Da Kandinsky a Maloney, exhibition catalogue (Brescia, Palazzo Martinengo, 12 May – 5 November 2000), Milan: Mazzotta.

AA.VV. Arte Moderna 2000Arte moderna. L’Arte Contemporanea del Secondo Dopoguerrra ad Oggi, no. 36, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori.

AA.VV. Arte Moderna 2002Arte moderna. L’arte contemporanea dal secondo dopoguerra ad oggi, no. 38, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori.

AA.VV. 2004Mario Mafai 1902–1965. Una calma febbre di colori, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo Venezia, 6 December 2004 – 27 February 2005), Milan: Skira.

AA.VV. Arte Moderna 2005Arte moderna. L’arte contemporanea dal secondo dopoguerra ad oggi, no. 41, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori.

AA.VV. 2009 Un caccia amorosa. Arte italiana fra le due guerre nella collezione Iannaccone, textsby G. Iannaccone, E. Pontiggia, C. Gian Ferrari, F. Carapezza Guttuso, R. Paterlini, S. Somaschini, Milan: Skira.

AA.VV. 2012Sassu e Corrente 1930/1943. La rivoluzione del colore, exhibition catalogue (Chieti, Palazzo de’ Mayo – Set Spazio Esposizioni Temporanee, 25 July – 7 October 2012), Turin: Allemandi.

AA.VV. Anni ’30 2012A. Negri, S. Bignami, P. Rusconi, G. Zanchetti, S. Ragionieri (edited by), Anni ’30. Arti in Italia oltre il fascismo, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Strozzi, 22 September 2012 – 27 January 2013), Florence.

AA.VV. 2015I Luoghi di Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Caglio, Sala Civica del comune, 19 July – 30 August 2015), Milan: Scalpendi.

Acatos 1987S. Acatos, Italo Valenti, Lausanne–Paris: La Bibliothèque des Arts.

Agnellini 1994M. Agnellini (edited by), Novecento italiano. Opere e mercato di pittori e scultori 1900–1945, vol. 1, Milan: Fenice 2000.

Agnellini 1995M. Agnellini (edited by), Novecento italiano. Opere e mercato di pittori e scultori 1900–1945, vol. 2, Milan: Fenice 2000.

Agnellini 1996M. Agnellini (edited by), Novecento italiano. Pittori e scultori 1900–1945. Opere e mercato, vol. I, Novara: De Agostini.

Agnellini 1997M. Agnellini (edited by), Novecento italiano. Pittori e scultori 1900–1945. Opere e mercato, vol. II, Novara: De Agostini.

Almanacco degli artisti, 1930Almanacco degli artisti. Il vero Giotto, Rome-Foligno: Campitelli Editore.

“L’Ambrosiano” 1929“Nelle mostre d’arte milanesi”, in L’Ambrosiano, y. VIII, no. 279, Milan, 22 November.

Amendola, De Santi, Sereni 1979Ernesto Treccani. Mostra antologica 1940–1977, exhibition catalogue (Falcade, Studio Murer, summer 1979), texts by G. Amendola, F. De Santi, V. Sereni, Feltre: Edizioni d’arte Castaldi.

Anceschi 1939L. Anceschi, “Giovani alla Permanente”, in Meridiano di Roma, y. IV, no. 5, Rome, 16 April.

Anceschi 1941Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 19–31 March 1941), introduction by L. Anceschi, Milan: Edizioni Bottega di Corrente.

Anceschi Aligi Sassu 1941Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Genova, Galleria Genova, 1–15 February 1941), introduction by L. Anceschi, Genova: Galleria Genova.

Anceschi 1945L. Anceschi (edited by), Migneco. Dodici tavole in nero e otto a colori, Milan: Galleria Santa Radegonda.

Anceschi Giuseppe Migneco 1945Giuseppe Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Santa Radegonda, 22 November – 7 December 1945), introduction by L. Anceschi, Milan: Galleria Santa Radegonda.

Anceschi 1958L. Anceschi, Migneco, Milan: Schwarz Editore.

Antomarini, Stewart 2001B. Antomarini, S. Stewart, Scipione. Poesie e prose, Milan: Charta.

Anzani 1984G. Anzani (edited by), Cassinari, Milan: Fabbri.

Anzani 1994G. Anzani (edited by), Francesco De Rocchi. Dipinti, exhibition catalogue (Viggiù, Museo Butti, June–September 1994), Viggiù: Museo Butti.

Anzani, Caramel 1983G. Anzani, L. Caramel (edited by), Pittura moderna in Lombardia (1900–1950), Milan: Cariplo.

Anzani, Pirovano 1992La pittura del primo Novecento il Lombardia (1900–1945), in C. Pirovano (edited by), La Pittura in Italia. Il Novecento/1 1900–1945, part I, Milan: Electa.

Anzani, Staudacher 2003G. Anzani, E. Staudacher (edited by), Bruno Cassinari. Cinquant’anni di pittura. Opere dal 1939 al 1989, exhibition catalogue (Ivano Fracena, Castel Ivano, 13 July – 31 August 2003), Trento: Edizioni Temi e Provincia Autonoma di Trento.

Apollonio 1950U. Apollonio, Pittura italiana moderna. Idea per una storia, Vicenza: Neri Pozza.

Appella 1984G. Appella, Scipione. 306 disegni, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa.

Appella 1988G. Appella (edited by), Scipione e il Garda 1931–1933, exhibition catalogue (Riva del Garda, Museo Civico, 9 July – 9 October), Calliano: Manfrini Arti Grafiche.

Appella 2016G. Appella, Antonietta Raphaël. Catalogo generale della scultura, Turin: Umberto Allemandi.

Appella, Calvesi 1992G. Appella, M. Calvesi (edited by), Roberto Melli 1885–1958, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 13 June – 15 October 1992), Rome: Leonardo–De Luca.

Appella, D’Amico 1986G. Appella, F. D’Amico (edited by), Roma 1934, exhibition catalogue (Modena, Galleria Civica, 19 April – 8 May 1986; Rome, Palazzo Braschi, June–August 1986), Modena: Edizioni Panini.

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Appella, D’Amico, Vespignani 2003Antonietta Raphaël opere dal 1933 al 1974, exhibition catalogue (Matera, Madonna delle Virtù e San Nicola dei Greci, 5 July – 30 September 2003), Rome: Edizioni della Cometa.

Appella, Giuffré 1990G. Appella, G. Giuffré (edited by), Fausto Pirandello 1889–1975, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci, 2 June – 16 September 1990), Rome: De Luca.

Appella, Gualdoni, D’Amico 1986G. Appella, F. Gualdoni, F. D’Amico (edited by), Mafai 1902–1965, exhibition catalogue (Macerata, Palazzo Ricci e Pinacoteca Comunale), Rome–Milan: De Luca–Arnoldo Mondadori.

Arbasino 2012A. Arbasino, “A tavola con Guttuso, ritratto di un artista che amava lo scandalo”, in la Repubblica, R2 Cultura, 29 October.

Arcangeli 1951F. Arcangeli, “Appunti per una storia di De Pisis”, in Paragone, 19.

Arcangeli 1977F. Arcangeli, Ennio Morlotti, Milan: Edizioni del Milione.

Arcangeli 1977F. Arcangeli, Dal romanticismo all’informale. Dallo “spazio romantico” al primo Novecento, Turin: Einaudi.

Argan 1989G. C. Argan, L’arte moderna. Dall’illuminismo ai movimenti contemporanei, XVI edizione, Florence: Sansoni.

Arensi, Sassone 2009F. Arensi, G. F. Sassone (edited by), Aligi Sassu. Uomini rossi, exhibition catalogue (Legnano, Castello Visconteo, 24 October 2009 – 10 January 2010), Turin: Allemandi & C.

Arte 2015Arte, June 2015, Milan: Editoriale Giorgio Mondadori.

Audoli 2010A. Audoli, “L’altro ’900”, in Antiquariato, no. 351, Milan, July.

Augias 1983C. Augias, “Pigri violenti fumaroli”, intervista a Maurizio Fagiolo dell’Arco, in Panorama, y. XXI, no. 891, Milan, 16 May.

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Bakos Malasecchi Pirani 2014M.Bakos, O. Melasecchi, F. Pirani (edited by), Artiste del Novecento tra visione e identità ebraica, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Moderna, 12 June – 5 October 2014), Trieste: Stella Arti Grafiche.

Baldacci 1987P. Baldacci (edited by), Scuola Romana. Romantic Expressionism in Rome 1930–1945, exhibition catalogue (New York, Philippe Daverio Gallery), Milan: Arnoldo Mondadori-Edizioni Philippe Daverio.

Baldacci 1995P. Baldacci (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël, exhibition catalogue (New York, Paolo Baldacci Gallery, 9 March – 14 April 1995), New York.

Balestrieri 1938R. Balestrieri, “R. Birolli”, in Il Nuovo Cittadino, 26 October.

Ballo 1953G. Ballo, “Sole e sangue nella Sicilia di Migneco”, in Settimo Giorno, y. VI, no. 3 (220), Milan, 21 January.

Ballo 1956G. Ballo, Pittori italiani dal futurismo ad oggi, Rome: Edizioni Mediterranee.

Ballo 1959G. Ballo, “Le mostre a Milano. Sassu alle Ore”, in Avanti!, y. LXIII, no. 106, Milan, 5 May.

Ballo 1961La figura nell’arte italiana contemporanea, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria La Bussola, 3–29 June), introduction by G. Ballo, Turin: La Bussola.

Ballo 1964G. Ballo, La linea dell’arte italiana dal simbolismo alle opere moltiplicate, voll. I, II, Rome: Edizioni Mediterranee.

Ballo 1987G. Ballo (edited by), Sassu. Dipinti 1927–1987, exhibition catalogue (Rivoli, Castello di Rivoli, 20 October – 29 November 1987), Milan: Electa.

Bandini 1993M. Bandini (edited by), I Sei pittori di Torino 1929–1931, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Mole Antonelliana, 6 May – 4 July 1993), Milan: Fabbri Editori.

Bandini 1999M. Bandini (edited by), I Sei pittori di Torino 1929–1931, exhibition catalogue (Aosta, Museo Archeologico Regionale, 24 April – 4 July 1999), Quart: Musumeci Editore.

Bandini, Riccio 1999M. Bandini, L. Riccio (edited by), Boswell, Chessa, Galante, Levi, Menzio, Paulucci. Opere dal 1924 al 1973, exhibition catalogue (Bra, Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio, 1999), Bra: Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio.

Barbera, Ruta 2009L. Barbera, A. M. Ruta (edited by), Migneco europeo, tra Van Gogh e Bacon, exhibition catalogue (Taormina, chiesa del Carmine, 25 July – 1 November 2009), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale.

Barbero 2008L. M. Barbero (edited by), Carlo Cardazzo. Una nuova visione dell’arte, exhibition catalogue (Venice, Peggy Guggenheim Collection, 1 November 2008 – 9 February 2009), Milan: Mondadori Electa.

Bardi 19296 pittori di Torino, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Bardi, 16–26 November 1929), introduction by P. M. Bardi, Milan: Edizione Belvedere.

Bardi 1930P. M. Bardi, “Mostre romane. L’Arte sacra. Scipione e Mafai”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 12 November.

Bardi 1931P. M. Bardi, “Bogliardi, Ghiringhelli, Lilloni”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 24 December.

Barilli 1989R. Barilli, “Rivalutazioni artistiche. Rabbia e pennello”, in l’Espresso, y. XXXV, no. 36, 10 September.

Barilli 2007R. Barilli, Storia dell’arte contemporanea in Italia. Da Canova alle ultime tendenze 1789–2006, Turin: Bollati Boringhieri.

Barilli, Caroli, Fagone 1982R. Barilli, F. Caroli, V. Fagone (edited by), Annitrenta. Arte e cultura in Italia, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, Galleria del Sagrato, ex Arengario, 27 January – 30 April 1982), Milan: Mazzotta.

Belli 1986C. Belli, L’angelo in borghese. Saggio sopra un ignoto contemporaneo, Milan: Libri Scheiwiller.

Belli 1998G. Belli, La collezione Giovanardi. Capolavori delle pittura italiana del ’900, Milan: Electa.

Belli 2002G. Belli (edited by), Le Stanze dell’Arte, Figure e immagini del XX secolo, exhibition catalogue (Rovereto, Mart, 15 December 2002 – 13 April 2003), Milan: Skira.

Belli 2007G. Belli (edited by), Maestri del ’900: da Boccioni a Fontana, exhibition catalogue (Rovereto, Mart, 13 October 2007 – 20 January 2008), Milan: Skira.

Bellini, Mulatero 2005R. Bellini, I. Mulatero (edited by), Il Gruppo dei Sei e la pittura a Torino 1920/1940, exhibition catalogue (Settimo Torinese, Casa per l’Arte Giardinera, 16 December 2005 – 26 March 2006), Turin: Fondazione Torino Musei.

Belloni 1992E. Belloni (edited by), La collezione Juncker, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 11 December 1992 – 17 January 1993), Milan: Charta.

Bellonzi 1951Fausto Pirandello, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo Barberini), introduction by F. Bellonzi, Rome: Ente Premi Roma.

Belvedere 1960Belvedere, Bollettino della Galleria Gian Ferrari, no. 5, Milan.

Benincasa, Calvesi 1982C. Benincasa, M. Calvesi (edited by), Guttuso, Turin: SEAT.

Benzi 1984F. Benzi, Emanuele Cavalli, Rome.

Benzi 1988F. Benzi, La Scuola romana. Sviluppi e continuità 1927–1988, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo Forti, 9 April – 15 June 1988), Milan-Rome: Mondadori-De Luca. Benzi 2010F. Benzi (edited by), Fausto Pirandello: bagnanti, Rignano Flaminio.

Benzi Cagli 2010F. Benzi (edited by), Corrado Cagli e il suo magistero, Milan.

Benzi 2013F. Benzi, Arte in Italia tra le due Guerre, Turin Bollati Boringhieri.

Benzi 2015F. Benzi (edited by), Fausto Pirandello 1899–1975, exhibition catalogue (London, Estorick Collection of Modern Italian Art, 8 July – 6 September), London.

Benzi, Mascelloni, Lambarelli 1988F. Benzi, E. Mascelloni, R. Lambarelli (edited by), Le scuole romane. Sviluppi e continuità 1927–1988, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo Forti, 9 April – 15 June 1988), Milan-Rome: Mondadori-De Luca.

Benzi, Matitti 2016F. Benzi, F. Matitti (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Opere dal 1923 al 1973, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Russo, 19 November – 14 December 2016), Cesena: Manfredi Edizioni.

Benzi, Mercurio, Prisco 1998F. Benzi, G. Mercurio, L. Prisco (edited by), Roma 1919–1943, exhibition catalogue (Rome, chiostro del Bramante, 29 April – 12 July 1998), Rome: Viviani Arte.

Berger 1957J. Berger, Renato Guttuso, Dresden.

Bernabei 1993R. Bernabei, La fronda antinovecento. Il movimento di Corrente, in AA.VV. (edited by), Disegno italiano del Novecento, Milan: Electa.

Bertioli 2007R. Bertioli, Il profeta di Via Cavour (Scipione), Pisa: Giardini Editori e Stampatori.

Betocchi 1965100 opere di Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Prato, Galleria d’Arte Falsetti, 1965), Prato: Edizioni Galleria d’Arte Falsetti.

Biamonti 1972F. Biamonti, Ennio Morlotti, Milan: Club Amici dell’Arte Editore.

Bianchi 2012M. Bianchi (edited by), Italo Valenti 1912–1995 e il suo lirico candore, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Museo della Permanente, 25 May – 8 July), Tesserete: Pagine d’Arte.

Biancale 1930M. Biancale, “Scipione e Mafai alla Galleria di Roma”, in Il Popolo di Roma, Rome, 22 November.

Bini 1939S. Bini, R. Birolli, in Birolli, Cantatore, Mucchi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Barbaroux), Milan: Edizioni della Colomba.

Bini 1971S. Bini, Responsabilità della forma, series edited by Z. Birolli, F. Bartoli, Milan: Edizioni Il Portico.

Bini Arnaldo Badodi 1939S. Bini, “Arnaldo Badodi”, in Corrente, y. II, no. 6, Milan, 31 March.

Bini, Birolli 1941Renato Birolli. Trenta tavole in nero, una a colori e cinque disegni, with articles by S. Bini, R. Birolli, Milan: Edizioni di Corrente.

Birolli 1930R. Birolli, “Sei artisti che espongono”, in Libro e moschetto, 11 April.

Birolli 1937Metamorfosi, 46 drawings, introduction by S. Bini, Milan:Campografico.

Birolli 1943Sedici taccuini di Renato Birolli con dieci disegni e una nota di Umbro Apollonio, Genoa: Posizione Editrice.

Birolli 1960Renato Birolli, Taccuini (1936–1959), edited by E. Emanuelli, Turin: Giulio Einaudi Editore.

Birolli 1980“Il dramma”, in Taccuini 1930–1933, partially republished by Gino Baratta in Yale Italian Studies, vol. I.

Birolli Z., Sambonet 1978Z. Birolli, R. Sambonet (edited by) Renato Birolli, Milan: Feltrinelli.

Birolli Z., Bruno, Rusconi 1997Renato Birolli, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Archivio di Scuola Romana, October–November 1997), texts by Z. Birolli, G. Bruno, P. Rusconi, Rome: Archivio di Scuola Romana.

Biscottini, Crispolti, Negri 2003Guido Pajetta fra primo e secondo Novecento, exhibition catalogue (Monza, Serrone della Villa Reale, 26 October 2003 – 6 January 2004), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale.

Bonardi 1930D. Bonardi, in La Sera, Milan, 27 November.

Bonardi, 1939D. Bonardi, “Artisti che espongono. Quelli di Corrente”, in La Sera, y. 47, no. 72, Milan, 25 March.

Bonini 2008G. Bonini (edited by), Sassu. Dal mito alla realtà. Dipinti degli Anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 18 June – 7 September 2008), Milan: Skira.

Bonini, De Micheli 1984G. Bonini, M. De Micheli (edited by), Sassu. Opere dal 1927 al 1984, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 10 October – 25 November 1984), Milan: Electa.

Bonito Oliva 1993A. Bonito Oliva (edited by), Tutte le strade portano a Roma?, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 11 March – 26 April 1993), Rome: Edizioni Carte Segrete.

Borgese 2001G. Borgese, “Da Mucchi a Manzù. L’arte in tempo di guerra”, in Corriere della Sera. Tempo libero, Milan, 13 September.

Borghi 1960M. Borghi (edited by), Da Mancini a Scipione, Galleria di artisti italiani, Rivista delle province, Rome: Tipografia Le Massime.

Borgogelli 1982A. Borgogelli, “La rivolta antinovecento nei primi anni Trenta”, in R. Barilli, F. Caroli, V. Fagone (edited by), Annitrenta. Arte e cultura in Italia, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, Galleria del Sagrato, ex Arengario, 27 January – 30 April 1982), Milan: Mazzotta.

Bossaglia 1995R. Bossaglia (edited by), Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Saronno, Galleria Il Chiostro, October–November 1995), Saronno: Edizioni Il Chiostro.

Bossaglia 1996R. Bossaglia, “Milano e l’arte italiana fra le due guerre”, in Il Novecento. Storia di Milano, vol. XVII, part III, Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana Giovanni Treccani.

Bossaglia, De Micheli, Pontiggia 1987R. Bossaglia, M. De Micheli, E. Pontiggia (edited by), Dieci artisti di Corrente. Una collezione, exhibition catalogue (Lacchiarella, Il Girasole – Centro per il commercio internazionale – Marco Polo Fashion House, 1–22 March 1987), Milan: Vangelista.

Bovero 1965A. Bovero (edited by), Archivi dei sei pittori di Torino, Rome: De Luca.

Brandi 1976C. Brandi, Scritti sull’arte contemporanea, Turin: Einaudi.

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Brandi, Rubiu 1983C. Brandi, V. Rubiu, Renato Guttuso, Milan: Fabbri Editori.

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Briganti 1991G. Briganti (edited by), De Pisis. Catalogo generale, Milan: Electa.

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Broggini, Sereni 1957Luigi Broggini, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria L’Annunciata, June 1957), texts by L. Broggini, V. Sereni, Milan: L’Annunciata.

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Bruno 1987G. Bruno (edited by), Ennio Morlotti. Mostra antologica, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 9 October – 29 November 1987), Milan: Giorgio Mondadori.

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Bruno Cassinari 1981Bruno Cassinari, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Galleria Italiana Arte, 15 October – 6 December 1981), Busto Arsizio: Arti Grafiche Baratelli.

Bruno, Soldini 2005G. Bruno, S. Soldini (edited by), Renato Birolli. Sentire la natura, exhibition catalogue (Mendrisio, Museo d’Arte, 1 May – 3 July 2005), Mendrisio: Edizioni Mendrisio Museo d’Arte.

Bucarelli 1954P. Bucarelli (edited by), Mostra di Scipione, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, April 1954), Rome: De Luca.

Bucarelli 1968P. Bucarelli (edited by), Cento opere d’arte italiana dal futurismo ad oggi, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 20 December 1968 – 20 January 1969), Rome: De Luca.

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Bucci 1937V. Bucci, “Artisti che espongono. Due giovani”, in Corriere della Sera, y. 62, no. 24, Milan, 28 January.

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Capasso 1940A. Capasso, “La condizione dell’arte”, in Quadrivio, y. VIII, no. 44, Rome, 25 August.

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Carena, Pult 1998C. Carena, S. Pult (edited by), Italo Valenti. Catalogo ragionato dei dipinti, Milan: Skira.

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Carluccio 1981L. Carluccio (edited by), Angelo Del Bon, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, November–December 1981), Milan: Electa.

Carrà 1929C. Carrà, “Mostre milanesi. Sei pittori di Torino”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 22 November.

Carrà 1929C. Carrà, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 6 December.

Carrà 1935C. Carrà, “La pittura alla Quadriennale romana”, in L’Ambrosiano, Milan, 25 March.

Carrà 1936C. Carrà, “La VII Mostra Sindacale Lombarda alla Permanente”, in L’Ambrosiano, y. XIV, no. 40, Milan, 15 February.

Carrà 1962Mostra Nazionale Arte Figurativa “Città di Milano”, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, June–September 1962), introduction by C. Carrà, Milan: Permanente.

Carrà 1977M. Carrà, Gli anni del ritorno all’ordine, Milan.

Carrà, Marchiori 1977M. Carrà, G. Marchiori, Del Bon tutte le opere, Turin: Giulio Bolaffi Editore.

Carrieri 1950R. Carrieri, Pittura e scultura d’avanguardia in Italia (1890–1950), Milan: Edizioni della Conchiglia.

Carrieri 1957R. Carrieri, “Broggini ha aperto il ‘taccuino di Roma’”, in Epoca, y. VIII, no. 352, Milan, 30 June.

Carrieri 1971Aligi Sassu. Gli uomini rossi 1929–1933, introduction by R. Carrieri, Milan: Vangelista.

Carrieri Migneco 1971R. Carrieri, “Migneco”, in Epoca, y. XXII, no. 1083, Milan, 27 June.

Casella 1939A. Casella, “Problemi e posizione attuale della musica italiana”, in Le Arti, y. I, fasc. III, Florence: Le Monnier, February–March.

Castagnoli 1983P. G. Castagnoli (edited by), Ennio Morlotti, exhibition catalogue (Ravenna, Loggetta Lombardesca, 23 April – 5 June), Ravenna, Essegi Editrice.

Castelfranco, Durbé 1960G. Castelfranco, D. Durbé (edited by), La Scuola Romana dal 1930 al 1945, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni), Rome: De Luca.

Castellaneta 2002C. Castellaneta, Il Dizionario della pittura italiana. Dai primitivi ai giorni nostri, Florence: Le Lettere.

Cavallo 1968L. Cavallo (edited by), Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue, Florence: Galleria Il Castello.

Cavallo, De Pisis 1968L. Cavallo (edited by), Filippo De Pisis, exhibition catalogue, Florence: Galleria Il Castello.

Cavallo, Valsecchi, Russoli 1968L. Cavallo, M. Valsecchi, F. Russoli (edited by), Ottone Rosai, Florence: Galleria Michaud.

Cavallo 1973L. Cavallo, Ottone Rosai, Milan: Edizioni Galleria Il Castello.

Cavallo 1990L. Cavallo (edited by), Luigi Broggini. Opere 1929–1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Il Mappamondo), Milan: Galleria Il Mappamondo.

Cavallo 1995L. Cavallo (edited by), Ottone Rosai, exhibition catalogue (Prato, Farsettiarte, 23 September – 22 October 1995; Milan, Palazzo Reale, 26 October 1995 – 6 January 1996), Milan: Mazzotta.

Cavallo 2001L. Cavallo (edited by), Filippo de Pisis. Natura e contaminazione, exhibition catalogue (San Giovanni in Valdarno, Galleria Il Ponte, 10 November – 29 December 2001), Florence: Edizioni Il Ponte.

Cavallo Rosai 2001L. Cavallo (edited by), con G. Faccenda, Rosai. Umanità: pittura e segno, exhibition catalogue (Arezzo, Galleria Comunale d’arte contemporanea, Sala Sant’Ignazio, 9 November 2001 – 20 January 2002), texts by L. Cavallo, G. Faccenda, O. Nicolini, Signa: Masso delle Fate.

Cavallo 2008L. Cavallo (edited by), Cinquanta dipinti di Ottone Rosai a 50 anni dalla scomparsa, exhibition catalogue (Florence, Palazzo Medici Riccardi, 27 January – 25 March 2008), Florence: Pananti.

Chierici 2007G. Chierici (edited by), Aligi Sassu. Uomini rossi 1930–1933. Tempere, acquarelli, inchiostri e pastelli, exhibition catalogue (Reggio Emilia, Galleria La Scaletta, 2007), Reggio Emilia, p. 16.

Cialini 1985G. Cialini, Scipione è tornato nella sua Macerata. Gli anni dell’apprendistato e la maturità artistica in un’antologia dello sfortunato pittore, in “La Nazione”, 23 July.

La collezione Mancini 1965La collezione Mancini, exhibition catalogue (Trieste, Galleria Torbandena, 1965).

La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2002M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by), La scuola Romana nel Novecento. Una collezione privata. Collezione Claudia e Elena Cerasi, Milan: Skira.

La collezione Claudio e Elena Cerasi 2016M. Fagiolo dell’Arco, V. Rivosecchi (edited by), La scuola Romana nel Novecento. Una collezione privata. Collezione Claudia e Elena Cerasi, Milan: Skira.

Colombo 1990L. Colombo (edited by), Omaggio a Francesco De Rocchi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Carini, November–December 1990), texts by R. De Grada, N. Colombo, Milan: Vangelista.

Colombo 2010D. Colombo (edited by), Museo del Novecento. Guida, Milan: Electa, p. 40.

Il Contemporaneo 1964“Dibattito su Guttuso”, in Il Contemporaneo, y. VII, no. 69, Rome, February, pp. 17–55.

Cortenova 1988G. Cortenova (edited by), Le scuole romane – Sviluppi e continuità, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo Forti, 9 April – 15 June 1988), Milan: Mondadori.

Cortenova, Mascelloni 1987G. Cortenova, E. Mascelloni (edited by), Guttuso, 50 anni di pittura, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Palazzo Forti, 29 July – 15 October 1987), Milan: Mazzotta.

Corti 1987V. Corti (edited by), Ottone Rosai, Nient'altro che un artista. Lettere e scritti inediti, Piombino: Tracce Edizioni.

Costantini 1942V. Costantini, “Corrente”, in Emporium, y. XLVIII, no. 1, Bergamo: Istituto d’Arti Grafiche, January.

Crispolti 1982E. Crispolti (edited by), I Percorsi di Cagli, exhibition catalogue (Napoli, Castel dell’Ovo, 25 September – 31 October 1982), Rome: De Luca.

Crispolti 1983E. Crispolti, Catalogo ragionato generale dei dipinti di Renato Guttuso, vol. I, Milan: Giorgio Mondadori.

Crispolti Guttuso nel disegno 1983E. Crispolti (edited by), Guttuso nel disegno. Anni Venti/Ottanta, exhibition catalogue (Reggio Emilia, Festa Nazionale de “l’Unità”, 1º–18 September 1983; Como, San Francesco, 6 November – 18 December 1983), Rome: Edizioni Oberon.

Crispolti 1987E. Crispolti, Leggere Guttuso, Milan: Arnoldo Mondadori Editore.

Crispolti, Del Guercio 1967E. Crispolti, A. del Guercio (edited by), Burri – Cagli – Fontana – Guttuso – Moreni – Morlotti. Sei pittori italiani dagli anni Quaranta ad oggi, exhibition catalogue (Arezzo, Galleria Comunale d’Arte Contemporanea – Sala di Sant’Ignazio, 6 May – 11 June 1967), Arezzo: Galleria Comunale d’Arte Contemporanea di Arezzo.

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Del Guercio 1973A. Del Guercio (edited by), Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Saint-Vincent, Grand Hotel Billia – Salone dei Congressi, 6–29 July 1973), Aosta. Del Guercio 1980A. Del Guercio, “Tra le due guerre e oltre”, in La pittura del Novecento, Turin: UTET.

Del Guercio, Lassaigne 1971Renato Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Paris, Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, 30 September – 1 November 1971), texts by A. Del Guercio, J. Lassaigne, Paris: Musée d’Art Moderne.

De Libero 1935L. de Libero, “Stato dell’arte italiana contemporanea alla Seconda quadriennale”, in Broletto, Como, March.

De Libero 1949L. de Libero, Mario Mafai, Rome: De Luca.

De Libero 1982L. de Libero, Roma 1935, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa.

De Libero, Appella 1989L. de Libero, G. Appella (edited by), Galleria della Cometa. I cataloghi dal 1935 al 1938, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa.

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De Martino 1994E. De Martino (edited by), Aligi Sassu. Opere 1930–1992, exhibition catalogue (Oderzo, Palazzo Foscolo, 11 December 1994 – 15 January 1995), Milan: Charta.

De Micheli 1941M. De Micheli, “Commento a Birolli”, in Architrave, y. I, no. 8, Bologna.

De Micheli 1960M. De Micheli, “Sguardo sulla quadriennale”, in Le Arti, y. XI, no. 1–2, Florence, January–February.

De Micheli 1962M. De Micheli, Ernesto Treccani, Milan: Edizioni del Milione.

De Micheli 1963M. De Micheli, Guttuso, Milan: Edizioni Seda.

De Micheli Ennio Morlotti 1963M. De Micheli, “Ennio Morlotti”, in D’Ars Agency, y. IV, bulletin no. 3, Milan, 10 May – 20 June.

De Micheli 1966M. De Micheli, Guttuso, Milan: E.I.T.

De Micheli 1967“L’arte d’opposizione e d’impegno politico e sociale in Europa dall’inizio del 1900 alla fine della seconda guerra mondiale”, in F. Russoli (edited by), L’arte moderna, 14 vols., Milan: Fabbri.

De Micheli 1978Ernesto Treccani, catalogo della mostra (Rome, Casa d’Arte La Gradiva, 4–22 February 1978), text by M. De Micheli, Rome: Casa d’Arte La Gradiva.

De Micheli 1981Treccani. Cento dipinti, sculture, disegni, incisioni 1940–1980, exhibition catalogue (Brugherio, Villa Fiorita), introduction by M. De Micheli, Milan: Vangelista.

De Micheli 1982Treccani: cento dipinti, sculture, disegni, incisioni, 1940–1981, exhibition catalogue (Caserta, Palazzo Reale, 15 May – 12 June 1982), Milan: Vangelista.

De Micheli 1983Treccani: centocinquanta dipinti, sculture, disegni, incisioni, 1940–1981, exhibition catalogue (San Gimignano, Palazzo e Biblioteca Comunale), introduction by M. De Micheli, Milan: Vangelista.

De Micheli 1985M. De Micheli (edited by), Corrente: il movimento di arte e cultura di opposizione 1930–1945, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 25 January – 28 April 1985), Milan: Vangelista.

De Micheli 1987M. De Micheli, Le circostanze dell’arte, Genoa: Marietti.

De Micheli, Riolfo Marengo 1996Aligi Sassu. La Liguria, il Mediterraneo. Opere 1929–1990, exhibition catalogue (Finalborgo, Chiostri di Santa Caterina Oratorio de’ Disciplinati, 20 October 1996 – 19 January 1997), texts by M. De Micheli, S. Riolfo Marengo, Andora: Grafic Lino.

De Santi 1975F. De Santi (a cura), Antologica di Ernesto Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Urbino, Aula Magna del Collegio “Raffaello”, Galleria dell’Aquilone, October–November 1975), Urbino: Arti Grafiche Editoriali.

De Santi 1986F. De Santi (a cura), Ernesto Treccani. Realtà e coscienza, exhibition catalogue (Montichiari, Teatro Sociale, chiesa del Suffragio, Biblioteca Comunale, September–October 1986), Milan: Fabbri.

De Santi 2000F. De Santi, “Lo sguardo innocente: curiosa rassegna a Brescia”, in Il Messaggero del Lunedì di Roma, no. 283, 23 October.

De Stasio, Pontiggia 1998M. De Stasio, E. Pontiggia, Angelo Del Bon. Omaggio per il centenario, 1898–1998, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria del Centro Culturale San Fedele, 5 November – 19 December 1998), Milan: Galleria San Fedele.

Dell’Acqua, Anzani 1983Cassinari. Mostra antologica, exhibition catalogue (Piacenza, Palazzo Farnese, 21 May – 24 July 1983), texts by G. A. Dell’Acqua, G. Anzani, Comune, Piacenza, Milan: L’atelier del libro.

Della Latta 2014A. Della Latta (edited by), Renato Birolli. Biblioteca, Milan.

Di Genova 1982G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione Anni Dieci, Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Genova 1986G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione primo decennio, Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Genova 1990G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione anni Dieci, 2nd ed., Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Genova 1991G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione anni Venti, Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Genova 1994G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione maestri storici, Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Genova 1996G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione primo decennio, 2nd ed., Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Genova 1997G. Di Genova, Storia dell’arte italiana del ’900. Generazione primo decennio, 2nd ed., Bologna: Edizioni Bora.

Di Marzio 2010M. Di Marzio, “Ecco i miei capolavori anni Trenta”, in il Giornale, Milan, 24 March.

Disegno italiano 1993Disegno italiano del Novecento, Milan: Electa.

Distel, Wattenmaker 1993A. Distel, R. J. Wattenmaker (edited by), I capolavori della Barnes Foundation, Milan: Leonardo Arte.

Domus 1935Domus, Milan, June.

Dottori 1929G. Dottori, “Mostre romane. Otto donne alla Camerata degli artisti”, in L’Impero, Rome, 26 June.

Dottori 1932G. Dottori, “Pitture alla Galleria di Roma”, in L’Impero, 21 May.

Crispolti, Fagone, Ruju 1978E. Crispolti, V. Fagone, C. Ruju (edited by), Corrente. Cultura e società 1938–1942, exhibition catalogue (Napoli, Palazzo Reale, 20 July – 10 September 1978), Napoli: Stamperia Irace.

Crispolti, Ruta 2001E. Crispolti, A. M. Ruta (edited by), Renato Guttuso. Gli anni della formazione 1925–1940, exhibition catalogue (Catania, Galleria d’Arte Moderna “Le Ciminiere”, 6 April – 27 May 2001), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale.

D

D’Amico 1985F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël. Sculture, exhibition catalogue (Milan, PAC, 19 September – 11 November), Milan-Rome: Mondadori-De Luca.

D’Amico I misteri 1985F. D’Amico, “I misteri di Mafai”, in la Repubblica, y. 10, no. 22, Rome, 26 January, p. [19].

D’Amico 1991F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël, exhibition catalogue (Modena, Galleria Civica, 7 April – 16 June 1991), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale.

D’Amico Il cuore 1991F. D’Amico (edited by), Il cuore della Scuola Romana, exhibition catalogue (Galleria d’arte Forni, 28 September – 16 November 1991).

D’Amico 1992F. D’Amico (edited by), Alberto Ziveri, exhibition catalogue (Modena, Palazzina dei Giardini, 27 September – 29 November 1992), Bologna: Nuova Alfa Editoriale.

D’Amico 1995F. D’Amico (edited by), Guttuso Pirandello Ziveri. Realismo a Roma, 1938–1943, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani, April–May 1995), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani.

D’Amico 2007F. D’Amico (edited by), Antonietta Raphaël. Sculture in villa, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Villa Torlonia, 29 March – 15 July 2007), Rome: Palombi Editori.

D’Amico De Chirico 2007F. D’Amico, “De Chirico e Pirandello. Un’asta particolare”, in la Repubblica, y. 14, no. 39, Rome, 8 October.

D’Amico 2008F. D’Amico, “Le affinità tra Scipione, Licini e Cucchi”, in la Repubblica, y. 15, no. 31, Rome, 11 August.

D’Amico 2012F. D’Amico, “Anni ’30 l’arte italiana tra rivolta e ritorno all’ordine”, in la Repubblica, 28 September.

D’Amico, Bonani 2013F. D’Amico, P. Bonani (edited by), Fausto Pirandello Il tempo della guerra (1939–1945), exhibition catalogue (Agrigento, Fabbriche Chiaramontane, 23 November 2013 – 23 February 2014), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale.

D’Amico, Goldin 2004F. D’Amico, M. Goldin (edited by), Casa Mafai, Da Via Cavour a Parigi (1925–1932), exhibition catalogue (Brescia, Museo di Santa Giulia, 14 January – 20 March 2005), Conegliano: Linea d’ombra libri.

D’Amico, Goldin 2007F. D’Amico, M. Goldin (edited by), Pirandello. Le nature morte, exhibition catalogue (Brescia, Museo di Santa Giulia, 20 January – 25 March 2007), Conegliano: Linea d’ombra libri.

D’Amico, Guadagnini 1995F. D’Amico, W. Guadagnini (edited by), L’invenzione del paesaggio. Pittura italiana da Morandi a Schifano, exhibition catalogue (Modena, Galleria Civica, 1 October 1995 – 7 January 1996), Milan: Mazzotta.

D’Arrigo 1955F. D’Arrigo, “A. Raphaël Mafai”, in Vie Nuove, y. X, no. 22, Rome, 28 May.

D’Eramo 1986 L. D’Eramo (a cura), Migneco. Catalogo generale, Milan: Bonaparte Editrice.

Daverio 1984Roma tra espressionismo barocco e pittura tonale 1929–1943, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria privata Daverio, December 1984 – January 1985), Milan: Mondadori-Daverio.

Deac 1973Renato Guttuso: Obrazy z let 1931–1971, exhibition catalogue (Praga, Národní galerie v Praze, January–February; Budapest, Mucsarnok, 20 March – 15 April; Bucarest, Muzeul de Artă al Republicii Socialiste România, May–June), introduction by M. Deac, 1973.

De Angelis 1985R. M. De Angelis, L’avventura di Scipione pittore romano, Rome: Bonacci Editore.

De Bartolomeis 1978F. De Bartolomeis, Ernesto Treccani per immagini, Milan: Edizioni Brixio.

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De Dominicis 2006S. De Dominicis, Antonietta Raphaël Mafai. Un’artista non conforme, Milan: Selene Edizioni.

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De Grada 1943Cassinari, Morlotti,Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria della Spiga e Corrente, from 6 February), introduction by R. De Grada, Milan: Galleria della Spiga e Corrente.

De Grada 195012 opere di Renato Birolli, Bruno Cassinari, Ennio Morlotti, Ernesto Treccani, foreword by R. De Grada, Milan: Edizioni del Milione.

De Grada 1952R. De Grada, Il movimento di “Corrente”, Milan: Edizioni del Milione.

De Grada 1958R. De Grada (edited by), Mostra antologica di Ernesto Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Livorno, Casa Municipale della Cultura, 9–26 April 1958), Livorno.

De Grada 196730 anni di Corrente, text by R. De Grada, Milan: Edizioni Teodorani.

De Grada 1969R. De Grada, Mafai, Rome: Editrice Tevere.

De Grada 1971Diarcon. Omaggio “a Corrente” trent’anni dopo, exhibition catalogue (Milan, 13–31 May 1971; Ravenna, Loggetta Lombardesca, 4 June – 30 June 1971), introduction by R. De Grada, Milan: Arti Grafiche Errepi.

De Grada 1975R. De Grada, Il movimento di “Corrente”, Milan: Edizioni di Cultura Popolare.

De Grada 1990R. De Grada, “Renato Birolli e la generazione postnovecento”, in Ca’ de Sass, Milan: Cariplo, March.

De Grada 2001R. De Grada (edited by), La pittura in Lombardia nel XX secolo, exhibition catalogue (Vigevano, Lions Club Vigevano Colonne, Lions Vigevano Sforzesco, Fondazione di Piacenza e Vigevano, 31 March – 1 July 2001), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale.

De Grada, Guarnieri 1992R. De Grada, S. Guarnieri, “Ernesto Treccani. Opere 1941–1992”, in Palio di Feltre, supplement to no. 2, August–September.

Dei 2011E. Dei (edited by), Guttuso e gli amici di Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Seravezza, Palazzo Mediceo, 1 July – 11 September 2011), Pisa: Pacini Editore.

Dehò, Pontiggia 2007V. Dehò, E. Pontiggia (edited by), Aria. Premio Internazionale d’Arte Decima Edizione, exhibition catalogue (Fabriano, Spedale di Santa Maria del Buon Gesù, 7 July – 16 September 2007), Bologna: Grafis.

Del Guercio 1955A. Del Guercio, “Mostre d’arte. Antonietta Raphaël Mafai”, in Rinascita, y. XII, no. 5, Rome, May.

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E

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Emanuelli, Bo 1945Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Ciliberti), texts by E. Emanuelli, C. Bo, June.

Emanuelli, Sassu, Tullier 1945Aligi Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Santa Radegonda), texts by E. Emanuelli, A. Sassu, N. Tullier.

Emporium 1950“Cronache. Personali e collettive”, in Emporium, y. LVI, no. 669, Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche, Bergamo, September.

Ennio Morlotti 1983Ennio Morlotti, exhibition catalogue (Ivano Fracena, Castel Ivano Incontri, July–August 1983).

Erbesato 1986G. M. Erbesato (edited by), Carteggio Bini–Birolli, Vicenza: Neri Pozza Editore.

Ernesto Treccani 1962Ernesto Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Gissi, 25 October – 8 November 1962).

Ernesto Treccani 1980Ernesto Treccani. Mostra antologica, exhibition catalogue (Todi, Palazzo del Popolo, 19 April – 18 May 1980), Todi: Associazione Piazza Maggiore.

Ernesto Treccani 1981Ernesto Treccani. Malerei, Grafik, Plastik, exhibition catalogue (Berlin, Neue Berliner Galerie im Alten Museum, May–June 1981), Altenburg: Siegfried Seyffert.

Esposizione 1932Esposizione di Birolli, Cortese, Grosso, Manzù, Sassu, Tomea, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria del Milione, 5–15 February 1932), Milan: Edizioni del Milione..

Expo 2015V. Sgarbi (edited by), Il Tesoro d’Italia. Storia, geografia e biodiversità dell’arte italiana, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Padiglione Eataly di Expo Milano 2015, 1 May – 21 October 2015), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale. Technical entries of the collection: Renato Birolli, Periferia (Grottammare), Renato Guttuso, Gabbia bianca e foglie, Fausto Pirandello, La lettera, Scipione, Profeta in vista di Gerusalemme, edited by Rischa Paterlini.

F

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Fagiolo dell’Arco 1984M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola romana. Pittori tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Centro Culturale Galleria Cembalo Borghese), Rome: De Luca.

Fagiolo dell’Arco 1986Scuola Romana. Pittura e scultura a Roma dal 1919 al 1943, Rome: De Luca.

Fagiolo dell’Arco Il corpo 1986M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Il corpo, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Scuola Romana Studio d’Arte), Turin: Umberto Allemandi & C.

Fagiolo dell’Arco 1988M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Scuola romana. Artisti tra le due guerre, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 13 April – 19 June 1988), Milan: Mazzotta.

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Fagiolo dell’Arco Realismo magico 1988M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Realismo magico. Pittura e scultura in Italia 1919–1925, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 27 November 1988 – 29 January 1989; Milan, Palazzo Reale, 16 February – 2 April 1989), Milan: Mazzotta.

Fagiolo dell’Arco “Z” 1988M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), “Z”, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Studio d’Arte Scuola Romana, from 7 October 1988), Allemandi & C., Turin.

Fagiolo dell’Arco 1989M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Premio Viareggio–Rèpaci 1989, 60° Premio letterario (Viareggio, Villa Borbone, 30 June – 31 August 1989), Edizioni Archivio della Scuola Romana, Rome.

Fagiolo dell’Arco I fiori 1989M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I fiori di Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Verona, Galleria dello Scudo, 9 December 1989 – 20 January 1990), Turin: Umberto Allemandi & C.

Fagiolo dell’Arco Roma 1989M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I fiori di Mafai, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Netta Vespignani, October–November 1989), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani.

Fagiolo dell’Arco 1994M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), I Mafai. Vite parallele, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria d’Arte Netta Vespignani), Rome: Edizioni Netta Vespignani.

Fagiolo dell’Arco 1999 M. Fagiolo dell’Arco (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. La vita attuale e la favola eterna, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Palazzo delle Esposizioni, 20 October 1999 – 10 January 2000), Milan: Charta.

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Favatella Lo Cascio 1987D. Favatella Lo Cascio (edited by), Renato Guttuso dagli esordi al Gott mit Uns 1924–1944, exhibition catalogue (Bagheria, Galleria d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea Villa Cattolica, 27 June – 30 September 1987; Milan, Palazzo Isimbardi, 29 October 1987 – 10 January 1988), Palermo: Sellerio.

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Fergonzi 2003F. Fergonzi (edited by), La Collezione Mattioli, capolavori dell’avanguardia italiana, Milan: Skira.

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Gian Ferrari 1991C. Gian Ferrari, Fausto Pirandello, Rome: Leonardo-De Luca.

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Gian Ferrari 2005C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Antologica, exhibition catalogue (Sorrento, Museo Correale di Terranova, 23 March – 29 May 2005), Milan: Charta.

Gian Ferrari 2006C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Opere dal 1935 agli anni estremi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Gian Ferrari, 1 June – 21 July 2006), Milan: Claudia Gian Ferrari ’900 Italiano Arte Contemporanea.

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Gian Ferrari 2009C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello, general catalogue, Electa, Milan.

Gian Ferrari 2010C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello alle Quadriennali del 1935 e del 1939, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, 18 March – 2 May 2010), Milan: Electa.

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Giolli 1929R. Giolli, Emilio Gola, Milan: Anonima Editrice Arte.

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Morosini 1960D. Morosini, Renato Guttuso, Rome: Cusmano Editore.

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Pavolini 1932C. Pavolini, “A. Pincherle e C. Cagli alla Galleria di Roma”, in Il Tevere, 18 April.

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Persico 1929E. Persico, I sei pittori di Torino, in “Le Arti Plastiche”, Milan, 10 July.

Persico 1934E. Persico, L’Ottocento della pittura europea, conference of 17 February 1934.

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Pontiggia 1991E. Pontiggia (edited by), Artisti di Corrente 1930/1990, exhibition catalogue (Busto Arsizio, Palazzo Bandera, 16 November 1991 – 12 January 1992; Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 19 January – 1 March 1992), Milan: Vangelista.

Pontiggia Italo Valenti 1991E. Pontiggia (edited by), Italo Valenti. Mostra antologica, exhibition catalogue (Bellinzona, Civica Galleria d’Arte, April–June 1991), Bellinzona: Civica Galleria d’Arte.

Pontiggia 1994E. Pontiggia (edited by), Omaggio a Francesco De Rocchi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Nuova Galleria Carini, 12 April – 10 May 1994), Milan: Vangelista.

Pontiggia 1996E. Pontiggia (edited by), I chiaristi. Milano e l’Alto Mantovano negli anni Trenta, exhibition catalogue (Medole, Torre Civica; Volta Mantovana, Scuderie di Palazzo Cavriani; Castiglione delle Stiviere, Galleria del Santuario, 14 April – 2 June 1996), Milan: Mazzotta.

Pontiggia 1998E. Pontiggia (edited by), Edoardo Persico e gli artisti 1929–1936. Il percorso di un critico dall’impressionismo al primitivismo, exhibition catalogue (Milan, PAC, 11 June – 13 September 1998), Milan: Electa.

Pontiggia Broggini 1998E. Pontiggia (edited by), Broggini e il suo tempo. Uno scultore nell’Italia degli anni ’30 tra chiarismo e Corrente, exhibition catalogue (Civitanova Marche, chiesa di Sant’Agostino, 5 July – 27 September 1998), Milan: Skira.

Pontiggia 1999E. Pontiggia (edited by), Sognare la natura. Il paesaggio nell’arte a Milano dal Novecento all’informale (1919–1959), exhibition catalogue (Medole, Torre Civica, 4 September – 31 October 1999), Mantova: Edizioni Casa del Mantegna.

Pontiggia 2000E. Pontiggia (edited by), Adolfo Wildt e i suoi allievi: Fontana, Melotti, Broggini e gli altri, exhibition catalogue (Brescia, Palazzo Martinengo, 23 January – 25 April 2000), Milan: Skira.

Pontiggia 2002E. Pontiggia (edited by), Francesco De Rocchi (1902–1978), exhibition catalogue (Saronno, Casa Morandi, Sala Nevera, 12 October – 16 November 2002), Saronno: Città di Saronno.

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Pontiggia, Carla Maria Maggi 2010E. Pontiggia (edited by), Carla Maria Maggi e il ritratto a Milano negli anni trenta, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, 15 June – 5 September 2010), Milan: Skira.

Pontiggia 2011E. Pontiggia (edited by), Lo stupore nello sguardo. La fortuna di Rousseau in Italia da Soffici e Carrà a Breveglieri, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Fondazione Stelline, 24 March – 1 June 2011), Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana Editoriale.

Pontiggia 2013E. Pontiggia, “La pittura ebraica al femminile”, in La Stampa, Turin, 16 September.

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Sarfatti 1927M. Sarfatti, “La ‘seconda ondata’ alla Mostra di Brera”, in Il Popolo d’Italia, Milan, 21 October.

Savarese 1938Renato Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria della Cometa, 28 March – 8 April 1938), introduction by N. Savarese, Rome: Edizioni della Cometa.

Savarese Pittura di Renato Guttuso 1938N. Savarese, Pittura di Renato Guttuso, in “Corrente”, y. I, no. 7, Milan, 30 April.

S. B. 1949S. B., “Mostre d’Arte. Una collettiva”, in Il Gazzettino Veneziano, Venice, 1 February.

Sborgi 1995F. Sborgi (edited by), Arte della libertà. Antifascismo, guerra e liberazione in Europa 1925–1945, exhibition catalogue (Genova, Palazzo Ducale, 16 November 1995 – 18 February 1996), Milan: Mazzotta.

Scarpellini 1960P. Scarpellini, “I quindici della Scuola Romana”, in Il Ponte, Florence, July.

Sciascia, Russoli, Grasso 1971Mostra antologica dell’opera di Renato Guttuso, exhibition catalogue (Palermo, Palazzo dei Normanni, 13 February – 14 March 1971), texts by L. Sciascia, F. Russoli, F. Grasso, Palermo: Banco di Sicilia.

La scuola romana 1983La Scuola romana dal ’29 al ’33, exhibition catalogue (Rome, Galleria Marino – La Tartaruga, 1983).

Sebastiani 1998G. Sebastiani (edited by), I Libri di Corrente. Milano 1940–43: una vicenda editoriale, Bologna: Pendragon.

I Sei Pittori 1993I Sei Pittori di Torino 1929–1971, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Biasutti, 30 November – 30 December 1993), Turin.

Sellani 1939Primo Premio Bergamo. Mostra Nazionale del Paesaggio, exhibition catalogue (Bergamo, Palazzo della Ragione, September–October 1939), introduction by O. Sellani, Bergamo: Istituto Italiano d’Arti Grafiche.

Sette Giorni 1942“Badodi”, in Sette Giorni, y. VIII, no. 21, Milan, 23 May.

Serri 2005M. Serri, I redenti, Milan, p. 216.

Severini 1936G. Severini, “Garbari nel ricordo di Severini”, in Il Milione, no. 44, 25 January, n.p.n.

Sgarbi 1987V. Sgarbi (edited by), La natura morta nell’arte italiana del Novecento, exhibition catalogue (Mesola, Castello Estense, 2 August – 15 October 1987), Milan: Mazzotta.

Sgarbi 1988V. Sgarbi (edited by), Vitalità della figurazione. Pittura italiana 1948–1988, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 22 December 1988 – 29 January 1989), Milan: Vangelista.

Sgarbi 2003V. Sgarbi (edited by), Da Tiziano a de Chirico. La ricerca dell’identità, exhibition catalogue (Cagliari, Castel San Michele, 14 June – 14 September 2003), Milan: Skira.

Sgarbi La ricerca 2003V. Sgarbi (edited by), La ricerca dell’identità. Da Antonello a de Chirico, exhibition catalogue (Palermo, Albergo delle Povere, 15 November 2003 – 15 February 2004), Milan: Skira.

Sgarbi 2014V. Sgarbi (edited by), Artisti di Sicilia. Da Pirandello a Iudice, exhibition catalogue (Favignana, ex Stabilimento Florio delle Tonnare di Favignana e Formica, 11 July – 12 October 2014), Milan: Skira.

Sgarbi Hopper 2015V. Sgarbi, “Hopper? È italiano. Si chiamava Ziveri”, in il Giornale, 31 January.

Sgarbi Dipingere tra le due guerre 2015Vittorio Sgarbi, “Dipingere tra le due guerre – La pittura al termine della notte di Scipione”, in il Giornale, 5 April.

Siciliano 2004E. Siciliano, Il risveglio della bionda sirena. Raphaël e Mafai. Storia di un amore coniugale, Milan: Arnoldo Mondadori.

Silva 1939U. Silva, “Accostamento a Birolli”, in Corrente, 15 July.

Silva 1941Giuseppe Migneco, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Bottega di Corrente, 6–18 January), introduction by U. Silva, Milan: Edizioni di Corrente.

Simongini 1971F. Simongini, “Intervista con Raphaël Mafai. Scipione pittore di Roma”, in Vita, Rome, 20 November.

Sinisgalli 1950L. Sinisgalli, Furor Mathematicus – Ricordo di Scipione, Milan: Mondadori.

Sinisgalli 1952Alberto Ziveri, introduction by L. Sinisgalli, Rome: De Luca.

Sironi 1931M. Sironi, in Il Popolo d’Italia, Milan, 11 March.

Sironi 1931 Il popolo M [M.Sironi], “Mostre di pittura”, in Il Popolo d’Italia, 22 January.

Sironi 1935M. Sironi, “II Quadriennale d’arte nazionale”, in La Rivista Illustrata del Popolo d’Italia, February.

Solmi 1937S. Solmi, in Bollettino della Galleria del Milione, no. 57, 23 November – 15 December 1937.

Solmi 1984F. Solmi (edited by), Sassu, exhibition catalogue (Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, 15 January – 4 March 1984), Bologna: Grafis.

Spadoni 1985C. Spadoni, “Scipione il romano. Macerata / 30 quadri e 130 disegni in mostra”, in Il Resto del Carlino, 8 August.

Spadoni 2003C. Spadoni (edited by), Da Renoir a De Staël. Roberto Longhi e il moderno, exhibition catalogue (Ravenna, Loggetta Lombardesca, 23 February – 30 June 2003), Milan: Mazzotta.

Spagnesi 2004L. Spagnesi, “Il mio vizio? Collezionare pittura Italiana”, interview with Giuseppe Iannaccone, in Arte, no. 372, Milan, August.

Stefanelli Torossi 1986L. Stefanelli Torossi (edited by), Virgilio Guzzi, Rome.

Steingräber 1987E. Steingräber (edited by), Sassu. Sein schaffen von 1927 bis 1985, exhibition catalogue (Munich, Staatsgalerie Moderner Kunst, 28 January – 15 March 1987), Ivrea: Priuli & Verlucca Editori.

Strinati 1929Mostra di otto pittrici e scultrici romane, exhibition catalogue (Rome, “Camerata degli Artisti” di piazza di Spagna, 9–24 June 1929), introduction by R. Strinati.

T

Taccani 1959R. Taccani (edited by), 50 anni d’arte a Milano. Dal divisionismo ad oggi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 31 January – 15 March 1959), Milan: Vallardi Editore.

Taccani 1960R. Taccani (edited by), Mostra Commemorativa di Pittori Soci, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo della Permanente, 9 April – 10 May 1960), Milan: Edizioni della Permanente.

Tassi 1970Morandi – Morlotti. Per i quarant’anni del Milione due antologiche (Milan, Galleria del Milione, 12 December 1970 – 12 January 1971), introduction by R. Tassi, Milan: Edizioni del Milione.

Tassi 1972R. Tassi, Ennio Morlotti, Edizioni Milan: Galleria Cocorocchia.

Tassi 1975R. Tassi (edited by), Morlotti. Figure 1942/1975, exhibition catalogue (Parma, Palazzo della Pilotta, 8 March – 13 April 1975), Milan: Electa.

Tassi, Pirovano 1993R. Tassi, C. Pirovano, Morlotti, Milan: Electa.

Tassi, Pizzetti, Soavi 1993R. Tassi, S. Pizzetti, G. Soavi (edited by), La collezione Barilla di Arte Moderna, Parma: Guanda.

Terenzi 1977A. Terenzi (edited by), Mostra retrospettiva delle opere di Mario Mafai dal 1928 al 1964 (Todi, Palazzo del Popolo, 24 April – 5 June 1977), Todi: Edizioni Associazione Piazza Maggiore.

Testa 2004S. Testa, I Sei di Torino. Per i quindici anni della Galleria del Ponte, exhibition catalogue (Turin, Galleria Il Ponte, 7 May – 26 June 2004), Turin: Galleria Il Ponte.

Testori 1981G. Testori, “Arte: un ritratto di Guttuso. Capolavoro nella calura”, in Corriere della Sera, y. 106, no. 161, Milan, 12 July.

Testori 2001G. Testori, La cenere e il volto. Scritti sulla pittura del Novecento, Florence: Le Lettere.

Il Tevere 1938“Tutto nulla e qualche cosa. Straniera bolscevizzante e giudaica”, in Il Tevere, no. 23, Rome, 24–25 November.

Torriano 1932P. Torriano, “Cronache d’arte. Due giovani”, in La Casa Bella, no. 49, Milan, January.

Torriano 1943P. Torriano, “Visto alla Quadriennale”, in Sette Giorni, y. IX, no. 22, Milan, 29 May.

Torriano Pittura 1943P. Torriano, “Pittura. Gli estremi si toccano”, in Sette Giorni, y. IX, no. 25, Milan, 19 June.

Toscani 2005C. Toscani, Musica e architettura nell'età di Giuseppe Terragni (1904–1943), Milan: Cisalpino.

Trasanna 1940“Broggini”, in Augustea, y. XV, no. 9, Rome, 15 March.

Treccani 1967Ernesto Treccani, exhibition catalogue (Florence, L’Indiano Galleria d’Arte Moderna, 28 January – 10 February 1967), dedication by E. Treccani, Florence: Nuova Grafica Fiorentina.

Troisi, Gian Ferrari 1998S. Troisi, C. Gian Ferrari (edited by), Fausto Pirandello. Bagnanti 1928–1972, exhibition catalogue (Marsala, ex Convento del Carmine, 4 April – 7 June 1998), Milan: Charta.

Troisi 2000S. Troisi (edited by), Lazzaro. Opere 1927–1964, exhibition catalogue (Marsala, ex convento del Carmine, 16 April – 11 June 2000), Palermo: Sellerio.

Troisi 2005S. Troisi (edited by), Interni italiani. Figure, oggetti, stanze nella pittura italiana dagli anni Venti agli anni Sessanta del Novecento, exhibition catalogue (Marsala, ex convento del Carmine, 10 July – 16 October 2005), Palermo: Sellerio.

420 421

BIBLIOGRAPHY — EDITED BY RISCHA PATERLINI T – Z

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Trombadori 1930F. Trombadori, “Mafai e Scipione” in Gente nostra, Rome, November.

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Valsecchi 1954M. Valsecchi, “I nervi delle donne scolpite da Broggini”, in Tempo, 15 April.

Valsecchi 1960M. Valsecchi, in XXX Biennale di Venezia, exhibition catalogue, Venice: Stamperia di Venezia.

Valsecchi 1963M. Valsecchi (edited by), Gli artisti di “Corrente”, exhibition catalogue (Ivrea, Centro Culturale Olivetti, June 1963; Verona, Palazzo della Gran Guardia, July–August 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità.

Valsecchi Artisti di Corrente 1963 M. Valsecchi (edited by), Gli artisti di “Corrente”, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Palazzo Reale, reduction of Ivrea exhibition catalogue, 25 September – 20 October 1963), Milan: Edizioni di Comunità.

Valsecchi 1966M. Valsecchi, Renato Birolli, Milan: Edizioni del Milione.

Valsecchi Broggini 1969M. Valsecchi (edited by), Broggini. Disegni – Acquarelli dal 1928 al 1966, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria delle Ore, from 8 February 1969), Milan: Edizioni delle Ore.

Valsecchi 1969M. Valsecchi (edited by), Arnaldo Badodi, exhibition catalogue (Milan, Galleria Eunomìa, from 29 November 1969), Milan: Edizioni Franco Sciardelli.

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Valsecchi 1975M. Valsecchi, “Le donne dello scultore solitario”, in Lo Speciale, y. II, no. 5, Milan, 4 February.

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Vespignani 1992Donghi, Fazzini, Ferrazzi, Mafai, Pirandello, Raphaël, Scipione, Trombadori, Ziveri. Nove maestri della Scuola Romana, with essays by F. D’Amico, F. Gualdoni, M. Quesada, V. Rivosecchi; project and coordination by Netta Vespignani, Turin: Edizioni Seat.

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My passion for art and pursuit of emotion have ripened over the years but never ceased to grow. I have focused a great deal on contemporary art in recent years and the part of the collection concerned with the present day has expanded considerably as a result. But when I come across an expressionist masterpiece from the interwar years, I cannot resist. I have to make it mine. It makes no difference whether I already have one or two or even ten works by the artist in question: if it is a masterpiece then I want it to be part of the family. This is exactly the way it is. There is a force within me that always draws me back to the start of my history as a collector, a force that leads me by the hand back to the thirties. Thus it is that the collection illustrated in Una caccia amorosa [A Loving Hunt] has grown so much that I decided to present it anew in a new book on which Rischa Paterlini and I have been working for about a year now. Something quite extraordinary occurred recently, however, when Claudio De Albertis, the late president of the Milan Triennial, proposed an exhibition of the collection at the Palazzo della Triennale. While I am overjoyed that the collection will be shown to the public, the event will be important above all for these artists of mine, who deserve to be known and admired by everyone because they are a crucial part of the history of Italian art. What it is truly extraordinary is that, by sheer coincidence or perhaps a quirk of fate, the publication of this book will coincide with the inauguration of the exhibition. My first thanks therefore go precisely to Claudio De Albertis for the appreciation he has displayed for my collection and for making it possible for the fondest dream I have had since I began collecting art to come true. I also wish to thank Andrea Cancellato, director general of the Triennial, for supporting the decision to hold the exhibition and allowing me to organize it independently as a personal history of those extraordinarily exciting years. I thank the artistic director Edoardo Bonaspetti for his deep and sensitive study of the collection and the driving forces of my pursuit, and Elena Tettamanti, president of the Amici della Fondazione Triennale, for her prompt involvement in the project.Fundamental importance attaches to the part played by the Fondazione Credito Bergamasco in the person of Angelo Piazzoli, the first of all to take an interest in the collection and the first to think of exhibiting it to the public. With the great sensitivity peculiar to those of a now bygone era, he understood my desire to show the collection for the first time in my beloved Milan and therefore decided to postpone the exhibition already scheduled to take place in Bergamo until after the event at the Triennial. I also thank Paola Silvia Ubiali for the uncommon sensitivity displayed in conducting one of the most intimate interviews I have ever granted during my time as a collector.A major contribution was made to my project by Alberto Salvadori with his experience and professional expertise, opening up new horizons that have helped to improve this book and develop the exhibition. I thank him in particular for the interview, which offered me yet another opportunity for reflection on my life and my choices. I thank my dealer friend Giò Marconi for introducing me to the staff of Mousse in the persons of Carlotta Poli, Marco Fasolini and Fausto Giliberti, who have worked on the projects for the collection with real passion from the very outset. A vital contribution was made by the major art historians Fabio Benzi, Giorgina Bertolino, Paola Bonani, Fabrizio D’Amico, Flavio Fergonzi, Lorella Giudici, Mattia Patti and Carlo Sisi, whose essays have provided a clearer picture of the artistic scene in the interwar years. l also thank Alessandra Acocella and Caterina Toschi for their precious contribution. Particular thanks to my dear friend Elena Pontiggia, who has been at my side in all my decisions. I have always felt the support not only of her extraordinary knowledge and expertise but also of her disinterested friendship and affection. With these inestimable qualities, Elena has been a unique and invaluable confidant ever since I took my first steps as a collector.I thank Paolo Rusconi for his silent but fundamental contribution and am also grateful to his degree student Maria Chiara Ghilardi and her impassioned exploration of Birolli’s colours.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Lara Facco for the indispensable professionalism displayed in organizing even the slightest of details in the field of communications.I wish to thank Dario Moalli, a young but rigorous scholar, for his considerable help in the constant research on the works and artists of the collection and for having chosen to develop his first professional experience in my collection. I wish to recall the very important contribution of Daniela De Palma, one of the first to help me in documenting the works, and thank the scholar Silvia Somaschini for her precious assistance with the previous volume Una caccia amorosa.Special thanks to the Romanò brothers, who have helped me in the choice of frames ever since my first purchase, enhancing every work with the skill and sophistication that belongs only to master craftsmen. Thanks also to the photographer Paolo Vandrasch, who has assisted in the documentation of the works with his great culture and passion from the very outset.I still recall with great joy and emotion my meeting with Ernesto Treccani and Aligi Sassu. If I have managed to reconstruct unclear periods in the history of many works, it is thanks to them.Unique and precious contributions have also been made by the relatives of my artists: Stefano Broggini, Pier Rosa De Rocchi, Fabio Carapezza Guttuso, the Gian Ferrari family, Giulia and Simona Mafai, Adele Lilloni Schubert, the Sassu family and Nella Ziveri. My warmest thanks to you all. Fond memories bring me to Ro’ Birolli and Zeno Birolli, dear friends and providers of precious support. Particular thanks go to Marco Birolli, to whom I am grateful, among other things, for tracking down magnificent works. I must now say a thank you that is perhaps unusual but of great importance to me. I am grateful to Alessia, my companion in life, for understanding the great importance that art in general and the collection of the thirties in particular have for me. I thank her for allowing the few holidays I take to be devoted principally to art. I also thank my son Leonardo for following us through museums and exhibitions with such patience. I remember once when he had spent over two hours visiting galleries at the Miami art fair without ever protesting. “Leo, you’ve been really good”, I told him. “Believe me, Dad, it’s been a real effort”, he replied. And so, my dear Leo, Dad thanks you and asks you to forgive him a bit of selfishness in the pursuit of this passion. I now wish to thank Rischa Paterlini, the primary driving force in the organization and production both of this book and of the exhibition at the Milan Triennial.I have seen Rischa grow in every respect over the years. Her cultural growth has been enormous. She has never contented herself, as she could well have, with playing the part I had in any case entrusted to her on the grounds of affection and her great passion for art. With great humility and commitment, she has studied endlessly, reading dozens and dozens of art books. She has the approach to things in everyday life that she knows I love, and thus addresses every question by examining it thoroughly in depth before expressing her judgment. I have seen her sometimes find reassurance and confirmation of an initially instinctive opinion and sometimes instead change her mind. This humble but intense commitment has made Rischa a scholar of art at the highest level and one with great prospects in the world of art criticism and curatorship. She has acquired an exceptional flair for relations that helps her to support and develop the many projects we have in art, and her constant hard work and commitment enable us to handle different initiatives at the same time, as in the case of this book, the exhibition at the Triennial, the exhibition at the Fondazione Credito Bergamasco and the forthcoming exhibition of a young artist in my offices within the framework of the IN PRATICA project. Rischa is a constant companion and comfort in a shared and ineradicable passion. For all this and many other things besides, I thank her with all my heart and ask her affectionately never to change.

Giuseppe Iannaccone

Documents

Volume I Italy 1920-1945 A New Figurative Art and Narrative