“The Foro Mussolini is one of the works representative of our historical period; in the complexity of its conception, in the nobility of its execution […] we see the symbol of a transformation of ideals, of a new direction […]. This work, which has rightly already become so widely known, possesses the qualities of Roman permanence.”
— M. Piacentini, “Il Foro Mussolini in Roma,” Architettura, vol. XIII (1933), no. 2, pp. 65–75.
Translation from the Italian.
This is how Marcello Piacentini described Del Debbio’s work in Architettura in 1933. He had already included it in his book Architettura d’oggi (1930). We can only agree with him in regarding this architecture as a defining example of the stile littorio, or Fascist style. It is no coincidence that the focal point of the architectural composition is the obelisk known as the Mussolini Monolith (1929–32), erected by the architect Costantino Costantini (Oneglia, 1904–Milan, 1982). It clearly recalls the Roman practice of raising obelisks in honour of emperors.
Aligned with the obelisk is the Fountain of the Sphere (1930), designed by Mario Paniconi (Rome, 1904–73) and Giulio Pediconi (Rome, 1906–99). The avenue connecting these two elements, which organise the architectural space, was designed by Luigi Moretti (Rome, 1907–76). Its eleven travertine blocks record key dates in Italian history, from unification to the proclamation of the Republic. The latter was added after the war, signifying the continuity of the nation even as dates associated with Fascism were erased: a case of damnatio memoriae that was, fortunately, only partially carried out.
All the architectural and decorative elements draw on the classical repertoire, reworked through a new sensibility: broken pediments alternating with curved ones, aedicules, flattened arches, elongated and splayed windows, flat pilasters, half-columns without capitals, and simplified mouldings. Old and new approaches to architecture come together in a building guided by functionality—though not by functionalism, understood as an ideological fetish of the so-called Modern Movement—without forgetting the lessons of antiquity.
Imposing statues of athletes stand against the blank end walls of the Academy of Physical Education. On the side facing the Tiber embankment are Athlete and Bocce Player by Carlo De Veroli (Carrara, 1890–1938); on the side facing the Stadio dei Marmi are Rower at Rest and Victorious Boxer by Silvio Canevari (Viterbo, 1893–Rome, 1932).
It is the Foro’s statuary that will concern us here; we shall set aside its architecture and mosaic decorations. The “colossi” of the Foro Mussolini—now the Foro Italico—can be regarded as an epitome of Fascist statuary, which is what interests us in this chapter. In December 1929, a competition was announced for the sixty statues arranged in a ring around the Stadio dei Marmi, designed by Del Debbio as part of the Foro Mussolini. The jury, chaired by Cipriano Efisio Oppo (Rome, 1891–1962), examined no fewer than 127 plaster models submitted from 92 Italian provinces.
The results, however, were disappointing. Only the models by Ercole Drei (Faenza, 1886–Rome, 1973) and Aldo Buttini (Aulla, Massa-Carrara, 1898–Carrara, 1957) were judged worthy of selection. Five other artists—Oddo Aliventi, Aroldo Bellini, Tommaso Bertolino, Romeo Gregori and Enrico Martini—were chosen on condition that they revise their models to comply with the competition rules. Since there was no time to hold another competition, other artists were invited on the strength of their established reputations: Libero Andreotti, Eugenio Baroni, Publio Morbiducci, Nicola D’Antino and Francesco Messina.
The sculptures by Attilio Selva (Trieste, 1888–Rome, 1970) are a special case. He had begun preparing his athletes as early as 1929, having been commissioned directly by the Foro’s architect, Enrico Del Debbio (Rome, 1891–1968), a close friend with whom he had worked on the Monument to the Fallen in Trieste and the monument to Nazario Sauro in Capodistria. Selva’s four statues stand beside the VIP stand. As the first to be installed, they inevitably provided a model for the statues that followed.
In addition to the sixty marble statues around the stadium, Aroldo Bellini (Perugia, 1902–Rome, 1984) created four bronze works: Greco-Roman Wrestling (1934), Freestyle Wrestling (1934), Javelin Thrower (1932–33) and Archer (1933–34). They were placed beside the VIP stand and in niches at the base of the entrance stairway. Bellini also conceived a gigantic Colossus of Fascism (1932) as the monumental complex’s ideal culmination. It was intended to surpass ancient and modern monuments such as the Colossus of Rhodes and New York’s Statue of Liberty in height and grandeur. Planned for the summit of Monte Mario, it would have taken the form of an enormous Hercules whose features recalled Mussolini’s face.
Many other sculptors, including Corrado Vigni (Florence, 1889–1950), submitted models that the committee did not approve but that nevertheless reveal a shared classical, Novecento-influenced stylistic foundation. The Foro’s colossi served as a kind of training ground—the sporting metaphor is apt—for some of the finest Italian sculptors of the twentieth century. Their style would influence much later statuary. Francesco Messina (Linguaglossa, Catania, 1900–Milan, 1995) is a telling example, since he remained among Italy’s most prominent sculptors in the second half of the century. His best-known works include the Monument to Pope Pius XII (1961–64) in St Peter’s and the celebrated Dying Horse (1966) for the RAI headquarters on Viale Mazzini in Rome.
Sculptures such as The Navigator (1938) in Genoa, by Antonio Morera (Casal Monferrato, Alessandria, 1888–Genoa, 1964), clearly reveal the same stylistic roots as the statues of the Stadio dei Marmi. Many “direct descendants” of the Foro Mussolini colossi are scattered across Italian cities. The most famous example is Il Bigio, although it is more a sibling than a descendant: it was conceived and unveiled just as the Foro’s stadium was filling with statues. Some malicious tongues even spread the rumour that it was a statue “rejected” by the Foro.
Arturo Dazzi (Carrara, 1881–Pisa, 1966) created the colossus The Fascist Era (1932), popularly known as Il Bigio, for Piazza della Vittoria in Brescia. Anyone visiting the square today, of course, would look in vain for the marble giant. It was removed on 12 October 1945. For more than fifty years, debate has continued over its reinstatement, supported by people of taste and culture but repeatedly blocked by the ostracism of the crude local left, with ANPI at the forefront.
In fact, the first objections to Il Bigio came from Catholic circles. Even during the Fascist period, its nudity was considered inappropriate, prompting the addition of a fig leaf modelled by Claudio Botta (Manerbio, 1891–Milan, 1958). Something similar happened to the Foro’s colossi. Although they escaped anti-Fascist iconoclasm, after the war they had to be fitted with concrete coverings to suit the political climate dominated by the Christian Democrats. The episode recalls the famous “Breeches Maker” who painted drapery over Michelangelo’s nudes.
It is precisely Michelangelo Buonarroti (Caprese, Arezzo, 1475–Rome, 1564) whom Dazzi evokes, particularly in the celebrated David (1501–04). Compared with that work, however, Il Bigio appears “stiffened.” Although more naturalistic than the Foro’s colossi, it is more static than Michelangelo’s David, possessing a late antique hieratic quality. This is no compositional flaw but a deliberate stylistic choice by Dazzi. A long-standing collaborator of Piacentini—on the arches in Genoa and Bolzano, among other projects—he gave his statues a distinct architectural character. It is no coincidence that Piacentini preferred his friend’s sculptures, placing only Arturo Martini ahead of him on certain occasions, such as the University City and unrealised projects for EUR.
Il Bigio also surpasses David in size. Michelangelo’s masterpiece stands approximately five metres tall, while Dazzi’s sculpture reaches seven and a half metres, including a base of roughly half a metre. The young man, proud and combative, is likewise ready for action; unlike David, however, he appears more tense. His defiant bearing also seems consistent with that of a Fascist squad member, always ready to defend himself against treacherous attacks by the Reds. Il Biancone, another nickname for Il Bigio, stood above a fountain basin and formed the centrepiece of the redevelopment of Piazza della Vittoria (1928–32). The project was designed by Piacentini, who had immediately intended to commission his friend and initially envisaged a winged Victory, in collaboration with Oscar Prati (Modena, 1898–1974) of the Municipal Technical Office. Prati undoubtedly shouldered most of the design work.
It should be observed that sculpture, like the other arts, accommodated a variety of approaches. Lucio Fontana (Rosario, Santa Fe, Argentina, 1899–Comabbio, 1968)—an accomplished sculptor before turning to the “conceptualism” of his famous slashed canvases—was much sought after for funerary sculpture; many of his works can be found in Milan’s Monumental Cemetery. He also exhibited a Fascist Victory (1936) at the Sixth Milan Triennale to celebrate the proclamation of the Empire. A phrase from Mussolini’s speech of 9 May 1936 was inscribed on the statue’s base.
Fontana’s style, like that of Arturo Martini (Treviso, 1889–Milan, 1947) and other sculptors active during the Fascist period, had little in common with the supposedly “official” and “standardised” style of the Foro’s colossi, apart from a shared commitment to figurative art. Michele Guerrisi (Cittanova, Reggio Calabria, 1893–Rome, 1963), too, displayed a distinctive voice even in explicitly celebratory works such as The Genius of Fascism (1932). Although mindful of the lessons of Novecento art, he never forgot Zanelli’s example, which is also evident in his Monument to the Fallen Students of the Royal University of Naples (1923).
Countless other examples could be given. What we wish to emphasise is that, despite the framework provided by certain general rules, the relationship between Fascism and art was never comparable to Nazi or Soviet artistic policy. And that is a fact.
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