Italian Futurism

New York

by CATHERINE CRAFT

FEW MOVEMENTS OF the avant-garde have contributed so much yet been as neglected as Futurism. Launched by Filippo Tommaso Marinetti in 1909, Futurism embraced mod­ernity, speed and political and cultural change, and, to advance its mission, participants dev­eloped strategies and art forms that loomed large over subsequent movements – the use of the manifesto as an assertive means of identification, the promulgation of experimental techniques, such as words-in-freedom poems and interdisciplinary performances, and the deeply held conviction that art could change society. Yet enthusiasm for Futurism’s exuberance has long been tempered by con­sternation regarding its embrace of violence and war, its repressive, even misogynistic, attitude towards women, and its significant alliance, after the First World War, with Fascism.

The current exhibition Italian Futurism, 1909–1944: Reconstructing the Universe at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York (until 1st September), provides an exhaustive, wide-ranging examination of Futurism that deals with these problematic aspects of the movement’s identity by confronting them in the wider context of what turns out to be Futurism’s very long life.1 Futurism is frequently considered to have had two phases: a ‘heroic’ period ending in 1916 with the death of Umberto Boccioni, and a second wave that continued through the inter-War years, ending only with Marinetti’s death in 1944. Usually, presentations of Futurism focus on the former, with its belligerent, optimistic look to the future and artists such as Boccioni, Gino Severini and Giacomo Balla attempting to translate sensations of speed and movement into painting and sculpture. The curator, Vivien Greene, chooses to follow Futurism beyond this initial, celebrated period and see it through to its end; the result, which spirals up the Guggenheim ramp, gives the impression of a much broader cultural phenomenon embracing theatre, dance, photography, film, fashion, ceramics, design and architecture, but it also does not flinch from uncomfortable political truths, providing ample evidence of Futurism’s complex connections with Mussolini’s Fascism.

This encyclopaedic approach was a wise decision on the Guggenheim’s part, and is further supported by its substantial catalogue, with essays (or ‘interventions’) from over two dozen scholars on wide-ranging topics from Futurist performance to regional Futurism in such areas as Capri and Umbria. Besides providing historical substance to what has often remained speculative murmurs regarding Futurism’s actual connections to Mussolini’s regime, taking Futurism beyond a definition anchored in familiar avant-guerre intersections of painting, sculpture and literature, yields a vision of the movement more suited – for better or worse – to our own moment. With contemporary artists moving easily from one medium to another, and blurred distinctions between art, design and commerce, alongside the prevalence of social media, this expanded Futurism’s infiltration of, and interpenetration with, Italian life and culture seems strikingly prescient.

This is not to say that the ‘heroic’ period is neglected; in fact, the exhibition’s physical starting point is the Guggenheim’s High Gallery, an airy space at the base of the spiral’s ramp that hosts an installation of Boccioni’s sculptures and drawings. Interestingly, this group of works seems very much sui generis in the context of what follows – a backtracking to Futurism’s origins and presentation of paintings from the first years of the movement. Whereas Severini, Balla and initially Boccioni himself sought to depict sensations of movement and speed, such sculptures as Unique forms of continuity in space (1913; cat. pl.63) and Antigraceful (1913; pl.68) reveal the different approach Boccioni developed when he turned to sculpture in 1913. As Flavio Fergonzi’s catalogue essay helps to clarify, Boccioni sought to render concrete individual moments of motion, synthesising them into a whole capable of containing both unity and dynamism.

The presentation of Futurism’s heroic phase narrates a familiar story – Futurist artists’ attempts to give form to the impassioned and vivid ideas of Marinetti’s manifesto. They used the existing styles of Divisionism, then Cubism, tailoring them to their own needs, and Balla turned to the photography of Etienne-Jules Marey to propel his painting into time-lapse depictions of movement that soon developed into nearly abstract impressions of dynamic repetitive movement, as in the lively Abstract speed + sound (Fig.92). Green also includes works by the Futurist photographer Anton Guilio Bragaglia, who was comparably inspired by Marey but was all but blackballed from the movement by Boccioni, who was sensitive to accusations that the Futurists were merely painting what could be captured in photographs.

Another highlight of this section is a selection of works deploying Marinetti’s strategy of parole in libertà, or ‘words at liberty’, a form of visual poetry emphasising the appearance of words or letters at the expense of conventional syntax, grammar and punctuation. Exper­imental pieces such as Francesco Cangiullo’s Large crowd in the Piazza del Popolo (Fig.93) featured onomatopoeic combinations of letters and words overlaid and intertwined with each other to evoke the bustling chaos of life in a modern city. The robust presence of such works, as well as books, magazines and a plethora of assorted manifestos throughout the exhibition keeps the origins of Futurism in language and literature ever present.

The Guggenheim’s exhibition takes its title from a 1915 manifesto by Balla and the younger Fortunato Depero that called for reimagining every aspect of life, a concept played out in many aspects of Futurism’s second phase, which saw the spread of its celebration of speed, dynamism and modernity into a wide range of activities, from fashion and theatre to architecture and film. Indeed, both artists come off particularly strong in this exhibition. Beyond the paintings from the ‘heroic’ period for which he is best known, Balla provided the world with the first ‘antineutralist’ suit (in tricolore, to show support for Italy’s entrance into the First World War); created an evocative design and lighting programme to accompany Igor Stravinsky’s Fireworks (1917; pls.146–49); and painted striking examples of post-War Futurism, such as Numbers in love (1920–23; pl.188). Likewise, Depero winningly emerges as a multifaceted creator of theatre sets, marionettes, tapestries (Fig.91) and clothes, book and magazine illustrations, a kiosk made of enormous letters for a bookseller, and even designs for the cordial Campari. Such charming objects provide a distraction from the increasingly ponderous nature of Futurist painting from the 1920s onwards, as it moves first into a streamlined celebration of machinery and urbanism somewhat akin to Purism.

By the late 1920s, Futurist painting takes to the skies with Aeropittura, which combines Marinetti’s early fascination with airplanes and aerial photographic views. Such artists as Tullio Crali and Benedetta Cappa Marinetti (Marinetti’s wife) present bird’s-eye views of vast expanses, painted in stolid earthy and celestial tones aligning their approach with contemporary social realism in other countries as well as the otherworldly strains of Surrealism. Green has installed the aeropittura works, appropriately, at the very top of the Guggenheim’s spiralling ramp. The spectacle’s denouement is reached by entering the final gallery, which contains Benedetta’s Syntheses of communication (1933–34; pls.296–300), a suite of five enormous paintings dedicated to modern means of communication, such as telegraphy and radio, made for the post office in Palermo, Sicily – one of the only public commissions the Futurists ever received. With their impressive scale and soothing blue palette, the murals present a deceptively harmonious conclusion to a movement with a rich, troublesome and undeniably important legacy.

1     Catalogue: Italian Futurism 1909–1944: Reconstructing the Universe. Edited by Vivien Greene. 352 pp. incl. 338 col. ills. (Guggenheim Museum Publications, New York, 2014), $60. ISBN 978–0–89207–499–0.