Art Nationalism and War Political Futuri PDF

Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.
Art, Nationalism and War: Political Futurism in

Italy (1909–1944)
Dr Daniele Conversi*
University of Lincoln
Abstract
Futurism was launched as a revolutionary, iconoclastic movement encompassing
the arts, politics and society. It rejected all ties with the past and preached with
missionary zeal the advent of a new man and the total reconstruction of society.
Despite its powerful impact on Italian politics, the importance of Futurism has
scarcely been addressed in the social sciences. Yet, it continues to attract the interest
of historians, literary critics and art historians. In fact, the major methodological
hindrance for a more articulated research remains the latter’s unchallenged
hegemony, with their selective propensity to eulogistic accounts. The result is the
neglect of Futurism’s political dimension as a fully fledged nationalist movement.
Aiming to redress this imbalance, the article analyzes Futurist politics through the
movement’s actions, proclaims and manifestos. It distinguishes early Futurism’s
anti-establishment ultra-nationalism (1909–1915) from the more institutionalized
‘muscular’ patriotism adopted after its merger with Fascism (1924–1944). In a
global context of mounting nationalist state-building and spiralling inter-state
rivalries, Italy’s unitary, homogenizing nationalism provided a congenial matrix
for the advent of war-mongering patriotism and irredentism. Here, Futurism
found an ideal structure of political opportunities, in which it could articulate its
unique repertoire of action. The futurists’ peculiar talent in ‘manufacturing
consent’ through the media was put to test in their marketing of war as
adventurous boundary-building enterprise, a vision subsequently appropriated by
Fascism.
Looking mesmerized at the colonial massacre of Tripoli’s defenseless

inhabitants in Libya, Filippo Tommaso Marinetti (1876–1944) ecstatically
declared in 1912 of bearing witness to an epochal moment. He described
the attack as ‘the most beautiful esthetic spectacle of my life’.1 Marinetti’s
apparently sadistic posture emerged posthumously from his private
correspondence and fully exemplifies the Futurist world-vision. Declaring
war as ‘the world’s only hygiene’, Futurism strove to supersede the national
past with an extreme form of aggressiveness, a forward-looking, modern-
izing cult of the nation, whose global reach was continuously redefined
by violence and the confrontation with various ‘enemies’.
© 2009 The Author
Journal Compilation © 2009 Blackwell Publishing Ltd
Political Futurism in Italy 93
The furious, hyperactive Futurist trajectory accompanied the darkest

hours of Italian history, from the country’s entrance into the Great War
to the preparation, advent and fall of Fascism. By 1942, the Futurist and
Fascist aereopittore (air-painter) ‘Tato’ (Guglielmo Sansoni, 1896–1974)
illustrated from the back seat of his Caproni plane the pyrotechnic spectacle
of Alexandria’s aerial bombing. The painting portrays the annihilation of
a city’s neighborhood with gripping, colourful techniques. Shortly afterward,
Futurism’s political project ingloriously ended with the death of Marinetti
as an escapee in the Republic of Salò (1943–1945).
Yet, Futurism lived on as a uniquely creative artistic movement that
left its mark on contemporary arts and led to various offshoots, including
British vorticism and, in the postwar, Italian visual poetry ( poesia visiva).2
Methodologically, this rich, influential heritage represents a serious
stumbling block because we have to deal with a vast corpus of eulogistic
literature (Adamson 2008; d’Orsi 1992), most of which tends to disregard
Futurism’s broader agenda, making it hard to achieve a balanced assessment
of its socio-political impact. As George Mosse warned, ‘when the artistic
importance of Futurism is acknowledged but its political relevance denied,
the aesthetic is thorn from its political frame of reference. Yet culture and
politics cannot be readily separated. It was precisely because of its cultural
orientation that Futurism was able to make an important contribution to
modern politics’ (Mosse 1990: 253).
Sociologically, this article takes heed from the concept of ‘collective action
repertoire’ (Tilly 1976), insofar as the futurists could offer and articulate an
incredible array of techniques, methods and repertoires to propel their
followers and admirers into action through visual, oral and written
performances. In this, they acted as pioneers of a new era. Politically,
Marinetti and the futurists can be identified in terms of ‘agenda-setting’
(Lukes 2005): by persistently invoking a specific frame of action, the
futurists were able to control the discourse, perceptions and attitudes on/to
the issues they raised and defined. The futurists’ use of specific terms,
often neo-logisms, helped them to frame and identify the broader
sociopolitical agenda. Within history, this article should be understood as
part of a broader comparative study on nationalism, culture, state-making,
militarism and ideologies of modernization (Conversi 2007, 2008a, 2008b)
– the timeframe perhaps being too stretched for a standard idiographic
case study approach.
The article does not aim to add new data to an already prolific, indeed
overcrowded, literature on artistic futurism. Its goal is rather to explore
more fully political futurism and locate its place within a more generalized
and pervasive European social, political and military context. It therefore
deals with the ideological and political aspects of futurism, rather than its
strictly artistic versant. Art works will be referred to and contextualized
only in order to shed light on the broader ideological canvas. The core
argument is founded on the premise that futurism participated into a
© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x
94 Political Futurism in Italy
broader European phenomenon of ‘nationalization of the masses’ led by

various institutions with the decisive assistance of major intellectuals.
Historically, I compare two key moments: first, when futurism
expanded as an oppositional, anti-establishment ideology, peaking during
the 1915–1918 war; second, when it became institutionalized and its
main representatives merged with Fascism, supplying it with a stream of
visual propaganda. A common thread united the two movements: their
ultra-nationalist emphasis on physical violence and the regenerative
power of war. In this, Italian futurism participated into broader Western
practices of boundary building and boundary destroying: while Italians
were being unified and assimilated into a more homogeneous ‘high
culture’, the borders between them and their neighbors were being
reinforced and fortified as never before (Conversi 1999, 2008a). The
mobilization of patriotic sentiment was also related to the control of,
and access to, key media. While exploring Futurism’s origins as an
extreme patriotic movement, the article notes how its social implications
have been remarkably neglected: as long as the study of Futurism has
remained the preserve of art collectors, literary critics and, recently,
modern historians, the political and social sciences viewpoint has been
often overlooked.
Since the start, Futurism espoused an all-encompassing political agenda,
fervently predicting the advent of a new man and the total ‘reconstruction
of the universe’. It belonged to a broader, highly secularized current of
Italian nationalism also championed by poets like Gabriele D’Annunzio
(1863 –1938) and finally implemented under Benito Mussolini’s fascist
programme.
Crafting and marketing the new landscapes of mass

modernity
Marinetti’s Futurism has probably been the most ardently nationalist
movement ever to emerge on the European art scene. In its belligerent,
pugnacious intensity, it even surpassed the patriotic vate (bard) D’Annunzio.
In fact, despite his charismatic appeal and a much larger popular following,
D’Annunzio remained a unique figure in his time and could not harness
a similarly articulated group of disciples among fellow intellectuals, artists
and media pundits.
Futurism is a highly complex phenomenon. Artistically, it can simply
be described as ‘a dynamic and renewing attitude aiming to project art
and life into the future’ (Verdone 2003: 16). Politically, it combined
anarchist rhetoric with extreme nationalism and irredentism, finally
merging with Fascism. The starting date for Futurism is usually put at
February 20, 1909. That is when Marinetti’s first futurist manifesto
(Manifesto Futurista) was published in the front page of France’s top daily
newspaper Le Figaro.3 The key Futurist principles were summed up as a
drive to destroy political and artistic traditions: an elitist love for violence,
a glorification of warfare as a purifying force, an extreme cult of the
fatherland, a maniac love for speed, technology and progress, a misogynous
disdain for women, a passionate loathing for all things past, the notion of
a new man being created by modern technology, a vehement anti-clericalism,
a drive to unleash man’s instinct and release his creative potential with a
desire to anticipate, and be at the centre of, all ongoing historical
transformations. Most of all, it epitomized an extreme form of nationalism
calling for Italy’s strengthening, rapid modernization, spatial expansion
and the conquest of new lands through war and the eradication of enemies.
As Futurism succeeded in merging nationalism and imperialism, an
impassioned imperial chauvinism grew side by side with its artistic
credibility. Moreover, Futurism was able to express openly two latent but
essential components of post-Risorgimento nationalism: the exaltation of
bellic violence and misogynistic aggression (Banti 2005: 349).
What did the past politically mean to the futurist? A major target was
the idea of Italy as an archeological museum, a vision that they associated
with decrepit ‘liberal’ corruption, pacifism and parliamentary inefficiency.
Such an unmitigated rejection of the past was accompanied by the glorification
of an idealized future of unlimited progress. Thus, only modern inventions
deserved to be treasured as viable and mobilizing symbols of nationhood.
At its centre stood a galvanizing vision of the coming homo technologicus.
Its trademark was the invention of an entirely novel mythology of the
future. The car, the plane, the industrial metropolis became the legendary
icons punctuating the mythical futurist landscape. With militant zeal, the
Futurists preached the technological triumph of man over nature. The
most famous of the eleven points making up the Manifesto of Futurism
are worth quoting here:
We affirm that the world’s magnificence has been enriched by a new beauty:
the beauty of speed. A racing car whose hood is adorned with great pipes, like
serpents of explosive breath – a roaring car that seems to ride on grapeshot
(sulla mitraglia) is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.
The poet must spend himself with ardor, splendor, and generosity, to swell
the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.
Except in struggle, there is no more beauty. No work without an aggressive
character can be a masterpiece. Poetry must be conceived as a violent attack
on unknown forces, to reduce and prostrate them before man.
We stand on the last promontory of the centuries! ... Why should we look
back, when what we want is to break down the mysterious doors of the
Impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We already live in the absolute,
because we have created eternal, omnipresent speed.
We will glorify war – the world’s only hygiene – militarism, patriotism, the
destructive gesture of freedom-bringers, beautiful ideas worth dying for, and
scorn for woman.
We will destroy the museums, libraries, academies of every kind, will fight
moralism, feminism, every opportunistic or utilitarian cowardice.4

The ‘primordial elements’ explicitly mentioned consisted in vitalism,

instinct, speed, struggle, aggression, violence and conquest – and never
ever to look back. This watershed pamphlet was soon followed by a wave
of more sectorial manifestos directed at various forms of arts and politics.
In 1910, Umberto Boccioni (1882–1916) launched his Manifesto of Futurist
Painters. Figurative arts and painting was certainly the area in which the
futurists harvested the most extensive and durable successes, producing
veritable masterpieces of creative talent. Boccioni echoed Marinetti’s
attack on the past: ‘We will fight with all our might the fanatical, senseless
and snobbish religion of the past, a religion encouraged by the vicious
existence of museums. We rebel against that spineless worshipping of old
canvases, old statues and old bric-a-brac, against everything which is filthy
and worm-ridden and corroded by time’.5 Treading a fine line between
Bohemianism and Philistinism, the futurists achieved to militarize both of
them, infusing art with a new-fangled warrior spirit.
Announcing the bankruptcy of a culture that clung to the forms and
values of the past, accusations of passatismo (‘pastism’, passéism) encapsulated
the spirit of the futurist crusade. Stemming from the world passato (past),
this term acquired a ferociously derogatory meaning. Everything attached
to the yesteryear was demonized by the new vitalist temperament. The
futurists’ purgative force was consecrated to ‘freeing’ Italy from its
‘archeological’ idolatry of past relics. But it was also devoted to promote
the hyperactive man of the ascending industrial era (Mosse 1990).
Futurism was the first artistic movement to use the world ‘total’ to
encompass art, politics and society, implying a complete transformation of
society and the creation of a new type of man (Griffin 2007: 4). A
well-known art critic has identified the word ‘total’ as the most visible
‘futurist tradition’ (Bonito Oliva 1986). The ambition of arte totale (‘total art’)
was to encompass every artistic expression (Lista 1980). To our purpose,
its goal was the radical social and ‘spiritual’ renewal of man through war.
When Benito Mussolini made the very term totalitarianism popular, he was
informed by Giovanni Gentile’s (1875–1944) Hegelian cult of the state.
Yet his futurist inspirations are often overlooked. For the scholar Emilio
Gentile, ‘the aesthetic dimension cannot be analysed separately from the
totalitarian conception of politics, for it was a consequence of that very
conception’ (Gentile 2003: 44). From its militant atheism, futurism, like
fascism, soon acquired the trapping of a new ‘secular religion’, promptly
defining itself as the ‘new moral religion of speed’ (Marinetti 1916). This
preceded the broader ‘sacralization of politics’ operated by Fascism and
other totalitarian ideologies (Gentile 1996, 2006).6
In a country with a limited sense of national identity and a high
illiteracy rate, the futurists aspired to have a greater social impact short of
mass following through visual arts, performances and other non-literary
media. Yet, they remained elitists at the core. The idea of an Artecrazia
(‘Art-cracy’, after a journal’s name, 1934–1939) was based on the notion
that the artist is not only the creative self-broker and conqueror of
new spaces, but is also at the vanguard of new politics (Salaris 1992).
Thus, he should lead and anticipate, rather than interpret, the masses
(Marinetti 1922).
Taking heed from Antonio Gramsci, Mark Thompson reminds us that
the futurists ‘enjoyed a following among workers before the war. This
esteem was not reciprocated. The futurists proclaimed a contempt for
ordinary people that pro-war politicians expressed by their decisions and
generals by their tactics’ (Thompson 2008: 234). Those ordinary people
who naively responded to the futurist appeal were often the first ones
whose lives were destroyed by the war. Overcoming their individualism,
localism and regionalism, ordinary Italians were turning into a malleable
‘mass’ ready to be moulded and mobilized by conscript armies. After the
materialistic, hedonistic Belle Époque at the twilight of the 19th century,
the new era of mass politics was dominated by the raging, uprooted folla,
the indistinguishable ‘massified’ crowd, ready to be channelled towards the
war front.
Marinetti had studied ‘crowd psychology’ while in Paris. Above all, the
influence of Gustave Le Bon (1841–1931) transpires in Marinetti’s youth
articles published in La Revue blanche (Poggi 2000: 712).7 Le Bon famously
inspired Mussolini and other masters of mass propaganda, including
Adolph Hitler (Aumercier 2007; Welch 2002) and Edward Bernays
(Bendersky 2007; Sproule 1997: 30–31).8 But how did the ‘crowd’ react
to Marinetti’s towering personality, manipulative attempts and provocative
exploits? Popular reactions to Futurism oscillated from adulatory enthusiasm
to the launching of tomatoes and occasional physical attacks. Popularity
was assured through a hammering and continuous use of patriotism in all
public spheres. The more ambiguous, fragmented and potentially divisive
their message was, the more patriotism was exasperated, often trespassing
into irredentism, expansionism, and imperialism.
The goal was not just ‘nation-building’ but ‘nation-inventing’ in a
radical and unprecedented way: if previous avant-garde movements limited
their reach to restricted elites, the goal was now the total aesthetic
transformation of a whole nation. All things past became anachronistic
and renewal had to touch every field. Yet, despite this rupture with the
past, the futurists did attract some popular consensus precisely because of
their populist appeal to an organic, wholesome sense of nationhood. Their
continuous flag-waving and engagement with popular emotions gave
them an edge over potential rivals and sworn enemies. The new tools and
symbols included a language freed from the fetters of grammar and syntax,
with its implicit populist allure among a mostly illiterate population.
Unmediated by intellectualism and specialistic jargon, the new language
aimed to express the experience of progress, mechanization, mobility, speed,
and aggressive technology, just when these were beginning to transform
permanently a still largely peasant society.
Futurism and the media

Manipulation and popular seduction can be achieved by exerting control
over the media. Well-informed about ‘crowd psychology’ and inspired by
Marinetti’s reading of Le Bon, the Futurists used every medium available:
newspaper, public square, manifestos, cinema, theatre, advertisement and,
after 1924, the radio. They also stretched out to every conceivable form
of art: painting, sculpture, literature, poetry, music, decorative arts, fashion,
dance, photography, graphic, scenography, typography, architecture and
even gastronomy, all in the pursuit of a ‘total art’. In all these areas they
proved to be synthetic, concise, drastic and provocative. ‘The flippancy of
their declarations was part of a populist style; Marinetti realised that
cultural statements can be snappy and accessible like newspaper headlines’
(Thompson 2008: 234).
Highly influential jingoist outlets provided a channel to the spread of
the futurist message. The Florentine journal Lacerba | (1913–1915), begun as
an art review and directed by Giovanni Papini and Ardengo Soffici, became
a key champion of war interventionism. Despite inflated claims that Lacerba
was becoming ‘the most important journal in the world’ (Papini, cited by
Grana 1986: 528) and with a printing oscillating from 4,000 (Berghaus 1996:
214–5) to 8,000 copies (Palazzeschi and Marinetti 1978: 129), the review
was clearly addressed to some of the most prominent, high-ranking segments
of Italian society. Given its influential location, Lacerba championed the
futurists’ megalomaniac, expansionist drive among emerging elites and against
the older establishment.9 Several other groups, including the Nationalists,
joined the futurists to lobby for a declaration of war and the movement
attracted both leftist and rightist sympathizers. In general, ‘the entire Belle
Époque – the age of Giolitti in Italy – was punctuated by these vehement
salutes to war’ (Isnenghi 1989: 11). Strongly backed by Italy’s rising industrial
elite, the government of Antonio Salandra (1914–16), another future supporter
of Mussolini, set out to control the interventionist agitation in the piazze
(Payne 1995: 84–88, Thompson 2008: 18–34). This was a ‘coup d’état in all but
name’ and ‘without a conspiracy in the highest places, Italy would have stayed
neutral’ (Thompson 2008: 18). With their powerful multimedia action reper-
toires, the futurists played a central role in the militarist built-up ‘conspiracy’,
supplying it with a respectable modernist and international dimension.
Perhaps the most appealing mass medium of the age was the printed
manifesto, a written proclamation of intent normally published in mass
circulation newspapers, like Le Figaro, or in more specialist, yet influential,
journals and reviews, or simply printed as leaflets, launched at gala events
and autonomously circulated. The manifestos aimed at a mass audience,
becoming the Futurists’ most cherished propaganda tool, especially in
their early years. Manifestos ranged from theatre to dance, from gastronomy
to advertising, from fashion to ‘spirituality’ and pure ideas. They were
periodically and massively distributed.
Although the futurists’ public events often led to revulsion and protest,
the long-term aim remained the emotional molding of public opinion.
All futurist events were attention-grabbing, skillfully designed acts of
exhibitionism. Their theatrical performances were usually packed to capacity.
Even the customary appearance of the police to quell ‘riots’ ensuing futurist
provocations formed part of a pre-ordained script. The sudden waving of
a tricolore, the Italian flag, would be sufficient to calm both the public and
the security forces, especially if interspersed with patriotic fervour and
irredentist declamations. The futurists transformed ‘externalization of
tension’ and diversionary tactics into a true art of public manipulation
(Conversi 2008a). With all its offending obscenities, the attack on the past
could be carried out smoothly thanks to a call to arms and homeland.
Patriotism provided the ultimate shield and bulwark for the attention-
seeker, as well as a trampoline and catalyst for further popularity through
public ‘emotional management’. While Italy was still nominally a democracy,
the pro-war party needed a skillful ‘manufacture of consent’ to overcome
neutralism. Similar forms of manufacturing of consent were carried
out throughout Europe by other means, often through the use of rabid
jingoism.10
Futurism’s business-like orientation was part and parcel of the explanation.
According to some authors, it ‘was perhaps the first movement in the
history of art to be engineered and managed like a business’ (Scudiero
2000). In Italy’s case, such a professional, efficient, methodical command
was certainly unprecedented. Futurism’s entrepreneurial spirit, as well as
its expanding relationship with heavy industry, can once more be traced
back to Marinetti’s imprint. Inheritor of a conspicuous financial fortune,
since the start he remained futurism’s central impresario and mercurial
magnate. As a lawyer and publicist, he was able to assemble a surprising array
of men of genius venturing into wild exercises of radical experimentalism.
His venture united hundreds of international creative talents, testing
techniques that were revolutionary at the time. Marinetti was indeed
crowned by his protégées as the Dux of futurism.
An oft-neglected aspect of futurism was its pan-Italian reach and
articulation. Centered in Milan, Rome, and Florence, it consequently
expanded into every major city, setting up regional schools from Veneto
to Sicily (Bohn 2004). Such a national vocation was indeed consistent
with their goal to vertebrate a coherent and unified Italian identity, while
allowing for a certain degree of variation. A good indicator of the internal
variety ‘permitted’, indeed encouraged, by Marinetti can be found in the
highly creative trend developed in Naples under the leadership of
Francesco Cangiullo (1884–1977). Cangiullo utilized extensively Campania’s
dialect and grassroots musicality in opposition to the melenso (dull)
‘sentimentalism’ of the classical Neapolitan canzone (Cangiullo 1978,
1979). But everywhere, the leadership remained firmly in the hands of
F. T. Marinetti.
Which factors led to such a thriving production of bellicose, ultra-modernist

patriotic works? In the next section, I contextualize the above-described
scenario within the political atmosphere of the times.
From irredentism to empire: Geopolitical constrains and the

burden of ‘nation-building’
Interventionism was deeply linked to the new cult of technological war, in
which the overwhelming power of the machine could be tested against
hapless human beings framed as the ‘enemy to be pulverized’. When the
First World War broke out in 1914, the Italian government initially tried
to resist Franco-British pressures to join the Allied powers. Yet, the Allies
anticipated that popular feelings were building up in Italy to confront its
historical foe, Austria-Hungary. In this, they were facilitated by Italian
intellectuals, artists and opposition politicians. The very Risorgimento tradition
with its fresh myth of ‘nation-building’ (Riall 2008) was shaped also in
opposition to Habsburg rule.11 With their philosophy of war as purification
and as ‘the world’s only hygiene’, the Futurists had already achieved
‘respect’ and notoriety abroad, particularly in France. Among the Allies,
they could be counted upon as the most active and enthusiastic of the
Interventionists. As soon as Italy entered World War First (1915), the
futurists provided some of the first volunteers on the front, often achieving
prominent positions within the army. Alongside other Futurists, Mario
Sironi (1885–1961) volunteered in the Lombard Cyclist Battalion. The
painter Julius Evola (1898–1974) served as an artillery officer until after
the war (1920). The architect Antonio Sant’Elia (1888–1916) died fighting
in Monfalcone, Gorizia. Boccioni passed away after falling off a horse near
Verona. Marinetti, Sironi, Russolo, Evola, Boccioni, Sant’Elia and Piatti
all enlisted voluntarily in the war. In 1915, Gino Severini painted the
Plastic Synthesis of the Idea of War (oil on canvas), in which no human
component was visible, only industrial and war-related objects. In L’alcova
d’acciaio (The Steel Alcove), Lieutenant Marinetti described his heroic
deeds aboard the armored vehicle ‘74’, ‘fast steel alcove, created to receive
the naked body of my naked Italy’ (Marinetti 1921), in the pursuit of
Austrian troops during the Vittorio Veneto battle. Marinetti’s poem Zang
Tumb Tumb (the title a phonetic description of the sound of bombs, 1914)
declaimed the ‘ecstatic’ experience of war in the siege of Adrianople
(1912–13), anticipating the Italian counter-charge against the Austrians.
More strategically, during the First World War, futurists were prominently
involved in nationalist propaganda. Their ‘Political Action Theater’ was
established as a novel and separate ‘performative genre’ emphasizing the
concept of ‘art as action’, of theatrical activities as a tool to propagate
irredentist and nationalist aims (Berghaus 1996: 73–91, Marinetti 1919).
The Futurists employed the term nationalism openly and defined
themselves as such. Marinetti blazoned the movement as ‘nationalist
futurists’, glorifying ‘patriotism, the army and war ... [via] anti-socialist and
anti-clerical propaganda’ (Marinetti 1915, in De Maria 1973: 160).12 Later
on, terms like patriotism, patria, empire, vital space and ‘Italian pride’
were preferred (Marinetti 1924: 16). Why was the term ‘nationalism’ partly
dropped then? Most probably, the Futurists needed to distinguish themselves
from Enrico Corradini’s Italian Nationalist Association (f. 1910), with whom
they were competing. The Nationalists were more politically-oriented and
less concerned with the arts, yet they proved to be another contending
contributor to the rise of Fascism (De Grand 1978; Marsella 2004).13
Benedetto Croce described Corradini as being particularly influenced by
Theodore Roosevelt (Croce 1967: 251, cited by Losurdo 2004: 373).
Both Marinetti and Corradini looked at the United States with a certain
admiration, both later joined the Fascist party, and both envisioned the
post-war Wilsonian order exploiting inter-European rivalries as particularly
favourable to their war-mongering aims (Losurdo 2004). Some admired
Roosevelt for being an imperialist, just as they admired the Japanese
military machine or Austen Chamberlain in Britain. Yet, the two
movements’ differed in several ideological aspects. While the Italian
Nationalist Association was openly monarchist, conservative and authoritarian,
futurism aimed at much grater levels of individual freedom, at least in the
realm of artistic creativity, if not in terms of political obedience (Vigezzi
1966). Yet, its emphasis on militarism and the untold uniformity of
barrack life contradicted in practice its creative élan.
Encouraged by imperial rivalries, aggressive nationalism soon spread
throughout the continent. With essentialist overtones, the ‘Sintesi futurista
della guerra’ (Futurist synthesis of the war; 1914) appealed to the self-justifying
genius of ‘poet peoples’ (popoli poeti) to wage war against their ‘pedant
critics’, most of all the hated Germans and Slavs. The latter were
described with blatantly xenophobic adjectives as morally, culturally and
intellectually inferior. Often, they were caricaturized as exemplars of
idiocy, filthiness, sordidness, ferocity, brutality and clumsiness (goffaggine),
with Turkey excoriated as ‘equal to zero’ (Marinetti, Boccioni, Carrà,
Russolo, and Piatti 1914). To prop up the interventionist campaign, the
Sintesi was printed in over 20,000 copies, a quite large circulation for the
times, and widely distributed amongst potential volunteers.14 In 1915,
Carlo Carrà (1881–1966) designed and published the anti-democratic
pamphlet Guerrapittura (War-Painting). Echoing Carl von Clausewitz, the
manifesto claimed that ‘war meant nothing but art pursued with other
means’ (Carrà 1915) – he could have equally said that ‘art meant nothing
but war pursued with other means’.15
By 1914, jingoism had spread throughout Europe. The prevailing
Zeitgeist welcomed the coming apocalypse as a cleansing force for the
moral good of nations. The most aggressive form of nationalism at the
time was irredentism. The English term irredentism comes from the Italian
irredenta, which referred to those ‘unredeemed’ territories where Italian
minorities were allegedly ‘stranded’ on foreign soil waiting to be re-joined

to the motherland. An embryonic irredentist movement first emerged
when the Congress of Berlin (1878, following the Russo-Turkish War of
1877) excluded Italian elites from the plunder of the Ottoman Empire,
while Bosnia-Herzegovina was assigned to the Habsburgs as a protectorate.
Public speeches about the ‘vital’ importance of the Adriatic ‘hinterland’
began to appear in an effort to stir up popular feelings.16
Emphasizing territorial reunification with their ethnic ‘kin’ into a single
homeland, irredentism can be regarded as one of the most dangerous forms
of nationalism for its total identification of nation with state: Minorities
which are supposed to have drifted apart from their homeland are
expected to be redeemed by association with a sole unitary state, a single
government, culture, language, power hierarchy and set of laws. Irredentism
articulates itself in a series of aggrandizing projects (Greater Germany,
Greater Serbia, Greater Croatia, Greater Hungary, Greater Romania,
Russia’s ‘near abroad’, etc.). They have in common an underlying reciprocal
intolerance, leading to their mutual incompatibility. Irredentists conceive
their nation as an organic homogeneous whole, all members of which are
supposed to dwell under a common political roof and bow to a single
authority (Conversi 2001).
The liberation of Italia irredenta was perhaps the strongest motive behind
Italy’s entry into World War. The cry for pan-Italianism was especially
directed against the declining Habsburg Empire and aimed at the
incorporation of adjacent regions. The disputed areas inhabited by ‘Italians’
included the Trentino province, the port of Trieste and the Adriatic coast,
with Istria, Fiume, and parts of Dalmatia. The irredentists claimed that
these lands needed to re-join the ‘motherland’ because they hosted
Italian-speaking populations, even though the latter were numerical
minorities. Without them, the Risorgimento unification project would have
been incomplete (Conversi 2008a). But Italian irredentism represented no
exception in its opportunism when compared to other irredentist movements
(Hungarian, Serbian, Greek, etc.): no glorious and strong enemy was to
be defeated. It simply lay pray to the weakest members of the international
community, notably the fragmenting Habsburg and Ottoman empires. It
carefully avoided confronting more powerful neighbours, such as France
with its disputably more ‘Italian’ island of Corsica and the Nizzardo county.
Italian foreign policy was at the core of the very creation of Yugoslavia
(1918). Pre-war irredentist threats had pushed Slovenes and Croats into
the embrace of their Serbian ‘kins’, establishing an association with the
rulers of Serbia and Montenegro. A united Southern Slav state was largely
conceived as a defense and safeguard against Italian irredentism. In other
words, the very birth of Yugoslavia was a reaction against post-Risorgimento
Italian expansionism.
Under the cry of Italia irredenta, the futurists gained a reputation as
prominent patriots. In September 1917, a full headline ‘Dalmatia is, and
will be, Italian’ appeared in the front page of the bi-weekly ‘L’Italia
Futurista’. It claimed that the Adriatic Sea is ‘totally Latin, Italian and
Dalmatian’ (Orfano 1917) – simply blinking away the existence of Slavs,
Albanians and Greeks.
However, irredentism became soon insufficient and inadequate an
aspiration. The nationalist Lebensraum could not be restrained by consideration
of vicinity: Empire was the solution. Well before fascism, Risorgimento
nationalism included the embryo of an imperialist dream. This was confirmed
by the African adventure of Francesco Crispi’s (1819–1901) government
(Duggan 2002). The elites’ capacity to raise popular enthusiasm for their
most distasteful politics of centralization largely depended on their ability
to devise ever-renewing diversionist strategies (Conversi 2008a). They also
responded to, and were triggered by, Anglo-French colonial expansion:
the scramble for Africa was a European-wide phenomenon. Henceforth,
nationalism and imperialism became strictly linked. But Italy’s first
colonial enterprise led to one of the most humiliating fiascos in the
country’s history: the Italo-Abyssinian War ended with Emperor Menelik’s
victory at the Battle of Adwa in March 1896 (Goglia 1981). The crushing
defeat suffered by the Italian army forced Crispi to resign – a rout later
exploited by Fascism. Yet, the imperial dream contributed to inspire a
wave of patriotic sentiment in the mainland, so that most Italian
nationalists became irredentists and many irredentists became imperialists
(Duggan 2002).
In fact, only 15 years later (1911–1912), another colonial venture proved
to be extremely popular, establishing one of the founding moments of
Italian mass mobilization: the invasion of Tripolitania and Cyrenaica
(contemporary Libya). An Italian imperial identity was thus being shaped,
ensuing Italy’s initial victories over the Turkish and Arab resistors of the
crumbling Ottoman empire. Like vultures hovering on a decaying prey,
the ‘imperial nationalists’ seized on this unique historical opportunity.
Media manipulation through newspapers, manifestos, adverts and an
emerging Italian cinema contributed to turn a hitherto pacifist public into
war enthusiasts.17
So far, we have dealt with Futurism as an oppositional, anti-establishment
ideology. We have described its enthusiasm for war and imperial conquest.
We noted that other movements opposed to ‘decadent’ parliamentarianism
shared this vision. The role of the Italian intellectuals and intelligentsia
became crucial. Finally, we situated this agitation within a broader European-
wide perspective of patriotic fury and boundary-building contaminating
most Western large and medium-sized powers.
Yet, the popularity of war was a new phenomenon in Italian history.
The Futurists, the Nationalists and other agitprops had been preparing the
terrain for the new ‘civilizing’ quest. The next section will explore their
amalgamation with the forthcoming postwar totalitarian establishment.
In fact, Futurism merged with another opposition movement, Fascism,
particularly once the latter seized power. We shall therefore deal with the
partial institutionalization of a previously oppositional movement.
Institutionalizing violence: futurism and fascism

The slaughter in the trenches had taught nothing to the futurists, nor to
D’Annunzio and other media pundits. On the contrary, it endowed with
a fresh myth of ‘nation-building’ a hard-core of mass manipulators from
whom Benito Mussolini emerged as the main interpreter, taking advantage
of his professional experience in the media. Mussolini was one of the most
popular journalists in Italy: After becoming editor of the mass circulation
socialist daily L’Avanti (1912–1914), he founded Il Popolo d’Italia (1914 –
1943).18 The futurists saluted Mussolini’s ascent to power in the name of
an imperial dream as Head of a New Italy (Marinetti, Carli & Settimelli,
1923).
Futurist strategies and techniques became keys to the advent of Fascism
as a media-driven phenomenon. Mussolini spoke openly of his debts to
Futurism: ‘I formally declare that without Futurism there would never
have been a fascist revolution’ (cited by Gentile 2003: 41). The liberal phi-
losopher Benedetto Croce also recognized that ‘the ideal origins of fascism
are to be found in futurism’ (Croce 1967, cited by Gentile 2003: 42). Already
by 1921 Mussolini copiously financed futurist initiatives, such as Rome’s
multiroom ‘Theatre of the Independents’, and was known to be well
informed about futurist activities and ideas.19 In turn, the futurists flocked
to fascism, with only a short interlude in the early 1920s when fascism
seemed briefly to be on the loosing side (Marinetti 1987: 480 – 488).20
Paintings, manifestos and sculptures, such as Gerardo Dottori’s Il Duce
(1930), glorified the forward-looking and ‘futurist’ personality of Musso-
lini.21 Marinetti, always the unquestioned leader of the movement,
chanted the advent of L’Uomo Nuovo (the ‘new man’) as envisioned in the
figure of Benito Mussolini (Härmänmaa 2000; Griffin 2007; see also
Marinetti 1924). This ‘new man’, as Marinetti had defined him by the
mid-1910s, ‘was a disciple of the engine, the enemy of books, a believer
in personal experience’ (Mosse 1990, 1996: 156–7).
From its origins, Futurism was averse to parliamentary democracy. At
the same time, it had anticipated fascism’s rhetoric of power and virility.
Its greatest political commitment was interventionism. The war tragedies
only reinforced its bellicosity: because its techniques had proven so popular
in preparing the public for war, the Futurists continued to pursue their
goals after the war. The Partito Politico Futurista (Futurist Political Party,
1918–1920) was founded to covet ‘the anarchistic utopia of a New State
governed by Futurist artists’ (Rainey 1994, 1998). Marinetti formed a
local fascio of the Futurist Party in Rome, which was soon absorbed into
Mussolini’s Fasci di combattimento, making Marinetti one of the first members
to join the Partito Nazionale Fascista (PNF, National Fascist Party).22
The amalgamation of World War I’s ‘Arditism’ and Futurism was seen as
the fusion of arts and politics, as the melding of the political and literary
avant-gardes.23
More than d’Annunzio, Marinetti extolled the virtues of Mussolini
beyond mere eulogy: the founder of Futurism described the body of
Mussolini as exhibiting and emanating ‘physiological patriotism’ (Marinetti
1995: 46). Most futurist artists became militantly fascists. Giacomo Balla
proclaimed: ‘the Duce has opened the route for the New Arts, which,
inspired by the Fascist Ideal, will be able to glorify the great coming events’
(Balla 1926). For Marinetti (1924), ‘the advent of fascism constitute(s) the
realization of futurism’s “minimal programme”’. This ‘minimal programme’
proposed Italian pride, an unlimited faith in the future, the destruction of
the Austro-Hungarian empire, daily heroism, love of danger, the rehabilitation
of violence, the religion of speed, novelty, optimism and originality, and
the youth’s seizure of power ‘away from the parliamentarian, bureaucratic,
academic and pessimist spirit’ (1924: 11).
The same ideas of tension, conflict and confrontation lie at the core of
the futurist vision. In nationalist terms, the supreme collision, a true ‘clash
of civilizations’, must take place between ‘proletarian nations’ and the
rich, powerful ones, as theorized by both Mussolini and the futurists.
Mimicking Marxism and echoing his syndicalist experience, Mussolini
had described Italy as the first among the underdogs or ‘proletarian
nations’.24 Marinetti spoke of a ‘proletariat of geniuses’ (Berghaus 1996:
131–4, 145 and 218–9). Yet, all social classes must join in Italian patriotism
to win a greater share of global wealth. The engine of history was no
longer class conflict, but a ‘social’ war among the newly emerging, restless
nations and the old decrepit conservative empires.
Reaping the grim harvest sown by the nationalists and the futurists,
Fascism continued later on its imperial venture. Mussolini’s invasion of
Ethiopia in 1935–1936 was heralded as a revenge for the Italian defeat
in Adwa in the previous century. Many futurists, including Marinetti,
volunteered for the invasion.25 Again, war acted as a boundary-maker and
a binding mechanism for political, economic and cultural elites (Conversi
1999, 2001, 2008a, 2008b, Ventrone 2006): during the Ethiopian invasion,
‘the regime and the Italian population came closest to a sense of mystic
communion, which Mussolini would have liked to be a permanent state
of the nation’s collective life’ (Gentile 2003: 118). Women ‘donated gold
to the Fatherland’ by symbolically discarding their wedding rings and
throwing them into a huge bonfire at Roma’s Altare della Patria (Altar of
the Fatherland). The conflict proved to be crucial for the consolidation of
fascism. This was the third mass war in Italian history (after the invasion
of Libya and WW1) and the nearest to the futurist ideals. Through war,
Mussolini wanted to discard the passé myth of Italy as a nation of
‘saints, heroes and navigators’ and transform its image into that of a militarist,
future-looking ‘imperial people’. A new imperium would take the place of
the timeworn Italietta (Del Boca 1969; Labanca 2005). No mention to the
human casualties appears in ‘Captain’ Marinetti’s diaries and correspondence,
no concern for the innocent civilians annihilated by the use of mustard gas.
In typical futurist humour, a reference instead appears to a ‘Hospital of
the machines’ near Adigrat, in the Tigray region now bordering Eritrea.26
To sum up, the futurists were involved and partook actively in Fascism’s
most violent exploits. In turn, the regime recognized their input and
involvement. In particular, it did so by vigorously assisting in the
development of a new expressive futurist school: Aeropittura (Aeropainting).
In the 1930s, the futurists received copious grants and facilitations to
engage in their favourite pastime: the re-imagining of the Italian landscape
as surveyed from an aeroplane in flight. With its colourful aerodynamic
panoramas drawn from sky perspectives, Aeropittura became one of the
most celebrated and novel forms of futurism, enjoying immediate resonance.
In this way, the painter-aviator exemplified Fascism’s vitalist temperament
of bravery, future-oriented audacity, boldness, and daringness. Aeropainting
was deliberately inspired by il Duce’s love for aircraft. Again, Marinetti’s
closeness with Mussolini turned aeropainting into a particularly influential
form of national artistic vogue. National landscapes were being reinvented
from a view at 10,000 feet and a wholly new geography of Italy began to
take shape. Marinetti’s enthusiasm for aviatory design and altitude, from
which the towering new man could look down to the meaningless
fragments of humanity, had also war-like implications: German wonder
weapons and Anglo-American strategic bombing exemplified the impact
of the new technologies on the ground. In fact, aereo-painters often
participated in the regime’s bombing ‘missions’. Referring to Tato’s 1937
‘Aerial Mission’, Jonathan Jones (2005) observes that it ‘does not simply
depict a plane. It is a picture of a bomber. You can see the machine-gun
nest in the nose, as it banks up after delivering its payload..... Does the
date ring a bell? It was on April 26, 1937 that the Condor Legion of the
German Luftwaffe, in support of General Franco’s war against the Spanish
Republic, bombed the Basque capital Guernica, on a market day, killing
1,654 people out of a population of 7,000..... For more than half a century
Picasso’s Guernica has preserved the memory of a town torn to pieces by
aerial bombing. Now, at last, [this style of paintings] gives us the other
point of view: that of the murderer in the cockpit’. As is known, selected
Fascist squadroni from the Aviazione Legionaria participated in the aerial
bombing of Barcelona, Mallorca and other ‘red-separatist’ targets. With
reminiscences from Nietzsche’s demigod, the ‘merely human’ could be
sacrificed onto the altar of a superhuman vision of nationhood. The
Futurist Übermensch soared above the very masses they could so effortlessly
manipulate, rejoicing at the game they had unleashed.
The key futurists remained consumedly loyal to Benito Mussolini till
the bitter end. During World War II, Marinetti left for the Russian front
after publishing hymns to the war machines and heroes. He stayed on
with Il Duce in the short-lived Nazi-puppet state, the Republic of Salò

(1943–1945). His very last poem, practically composed on the deathbed,
was an ode to the high technology of Mussolini’s commando frogman
unit, the Decima Mas (Martinelli 2005). He died in Bellagio in 1944: 1944
therefore signals the end of Futurism, both as an artistic and a political
movement.
This short section has described the passage of futurism from an
oppositional movement to a central component of the new Fascist
establishment. What can this tell us about its core principles? What really
unified Fascism and Futurism beyond the charismatic personalities of,
respectively, Mussolini and Marinetti, and beyond their personal friendship?
Out of a possible gamut of contending responses, I have focused on the
following ones.
First, an awareness of the power of mass manipulation and ‘crowd
psychology’. This was accompanied by attentiveness about the need to
‘seize’ the media and control their content. Indeed, the deep revulsion of
the two men for competing ideologies like socialism turned often into
personal odium and detestation. As we saw, both Mussolini and Marinetti
had studied crowd psychology and were gifted with a unique talent in
manipulating their audiences through rhetoric and visual appearance.
Second, in different ways, both movements can be described as ‘populist’
insofar as they appealed to the ‘people’ as a coherent unit and as a force
above politics. They also shared the idea that a single charismatic leader
could better express, convey, and guide popular will and aspirations.
Third, interventionism was crucial to the self-identity of both movements:
both futurism and fascism saw war as a catalyst factor in identity formation
and national regeneration. Fourth, their militarism implied not only a cult
of violence, but a veneration of the military artifact, the cannon, the tank
and all forms of destructive man-made technology, the exaltation of
military glory, martial costume, army parades, and, above all, physical
violence, either disorganized, impromptu violence (before seizing power)
or organized, repressive, official violence (once seized the state).
The next section brings these aspects together by comparing two
manifestos on Italian fashion: the first appeared at the beginning of WW1,
the second during the apogee of Fascism. They underline the continuities
in key motives, particularly the drastic reshaping of Italian identity and the
radical reconstruction of a newly invented sense of Italianness.
Futurism, fashion and war

Over 210 futurist manifestos were published between 1909 and 1943. All
were iconoclastic and provocative to the extreme. Two of them can
exemplify my point about, respectively, the repackaging of war as a colorful
adventure to reshape man and society, and a radical reconstruction of
national identity with only nominal ties to the past. The first manifesto
deserves attention for its combination of warmongering and playful

allegory, the second for its total reinvention of the concept of Italianness.
The pacifists and the anti-interventionists were a force to be dealt with
because they threatened the Futurist expansionist dream. Neutralism and
neutrality had to be fought on all fronts, not last in the fashion industry.
In 1914, Giacomo Balla (1871–1958) distributed his manifesto of the
‘antineutral clothing’ (il vestito antineutrale):
‘Today we want to abolish: 1. All the neutral, “pretty”, faded, fantasy, semi-dark
and humiliating shades. 2. All pedantic, professorial, teutonic fancies and shapes.
All designs with lines, small checks and diplomatic dots. 3. The mourning
suite, not even suitable for the gravedigger: the heroic dead men must not be
lamented, but remembered with red dresses. 4. The “mediocrist” equilibrium,
the so-called good taste with its “harmony” of colours and shapes, which
restrains enthusiasm and slow down the march. 5. The symmetry of the cut,
those static lines which tire, depress, crimp and tie the muscles; the uniformity
of awkward implications and all cincischiature (messing fiddling about). The
useless buttons. The starched collars and cuffs.’ (Balla 1914: 1–2).
Most important was the ideological context of the new lop-sided fashion
of asymmetrically-cut garments: ‘We Futurists want to free our race from
every neutrality, from the frightened and quietist hesitancy, from the
pessimism of denial, from the nostalgic, romantic and weakening inertia.
We want to colour Italy with audacity and futurist risk and give finally
all Italians warlike and playful dresses... ...’ (Balla 1914: 2). Again, war
was seen as a ‘play’ or game. In his 1915 tapestry Guerra-festa (War-Feast),
Fortunato Depero (1892–1960) used joyful colours and ingenuous
infantile images, where even the flowing of blood evoked an orgy of luxury
and celebration, practically eliciting opposite feelings from the fierceness
and ugliness of war. One may be able to find here strong similarities with
the contemporary war-game generation enjoying the TV spectacle of
‘smart bombing’ obliterating populations which are invisible to the
bystander. But a contradiction lies at the core of the Futurist thought:
Within the arts, Futurism initially encouraged nonconformity and freedom
from all constrains. However, on the other side, war leads to extreme
conformity, obedience, submission and, ultimately, slavery. The elites’ disdainful
and selective anti-conformism was a first step towards more collectivist,
revolutionary goals. Thus, in the fashion industry they sought to set the
‘new man’ apart from all norms by emphasising bright colors and bold
multicolored suits. Other fashion items included metal shirts, accessories
with flashing lights and, finally, the aluminum ‘anti-necktie’.
The Manifesto of the futurist necktie, published in the year XI of the
Fascist Era (1933), trumpeted: ‘Every man carries hung onto his neck the
black or coloured desire for an inglorious end, the reference in cloth,
burlap or silk to his own social servitude and bondage. Italians! let’s abolish
the nodes, bow-ties, pins, clasps, those anti-optimistic, un-hygienic, anti-fast
knick-knack (cianfrusaglie)! Give them to your children so that they can
bill-poster them onto the tails of cats and dogs, the only places where they
will not look ridiculous!’ (Bosso and Scurto 1933: 1).27 As the old tie was
discarded, a new metallic one was to take its place, and it had to represent
the new Italian man. What more suitable than aluminum, the bright metal
of modernity?28
Aluminum was the futurist material par excellence: it was shiny, modern
and entirely produced in Italy. Reflecting the interest of heavy industry,
the fascists strove to turn it into Italy’s ‘national metal’. The ‘aluminum
revolution’ engulfed many areas: Combining two highly futurist symbols,
aluminum and caffeine, Alfonso Bialetti crafted in 1933 the first espresso
coffee maker, the Moka Express (Schnapp 2001). It was marketed so
powerfully with the help of futurist-inspired publicity, that it soon became
a required item in every respectable Italian household. Since then, café
espresso remains associated with Italian vitalism. Coffee epitomized the
drink of energy and velocity, while Marinetti loved to introduce himself
as ‘the caffeine of Europe’.
Aluminum featured in most futurist manifestations during the ventennio:
In 1931, the winner of a poetry contest inaugurated by Marinetti ‘was
crowned with an aluminum coronet while flying over Genoa at an
altitude of a thousand meters’ (Bohn 2006: 207–224). The Manifesto of
Futurist Cuisine, calling for a ban on spaghetti, argued that Italians should
be fit enough to ride in ‘ultralight aluminum trains’ (Marinetti 1930).
Aerofuturists ‘created an aviatory mise-en-scène out of aluminum for their
banquets, served rolls in the form of monoplanes and propellers, and filled
dining rooms with the sound of roaring engines’ (Kirschenblatt-Gimblett
1989: 22). The Holy Palate Restaurant opened on March 8, 1931, in
Turin as the ‘aluminum shrine’ to Futurist cooking: With an airplane
engine sound playing in the background, craving palates could savour
‘steel chickens’ ‘mechanized by aluminium–coloured bonbons’ (Kirschenblatt-
Gimblett 1999). Meanwhile, the corporate state fostered the building of
new aluminum plants at Porto Marghera (Venice), along with the
formation of other colossal industrial complexes. After stainless steel
import fell sharply due to the international embargo (1935), Italy increased
manifold the exploitation of its rich bauxite reservoirs from which
aluminum was extracted for commercial use. Aluminum became thus the
key national metal for achieving self-sufficiency. Anticipating the trend of
a couple of years, the aluminum necktie could be consecrated as the
essence of a new Italianness.
These two eccentric examples highlight the innovative temperament
and iconoclastic message of futurism both before and during fascism.
They also show futurism’s capacity to subvert Italian identity to extreme
levels. Although they spoke in the name of Italianness, few of these radical
experiments penetrated into popular culture. Yet, their highly effective
publicity reach served the interest of both industry and political elites.
At the same time, their experimentalism showed that Italian culture
was malleable enough to incorporate radical challenges even under a

totalitarian system.
Conclusions
Futurism encapsulated many contradictions intrinsic to Italy’s project of
‘nation-building’, articulating an escape from a reality that did not fit the
homogenizing goals of nationalists and state-makers. Because these were
often based on a monolithic idea of nationhood, aversion to the past
emerged while coping with hardly manageable diversities and potentially
recalcitrant local identities (Conversi 2008a). With its dream of national
renewal, the romantic legacy of the Risorgimento always lingered in the
back (Riall 2008), while the broader Western anticipation of a coming
new age loomed ahead. The futurists both anticipated and inspired the
Fascist stress on national unity and mass violence as a regenerating, unifying
source. For both, the adulation of brutal force was consistent with their
mission to ‘nationalize’ the masses. In this light, the subsequent advent of
Fascism represented a sweeping modernist compromise between competing
forms of nationalism, some of which looked to a new technocratic world
order, while others remained apparently past-oriented (Griffin 2007).
Futurism should be considered as an extreme, possibly the most extreme,
form of ‘modernism’ in both its artistic and political significance. It
preached modernity not as an abstract idea, but as a way of life. Modernity
was meant to permeate the very identity of the new futurist-fascist man,
animating the spirit of the coming age. Fascism itself has been described
a ‘developmental dictatorship’ (Gregor 1979) founded on the cult of
progress, industry and war.
Nevertheless, to gain credibility and be persuasive, such radical innovations
had to be supplemented by a call to arms in ‘defence’ of the Fatherland
and reiterate appeals to popular violence. The masses needed to be
‘shaped’ in order to approach the patriotic ideal. In summary, the futurists’
radical rejection of the past was accompanied by a radical form of
aggressive, expansionist, war-mongering nationalism. Moreover, the very
shock caused by the futurists’ provocative style and ‘scandalous’ performances
was compensated by an emphasis on the patria, intended as a cohesive,
organic, essentialized whole. In short, the rejection of the past lied at the
core of extreme, war-mongering nationalism as this was predicated on an
elitist, top-down project of ‘nationalization of the masses’ often disguised
by populist appeals.
Our excursus into futurist nationalism has also illustrated the malleability
of national boundaries, ‘culture’ and symbols in periods of sweeping social
change. On the one hand, the futurist case seems to question those
approaches seeing continuity with the past as essential to the rise of
modern nationalism (Smith 1998, 2000, 2004). It would appear rather to
support the ‘invention of tradition’ approach advanced by Eric Hobsbawm
(1983) and others. On the other hand, the fact that identities can be more
easily shaped or ‘invented’ during periods of war, mass violence, devastation
and even in preparation for such incumbencies indicates that their
malleability is also a response to these historical upheavals. With their
multimedia ‘action repertoire’ (Tilly 1976), the futurists played a seminal
role in the colorful articulation of interventionist propaganda; they
personally fought and actively participated in war, thus becoming living
(often, dead) examples of patriotic heroism to many ordinary Italians.
Human tragedies can be taken advantages not only by speculators, thugs,
profiteers, peddlers, hawks, smugglers, businessmen, industrialists and the
military, but also by intellectuals, poets and artists – especially if the latter
are able to exert some form of social influence through a talented use of
the media. Societies at peace are less likely to see radical changes in their
collective self-perception and identities. In contrast, mass violence and
war-making can provide the needed ‘structure of political opportunities’
for manipulators to change perceptions of social relations and the very
identity of a people (Conversi 2007, 2008b). Like the fascists, the futurists
developed initially as an opposition movement composed of a rich array
of assorted personalities held together by charismatic leadership: Marinetti,
like Mussolini, adopted the title of Dux, or supreme leader, and managed
to maintain his agenda-setting goals under the regime. Both became
then identified with the state in charge of shaping the new man of the
Fascist Era.
The focus has thus been placed on the ‘manufacture of consent’
(Herman and Chomsky 1988) by highly innovative art forms, performances
and media management. Futurism was the first artistic movement to
deliberately and massively use all available techniques and tools of mass
advertisement, publicity and propaganda. These were being developed to
promote and sell the new consumerist products that Italian industries were
pouring into an emerging national market. ‘Nation-building’ was raised
to new heights: all forms of media available were harnessed into a crusade
to destroy the past and search for a ‘new man’. On the other hand, the
futurists tacitly used the raw ‘material’ provided by ethnonational-patriotic
symbols that they ingeniously elaborated, often beyond recognition.
2009 marks the 100th anniversary of Futurism’s official naissance. In
Italy, the centenary takes place under a right-wing coalition government,
which includes an assortment of ‘post-fascists’, neo-liberals, militarists and
xenophobes. Amongst them, we can count a few admirers of Futurism,
whose agenda include a reevaluation of Futurism’s nationalist, sometime
openly bellicose, features. Futurism contributed to promote Italian
pride and unification, but its lasting innovative input transcends national
boundaries and is rooted in 20th century Western culture.29 In fact,
futurism epitomized better than any other movement the broader belligerent
trend toward ‘creative self-destruction’ that dismantled the existing European
order, inaugurating thus the ‘American century’.
Many movements of modern history, politics, arts, and culture found

their most radical expressions in Italian politics and culture. The modernist,
pan-European cult of a strong leader and his war state achieved its earliest
and most notorious embodiment in Fascism. More recently, the trust
in unrestrained, greedy capitalism beyond moral considerations found a
unique articulation in a regime that de facto seized power in Italy since
1994 – with brief interludes that only reinforced its power. One hundred
years ago, futurism condensed and epitomized an all-pervasive European
mood: today we may laugh and smile at some of its extremism, iconoclasm
and audacity, but futurism was fully representative of the West’s early
century Zeitgeist. In order to understand the impact of modernity, indeed
to comprehend the very world we live in, we may find it useful to look
at Italy, where many of its extreme manifestations were first codified,
expressed and creatively implemented.
Acknowledgements
The author wishes to thanks the British Academy for its generous grant
to the project ‘Art, nationalism and war: The Futurist experience’ (SG-49553),
to which this article is linked.
Short Biography
Daniele Conversi received his PhD at the London School of Economics.
He taught in the Government Departments at Cornell and Syracuse
Universities, as well as at the Central European University, Budapest and
is now Senior Lecturer at the University of Lincoln.
His current research explores the role of culture in the process of
state-building from 1789 to the present day. More specifically, he has
addressed the relationship between nationalism and culture, with particular
attention to the concept of cultural homogenization. Related areas include
the relationship between nationalism and democracy, globalization, genocide,
militarism and war.
His books include ‘The Basques, the Catalans, and Spain’, reviewed in
nearly 40 international journals (http://easyweb.easynet.co.uk/conversi/
book.html), and the edited volume Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary
World (http://easyweb.easynet.co.uk/conversi/ethnonat).
Notes
* Correspondence address: E-mail: conversi@easynet.co.uk
1
Letter no. 73, January 1912 (in Palazzeschi and Marinetti 1978: 73).
2
A separate mention should be made to Russia’s cubo-futurism, with its own ideological trajectory
(Gray 1962). Among Russian futurists, there also was a clear inclination to use art as propaganda
and an awareness of being part of a process of cultural and social engineering that would breath
life into the project of a ‘new man’ in a ‘new society’. Despite patriotic denial, they were clearly

influenced by Marinetti, who also travelled to Russia on a proselytizing mission (1914).

Vladimir Mayakovsky’s (1893–1930) role as official agitprop artist of the Department for Agitation
and Propaganda included futurist-style mock trials and performances against the enemies of the
Soviet regime (Stites 1992: 50 –55).
3
While Marinetti had personal liaisons with Le Figaro’s editor, the French government was
entirely committed to pushing Italy into war. On the other hand, Marinetti strived for
international recognition while showing an intense disdain for Giolitti’s liberal and neutral Italy.
Few have observed how Marinetti imported from Paris a radical form of Jacobinism. His
Parisian sojourn imbued him with a sense of superiority and Mission civilisatrice. He returned to
Italy with a clearer view and a plan for action, striving to ‘awaken’ Italians from their slumbers
and bring them nearer to a Paris-centered vision of European modernity.
4
My italics. This manifesto is reproduced in endless readers and literature anthologies. See, for
instance, De Maria (1973: 3–9) and, in English, Apollonio (1973: 135–50).
5
Reprinted in De Maria (1973: 20, my emphasis).On De Maria’s selective choice of Marinetti’s
work, see Adamson (2008).
6
For a critical survey of the post-Cold War historical literature on totalitarianism as a ‘political
religion’ since 1990, see Ehret (2007).
7
Le Bon’s La psychologie des foules (1895; English transl. The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind,
1896) is considered the founding stone of Massenpsychologie (‘Group Psychology’) – and a major
influence in Sigmund Freud’s work (Le Bon 2006). The book was promptly translated into
English, but Marinetti did read the French original. Le Bon had partly a scientific approach to
the problems of mass society. He did not obviously commend mass manipulation, nor could he
anticipate the totalitarian appropriation of his work. His concern for the authoritarian effects
of ‘massification’, included an awareness that compulsory schooling could accellerate both.
However, his fatalism led many readers to consider authoritarianism inevitable, while he proffered
detailed descriptions of the tools through which mass manipulation could be achieved.
8
This similarity came to the fore with the Great Depression, once Roosevelt, Mussolini and
Hitler let loose their propaganda armour to impose similar developmentalist-patriotic solutions
to economic stagnation, civilian unrest and mass unemployment (Schivelbusch 2007: 61 and
81).
9
In Lacerba’s wake, L’Italia Futurista (1916–18) appeared in the midst of war, contributing to the
war’s immense glorification, with a consequent rise in sales among an emotionally inflamed public.
10
The concept of ‘manufacturing consent’ is derived from Herman and Chomsky’s propaganda
model, originally applied to the US’ global dominance through media manipulation (Herman
and Chomsky 1988).
11
On Mazzini’s shadow in the First World War, see O’Brien (2004), particularly his chapter
on ‘Making the “man”: “Mazzini”, nationalism, and the aesthetics of violence, November 1914 –May
1915’. Although O’Brien provides an innovative approach cleverly demonstrating how the war
provided the catalyst for Mussolini’s turn towards ultra- nationalism and totalitarianism, he does
not give sufficient consideration to Marinetti’s influence on the future Duce.
12
The frontier city-port of Trieste, then still part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, was selected
for the premiere of a series of Serate futuriste (futurist soirées) which strove to catapult public
opinion into an embrace of patriotic irredentism and war.
13
It should be noted that the futurists shared the Nationalists’ patriotic ideology, but opposed
their aesthetic preferences. On Corradini, see Marsella (2004).
14
The manifesto depicts the World War ‘through the graphic image of a wedge, with the word
‘Futurism’ written in the center, the top of which touches a curve representing ‘Passé-ism’. Cited
in Salaris (1994: 127).
15
Significantly, Carrà left Futurism only a year later to join the more figurative Metafisica school
led by Giorgio de Chirico (1888–1978).
16
The Italian Nationalist Association’s advocacy of imperialism distinguished it from more
popular irredentism. Irredentism was broadly shared across the political spectrum, while imperialism
was initially confined to the Nationalists and a few other groups, which became influential
only afterward.
17
The silent epic war movie Cabiria (1914) by Giovanni Pastrone (1882–1959), with an
original screenplay by Gabriele D’Annunzio, told the story of a Roman girl kidnapped and sold

as a slave in Carthage (modern Libya). The film was punctually produced and released after
Italy’s colonialist victory in the Libyan War (1911–1912). In Canzoni delle gesta d’oltremare (Sons
to the overseas deeds, 1913), D’Annunzio chanted and praised the Italian conquest of Libya
(Ben-Ghiat 2005).
18
On Mussolini’s versatility in crafting propaganda through the media, see O’Brien (2004).
19
Carlo Ludovico Bragaglia. ‘E Il Duce disse: “So chi siete, ecco i soldi”’, Il Messaggero, 7 March
1993.
20
Between 1918 and 1919, Mussolini’s fasci and the Futurists began to converge. However, after
Mussolini’s Fasci Italiani di Combattimento (Italian Combat Fascists, or League of Combat) were
humiliated in the 1919 elections, several Futurists moved ahead. Later on, others joined fascism
unconditionally: Thus, Giuseppe Bottai (1895–1959), who briefly adhered to political futurism,
became leader of the Camicie Nere (Blackshirts). Although the Futurists adhered enthusiastically
to fascism, they never achieved the status of the regime’s official art movement. In fact,
Fascist aesthetics privileged other themes like the imperial cult of the Romanita’, which were
incompatible with futurism. In general, the futurists had to compete with other trends consecrated
by the regime, including Novecento patronized by Mussolini’s Jewish mistresses Margherita Sarfatti
(1880 –1961) (Mangoni 1974; Stone 1998).
21
For a rich illustration of Mussolini’s futurist iconography between 1923 and 1945, see Di
Genova, Duranti and Caproni Armani (1997).
22
The name fascism derives from fasci (plural), an array of radical political groups, not necessarily
right-wing, but most often nationalist.
23
During World War I, Italian Army elite assault units and shock troops were named Arditi
(‘the braves’, from the verb ardire, ‘to dare’). After their demobilization in 1920, the name was
picked up by Gabriele D’Annunzio’s ‘black-shirts’ during their occupation of Fiume/Rijeka
(1919 –1920). Finally, Mussolini appropriated both the ‘black-shirts’ and the name Arditi to
designate his more militant followers.
24
In 1911, the poet Giovanni Pascoli (1855–1912) referred to Italy as ‘la grande Proletaria’ in a
speech in honour of Italian soldiers fighting in Libya. More consistently, Corradini picked up
on the ‘proletarian nation’ idea well before Mussolini and Marinetti.
25
The Italo-Ethiopian War led to the unification of Eritrea, Abyssinia, and Somaliland as a
single colony under Italian domination, called Africa Orientale Italiana (Italian East Africa).
26
Filippo Tommaso Marinetti Papers, Yale University Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript
Library General Collection of Rare Books and Manuscripts, GEN MSS 130, Series VIII,
Photograph no. 252, FTM next to a motorcycle, inscribed on verso in FTM’s hand: ‘Adigrat.
Ospedale delle macchine’ (http://webtext.library.yale.edu/xml2html/beinecke.marinet.nav.html).
27
Ogni uomo porta appeso al collo il desiderio nero o colorato di una fine ingloriosa, la allusione in tela
di panno o seta alla propria servilità sociale. Italiani, abolite i nodi, le farfalle, le spille, i fermagli,
cianfrusaglie antiveloci antigieniche antiottimistiche! Regalatele ai vostri bambini perché le attacchino alle
code dei gatti o dei cani, unico posto dove non siano ridicole! (...)
28
Significantly, steel played a similar metaphorical role as the ‘material of high industrialism’ in
Max Weber’s account of modernity (Scott 1997: 562–3).
29
By now, several of futurism’s trends and inventions have been incorporated into the daily life
of millions, such as the cult of speed and the faith in progress, as well as more material
commodities and extreme consumerism. It is therefore imperative to place Futurism in a
broader comparative perspective and reassess its position within the European scene as a whole.
For Marinetti, the artist-manipulator-entrepreneur needs to synchronize the production of ideas
with the time of their realization, as the artwork is not conceived to last more than 10 years
(Riccioni 2003: 180).
References
Adamson, Walter 2008. ‘Fascinating Futurism: The Historiographical Politics of an Historical
Avant-garde.’ Modern Italy 13: 69–85.
Apollonio, Umbro (ed.) 1973. Futurist Manifestos. New York, NY: Viking Press.
Aumercier, Sandrine 2007. ‘Edward L. Bernays et la propagande.’ Revue du Mauss 2: 452–469.

Balla, Giacomo 1914. Il vestito antineutrale. Manifesto futurista, 11 settembre 1914. Milano, Italia:
Direzione del Movimento Futurista, p. 4.
Balla, Giacomo 1926. ‘L’arte nella politica.’ in L’Impero (Roma), 19–20 febbraio 1926.
Banti Alberto M. 2005. L’onore della nazione. Identità sessuali e violenza nel nazionalismo europeo
dal XVIII secolo alla Grande Guerra. Torino, Italia: Einaudi.
Bendersky, Joseph W. 2007. ‘Panic: The Impact of Le Bon’s Crowd Psychology on U.S.
Military Thought.’ Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences 43: 257–283.
Ben-Ghiat, Ruth 2005. The Italian Colonial Cinema: Agendas and Audiences. In: Ben-Ghiat,
R. and M. Fuller (eds), Italian Colonialism. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 179–192.
Berghaus, Günter 1996. Futurism and Politics. Between Anarchist Rebellion and Fascist Reaction,
1909–1944. Oxford, UK: Berghahn Books.
Bohn, Willard 2004. The Other Futurism: Futurist Activity in Venice, Padua, and Verona. Toronto,
Canada: University of Toronto Press.
Bohn, Willard 2006. ‘The Poetics of Flight: Futurist.’ Aeropoesia.’ MLN, 121: 207–224.
Bonito Oliva, Achille 1986. La parola totale. Una tradizione futurista 1909 –1986, Milano, Italia:
Galleria Fonte d´ Abisso Edizioni.
Bosso, Renato di and Ignazio Scurto 1933. Manifesto futurista sulla cravatta italiana, Verona, Italia:
Movimento Futurista Verona (facsimile).
Cangiullo, Francesco 1978. Piedigrotta. Firenze, Italia: SPES-Salimbeni (facsimile).
Cangiullo, Francesco 1979. Cafféconcerto Firenze, Italia: SPES-Salimbeni (facsimile).
Carrà, Carlo 1915. Guerrapittura. Milano, Italia: Milano: Edizioni Futuriste di ‘Poesia’.
Re-published in facsimile in Firenze: SPES-Salimbeni, 1978 (Fonti delle avanguardie del
Novecento, edited by Caruso L.).
Conversi, Daniele 1999. ‘Nationalism, boundaries and violence.’ Millennium. Journal of International
Studies 28: 553–584.
Conversi, Daniele 2001. ‘Conflitti Etnici.’ Enciclopedia Italiana delle Scienze Sociali- Treccani.
Roma, Italia: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana (Treccani) IX, 2001: 110 –124.
Conversi, Daniele 2007. ‘Homogenisation, nationalism and war: Should we still read Ernest
Gellner?’ Nations and Nationalism 13: 371–394.
Conversi, Daniele 2008a. ‘Democracy, nationalism and culture. The limits of liberal mono-
culturalism.’ Sociology Compass 2: 156–182.
Conversi, Daniele 2008b. ‘“We are all equals!” Militarism, homogenization and “egalitarianism”
in nationalist state-building (1789–1945).’ Ethnic and Racial Studies 31: 1–31.
Croce, Benedetto 1967. Storia d’Italia dal 1871 al 1915. Bari, Italia: Laterza [Originally
published in 1927].
d’Orsi, Angelo 1992. L’ideologia politica del futurismo. Torino, Italia: Il Segnalibro.
De Grand, Alexander J. 1978. The Italian Nationalist Association and the Rise of Fascism in Italy.
Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press.
De Maria, Luciano (ed.) 1973. Marinetti e il Futurismo. Milano, Italia: Mondadori.
Del Boca, Angelo 1969. The Ethiopian War: 1935–1941. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.
Di Genova, Giorgio, Massimo Duranti and Maria Fede Caproni Armani 1997. L’uomo della
provvidenza. Iconografia del Duce 1923–1945. Bologna: Editore Bora.
Duggan, Christopher 2002. Francesco Crispi 1818–1901: From Nation to Nationalism. New York,
NY: Oxford University Press.
Ehret, Ulrike 2007. ‘Understanding the Popular Appeal of Fascism, National Socialism and
Soviet Communism: The Revival of Totalitarianism Theory and Political Religion.’ History
Compass.5/4, Pp. 1236–1267. 10.1111/j.1478–0542.2007.00438.x.
Gentile, Emilio 1996. The Sacralization of Politics in Fascist Italy. Harvard University Press.
Gentile, Emilio 2003. The Struggle for Modernity: Nationalism, Futurism, and Fascism. London, UK:
Praeger Publishers.
Gentile, Emilio 2006. Politics as Religion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Goglia, L. 1981. Il colonialismo italiano da Adua all’ Impero. Roma, Italia: Laterza.
Grana, Gianni 1986. ‘ “Avanguardia” e “Rivoluzione” nel Novecento’; ‘Teoria, ideologie e
gruppi di Agitazione’; ‘La “Rivoluzione futurista” ’, in Le Avanguardie Letterarie. Cultura e
politica, scienza e arte dalla Scapigliatura alla Neo-avanguardia attraverso il fascismo. Milano, Italia:
Marzorati, vol. 1.

Gray, Camilla 1962. The Great Experiment: Russian Art, 1863–1922. New York, NY: Harry N.
Abrams.
Gregor, A. J. 1979. Italian Fascism and Developmental Dictatorship. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press.
Griffin, Roger 2007. Modernism and Fascism. The Sense of a Beginning under Mussolini and Hitler.
New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.
Härmänmaa, Marja 2000. Un patriota che sfido’ la decadenza : F.T. Marinetti e l’idea dell’Uomo
Nuovo fascista, 1929–1944. Helsinki, Finland: Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae.
Herman, Edward S. and Chomsky Noam 1988. Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of
the Mass Media. New York, NY: Pantheon Books.
Hobsbawm, Eric J. 1983. ‘Mass Producing Traditions: Europe, 1870 –1914.’ in The Invention of
Tradition, edited by Eric J. Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Isnenghi, Mario 1989. Il mito della Grande Guerra. Bologna, Italia: Il Mulino.
Jones, Jonathan 2005. ‘Birds of prey. Are Italy’s “Aeropaintings” Thrilling Celebrations of Flight
– or just Barbaric Fascist Propaganda?’ The Guardian. Wednesday January 5, 2005.
Kirschenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara 1989. ‘Edible Art.’ Artforum (November 1989), 20 –23.
–––. 1999. ‘Playing to the Senses: Food as a Performance Medium.’ Performance Research, A
Journal of the Performing Arts, 4: 1–30m (special issue ‘On Cooking’).
Labanca, Nicola 2005. Una guerra per l’impero. Memorie della campagna d’Etiopia 1935–1936.
Bologna, Italia: Il Mulino.
Le Bon, Gustave 2006. The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind. New York, NY: Cosimo
[Transl. of La psychologie des foules, 1895; 1st. English transl. 1896.].
Lista, Giovanni 1980. Arte e Politica. Milano, Italia: Multipla.
Losurdo, Domenico 2004. ‘Preemptive War, Americanism, and Anti-Americanism.’ Metaphilosophy
35: 365–385.
Lukes, Steven 2005. Power: A Radical View. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan.
Mangoni, Luisa 1974. L’interventismo nella cultura. Intellettuali e riviste del fascismo. Roma-Bari,
Italia: Laterza.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1915. ‘Movimento Politico Futurista.’ in Guerra, sola igiene del
mondo. Reprinted in De Maria (1973), pp. 160–164.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1916. ‘La Nuova Religione-Morale Della Velocità’, L’Italia
Futurista, no. 1, 11 maggio 1916.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1919. Le théâtre futuriste synthétique. Manifeste Milan: Direction du
Mouvement Futuriste.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1921. L’alcova d’acciaio. Milano, Italia: Vitagliano.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1922. ‘Inegualismo e Artecrazia.’ Il Resto del Carlino 1 November
1922.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1924. Futurismo e Fascismo. Foligno, Italia: Franco Campitelli Editore.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1930. Manifesto della cucina futurista. Torino, Italia: Gazzetta del
Popolo (28 Agosto 1930).
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1987. Taccuini 1915–1921, edited by Alberto Bertoni. Bologna: Il
Mulino.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso 1995. ‘A Futurist Portrait of the New Prime Minister of Italy.’ in
Fascism, edited by Roger Griffin. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso Mario Carli and Emilio Settimelli 1923. ‘L’Impero italiano. A
Benito Mussolini, Capo della Nuova Italia.’ Pp. 1–4. Il Futurismo. Rivista Sintetica Illustrata
(Milano). Milano, Italia: Direzione del Movimento Futurista.
Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso, Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà, Luigi Russolo and Ugo Piatti 1914.
Sintesi futurista della guerra. Milano, Italia: Direzione del Movimento Futurista, [Manifesto].
Marsella M. 2004. ‘Enrico Corradini’s Italian Nationalism: the Right Wing of the Fascist
Synthesis.’ Journal of Political Ideologies 9: 203–224.
Martinelli, Franco 2005. ‘Breve sogno’ Gli ultimi della Decima Mas. Storie di vita 1943–1945.
Napoli, Italia: Liguori Editore.
Mosse, George L. 1990. ‘The Political Culture of Italian Futurism: A General Perspective.’
Journal of Contemporary History 25: 253–268.

Mosse, George L. 1996. Image of Man: the Creation of Modern Masculinity. New York, NY:
Oxford University Press.
O’Brien, Paul 2004. Mussolini in the First World War. The Journalist, the Soldier, the Fascist.
Oxford, UK: Berg.
Orfano, Paolo 1917. ‘La Dalmazia e’ Italiana, Sara’ Italiana’, L’ Italia Futurista 2: Firenze.
Palazzeschi, Aldo and F. T. Marinetti 1978. Carteggio con appendice di altre lettere a Palazzeschi di
Papini, Luciani e Soffici. Milano, Italia: Mondadori (ed. and with an introduction by Paolo
Prestigiacomo).
Payne, Stanley G. 1995. A History of Fascism, 1914–1945 Madison, WI:. Univ of Wisconsin Press.
Poggi, Christine 2000. ‘Folla/Follia; Futurism and the Crowd’, Critical Inquiry, 28, 3, pp. 709–48.
Rainey, Lawrence S. 1998. Institutions of Modernism: Literary Elites and Public Culture. New
Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Riall, Lucy 2008. ‘The Politics of Italian Romanticism: Mazzini’s Making of Political Culture,
1837–1848’ in Giuseppe Mazzini and the Globalization of Democratic Nationalism, 1830 –1920,
edited by C. A. Bayly and E. F. Biagini. Oxford, UK: Oxford UP (Proceedings of the British
Academy, Vol. 152).
Riccioni, Ilaria 2003. Futurismo, logica del postmoderno. Imola, Italia: Mandragora.
Salaris, Claudia 1992. Artecrazia. L’avanguardia futurista negli anni del Fascismo. Firenze, Italia: La
Nuova Italia.
Salaris, Claudia 1994. ‘Marketing Modernism: Marinetti as Publisher.’ Modernism/Modernity 1:
109–127 [Translated by Lawrence Rainey].
Schivelbusch, Wolfgang 2007. Three New Deals: Reflections on Roosevelt’s America, Mussolini’s Italy,
and Hitler’s Germany, 1933–1939. New York, NY: Macmillan.
Schnapp, Jeffrey T. 2001. ‘The Romance of Caffeine and Aluminum.’ Critical Inquiry 28:
244–269.
Scott, Alan 1997. ‘Modernity’s Machine Metaphor.’ The British Journal of Sociology 48: 561–575.
Scudiero, Maurizio 2000. The Italian Futurist Book. New York, NY: Colophon Page [online
exhibition of Italian Futurist books, typography and graphic design, 1909–1944; url: http://
colophon.com/gallery/futurism/]. September 8/10/14.
Smith, Anthony D. 1998. Nationalism and Modernism: A Critical Survey of Recent Theories of
Nations and Nationalism. London, UK: Routledge.
Smith, Anthony D. 2000. The Nation in History. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.
Smith, Anthony D. 2004. ‘Dating the Nation.’ in Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World,
edited by Daniele Conversi. New York, NY: Routledge.
Sproule, J. Michael 1997. Propaganda and Democracy: The American Experience of Media and Mass
Persuasion. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Stites, Richard 1992. Russian Popular Culture: Entertainment and Society Since 1900. Cambridge,
UK: Cambridge University Press.
Stone, Marla Susan 1998. The Patron State: Culture and Politics in Fascist Italy. Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press.
Thompson, Mark 2008. The White War: Life and Death on the Italian Front 1915 –1919. London,
UK: Faber & Faber.
Tilly, Charles 1976. ‘Major forms of collective action in Western Europe 1500 –1975.’ Theory
and Society 3: 365–375.
Ventrone, Angelo 2006. Rigenerazione della nazione e rituali comunitari: La Grande Guerra
in Italia e nel contesto europeo. In: Ridolfi, M. (ed.) Rituali civili. Storie nazionali e memorie
pubbliche nell’Europa contemporanea. Roma: Gangemi.
Verdone, Mario 2003. Il Futurismo. Roma, Italia: Newton & Compton [1st ed., 1971/2nd
1994].
Vigezzi, Brunello 1966. L’Italia di fronte alla prima guerra mondiale. I. L’Italia neutrale, Milano-Napoli,
Italia: Ricciardi.
Welch, David 2002. The Third Reich: Politics and Propaganda. London, UK: Routledge.


Art Nationalism and War Political Futuri PDF

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Art Nationalism and War Political Futuri PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.

Art, Nationalism and War: Political Futurism in

Looking mesmerized at the colonial massacre of Tripoli’s defenseless

The furious, hyperactive Futurist trajectory accompanied the darkest

broader European phenomenon of ‘nationalization of the masses’ led by

Crafting and marketing the new landscapes of mass

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

The ‘primordial elements’ explicitly mentioned consisted in vitalism,

Futurism and the media

Which factors led to such a thriving production of bellicose, ultra-modernist

From irredentism to empire: Geopolitical constrains and the

minorities were allegedly ‘stranded’ on foreign soil waiting to be re-joined

Institutionalizing violence: futurism and fascism

with Il Duce in the short-lived Nazi-puppet state, the Republic of Salò

Futurism, fashion and war

deserves attention for its combination of warmongering and playful

was malleable enough to incorporate radical challenges even under a

Many movements of modern history, politics, arts, and culture found

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

influenced by Marinetti, who also travelled to Russia on a proselytizing mission (1914).

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

© 2009 The Author Sociology Compass 3/1 (2009): 92–117, 10.1111/j.1751-9020.2008.00185.x

You might also like