Written & researched by Alice Martin

Chiaroscuro, an artistic technique characterised by extreme tonal contrast, has been
used throughout the artistic canon to evoke drama, and convey a sense of intensity both
stylistically and in regards to the work’s subject. Usually associated with the technique are
painters of the Italian Renaissance such as Caravaggio, as well as Dutch masters like
Rembrandt or Vermeer. However, its use is not bound to one medium, and one of the most
effective ways chiaroscuro has been used is through architecture. Although it has been used over a wide range of movements to create drama and power, I was inspired by the Winter Open Call moodboard’s reference to Norman Jaffe to discuss my favourite type of architecture: Modernism as employed by the Italian Fascists.

Modernist architecture is typically defined by functionality – specifically something
architects and art historians refer to as ‘form follows function’ – as well as relatively simplistic stylisation which employs clean lines and rhythm. Many modernists were also ideologically informed by architectural determinism, a term coined in the 1960s which dictates that the architectural or built environment is one of, if not the most, important factor in determining social behaviour. In simple terms, if a space is built with certain ideas in mind – health, productivity, etc – then the people that exist within that space begin to take on those qualities. This made modernism, and the architectural theory of determinism, ideal for the undeniably rocky and highly politicised interwar period in Europe, as architecture was viewed as an ideal vehicle to both literally and spiritually rebuild the continent. This period of the twentieth century was rife with emerging forms of political extremism, which necessitated the use of art and architecture to both reinvigorate nations ravaged by the First World War, and re-establish national identity in a
new Europe. Italian Fascists were some of the most eager when it came to using architecture in this way, and architecture became a key ideologising and dogmatic tool for the regime.

The Partito Nazionale Fascista (PNF) was in control of Italy from 1922 to 1945, and was
headed by Benito Mussolini, referred to as Il Duce. Italian Fascism was ideologically unstable, with very few consistent core principles except for totalitarian nationalism and the Cult of the Duce, which was a nationwide, almost religious veneration of Il Duce. Socially, it promoted a culture of violence and fostered ideas of Italian, and by extension white, supremacy. Mussolini was extremely preoccupied with spiritually and culturally reinvigorating the populace following the devastation of the First World War, and when Italy was chosen to be the host of the World’s Fair in 1942, he spared no expense in showing this reinvigoration to the world. A major product of this was the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, or the Square Colosseum, which will be the subject of this Spotlight.

This building is in my opinion one of the most important when considering the Fascist
Party’s use of politicised architecture, and is an ideal example of architectural chiaroscuro.
Here, we’re going to explore how this building exemplifies the core Fascist tenets of totalitarian nationalism and the Cult of the Duce, through its references to the national past, its evocation of the Duce himself, and through its connection to the contemporary culture of surveillance.

Before I get started, I want to note that much of this has been extrapolated from my
undergraduate thesis at the University of Glasgow, and therefore is not plagiarism, just laziness.

Probably the most obvious way the architects have attempted to politicise the building was through reference to Italy’s national past, specifically the Roman Empire. Immediately upon looking at the Palazzo, the viewer can see that it directly references the most iconic symbol of Italy’s national past, the Colosseum. Not only that, but it was built using very Roman materials: travertine cladding and Carrara marble. However, the symbol of the Colosseum has been extremely stylised and modernised, reshaped from its signature amphitheatre into a cuboid, with a noticeable emphasis on clean lines and repetition. Through this kind of stylistic modernisation, which historian John Champagne calls ‘Classical Modernism’, the architects establish a direct link between ancient Rome and Fascist Italy. This kind of symbolic association was key to the Fascist visual lexicon, and allowed them to draw on and weaponise the cultural power of the national past while also creating visual markers of Italy’s modernisation and progress under Fascist rule. In this context, the use of Classical Modernism aims to frame the Fascist regime, through ancient Roman symbols, as not only the arbiters of national cultural regeneration, but a second coming of the Roman Empire.

All of this is amplified when considering the statuary that lines the ground floor. Each decorating their own designated arches, the statuary depicts personifications of Fascist ideals, ranging from “civilised” principles such as law, mathematics, medicine, and navigation – a concept which here symbolically and culturally links the Fascists with the Futurist movement – to artistic concepts such as architecture, poetry, and theatre. Although in a general sense these concepts represent the Fascist ideal as a kind of jack-of-all trades capable of anything and everything, I want to localise my focus to the statue of Military Prowess. This statue, which stands immediately at the front entrance of the Palazzo, depicts an archetypal Roman soldier, wearing a laurel wreath around his head, and holding a sword. The soldier is the only statue who steps foot beyond his designated podium, and stands half in preparation, half in protection. Not only does this reference to the national past reinforce the idea that Fascism is ancient Rome reincarnated, but that Fascist culture is something that is and ought to be protected, ideally through violence.

This is then bolstered even more when considering the visual and symbolic incorporation of the Duce into the building. This is done primarily through the number of arches on the facade of the Palazzo, six by nine. This is the same number of letters that are in the words ‘Benito Mussolini’. In doing so, Mussolini has been codified into the building, in a direct expression of his political power. As the building acts as a symbol of revitalised Italian nationhood, this codification establishes Mussolini as the main arbiter of Italian culture. When combined with the building’s symbology of ancient Rome, this is also a clear assertion that Mussolini is a modern Augustus, as the catalyst for a new Roman Empire. This expression of the Cult of the Duce has multiple effects when we consider the placement of the Palazzo within EUR. It is placed on the top of a huge marble plinth, and sits upon one of only two hills in the entire area, the other of which is occupied by EUR’s basilica.

Firstly, this expression of Mussolini’s power had spatial significance, due to its physical dominance and monumentality within EUR. Due to its elevation, monumentality, and Mussolinian connotations, it has a domineering effect, not only reflecting the power of the regime, but emphasising the Duce’s personal power within it. Secondly, the elevation of the building to match that of the only holy building of the area is a huge statement of Fascism’s, and Mussolini’s totalitarianism. Sacralisation of Mussolini, and using his image to displace that of the Pope and the power of Catholicism in Italy, in the regime was one of the key ways the Fascists manufactured and maintained their power. By placing this monumental symbol of Mussolini’s power on the same level as a basilica, Mussolini aims to assert his dominance over the church, and redirect Catholicism’s cultural power back to himself. All of this is again amplified when considering the contemporary culture of surveillance, and Foucauldian surveillance.

For the uninitiated, Jeremy Bentham created the Panopticon, an idea for carceral architecture, in the 18th century. Popularised by Michel Foucault in the 1970s, the proposed Panopticon model was composed of a tower, with a guard or warden monitoring prisoners from the inside, which was then surrounded by a circular building, containing the cells. Each of these cells has a large window facing the tower, through which the prisoner can be watched by the guard. However, in the Panopticon model, the guard is never visible to the prisoner, and therefore never knows when he is being watched. This model then emphasises self-discipline as opposed to traditional modes of surveillance like coercion or brutality, essentially conditioning the prisoners to comply. The Palazzo operates in a similar way. Due to the repeated pattern of ‘all-seeing’ arches on its exterior, the Palazzo functions as the Panopticon’s tower, and all of EUR as the prison. Not only does this theory bolster the idea that the building is an expression of Mussolini’s power, but it also actively contributed to the contemporary culture of surveillance which contributed to the totalitarian regime. This also likely contributed to the building’s deterministic properties, enforcing a culture of surveillance through its architectural intent.

Going back then to the concept of Chiaroscuro, not only does the building use this technique stylistically to invoke concepts like power, domination, obedience, and surveillance as chiaroscuro does, but it conceptually mirrors the black-and-white, totalitarian nature of the regime. In many ways, thematic Chiaroscuro can still be observed in the Palazzo’s functional change: what was once a monument to Fascist and Mussolinian authority is now the global headquarters for Fendi, which has breathed new life into the building.

So although we may consider Chiaroscuro something relatively superficial in this context, remember that it can occur in any art form, in any place, at any time. Not just in the winter.

You can find Alice on her Instagram @_aliceelmartin.