M. 1928 Nicolaj Diulgheroff (1901-82) Fondazione Massimo e Sonia Cirulli Collection, Bologna As Mussolini's power solidified and his domestic popularity expanded, Italian companies scrambled to associate themselves with his regime. Here, the Metzger beer company does not bother to show its product but rather a single, fascist-red, gigantic "M"-the initial of both the company's name and that of ll Duce, suggesting a natural synchronicity between the two. This single letter, like the government, is imposing and totalitarian, dominating the page. The design fits well within the oeuvre of Nicolaj Diulgheroff under the Mussolini regime; his early Constructivist roots merged fully with that of the Futurist movement in his corporate and fascist imagery of this period. As Metzger beer had been sold in Italy since 1848, it is interesting to compare the severe modernity of Diulgherof's design with slightly earlier posters promoting the brand Leonetto Cappello's poster from 1911, for example, represents an avant-garde approach to advertising that relied on whimsy and charm rather than intimidation.
BUITONI, 1928 Federico Seneca (1891-1976) Fondazione Massimo e Sonia Cirulli Collection, Bologna Federico Seneca, one of the masters of Italian advertising, lived a life that closely mirrored the rise of fascism itself: a classically trained artist, he worked as a poster designer before World War I when he enlisted and became a military seaplane pilot. During the war, he met and began a lifelong friendship with Gabriele D'Annunzio, the writer and veteran who, after Mussolini, would emerge as Italian fascism's most singular guiding creative hand. At the beginning of the 1920s, Seneca was hired by Perugina chocolates (two of his designs for the brand are also on display in this exhibition) and became the director of the entire company's marketing for nearly two decades; he produced this poster for Buitoni pasta after its merger with Perugina. The looming, round-faced head of a child highlights the biopolitics of the era, implying that babies fed in fascist Italy would inevitably be chunky and healthy despite the reality that many were on the brink of starvation. The enigmatic advertisement also showcases one of the pervasive effects of Italian fascism on design; the glowing infant is simultaneously both charming and rather menacing, reflecting the ominous tone endemic to the national mood of the period, as if to say: Buy Buitoni. Or else.
ESPOSIZIONE RHODIA ALBENE (RHODIA & ALBENE FABRIC SHOW). 1936 Marcello Dudovich (1878-1962) Fondazione Massimo e Sonia Cirulli Collection, Bologna Marcello Dudovich was one of the greatest Italian graphic designers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Trained at the prestigious Royal Academy in Trieste, he was instrumental in the huge advances made in Italian poster design during this time, along with his contemporaries Leonetto Cappiello and Leopoldo Metlicovitz. Here, Dudovich relies on familiar motifs for his longtime client, the nationwide department store La Rinascente, for which he had been producing graphic work for more than 15 years. In this appeal to glamour, he modernizes the sweeping movements of the figures in opera posters he had created throughout his career, embodied in the confident strides and expressions of these female protagonists. As in much of the design of the period, nationalism plays a part, with the understated red, white, and green tones of the Italian flag prominent in the clothing of the future-facing models. In spite of the feeling of luxury, however, the poster is selling unstated austerity: Rhodia and Albene fabrics were offered as sleek, new alternatives to silk and satin. In reality, Rhodia was made from pressed, purified cellulose (wood pulp) and Albene was flat-threaded rayon with an acetate base-both cheap materials suited to the budgets of the many Italians still suffering from the Depression but marketed as the height of opulence.
FIAT, 1927 Giuseppe Romano (1905-67) Fondazione Massimo e Sonia Cirulli Collection, Bologna In 1926, Giuseppe Romano was hired by Fabrica Italiana Automobili Torino (FIAT, the Italian Automobile Factory of Turin) to help coordinate the firm's larger marketing operation with that of its individual dealers who at that time had creative control over the promotion of their own businesses. This poster reflects the monumentalism, combining classical and modern forms, typical of the art and architecture of the fascist period. Romano transforms the FIAT acronym into a factory-temple (really more like a triumphal arch) topped by Greco-Roman statues in an obvious allusion to antiquity. FIAT has not conquered Gaul or Germania as the ancient Romans did, but rather modern industry. Meanwhile, under a swirling red and yellow sky suggesting the dawn of a new era, modern cars dart into an unseen but brightly optimistic future. This edifice most likely references the Arch of Titus in Rome, a first-century construction built to commemorate the sacking of Jerusalem by Roman forces under the leadership of the general of that name. The fascist army often held symbolic parades during which soldiers marched through the arch; in 1938, Adolf Hitler and Mussolini walked through it together to herald a renewed conquest of the Jewish people. This advertisement became a graphic touchstone, frequently referenced and mimicked by both fine and commercial artists, most notably by René Magritte in The Art of Conversation (1950) and Reynold Brown in his poster for the movie Ben-Hur (1959).
The parallels between the Futurist movement and cult of personality in Mussolini's Italy and our modern state of affairs certainly rhymes. Then, as now, corporations inexplicably fall into lockstep with 'dear leader' and his movement. #PosterHouse
