March Mostra 2018/Meet the artists… John Robertson

As we approach the March Mostra, our second exhibition of this academic year, we will be publishing a series of blogs taking a closer look at the individual practices of our seven resident artists and resident architecture fellow. Our third interview is with John Robertson, our Abbey Scholar in Painting.

John Robertson

Photo by Antonio Palmieri.

Over the past years you have worked with language, paper, and faux techniques. This is not dissimilar to the publication of a book. Is there any relationship between your works/practice and the world of typography/bookmaking?

A very good question. Firstly there is a material similarity, in that everything is paper and I buy the glue that I use from a bookbinding shop in London. So some of the processes are the same. But, I think more interesting in all this, is the idea of language and how faux has a relationship with language, especially bad faux. When I use this faux wood technique I’m not trying to fool anyone into thinking that this is actually wood. I mean…it’s a different colour, and I rip the paper to show that it’s paper, or sometimes disrupt it by running a brush through it when the paint’s still wet. It’s more indexical, a sign, it’s more like the word wood.


Since the December Mostra I have been focusing on doing mono-prints of brush-marks, thinking about these as faux brush-marks, and from this thinking about what a faux painting might be. This, you could say, is analysing the language of painting, taking apart the painting to its elements and putting them back together. All painting is basically an arrangement of marks on a rectangle and I’m doing this too but quite stupidly literally, cutting out the brushstrokes so I can move them around and try them in different places, a matter of syntax.

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S, Acrylic on paper on panel, 42.8 x 29.7 cm.

I noticed some of the books around your studio – books of poets, and artists, like Picasso. How do these feed into your practice/current research?

There is always this Picasso book in my studio, which is my favourite possession.


This is a book of his paper collages from 1912 to 1914 and there’s a debt to these really early paper collages in my work, especially the use of faux-bois (false wood) technique — my use of it is kind of a nod to that. There’s a lot of writing about what he and Braque were doing as a linguistic project.

And the poetry?

Well, Mallarmé hangs around, who I like to think about for the way he arranges things on the page, how the structure of a thing can be such a large part of its meaning. He’s into the definite article and he wants to make the poem into a thing. But to be honest I don’t really read him, I read Robert Creeley.


He always takes a breath at the end of his lines, so when he reads out his poems they’re oddly staccato. I recently wrote a little thing about punctuation/pauses and how brush-marks look like punctuation marks. Basically I was wondering whether you can consider a brush-mark as a pause, as room to breathe, and how if you think about all the marks on, let’s say, a Cézanne, as commas and apostrophes, it becomes a really weird piece of concrete poetry made entirely of pauses.

Then there’s the fact that most Creeley poems are love poems. People write love songs and love poems, but nobody really talks about making love paintings. I’ve been thinking about whether this is possible and what on earth they might be. I don’t mean it in the way of a painter painting somebody that they love, but more how a painting could be a metaphor for, or analogous to love. I think maybe there might be a path toward this in thinking about how both, at their best, can really trump the intellect.

There’s something running through all this about painting and romantic painting that needs to be explored and I feel like I’ve only just reached the edge of it. I’m romantic about painting but also a bit guilty about it, I mean, all this stuff about the brush-mark. There’s a romantic idea of ‘the hand’ – gesture as direct expression – which I think is completely ridiculous, that somehow a painter might feel something and channel that feeling in a gesture through the brush. So in mediating my brush-marks by mono-printing them I’m sort of taking the piss out of this idea, but at the same time I still believe in painting’s ability to have this strange force that’s really nebulous and difficult to talk about. There can be a power to painting, and it’s a cliché but I think that power is in its silence, its inaccessibility. So all this analysis of the language of painting is really just drawing a circle to let the blank space in the middle do the talking, like Creeley taking a breath.

John’s work will be exhibited alongside the seven other resident artists in the March Mostra. The opening will take place on Friday 16 March 18.30-21.00. Opening hours 16.30-19.00 until Saturday 24 March 2018, closed Sundays.

Interview by Alice Marsh (Communications & Events). Photos by John Robertson.



March Mostra 2018 / Meet the artists…Oona Grimes

As we approach the March Mostra, our second exhibition of this academic year, we will be publishing a series of blogs taking a closer look at the individual practices of our seven resident artists and resident architecture fellow. Our second interview is with Oona Grimes, our Bridget Riley Fellow.

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Photo by Antonio Palmieri

Tell us more about your introduction to Rome and the influence of
Italian cinema in your work?

I originally fell in love with Rome through cinema – a mis-spent youth watching too many Italian films, and I am now expanding the script through the below-ness & sideways-ness of the city guided by the amazing archaeologists and art historians here; the trips to Cinecitta, San Giovanni in Laterano, Trinità dei Monti & discovering Totò at the Museo di Roma in Trastevere.

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I loved the arrival at the BSR and enforced chucking out of familiar habits & materials. Initially I was drowning in a sea of visual treats, seeing Rome as if for the first time & felt like a veritable tartan sea sponge, a kid who has overdosed on candy floss.

I felt as if I had woken up in heaven – too many treats & vast amounts of exhilarating information, like a giant tramezzino & triple negroni circumnavigating my brain – completely intoxicated! Excited by the trips & tours, exploring new or overlooked places with the other award-holders, the talks & best of all the casual brilliance of conversations at mealtimes. The shared detail of the drape of a toga or Roman plumbing system, the flow of a fascist fountain, the philosophy of Olivetti……..

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No drizzling or gratings here just gorgeous dollops & generous sploshes of rich nourishing brain fodder!

You usually have several different projects on the go at once. What
have you been making while here in Rome?

Firstly deciding not to panic or enforce a premature response. Drawing, drawing always drawing. Filling notebooks in order to make sense of things. Fast drawings and slow drawings continually circumnavigating the left brain. So the smaller rapid fire ‘not a neorealist storyboard’ are coloured pencil fragments from mis-remembered films, and larger slower double-page spread stencil drawings: a potential giant storyboard, non-sequential sequence.

Fumetti grrrrls celebrate flatness of frescoes, blackness of analogue film & badly restored fake patches. A discourse between a Porta Portese tea towel and the handkerchief of Saint Veronica. Fragments of Etruscan porn dance with pixelated vespas & the maid from Teorema. A bit of flayed peeling and patching in a passata of Pasolini and Pucci. Fumetti grrrrls are invitations to a dinner party with i gemelli di Fellini, Totò and le sorelle Fontana.

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i gemelli di Fellini Oona Grimes. Spray paint, coloured pencil & collage on paper. 76x111cm

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the priest and the choir grrrrl Oona Grimes. Spray paint, coloured pencil & collage on paper 76x111cm

Your parallel project is also influenced by Italian film. Tell us more about how this project is developing…

I have been re-visiting certain scenes from neorealist films. Initially re-drawing or storyboarding them and trying to make sense of them by re-enacting in a series of wilfully amateurish iPhone rushes – the kind that usually deservedly end up on the cutting room floor or in the giant digital blackhole of tourist photo albums.

Looping slapstick-like fragments, stretching the commedia dell’arte element by repetition and abstraction, a Sisyphean rehearsal for a never to be released film. Owning the discourse through mis-remembering, imitation and low-tech re-enactment.

Which films/scenes have you been looking at…

Umberto D (1952, Vittorio De Sica), extracting the scene where he is reduced to begging in Piazza Rotonda. The mozzarella in carrozza eating scene in Ladri di Biciclette (1948, Vittorio De Sica) and a glass-bottomed bucket cut from Stromboli (Terra di Dio) (1950, Roberto Rossellini)

These are a sideways hop – maybe a hop into the bin or maybe over the Tiber………!

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Ladri di biciclette

Do you think that your practice/plans have changed since coming to
All the elements from my original proposal are still there and are shifting, but reconfigured in an entirely different order, and I am extremely glad to have six months here as I really have not even begun to make sense of anything – but am enjoying the non sense!

I’m seeing the Mostra as an opportunity to have these conversations outside of the studio and not just inside my head.

Oona’s work will be exhibited alongside the seven other resident artists in the March Mostra. The opening will take place on Friday 16 March 18.30-21.00. Opening hours 16.30-19.00 until Saturday 24 March 2018, closed Sundays.

Photos by Oona Grimes. Interview by Alice Marsh (Communications & Events)

March Mostra 2018 / Meet the artists…Gabriel Hartley

As we approach the March Mostra, our second exhibition of this academic year, we will be publishing a series of blogs taking a closer look at the individual practices of our seven resident artists and resident architecture fellow. The first to be interviewed is Gabriel Hartley, our Abbey Fellow in Painting.


Photo: Antonio Palmieri

It seems that you produce a lot of your images and paintings quickly. Could you tell us more about your process and how things unfold in your studio?

I have two different ways of making paintings. One for which I do a lot of drawings, sometimes from sight and sometimes from memory, and then these drawings are translated directly into the painting. These for example might be an architectural detail that I have seen or an object from a museum. I then translate these drawings and plan the painting.

The second approach is to find the image as I am making. I use an angle grinder to excavate the paint and reveal layers that have previously been covered. Through making I find what I am interested in and what I have been looking at, and then take these on board for the next painting.



Studio shot

There is an interesting interplay between abstraction and figuration within your paintings and sculptures. It usually seems that your surroundings influence the choices you make within your work.

For a while I’ve been responding to how one shapes oneself in response to a place or an environment. It’s been a challenge here in how to react to the classical architecture. How to deal with all the columns and arches. I’ve tried to be as open as possible to all that I’ve been looking at, perhaps more than I am normally, and have used painting as a way of processing all the visual overload that Rome has thrown at me. Looking around the studio there are things I can name and place as responses to specific things , be it the Vespas,  a Bernini alterpiece, artefacts from Etruscan Museums, the elegant tall pines , or graffiti of ships from Pompeii.

I picked up this book of Pompeiian graffiti from the BSR library and just really love the translations of the graffiti into drawings.


You have worked with a broad variety of materials, including resin, foam, and glass. Do you plan on working with new materials during your residency here?

In terms of working with new materials, my plan was to make sculptures with resin, which I’m gearing myself up to at the moment. There has been a slight change in process in some of the paintings  where I have been working on wood panels and carving out the forms of the paintings with a grinder. Since being here I have been drawn to the quality of the paint being part of the material in the frescoes. I’m not sure how that will manifest itself, or if it has,  but it will creep in somewhere I’m sure.


Close-up showing excavation technique

Do you think the experience of working in Rome will affect your work in any specific way?

I was particularly struck by the visit to the excavations under San Giovanni in Laterano with Ian Haynes (Newcastle).


Excavations under San Giovanni in Laterano

I am really drawn to the idea of different histories sitting on top of and alongside each other, how they interrelate and you discover things you didn’t expect.  I was struck by this on the tour as I realised that there was this labyrinth underneath the basilica and I had to work out how all these different layers fitted together. To understand the different timelines, you have to be really imaginative. This feeling is what I want to convey with my paintings, I want the viewer to have to be constantly active, to be re-focusing and looking and thinking in different ways to try to piece together the painting.

Gabriel’s work will be exhibited alongside the seven other resident artists in the March Mostra. The opening will take place on Friday 16 March 18.30-21.00. Opening hours 16.30-19.00 until Saturday 24 March 2018, closed Sundays.

Interview and photos by Alice Marsh (Communications & Events)

A look back at the December Mostra 2017

Last December the BSR saw the first mostra of our 2017–18 programme, in which our seven Fine Arts award-holders and resident architect put together an exhibition of works produced during the course of their residencies. Here we bring you a selection of photographs of works from the exhibition. You can read more about the practice of each artist by clicking on their name.

The exhibition was made possible with funding from Robin Hambro, with additional support from the Arts Council of Wales, the Augusta Charitable Trust, the Derek Hill Foundation, the Giles Worsley Fund (in collaboration with the RIBA), the Incorporated Edwin Austin Abbey Memorial Scholarships, the Linbury Trust and the Nicholas Berwin Charitable Trust.


Josephine Baker-Heaslip (Sainsbury Scholar in Painting & Sculpture)

Chances, mixed media, dimensions variable; Mediterranean landscape, charcoal, chalk and pencil on paper, 70x100cm; The gift, charcoal, chalk and pencil on paper, 90x70cm; Question, chalk on tiles, 218x180cm


Stephen Cooper (Abbey Fellow in Painting)


Robway, mixed media, dimensions variable (photos: Stephen Cooper)


James Epps (Augusta Scholar)

Head over heels, paper tablecloths and wallpaper paste, dimensions variable


Emily Motto (Derek Hill Foundation Scholar)


Towers for Skies, cardboard, cement, wood, string, acrylic, steel, paper, tape, dimensions variable (photos: Emily Motto)


Patrick O’Keeffe (Giles Worsley Rome Fellow)

Eye-tracking goggles and recordings, HD Video; Loek-Historian-26 seconds, inkjet prints, 40x19cm (2 prints); Loek-Historian-26 seconds, 3D print and silver leaf, 65x12x18cm



John Robertson (Abbey Scholar in Painting)

St Bartholomew, acrylic on paper on canvas, 200x120cm; Buccone, acrylic on paper on canvas, 59.4x42cm; Swift, acrylic on paper on canvas and wall, 32x60cm


Jennifer Taylor (Creative Wales–BSR Fellow)

Lupercalia, photographs from live performance (photos: Micheal Snelling)


Dominic Watson (Rome Fellow in Contemporary Art)

Posso! Pronto! Prego!, HD video, stills from video; installation view (photo: Michael Snelling)


Photos by Roberto Apa unless otherwise indicated.


The many faces of Ashby

The first time I came across Thomas Ashby – first student of the BSR and director from 1906 to 1925 – was nearly 20 years ago. I was a young archivist with little knowledge and experience of photographic collections and the power of their imagery.


The young Ashby in 1901-3 with his peculiar excursion uniform in a photo taken by George Joseph Pfeiffer at Carsioli. Courtesy of the BSR Photographic Archive.

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A portrait of a young Ashby. Courtesy of the BSR Photographic Archive.

Even after such a long time, I cannot claim to know everything about this fascinating personality. Many aspects of his public and private life are still to be unveiled through his incredible anthology of images, taken since he was a young student. His life can be read chronologically across over 8,000 photographs from eighteen albums, accompanied by just as many negatives, the whole set stored in the BSR Photographic Archive and cherished by all the Library and Archive staff.

Ashby was a man who travelled extensively and was driven by his curiosity. Not only was he one of the finest topographers of all time but also an avid bibliophile – his collection of rare books is one of the jewels of the BSR crown – and anthropologist, showing much interest in Italian festivals and everyday life.

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On the way to Cavamonte along the ancient Roman road Via Prenestina. Ashby is the one walking. Courtesy of the BSR Photographic Archive.

At the end of 2017, three events took place showcasing Ashby’s wide-ranging interests, all of which are connected by his passion for photography:

Ashby the archaeologist and topographer, visited Segni in three distinct trips (1895, 1898 and 1912), and it is these trips that prompted the publication of a catalogue on the use of the camera oscura and photography. The presentation of the catalogue Dalla camera oscura alla prima fotografia. Architetti e archeologi a Segni da Dodwell a Ashby e Mackey, launched on the occasion of the photographic exhibition held in Segni at the beginning of October, was followed by a conference at the Archaeological German Institute on the 21 October.

Ashby the anthropologist’s account of a procession taking place in the Abbey of San Giovanni in Argentella in June 1921 (Palombara Sabina), drew the attention of a local cultural association based in Palombara Sabina. A two-day conference on the historic and architectural importance of this ecclesiastical building was organised and the second day of the conference was hosted in the outstanding setting of the Abbey.



Some photographs from the Thomas Ashby and Bulwer collectinos on display in the Abbey of San Giovanni in Argentella (Palombara Sabina). Courtesy of Alessandra Giovenco.

Ashby the driver of the First Ambulance Unit on the Italian front (1915-18) – generously donated to the Italian government by the British Red Cross – led to an exhibition supported by the British Embassy in 2015 and, last November, to a beautiful publication with a selection of images of depicting the suffering and destruction of WWI. A copy of this publication was donated to every family of the small community of San Giovanni al Natisone that backed the initiative.


There are many more stories in this marvellous photographic collection still waiting for a dialogue to begin. Inspiring and inspired, Ashby will never fail to amaze me!


Alessandra Giovenco (BSR Archivist)


Please get in touch with Alessandra if you are interested in consulting our Photographic Archive.

Walking Rome: views from the streets and the sky

Recent site-visits and lectures at the BSR, which have converged on the theme of walking, are generating ways of thinking about movement through the city.

The 3 and 19 trams pass by the BSR so rarely that they warrant inclusion on the WWF Endangered Species list. Waddling irritably away from the tram-stop, now late for the morning presa at the archives, it takes some fortitude to see the amble ahead as an act of intellectual, and even spiritual, refreshment.

In Rome, however, this is doable, since walking has traditionally often been a religious exercise. Before Christmas, BSR award-holders traced the most celebrated pilgrimage route, the Seven Pilgrim Churches of Rome’s great martyrs, in the company of Piers Baker-Bates, who discussed sacred art and architecture, and Emily Michelson, who spoke about the origins and importance of the giro as a counterpoint to the raucous misdeeds of the Carnival. Our group paused near the Cave di Fosse Ardeantine for a disquisition on the ongoing significance of martyrdom, looked in at the Chiesa del Domine Quo Vadis, and stopped in the grounds of the Villa Mattei for sandwiches and (partially) sacred discourse.


Domine Quo Vadis? A replica of the stone said to be marked with the footprints of Christ on a mock road traversing the church, and which rises into the painting of St Peter

It was Sixtus V who envisaged, and nearly completed, the street system linking these seven pilgrimage basilicas. Ambitious urbanism inevitably entails great destruction, but the man who razed the wondrous Septizodium to the ground would scarcely have winced as he laid out his master-plan for Rome, whose streets when seen from above crudely create the form of a star. It was a star that lit the way for the genesis of modern town planning, thought to have influenced Le Notre’s Versailles, Haussmann’s Paris, L’Enfant’s Washington and the Rome of Mussolini (who reputedly kept a copy of Bordini’s Roma di Sisto V next to his bed).

During the Renaissance, there was an impulse to control and rectify movement, from throwing regularizing façade-cloaks over wonky palaces; to Vasari’s ripping out rood screens from Florentine basilicas, to Leonardo’s quixotic scheme to straighten the river Arno. At the same time, the city was increasingly perceived as something viewed from above, spurred on by developments in the fields of cartography, surveying and navigation. Architects from Francesco di Giorgio to Michelangelo conjured with the radial or star-shaped ideal city, which spoke of absolutist power and sketched geometries echoing the celestial city.

But there is a vast gulf between the paradigmatic symbolism of the utopian city as conceived from above, and the pragmatic realties of walking the city on the ground.

This was one of many themes that Stephen Milner touched on in his inaugural lecture. He contrasted the totalizing bird’s eye view of Florence in a Medieval catasto with the fundamentally participatory reality of navigating the city on foot. Walking never offers the controlled perspective of the map, since there is always one point of entry to the street or the piazza, and there is always room for the imaginative turn off the routinized pathway. In walking, as in creative research, curiosity (and over-crowded routes) drive us down roads one would not necessarily go down.

Two other lecturers approached their subject from the perspective of movement through the city. Simon Ditchfield’s magisterial lecture linked the migration of the papal centre from the Borgo across the Tiber to the Quirinal, to the creation of a new curial geography and ceremonial dynamic in Rome. As the Pope and his retinue newly criss-crossed the city between these two poles, they developed new itineraries and generated significant new routeways across the capital.

Emily Michelson mapped routes walked by Jews on the way to forced conversionary sermons in 16th-century Rome. She demonstrated how Jews were marshalled past monuments embodying the starkest differences and antagonism between Christianity and Judaism. The Monte di Pietà, the loan organisation deliberately established to undermine Jewish banks and lending institutions, hulked over them en route, and they were led past triumphalist Catholic monuments celebrating miracles and charismatic saints. By considering the subject from the novel perspective of walking, Emily has opened up a deeper and more visceral understand of the conversionary experience.



Lupin joins pilgrimage group, seeking indulgence after stealing Fragolina’s food

We have also been thinking about the great roads of antiquity, with Janet Wade conducting a research project entitled Walking the Via Flaminia: following in the footsteps of Thomas Ashby and his companions, and Nick Hodgson leading a band of the most stout-hearted award-holders along the Via Appia all the way to Castel Gandolfo.


Tom True (Assistant Director)




Performing national sacrifice: remembering the Nasiriyah Massacre

In November 2017 Amy King, this year’s Pilkington Rome Awardee (funded by the Roger and Ingrid Pilkington Charitable Trust), attended the official commemoration for Italians who died in peace missions. Held at the Basilica di Santa Maria in Aracoeli in the heart of Rome, the ceremony combined national and religious rituals. Here she reflects on her findings.

On 18 November 2003, 50,000 Italians attended the funeral of the nineteen Italians killed in Nasiriyah, Iraq. Six days earlier, on 12 November, a suicide attack on the Italian military police headquarters in Nasiriyah, south of Baghdad, had caused Italy’s largest loss of life since World War II. Three days of national mourning ensued, and the caskets of Italy’s fallen soldiers, who had been in Iraq on a peace mission, lay in state in the Altare della Patria – the symbolic heart of Italy’s capital.

The following day, a number of newspapers printed the headline ‘The Massacre of Italians’[1] – indeed the tragedy would come to be known as the Nasiriyah Massacre – while others declared ‘Italy Struck at its Heart’,[2]  or simply ‘Our Martyrs.’[3]  Many publications carried the same image of a soldier standing in front of the burnt out remains of the headquarters, his head in his hands.

Figure 1: Many newspapers printed this image in the aftermath of the tragedy 

Many newspapers printed this image in the aftermath of the tragedy[4]

The state funeral was held in the Basilica Papale di San Paolo fuori le Mura and broadcast on national television; an estimated 50,000 Italians waited outside the basilica, and watched the funeral on large screens. The ceremony blended many of the markers of national, military and religious identity; the Tricolore flag was draped over each casket with a gun placed on top, the military salute was performed, and the presiding clergy contributed to the overarching religious ritual and iconography. Once the ceremony was over, the caskets were loaded into hearses as members of the carabinieri, the army, navy, air force and the president’s own horse-mounted honour guard stood to attention.

During my time in the city, I interviewed Virgilio Spano, president of an association of retired carabinieri, about his memories of the Nasiriyah funeral. ‘In some way, you felt Italian that day… Italian and that’s it,’ he said, emphasizing the dissolution of political divisions in the face of such national sacrifice. It was a question of ‘patria, rather than country,’ he added. ‘Country is a geographic term. Patria is the place that you feel. Patria is… is… it’s everything. [5]


Institutional mourning

Figure 2: The commemoration ceremony began on the Vittoriano steps
The commemoration ceremony began on the Vittoriano steps
Figure 3: The wreath on the Vittoriano

The wreath on the Vittoriano

The institutional support for commemoration continued on the various anniversaries of the tragedy, and in 2009 the 12 November was declared la Giornata del ricordo dei Caduti militari e civili nelle missioni internazionali. I attended the official commemoration ceremony at the Vittoriano monument and then the Basilica di Santa Maria in Aracoeli on the 12 November 2017 (on the day that an official plaque to the Nasiriyah victims was unveiled in the Italian Senate). Roberta Pinotti, the minster for defence, and Generale Graziano, head of the Italian army, attended the event alongside relatives of fallen soldiers and Italian civilians. The ceremony began at the Vittoriano; soldiers lined the steps leading to a wreath, and commemorative speeches were given.

Attendees then moved to the nearby Aracoeli Basilica for the religious ceremony. Uniformed forces filled the back half of the church, while relatives of the victims and the general public sat towards the front. Many uniformed attendees wore medals and rosettes, and military officers handed out the order of service. A military brass band opened the ceremony with the Last Post, and the cardinal entered the church, followed by three military figures in ceremonial dress, priests, and two carabinieri.

Figure 4: Inside the Aracoeli Basilica during the service

Inside the Aracoeli Basilica during the service

Military and religious figures spoke to the congregation. The Cardinal Priest focused his address on the eternal life after sacrifice, and the hope that is born from sacrifice. Later in the ceremony, minister Pinotti gave an address directly to the relatives of the victims, who she had accompanied in times of deep pain but also of pride – pride in their relatives’ sacrifice, which is an ‘important part of the respectability Italy has deserved’ on an international stage. She closed her address with a declaration: ‘a life dedicated to others is a life that never ends.’

As in the funeral held in 2003, this ceremony enacted the notion of death at war as the ultimate sacrifice – a classic paradigm of secular martyrdom that has reinforced the Italian national narrative as far back as the Risorgimento. Through the conflation of religious and military ritual, and the blending of national and religious iconography, sacrifice in the name of the patria (and the subsequent eternal life) is performed in the heart of Rome.

Figure 5: A uniformed figure leaves the basilica

A uniformed figure leaves the basilica


Text and images by Amy King (University of Bristol/Bath), BSR Pilkington Rome Awardee (funded by the Roger and Ingrid Pilkington Charitable Trust)



[1]‘La Strage degli Italiani’, Il Giornale, 13 November 2003, p. 1, Biblioteca di Storia moderna e contemporanea; ‘La Strage degli Italiani’, La Stampa, 13 November 2003, p. 1, Biblioteca di Storia moderna e contemporanea; ‘La Strage degli Italiani’, La Repubblica, 13 November 2003, p. 1, Biblioteca di Storia moderna e contemporanea.
[2]‘L’Italia colpita al cuore’, Il Messaggero, 13 November 2003, p. 1.
[3]‘I Nostri Martiri’, Il Tempo, 13 November 2003, p. 1, Biblioteca di Storia moderna e contemporanea.
[4]‘La Strage degli Italiani’.
[5] Virgilio Spano, Interview by Amy King with Virgilio Spano, Presidente Associazione CCC Martiri di Nassiriya, 2017.