The friendship between Giuseppe Ungaretti (Alexandria, Egypt, 1888 - Milan, 1970) and Pericle Fazzini (Grottammare, 1913 - Rome, 1987) lasted over thirty years, only interrupted by the death of the writer. The two met in Rome in the first half of the 1930s, when the young artist had already gained recognition as one of the most original sculptors working in the capital. The celebrated poet, twenty-five years his senior, immediately expressed goodwill and esteem towards him, first helping him navigate the Roman art scene, then agreeing to pose for a portrait that would hold a significant place in the history of modern Italian sculpture: the “Portrait of Ungaretti” (1936), a wooden work that is now housed in the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna in Rome.
Later, using his own means, Ungaretti in turn dedicated a portrait to the sculptor, writing an “Introduction” (1951) for the catalogue of Fazzini’s first solo exhibition. It is here that we find the well-known description of Fazzini as a “sculptor of the wind,” coined by Ungaretti to emphasize one of the most distinctive aspects of the artist’s poetics; a tangible sign of a multifaceted relationship, on various levels, perhaps not yet adequately highlighted by critics.
Another significant signal of the intensity of this relationship is the existence of direct comparisons, of physical proximity, between Ungaretti’s poetry and Fazzini’s art – exemplary testimonies of the intersection between the written and the visual that represents one of the most fruitful aspects of 20th-century Italian culture. These are three booklets published respectively in 1945, 1965, and 1967, each containing poems by Ungaretti alongside engravings by Fazzini. The last of these, a bilingual edition in German and Italian published in Frankfurt titled “Notizen des Alten. Il taccuino del vecchio” (The Old-man’s Notebook), includes the lithograph with which Fazzini portrayed the poet for the last time.
This is the work we are discussing. It portrays Ungaretti seated, depicted as in the youthful sculpture with his eyes closed, in a Homeric manner. Just as in the wooden sculpture from 1936, the focus of the scene is Ungaretti’s face and hands. However, in this instance, the elderly poet clings firmly to a cane, projecting an image of senile physical frailty that seems nonetheless upheld by an unchanged inner strength.