Between Classical and Norse: Fascist Aesthetics and the Creation of a Mythical Past

In my master’s project, I explore what some of the visual aspects of works by the Norwegian professor and sculptor Wilhelm Rasmussen (1879–1965) can tell about his ideology before he joined the Norwegian Fascist party Nasjonal Samling, and whether his travels to Italy may have influenced how he viewed classicism and how he used it in his art.

Fascism and the Aestheticization of Politics

In 1939, Walter Benjamin wrote about the aestheticisation of politics, which he saw as a key ingredient in Fascist regimes. This was a concept that, in many ways, was put to practice under Benito Mussolini’s regime in Italy (1922–1943). Mussolini was acutely aware of the power of visual means and created fertile ground for avant garde movements such as Futurism. Through art and public monuments, he cultivated an all encompassing visual presence in society. In this way, ordinary Italians were introduced to, and gradually made more receptive to, Fascist ideology.

The Norwegian Fascist party Nasjonal Samling, which came to power after the German occupation of Norway in 1940, was inspired by the Italian corporatist reordering of society and used traditional forms of propaganda such as posters, brochures, and banners. Systematic measures were also introduced to reorganise the art and cultural sphere. These were intended to determine which art was acceptable and which was to be excluded, especially from institutions such as the National Gallery. Kulturtinget, a central body in this reorganisation, consisted of key figures in the Norwegian art world, among them Wilhelm Rasmussen.

Rasmussen’s Classical Training and Encounters with Italy

Wilhelm Rasmussen was an important figure in Norwegian cultural life and, like many of his contemporaries, had a classical training in drawing and sculpture. During his education, he travelled to Paris and studied at the Académie Colarossi under Christian Krohg. Later, in 1906, he travelled to Italy, which he described as his dreamland. This journey must have been highly significant for Rasmussen. There, he was able to see works by Donatello, Michelangelo, Titian and Verrocchio in person. In an interview in the book Mannen bak søylen (The Man Behind the Column, 1979), he talks about how important these artists were as role models for him.

In 1922 or 1923, Rasmussen returned to Italy and in 1923 wrote a letter to the newspaper Aftenposten. In the letter, he writes mainly about how wonderful it is to be back in Florence and to feel the Italian summer air, but also about how everyone around him is talking about Italy’s new leader, Benito Mussolini. He writes: “And in these surroundings, against this background of the country’s proud and ancient history, I dimly perceive its origin and significance – I feel it as a natural harmony between past and present. And I think: It is the active blood of world conquering Romans and warlike Florentines, which a world war and a civil war have awakened to life again” (Rasmussen, “Noten”). What he sees is a nation with a great past that has managed to preserve, or revive, this greatness in his own time.

In 1926 work began on Rasmussen’s most important work, Fra Hafrsfjord til Eidsvoll (From Hafrsfjord to Eidsvoll, 1926–1992). The work, which was inspired by an ancient triumphal column, was never erected in its intended location in front of the Norwegian parliament building, precisely because of Rasmussen’s links to the Norwegian Fascist party. After the war, some critics pointed out the visual similarities between Fascist art in Germany and Italy and Rasmussen’s column.

The Triumphal Column and Arch: National History in Classical Form

Like many artists of his time, Rasmussen was deeply engaged with Classicism, which appears repeatedly in his work, often combined with elements from other styles and periods. In my master’s project, I examine four works by Rasmussen and look at how classicism, or elements of the classical aesthetic tradition, are used in these works.

The first work, Fra Hafrsfjord til Eidsvoll (1926–1992), resembles a triumphal or Jupiter column from antiquity. Unlike, for example, Trajan’s Column, Rasmussen’s column does not have a continuous frieze of reliefs. Instead, separate rings of reliefs are stacked on top of one another, more akin to a Jupiter column. The reliefs depict important events in Norwegian history.

The second work I study is a triumphal arch intended for Egertorget in Oslo. The arch was a collaborative project between Rasmussen and the architect Ragnar Nilsen. Its formal language is relatively modern, with little ornamentation and clean, straight lines. Here one can almost associate it with the Italian architectural style razionalismo. The ornamentation otherwise consists of a sculpted frieze running around the arch. The relief along the frieze shows Viking ships and Norwegian explorers encountering new peoples. On four sides of the arch stand sculptures of Norwegian explorers: Erik the Red, Leif Erikson, Fridtjof Nansen, and Roald Amundsen. Both of these works were planned before the Second World War, but only the column was begun, and it was not completed until the 1990s.

Commissions under the NS Regime: The Quisling Bust and the Stiklestad Monument

In 1933, Rasmussen joined Nasjonal Samling and, after the party came to power under the occupation of Norway, he received commissions to produce artworks for the regime. In 1942, he made a marble bust of the leader of Nasjonal Samling, Vidkun Quisling. The classical connotations here are, of course, obvious, both in material and in presentation. The final work I examine, created in 1944, is the NS monument at Stiklestad.

This monument had two functions. First, it aimed to create a historical link between the cultural heritage of Stiklestad and the National Socialist movement. This strategy recurs in many Fascist movements: the attempt to evoke a bygone golden age that once shaped the nation, just as Mussolini sought to do in Italy. Second, the monument was designed as a speaker’s platform for gatherings at the site. In front of the rostrum there was a relief of St Olav, the royal saint who was killed at Stiklestad in 1030. Behind the speaker stood a monolith or obelisk bearing the sun cross (the symbol of Nasjonal Samling) and a quotation from a poem.

In my view, these elements were natural for Rasmussen to employ, because they could help to reinforce the idea of a mythical greatness. We know that the Roman Empire was a powerful imperial state, and by adopting the same visual language as this empire, one could further emphasise the greatness of one’s own nation. Disturbingly, we still live in a world where powerful people use this visual language to advance extreme anti‑democratic ideas. Looking back at how it has been used in the past may help us to recognise what might otherwise take place relatively discreetly in culture and in society more broadly, at the level of ideology.

My Stay at the Norwegian Institute in Rome

My stay at the Institute was extremely valuable and exciting. Having the opportunity to immerse myself in classical art, as Rasmussen himself once did, to talk through my project, and to receive feedback from scholars from different disciplines, backgrounds, and areas of expertise was incredibly important. It helped me look for traces I might not otherwise have noticed and gave me new perspectives that helped shape the direction of my thesis.