Resembling a scene plucked from the depths of a horror film, the Ospedale Psichiatrico di Volterra stands as a haunting testament to the dark history of mental health care. This decaying relic of a mental institution was closed down due to the appalling mistreatment of its patients. Among the eerie remnants left behind, one mysterious creation of monumental proportions is etched into the plaster of its enclosing walls.
Perched atop a hill amidst a wooded landscape near the heart of Volterra, the buildings that once housed the psychiatric hospital now serve as silent witnesses to a bygone era. Approaching along what was once the asylum’s private street, visitors are met with the sight of the most recently erected structure among the four. However, it’s a heartbreaking sight, marred by extensive damage inflicted by vandals—the windows are shattered, and the exterior walls are now canvases for spray-painted graffiti. Inside, time seems to have frozen since 1978, the year the hospital was abandoned. Among the relics are wheelchairs, an old telephone booth, and sun beds, all haunting reminders of the lives once lived within these walls.
Volterra Back Then
Between 1902 and 1909, a surge in patient numbers prompted the construction of additional pavilions—Verga, Charcot, and Ferri—to accommodate the growing population. However, in 1934, Luigi Scabia retired, and shortly after, he passed away. He made the decision to be laid to rest in the institution’s cemetery, alongside the unclaimed bodies of patients who had no family.
By the 1950s and ’60s, the hospital had expanded to become one of Italy’s largest asylums, boasting over 100,000 cubic meters of space. However, a significant transformation in Italy’s mental health care landscape occurred with the introduction of Law 180 in 1978, also known as the Basaglia Law after its proponent, psychiatrist Franco Basaglia. This groundbreaking legislation mandated the closure of all mental hospitals and the regulation of compulsory medical treatments, marking a pivotal moment in the evolution of Italy’s public mental health system.
Before the Basaglia Law brought an end to the era of asylums, a visit to Volterra often meant confinement in the Ferri pavilion, the psychiatric hospital’s judicial section. This pavilion was overcrowded, with a staggering 6,000 patients housed concurrently, leading to dire conditions such as a stark ratio of 20 sinks and two toilets for every 200 patients. Patients could find themselves confined in Ferri for reasons ranging from depression or schizophrenia to allegations of political or moral misconduct.
Experiments
In this harsh environment, treatments like electroshock therapy and inducing comas with insulin were routine. Patients were subjected to experiments with various medications and toxins, often with little concern for the potential long-term effects. Sedation, isolation, and even submersion in ice-filled tanks were common practices. The rooms resembled prisons, with barred windows, and the staff, known as “guards” or “superiors,” strictly adhered to regulations that prevented any communication between patients and their families. Nurses were prohibited from sharing news, sending letters, or conveying any form of communication, effectively isolating patients from the outside world.
Volterra Today
Today, the physical structure of the former asylum is gradually giving in to the unyielding forces of nature. Yet, since its closure, the hospital has garnered attention for the remarkable graffiti created by Fernando Oreste Nannetti, also known as NOF4, NOF, or Nanof, as he preferred to be called. Using the buckle of his vest, a component of the uniform worn by the asylum’s inmates, he painstakingly carved 180 meters of an outer wall. Over the course of his extended hospitalization, Nannetti transformed the wall into an encyclopedia of emotions, biographies, and the crimes both witnessed and endured.
With words, poems, drawings, and a myriad of symbols, Nannetti etched his story onto the yellow plaster. His creations depicted airwaves, formulas, metals, stars, names, symbols, and cities, forming a rich tapestry of expression. Whether it was morning or afternoon, under the sun or in the rain, during winter or summer, Nannetti tirelessly worked on his masterpiece. Despite the presence of catatonic patients seated on the bench in front of the wall and the watchful eyes of the nurses, he transcended the confines of his surroundings, weaving his words and images through space and time.
The courtyard of the hospital served as the only space where patients could breathe in the sky and feel the fresh air on their faces during their daily walks. While some engaged in card games, conversations, or smoked leftover cigarette butts, Fernando Oreste Nannetti stood apart, choosing solitude as he poured his creativity onto the walls.
Nennati’s Journey In Volterra
Nannetti’s journey is captured in his medical records, which began in Volterra on September 2nd, 1958. Initially described as “polished and well-oriented” but prone to excessive talk and dullness, his records revealed delusions of self-harm and grandiose notions. This documentation acted as a sort of twisted identity card that followed him throughout his life. However, Nannetti soon transformed the buckle of his waistcoat into an improvised pen, and the outer walls of the Ferri pavilion became his canvas. It marked the beginning of a continuous process of writing, turning the walls into a medium for his dialogue with the world.
Aldo Trafeli, a nurse in Volterra who was familiar with Nannetti, observed that it seemed as though Nannetti was crafting a book with his murals. Renaming himself NOF4, Nannetti took on the persona of the “astronautic colonel of astral mining,” tirelessly expanding the murals that served as his unique means of communication with the world.
Despite never receiving visits from relatives during his time in Volterra, Nannetti wrote numerous letters to them. In one such letter dated Easter 1965, he wrote, “Dear cousin, I’m sending you this postcard so you can hear from me. As for my health: I feel fine, except they’re trying to narcotize me… Hopefully, I’ll be leaving soon so I can come and visit you.”
Nanneti’s Work
After spending two years in the Ferri judicial section, Nannetti was transferred to the Charcot pavilion within the hospital’s civil division. Evaluating doctors characterized him as schizophrenic, eccentric, foolish, erratic, experiencing auditory hallucinations, leading a solitary existence due to suspicion and eccentricity, and harboring delusions of influence. Throughout these years, Nannetti remained relentlessly active, tirelessly scratching his graffiti onto the asylum walls, referring to himself at one point as the “holy Nanettaicus Meccanicus of the photocell.” Aldo Trafeli observed, “He kept to himself, avoiding interaction. His mind was consumed by his graffiti; he couldn’t cease his work—it was his sole focus.”
Nannetti’s graffiti has been recognized by the Collection de l’Art Brut Lausanne as an example of art brut, suggesting that his writing mirrors Etruscan inscriptions and unveils a uniquely imaginative world of his own creation.
Twenty years after Nannetti’s passing, his work was posthumously awarded Civic Merit by the City of Volterra—an honor rarely bestowed upon former inmates of the mental hospital. This recognition signifies a significant tribute, ensuring that Nannetti’s legacy endures in the annals of history.
On March 21st, 1968, Nannetti ventured outside the asylum for the first time, joining fellow patients for a brief excursion to San Lazzaro. There, they had the opportunity to enjoy a park outing or purchase coffee, experiencing a taste of freedom.
In 1973, Nannetti was transferred to the Bianchi Institution in Volterra before being relocated to another hospital, where he remained until his passing in 1994.
Recognition
Nannetti’s compelling story and the history of the hospital have served as inspiration for numerous artistic endeavors. The Collection de l’Art Brut Lausanne curated an exhibition and published a book dedicated to Nannetti’s work. Additionally, the Swiss Institute of Rome organized an art project titled “Diversi Muri: Un Omaggio a NOF4 (Oreste Fernando Nannetti),” paying homage to his legacy. Renowned contemporary singer Simone Cristicchi composed the song “Ti regalerò una rosa,” which features lyrics imagining a letter penned by a man confined to a mental hospital since childhood, inspired by Nannetti’s experience. Furthermore, filmmakers Andrea Baldini and Paolo Rosa created short and feature-length films, respectively, exploring aspects of Nannetti’s life and artistic expression.
As of July 2020, the hospital is restricted and not accessible to the general public.