Fournier - Nº 25 "Baraja Nacional"

7/28/2026

Fournier - Nº 25 "Baraja Nacional"

It should come as no surprise that the origins of today's deck might raise a few eyebrows: they lie in a turbulent historical era, and even the context of its conception could be considered controversial. However, the artistic value of its designs is undeniable, and I would even venture to say that nothing quite like it has been seen since.

The piece in question is Heraclio Fournier’s Baraja Nacional (National Deck). Several editions have been released over time, with variations in both design and nomenclature; the copy shown here is likely the last iteration, manufactured in 1970 under reference Nº 25.

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Sometime between 1936 and 1939—most likely in the later stages of the Spanish Civil War—Félix Alfaro Fournier tasked artist Luis Alemany with designing a deck to represent the values of an "eternal and traditional" Spain, intended to spread the nationalist ideology of the winning side. Whether this was Fournier’s own idea or a suggestion coming from the Burgos Government is a matter of conjecture.

The art direction strays from the conventions of established Spanish patterns. Alemany deliberately set traditional models aside in pursuit of a personal, avant-garde approach, drawing inspiration from prominent movements of the era such as Italian Futurism, German Bauhaus, or even Cubism, though without strictly adhering to any single one.

Actually, the nationalist iconography is remarkably restrained throughout the set. Instead, it is Alemany's unique artistic execution that catches the eye, and while minor changes occurred across editions, the overall aesthetic remained largely faithful to his initial vision. In fact, much of the political imagery might easily be overlooked without knowing the historical backdrop behind the deck's creation. We can cite, for instance, the heavily stylized Eagle of Saint John (Águila de San Juan) on the Ace of Coins and the 4 of Swords, or the military coats of arms found throughout the suits, most notably on the coins.

The Baraja Nacional enjoyed widespread popularity and broad public acceptance, as it was published in standard Spanish-suited editions, Spanish poker versions, and even a giant format, alongside varying card counts and a wide array of backs. Throughout these printings, several catalogue reference numbers were assigned, while consistently retaining the "Nacional" name.

To conclude, a few words are in order regarding the mind behind the artwork: Luis Alemany (1886–1943). Born in Vitoria, this architect and draftsman was defined by a bohemian spirit that shaped both his formal training and his social circle, placing him in the company of such personalities as Valle-Inclán, Ignacio Zuloaga, and Maurice Ravel. His true mastery, however, lay in his versatility as an illustrator. He contributed to cutting-edge avant-garde publications, developing a style that effortlessly straddled realism, surrealism, and graphic humor. This eclectic mix explains the groundbreaking character of the Baraja Nacional—which, despite being a politically charged commission, ultimately absorbed bold, innovative ideas that endowed it with a timeless quality.

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As an epilogue, it's worth noting that the Baraja Nacional was discontinued in the 1970s. My copy, features the 1964–1979 tax stamp on the 5 of Swords and the inscription "Año de 1970" (Year 1970) on the 2 of Coins. It is purely speculative on my part, but Fournier may well have been seeking a clean slate ahead of the political transition that was looming at the time.

It seems unfortunate that such a deck has faded into oblivion, especially since its artistic merit once enabled it to compete with Fournier’s iconic Nº 1. Considering that they modified the original artwork in the past, it would hardly be unreasonable to envision a reissue—one that, by refining elements that might be deemed political in nature, could rescue a first-rate work of art. In fact, the relative obscurity surrounding this deck today, stemming from a fading collective memory, is precisely what would allow us to rediscover it now from a purely aesthetic and documentary perspective, even as I recognize the impossibility of entirely separating art from its historical context.