Salvador Dali, thanks to his all-consuming talent, could turn everything he touched into a “museum exhibit,” into a masterpiece, a legacy for future generations. Be it a photograph or a painting, a book or an advertisement - he managed to do everything on top level. He is a genius who was cramped in his country, his works were ahead of their time and thanks to this the artist became “great” during his lifetime. Today we, as you may have guessed, will talk about the well-known representative surrealism - Salvador Dali and about his best, most famous paintings.
“... I decided and began to comprehend space-time by contemplating levitation, which destroys entropy” - the words of the artist, spoken as a description of his painting depicting the process of loss of form. It was written in 1956. Currently located in the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg.
“Landscape near Figueres” is one of the most early works artist, which he painted at the age of 6 on a postcard in 1910. This shining example, illustrating Dali's impressionistic period. It is currently stored in private collection Albert Field in New York.
"The Invisible Man" or "The Invisible Man" is a painting painted by Salvador Dali between 1929 and 1933. Kept in the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. This is a work in progress experimental work, in which Dali practiced double images. On it, the artist very elegantly depicted the hidden meanings and contours of objects.
“The Appearance of a Face and a Bowl of Fruit on the Seashore” is another surreal painting that demonstrates metamorphoses, hidden meanings and contours of objects. The semblance of a bowl of fruit on the table and the landscape form the folded figure of a dog and the face of a man. This work was written in 1938. Now located in the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum in Hartford, Connecticut, USA.
In 1943, during the Second World War, Dali painted a picture about the birth of a new man. We see how a person tries to hatch from an egg, which symbolizes the birth of a new force, and is also a symbol of the universe.
This work was painted in 1940, at the beginning of World War II in California, USA, where the artist lived for 8 years. Through his work he condemns the horrors of war and the suffering of the people facing it. The painting is located in the Boijmans-van Beuningen Museum in Rotterdam, the Netherlands.
“Dream caused by the flight of a bee around a pomegranate, a second before awakening” is one of the few paintings painted by Dali in 1944. This is an example of Freud's influence on surrealist art, as well as the artist's attempt to explore the world of dreams. Located in the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum in Madrid.
The painting was painted in 1954. This is an unconventional, surreal image of Jesus Christ crucified on a tesseract - a hypercube. The woman below is Gala, the wife of Salvador Dali. The artist seems to be hinting that Christ is being crucified by the coldness of this world and callousness. The painting is in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
Undoubtedly, this is one of the best and most famous paintings by Salvador Dali. It was written in 1931. It has three names - “Memory Persistence”, “Memory Persistence” and “Soft Clock”. It’s interesting that the idea of its creation was inspired by the artist’s view of processed Camembert cheese. It depicts a person's experience of time and memory, which is enlivened by the region of the unconscious, in the form of flowing hours.
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“My name is Salvador - the Savior - as a sign that in times of threatening technology and the prosperity of mediocrity that we are privileged to endure, I am called to save art from emptiness.”
Catalonia, spring 1970
The morning sun filled the poor little room, and in the bright, cheerful light the miserable surroundings seemed even more wretched and pitiful. The dusty, dilapidated chest of drawers seemed to wilt under the well-aimed aim of the rays, the shabby rug shrank, the photographs in homemade frames evoked sadness, although the people smiling in the photographs seemed to correspond to the good weather.
Anna sat up abruptly in bed, the edge of the blanket falling out of the torn duvet cover touched one of the frames on the scratched, paint-smeared table, and it flew to the floor. The glass broke. Anna bent down reluctantly, fished the photograph out of the shards and looked at it almost with disgust. It crashed - and it was good. She no longer remembers when it was. And what difference does it make if this never happens.
Mother, father and she - Anna - stood hugging each other on the cathedral stairs and smiled carefree at the spring sun as bright as today. The mother, slender and pretty, in a long light dress with puffed sleeves, low-heeled shoes, with a lace scarf casually thrown over her hair collected in a strict bun and a rather large wicker basket bag in her hands, looked like a young lady straight out of a Renoir painting. The father is tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in his only, but truly formal suit with steamed lapels and shiny jacket buttons and delightfully even trouser creases, with a perky look and an open snow-white smile, he carefully supported his wife under the elbow with one hand, and pressed her tightly with the other yourself a daughter. The daughter did not look into the lens. The girl raised her head with a shock of cheerful dark curls escaping from short braid with a huge bow, up and admiring her parents. The girl was wearing a long white dress, shoes with tiny, but still heels, and on the shoes there were silver buckles entwined with garlands of sparkling beads. For the sake of these shoes, my mother pawned an old brooch that she had inherited from her grandmother - her only one, except for a thin one. wedding ring, decoration. Anna would never have known if she hadn't overheard her mother complain to a friend that if it weren't for her daughter's communion, she would never... She really wanted to hate the shoes and give them up. But alas! They were so beautiful and fabulously incredible among all the most ordinary and even rather poor clothes in her closet that parting with them was beyond her strength. Anna whispered to her father about the brooch. He didn’t answer, only the barely visible wrinkle on his forehead became deeper and more expressive for a split second.
And then came that First Communion Day. Anna walked to the cathedral along with other equally proud and happy Girona boys and girls and thought that no one had such amazingly sparkling buckles. And when it was all over and they left the church, and the photographer already said the sacramental: “Attention! I’m filming!” – the father suddenly, apologetically, raised his hand, asked to wait and, like a magician, fished out that same old brooch from his pocket! He pinned it on his mother’s dress and stood there, supporting his wife and hugging his daughter. And Anna admired her parents. In the eyes of the amazed, amazed, admiring mother, a silent question froze: “How?” Pride and self-satisfaction did not leave the face of the loving father. And ten-year-old Anna simply smiled, looking at them and not at all doubting that it would always be like this.
Only eight years have passed, but it seems like an eternity. According to Anna, all this happened in a past life. She threw the photograph away with disgust, trying to get it out of her head. happy pictures of the past. All this doesn’t seem to be about her. Not about her for a long time. These same eight years are not about her.
My father was laid off at the factory. This came as a blow. Against the backdrop of constant talk about the finally growing economy, which was heard everywhere: from radios, in cafes, in the market - against the backdrop of newspaper and magazine headlines screaming about economic recovery, the loss of work was even more depressing. The mother pawned the brooch again (there was no talk of ransom anymore) and received twice as many orders. Mother was a good dressmaker and always earned a pretty penny. My father used to be proud of this, he always enthusiastically dressed himself in that very formal suit with shiny buttons and at every step he talked about how this was the creation of his beloved Elena. And now he even smelled of irritation from his own inadequacy due to his wife’s back constantly hunched over the sewing machine. He became more and more silent, smiled less often, withdrew into himself and lay on the sofa, turning to the wall.
- Is daddy sick? – For some reason, Anna avoided her father, who now seemed gloomy and embittered.
- A little, honey.
- What hurts him?
- It's clear. – Anna went to her room, took brushes and paints and painted her father’s sick soul - a dark whirlwind of a black and red storm rising from the ashes broken illusions and the dark green swamp melancholy disappearing into the abyss. Mother was frightened by these pictures.
– What are these stripes and circles? It would be better to draw something understandable. Apples, for example, or flowers. And why, in general, is this drawing? Better go, I’ll teach you how to sew.
Anna's seamstress didn't work out. She just pricked her hands painfully. There were a lot of tears, but they were of little use, and her mother finally left her alone. Their alliance collapsed. The mother now whiled away the time with the typewriter, the father with the sofa, Anna at the homemade easel that her father had made for her several years ago. All free time Anna spent in art school, listening with half an ear to his mother’s dissatisfaction:
-Who needs this daub? And why did I take you there? Is being an artist a profession? Who is she feeding?
- Salvador!
- Anna! Do not make me laugh! Where are you and where is Dali?
Anna did not dare to contradict, she avoided the conflict, but still whispered under her breath:
- At least we are both Catalan.
About a year later, my father got a job new factory, but this did not bring joy to the mother. A new place - new acquaintances who were absorbed in the idea of displacing Franco. The father, on the contrary, perked up, straightened his shoulders, started talking in slogans and believed in a bright future. His mother, on the contrary, bent over even more and quietly whispered that he would end his days in prison.
- Don't croak! – the father was indignant and peacefully asked to give birth to his second child.
“We can barely carry one,” the mother sighed and looked away. She also wanted a second child: definitely a boy, and someone as tall and smart, and, of course, with an education, so that she wouldn’t be like her parents. Well, not like my sister, of course, who imagines herself to be an artist. What kind of artist is there in Girona, where, apart from the art school, there is nowhere else to study? I desperately wanted a boy, but it was incredibly difficult to decide. It seemed to the mother that if her father wasn’t imprisoned, he would certainly be fired again for his radical views, and she would have to bear not just one child, but two. And two children during Franco’s time for a Spaniard, needless to say, is a real luxury, but for her family it is an unaffordable luxury. And yet, maternal instinct prevailed. Anna was almost fifteen when she was informed about the imminent addition to the family. She, of course, was delighted. It’s not that she dreamed of a brother or sister - she dreamed of drawing. And it seemed to her that the mother would come to terms with the birth of the baby and let her, Anna, go to the Academy of Arts in Madrid. For a short time, an atmosphere of happy anticipation reigned in the house. Family dinners were once again idyllic, calm and quiet. There were no revolutionary slogans of the father, no nervous tears of the mother, no desire of Anna to hide in her room and throw out her confusion on canvas. Parents constantly discussed male names, because “a girl simply cannot appear, there will certainly be a boy, we already know.” Anna was a little offended; it seemed to her that she, too, had mistakenly taken the place of some boy whom her mother wanted with the same incredible force, but it did not happen. She risked expressing her fears out loud, and in order to save her from worry, her parents even agreed to the name she had chosen for her brother, and her mother said, overpowering herself:
“After all, if it turns out to be a girl again, you won’t have to worry about the name.” Alejandro, Alejandra - what a difference!
Alejandro is born. Alejandro was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis. The father somehow immediately wilted, he avoided approaching the heavily breathing child and was prepared in advance for a quick end. The mother, on the contrary, seemed to have gone crazy in her desire to outsmart fate. With burning eyes, nervously sorting through diapers and baby vests, she inspired Anna:
– Doctors say that with good care he can live to be forty! You just need a lot of protein, and vitamins, and inhalations, yes, definitely inhalations, and also, of course, antibiotics, because pneumonia will be almost constant. Both physical education and massage. Of course, all this is so expensive. But the state helps, and we work, and we are not old at all, we will raise the boy. But medicine is moving forward. Who knows what will happen in twenty years, maybe they will find a cure. They are already talking about future lung transplantation, can you imagine?
Anna had no idea. That night she dreamed of a picture: a pair of lungs, entangled in a poisonous green web, bursting out of her sternum. One was rushing down, where the flames were raging, intending to consume it, the other seemed to want to soar and disappear into the shark’s mouth approaching it from above. And around this terrifying chaos flies flew, snakes swarmed and grasshoppers jumped. In the lower right corner was an autograph that Anna could not help but recognize. The signature “Dali” was written so clearly and was read so clearly that the dream receded. No, no, Anna shook her head. The genius couldn't draw grasshoppers. This is one of his phobias, she herself read an interview about how at school, knowing about his fear, classmates mocked Salvador and put hated grasshoppers behind his collar. Dali would not have painted them. This is her – Anna’s – surrealism. The girl heard the baby’s booming, hoarse cough behind the thin wall and grinned. Oh no! This is her realism. She went to the canvas and wrote her dream. The father will work, the mother will take care of her brother, and maybe they will still let Anna go to Madrid. They didn't mind art school so much after all. They liked to hear that their daughter had talent.
- Let him walk. Moreover, the lessons are free - that’s what my parents said. And although Anna remembered that they did not consider the artist’s profession a profession, she really hoped that she would be able to convince them, using free education. “I can get into the academy through a competition, but I can’t get into other faculties - I’ve been drawing all my life and I can’t do anything else, and I don’t want to be able to,” was the phrase she had prepared, which she intended to say in two years.
Two years later, right before Anna’s school graduation, her father received an industrial injury: an irreversible fracture of the spine. He was lying on the sofa again, but he could no longer turn away. He couldn't do anything at all. Only to cry as his wife and daughter turned his immobilized body over, trying to avoid bedsores. On the day when her father was discharged from the hospital to “live out life,” Anna took down the painting from the easel that she had been working on for two months. It was a picture of the church in Figueres. She intended to send the work to admissions committee Madrid - a cityscape was required there. All she had to do was go to Figueres three or four times, and the landscape would be complete. Anna put the picture on the closet. She put all the pictures, brushes and paints there. All! No time for painting! No time for dreams! No time for life!
- Anna, think! “Her elderly teacher at the art school could hardly hold back her tears. “Are these hands,” she squeezed the girl’s long, thin fingers, “made for working in a factory?” Your brushes were born to create paintings!
“I’ve already decided everything,” Anna stubbornly insisted. “We need money, and the plant needs people.”
- Anna, this is wrong. What happened in your family is, of course, terrible, but sacrificing your dream is wrong.
If Anna had seen herself from the outside at that moment, she would have noticed that just for a moment the same wrinkle flashed across her forehead as her father had when he heard about the pawned brooch.
“Time will tell,” Anna responded.
But time seemed to stand still. The days passed, equally monotonous, fate seemed to mock Anna and her family. The girl worked in a factory as a ceramic tile layer. Sometimes she looked into the art workshop and, holding her breath, watched the artists at work for a few seconds. They manually applied the design, invented by an important and strict designer, onto expensive tiles. Oh, if only Anna had a chance to become (no, of course, not a designer, she never dreamed of that) at least one of these artists who sat in one place for hours and solemnly painted curls, petals and twigs. A minimum of creativity, a minimum of imagination, but still they drew. And Anna came home half dead, and she still had to sit with her father, wash him, feed him, her mother was also completely exhausted - she was torn all day between two disabled people. Play with Alejandro - the baby is not to blame for anything, he is just a child who needs attention. That's what her mother said, and Anna did what was expected of her. She had already forgotten that she herself had recently been a child with her sky-high dreams and rosy plans. It would be easier for her if the mother showed sympathy, pity, or at least inquired about what her daughter really wanted from life. But it seemed to the mother that no one in the world could have other tasks than to prolong the life of her precious son. And Anna continued humbly, without complaining.
I extended it as long as I could. Two years. Two many years dust, dirt and heaviness. Two difficult years of constant coughing, inhalations, pills, injections. Two years of maternal hope and almost insane faith. They ended in one day. Anna returned from work and realized from the meager tear that rolled down her father’s silent cheek that it was all over. Mother was not at home. And Anna was even glad that for some time she could not cry or moan. I didn't want to cry at all. She seemed to herself disgusting, disgusting, a person with an ugly, unmerciful soul. After all, the feeling of enormous relief and intoxicating freedom overwhelmed her much more than the melancholy pity for her dead brother. “He doesn’t care anymore,” pounded in her head, “but I will live, live, live.”
The key turned in the lock. Anna wanted to rush to her mother, embrace her, cry on each other's shoulders, finally talk about how incredibly hard it all was and, perhaps, even better, that what happened happened earlier than it could have. But her mother beat her to it:
- Are you satisfied?
Graying, unwashed strands hung like icicles along his face. The eyes bored into Anna with a heavy, almost crazy look.
“I don’t...” Anna covered her face with her palm, as if she was trying to protect herself from those eyes.
- Satisfied! - The mother shook her head and laughed hysterical laughter, more like crying. - You should be pleased. You immediately dreamed about this. Do you think I didn't see? Do you think you didn't understand?
- Mother! What are you saying?! It was just hard for me, that's all.
- Hard?! What do you know about what is hard?! It was my son who died! I have! I have! – Mother passed by Anna. - You took it away! – Anna didn’t dare say another word. She stood silently and thought about her father, who was forced to helplessly listen to all this and suffer from the inability to change anything. – Do you think I didn’t notice with what longing you look at your stupid closet? I’ve been wanting to throw out all this art for a long time - it’s just collecting dust, I couldn’t get around to it, but it’s okay, I’ll figure it out, I’ll still...
– I’ll finish drawing you tomorrow.
* * *
Anna was going to keep her promise. She carefully placed the photograph she was still holding in her hands on the dresser. “It’s still good that the photo was not damaged.” Yes, she doesn’t remember those happy times well. But there is a photograph, which means that Anna’s happy childhood is not a mirage at all. She listened to the silence of the house. The only sound that came from the next room was the measured and drawn-out snoring of the father. The girl looked at the simple alarm clock at the head of the bed. Eight o'clock. She slept for almost ten hours. When did this happen in last time? She went to bed late, got up early, and at night she was woken up every now and then by her brother’s strained barking cough. Probably, my father was still sleeping precisely because for the first time in two years no one and nothing disturbed his night sleep.
Anna looked out of her room. The blanket on my father's bed rose and fell to the accompaniment of whistling wheezes. The mother's bed remained untouched.
- Mom? – Anna ran across the room on tiptoe and looked into the small kitchenette. It was empty. The girl flushed and bit her lip in anger. Well, of course! The mother decided to wallow in grief: she went to wander around Girona, or shed tears in the hospital, or light candles in the cathedral. No matter where she is, it doesn’t matter! The important thing is that she is not in the house. Great way don't let Anna leave. The mother knows very well that Anna will not dare to leave her father. This is a kind of punishment: if you want to leave the plant, stay at home. Don't you see, we have a helpless person here, and your job is to take care of him. Anna grimaced. Well, I do not! She won’t leave anyone, but leave her for a while - why not? “Stop living someone else's life! – she repeated the words of her master. “It’s time to live your own life!”
Half an hour later Anna was already hurrying to the station. The father was washed and fed. There were fresh newspapers on the table next to his bed, a bottle of water, several sandwiches on a plate covered with a napkin, the radio humming quietly in Raphael's voice. Anna's soul was calm. She had nothing to reproach herself for. Except that just a few hours after her brother’s death, she walked down the street, almost dancing, and also quietly sang to herself:
- Heart, it can’t be! You don't want to kill me! A line from a song by the famous Spanish singer Rafael.
Anna herself did not understand why this romantic melody about unrequited love became attached to her. Most likely, it was just a futile attempt to calm down so that the heart would not beat so hard. But it jumped, galloped, fluttered and sang. It sang when Anna, with a trembling voice, asked at the ticket office for a ticket to Figueres, it sang when she ran onto the platform, it sang when she got into the carriage, it sang when the train started moving and, picking up speed, began to take her further and further from Girona to where somehow... Then with her sixth sense the girl hoped to meet a miracle.
Anna looked out the window at the rapidly changing landscape. The rather dusty, sun-dry and somewhat joyless surroundings of Girona were soon replaced by the bright, dense green colors of almost French Catalonia. Looking at this amazingly tasty, attractive, as if unreal nature, the girl suddenly remembered the painting “Spain” The painting was painted in 1938. his beloved Dali. Yes, the artist depicted a country suffering from civil war. But nevertheless, the colors he used on canvas were also common for the appearance of modern Spain: the sprawling Spanish plain the color of café au lait - a mixture of dirt, dust and chaos. The sky is on the horizon line. But not bright and not blue, but somehow dull, gloomy, as if lifeless and dull from what the country is going through. And in the center of the canvas is suffering Spain itself in the form of a strange cabinet with an open drawer from which hangs a bloody rag, and a naked female hand, as if grown from a horse’s head and figures of other animals and military men, randomly scurrying around the picture.
Spain has not been at war for a long time, but has it really changed? For Anna, not at all. She herself reminded herself of this image of grayness and dullness, dreary and joyless.
There was morning fog near Figueres - a light, gentle haze, behind which one could discern the brightness of the sun, the deep blue of the skies, the rich aroma of raging greenery everywhere, and the rustle of living mountain streams. Dali did not paint such a Spain. He preferred to live in it. What about writing? For what? Idyll is a plot for limited minds. Well, Anna doesn't claim to be a genius. She is also happy that she breathes the same air as Salvador. And he will be happy to write the Spain in which the maestro lives.
Figueras greeted the girl with warm rays spring sun and the aroma of freshly baked croissants (the proximity of the French border made itself felt). Anna easily picked up the easel and tube with brushes and paints and quickly walked towards St. Peter's Church. The landscape hasn't changed in two years. Anna physically felt the exhaustion of a hungry man who had not been given food for too long, and was now brought to a table laden with dishes and asked to make a choice. Where to start? Paint deep clear skies or deal with the unfinished west wing of the church? Or maybe add to the canvas this red cat, who cheekily washes himself right on the tavern table? Yeah why not? Great hint: the ordinary next to the divine. And this couple of old people who drink their morning coffee and smile at the sun, which has already won a piece of the square for itself. We need to hurry up. In three hours it will fill the entire space, the light will change, and it will become too hot to work.
Anna decided to start from the wing of the church. She was afraid that she might lose the gift of accurate reproduction. Who knows if your eyes don’t get blurred or your hands get tangled after many months of inactivity. The girl began to work exactly as they feed a person who has gone without food for a long time. Slowly, with small strokes, stopping, looking closely, feeling the wonderful taste of every stroke, Anna applied the stone outlines of the church to the canvas. Like any person passionate about her work, she did not notice anything around her. But it was impossible not to hear this exclamation. First there was a knock on the left, then a loud indignant voice was heard:
- Manipulate! By whom? Me? Unacceptable, outrageous and extremely reckless! What do they think they are?!
Anna didn't even understand what caught her attention. These words that reached consciousness, or the fact that the entire square froze at once and turned in the direction of the voice. The girl also looked in that direction and froze in silent amazement. No, there was nothing too shocking about the man who spoke loudly today. Regular dark suit. Unless the trousers are too narrow and the tie chosen is deliberately bright so that it can be seen from everywhere. Shoulder-length hair is carefully combed back and styled with gel, an elegant cane taps indignantly next to expensive shoes polished to a shine. Apparently, this cane was used by its owner to hit the stone wall of the destroyed theater. Practically an ordinary, well-to-do Spaniard. There may not be so many of them, such rich people, in modern times, but they exist. And they probably wear expensive shoes, smart jackets, bright ties and ironed pipes. But this citizen could not be confused with any of them. Not only Anna recognized him. The entire square glared at him, preparing to raise their hat or bow politely in greeting. These eyes are slightly bulging, these long mustaches are dashingly curled upwards... He said that he cuts off the ends and then glues them back with honey. The mustache grows, twisting dashingly upward, and makes the appearance of its owner unique and easily recognizable everywhere.
- Senor Dali! “The arch of the destroyed theater seemed to vibrate from a loud voice, and a out of breath man ran out. - Salvador! - He caught up famous artist and almost decided to touch his elbow, but thought better of it in time. The hand froze in the air, and the words were in the throat. He stood next to the man who had attracted everyone’s attention, and repeated, as if wound up:
– Senor Dali, Salvador!
The artist impatiently waited for the continuation, tapping his cane, and, without waiting, he playfully bowed either to his interlocutor or to the grateful spectators and loudly introduced himself:
– Salvador Domenech Felip Jacinth Dalí and Domenech, Marquis de Dalí de Pubol.
“Nooo,” Anna moaned too loudly, and the artist turned to her, raising an ironic eyebrow. He clicked his shoes, bowed his head and confirmed with a grin:
- Himself.
- Can't be! – Anna has already said this in a barely audible whisper. Her lips were stuck together, her throat was dry, and it seemed to the girl that even the church on the canvas, and maybe even the square, was looking askance in surprise. - Salvador Dali! – Anna squeezed the brush she was holding in her hand so that her knuckles turned white, her nails dug into her palm painfully.
If you look at it, this meeting was not so impossible. In the end, Figueres - hometown artist. He was born here, grew up, his father lived here, and his sister’s family probably lives here. And Dali himself may well have an apartment or even a house here. Although, as far as Anna remembered, the newspapers wrote that he built a castle for his wife in Pubol. Perhaps that's where they live. Or, as before, to Port Lligat. Be that as it may, all these places are very close to Figueres. Dali - free man, much more free than others. And he can certainly afford to be where he pleases. Probably, if last year it had been announced that Armstrong had landed on the moon together with the famous Catalan, Anna would have been less amazed. Although, of course, this assumption in itself is incredible and not at all in the spirit of the artist. Dali is very sensitive to his health, to issues of safety and self-preservation. He might well have decided that space was teeming with unknown bacteria. But if he had been persuaded to put on a spacesuit and explained that the flight would be the most grandiose event in the history of mankind (how could such a grandiose event happen without Dali himself?), then the king of outrageousness could have taken advantage of the offer for another dizzying exit. But the artist did not fly to the moon. But he stood here, in the center of Figueres, a few steps from Anna and her easel, casually leaning on a cane and looking at his companion with an expression of extreme displeasure. And this unexpected closeness of a genius, this wonderful moment, which Anna could not dream of even in her wildest dreams, seemed so unreal that the girl even had to close and open her eyes several times and painfully pinch her hand in order to believe: this was not a dream. and not a mirage.
Having produced the desired effect, the artist forgot about the world around him and turned his full attention to the man who stopped him. He said something quietly and hurriedly to Dali. Even from a distance, Anna could see how worried this elderly man was, quite fat man: perspiration appeared on his forehead, his face turned red, his hands continuously moved in some kind of uncontrollable dance, designed to convince the artist that his interlocutor was right. It was impossible to make out the words, but Anna noticed how one of the dancing hands touched Dali’s hand, and he immediately twitched with disgust, took a snow-white handkerchief from his pocket and hastily wiped his palm (the artist had a pathological fear of germs). However, the artist’s interlocutor did not notice anything and continued to bombard him with unknown arguments. Anna understood that what she was doing was ugly, but she could not bring herself to look away and kept an eye on what was happening. She couldn’t see the artist’s face, but for some reason it seemed that he was listening inattentively and even disdainfully. She was probably right, because very soon Dali waved his hands as if trying to push the man away from him, and said quite sharply and loudly:
- It's outrageous! They want the impossible! Never! Do you hear?! This will never happen!
Dali’s interlocutor, obviously tired of persuasion, he also switched to a raised tone and recited syllables to the entire square:
- Po-du-may, Sal-va-dor! You've been going to this for ten years. It will be a big deal if...
- Get out! – Dali squealed furiously and swung his cane, almost hitting his companion. The man recoiled and turned pale. Then he pulled himself together and, nodding briefly: “Whatever,” he turned around abruptly and walked back to the theater. A few seconds later he disappeared behind the stone ruins. The artist was left alone.
The square was full of people. Eleven o'clock is coffee time for all of Spain. And if the weather is good, tables in street cafes will never be empty at this time. Even the cheeky red cat had to give up his place to lovers of the magic drink. The mysterious morning silence was replaced by delicious smells, loud sounds, and a hurried mood. The town came to life, hurried, bustled, and in this short pause at the shabby wooden tables under the rays of the spring sun, no one cared about thin man standing alone in the square. He looked around confusedly, as if looking for consolation. Anna felt pity for the artist welling up in her soul. As a rule, the majority famous personalities the lack of attention to their immodest persons is burdensome, and for Dali this behavior of the public must have frightened, irritated and simply infuriated. He looked around with the dissatisfaction of a predator who has lost its prey. His intense gaze met Anna's pitiful eyes. The artist moved towards the girl. Her heart began to pound. Blood rushed to the cheeks. "God help me! What to do?" Anna turned to the easel and began to apply random strokes to the canvas. At the same time, she understood that she risked ruining the landscape, but she could not force her hand to stop.
“Eleven,” came a voice behind her a moment later. Anna did not dare turn around, and the artist continued:
- Working at this time is a crime.
“I... I...” the girl bleated hesitantly, “I know.”
She pulled herself together and, turning to the artist, explained:
– In an hour, the light will change because of the sun, and I won’t have time to finish.
“Then finish it another time,” Dali winced. - Time to drink coffee. And you have the most suitable company for this. – The artist bowed his head, confirming the invitation.
“Even if I die tomorrow,” Anna suddenly flashed in her head, “my life was not lived in vain.” With shaking hands, she folded the easel and, unable to utter a word, stared at Dali, nodding hesitantly towards the full tavern.
- Pfft. – Dali snorted into his mustache. - Dali?! Here?! Follow me and hurry up. I am extremely upset and annoyed. What can I say: I’m beside myself! And I just need to speak out. Besides, I see that you know something about painting... This means that Dali’s genius is familiar to you and you simply must understand him.
Anna heard about the artist’s habit of speaking about himself in the third person. And now she was surprised at how organic it sounded. It doesn’t hurt the ears at all and doesn’t cause rejection. As if that's how it should be. Indeed, if you say that you are a genius, you will immediately cause displeasure and skepticism of those around you. And “Dali is a genius” is already an axiom that is beyond doubt.
The artist took her to the restaurant of the Durand Hotel.
“This is the best wine list in the city,” Dali announced boastfully, throwing open the door in front of Anna. At eleven, honey, you don’t have to be pumped up on coffee. You can easily afford to have a glass. Choose a table. Just don’t borrow that one from the wine barrels. This is Gala territory,” there was a breath in the voice, the gaze brightened, “and it is inviolable.
- Maybe here? – Anna, barely breathing, pointed to the first table by the window. She didn’t know how to take a step in this establishment: snow-white tablecloths, heavy hanging chandeliers, chairs that looked more like thrones, walls strewn with ceramic plates. Except that the barrels of wine filling the space allowed her to relax a little and said that she was not at a royal reception, but just in a restaurant. Even if it’s something you’ve never been in, but never say never. "Stop! How is this not at the reception? She is at a reception with Maestro Dali. She had such happiness, and she stands and looks at the restaurant. Who cares where she was told to come and sit if Dali himself said it. And they also offered her a choice.”
The waiter was already hurrying towards them, smiling and bowing. If Dali’s companion surprised him, her professionalism did not betray him in any way.
- Menu? – He bowed politely.
“I just want coffee,” Anna was scared.
– Try the consommé. – Dali easily switched to you. - Gala adores him.
- I am not hungry. – Anna tried to calm her legs, which were shaking under the table.
- As you wish. Then you'll change your mind. If you are shy, you will never become a brilliant artist. You need to believe in your talent, and those around you will believe in it too. And if you look like a timid hare with trembling knees, you will remain an amateur painting churches in the square.
Anna didn’t even think about being offended. Well, who is she compared to Dali? An amateur is an amateur.
- I want Botifara A traditional Spanish dish (caramelized sausage with bread, served with boiled sweet apples), which, according to the owner of the Duran Hotel and Restaurant, Luis Duran, Dali liked to order. and a glass of Bina Real Plateau. And, perhaps, I’m ready to eat a fresh orange,” the artist ordered. – And coffee, I’m sure, is of no use. Quite the contrary. Cherry compote is much better.
The waiter walked away, and Dali immediately stunned the girl with the phrase:
- They are bastards and stupid people!
- Who? – Anna became embarrassed, thinking about the waiter. He seemed quite amiable to her and not at all stupid.
– Figueres City Hall and those terrible Madrid bureaucrats.
- ABOUT! – that’s all the girl said.
– They imagined me... Me! Dali! An errand boy who will do whatever they want. They decided that since I had been talking about the museum for ten years, I could be manipulated like a novice scribbler. Gala will be beside herself!
Anna shifted in her chair and squeezed out:
-What happened?
- What?! – The artist rolled his eyes. – She still asks what! It's not a "what", it's a "something". They finally agreed to sign the papers and allow me to create a Theater-Museum, but conditions, conditions! “Indignantly, he took his snow-white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead. – They demand original paintings!
- ABOUT! – Anna said again. She could not be blamed for her eloquence. And what else to say, she didn’t know. Not to say that any museum has the right to count on the originals of works. And if the museum is created by the author himself, then why place copies there?
– The originals are much worse than the photographs. – Dali seemed to hear her question. – Photos are clearer and more modern. These are the ones that should be shown to the public. And she will still have time to be disappointed in the originals. For ten years, the mayor's office of Figueres fought steadfastly with the General Directorate of Fine Arts in Madrid and convinced these stubborn people to finance the project. Ten years of litigation, correspondence, endless waiting. Ten years of hope. So what now? They tell me: either the originals or no museum for you.
- ABOUT! “Anna was ready to hate herself for these meaningless exclamations, but nothing smarter came to mind.
The waiter came over with coffee for Anna, an orange, apples and a bottle of mineral water.
“Wine, coffee, orange and apples for Botifara,” he announced and, placing an iron bowl on the table, began to rinse the fruit in it with the mineral water he had brought.
Anna almost uttered another surprised “Oh!”
– Never wash anything with tap water! – Dali advised categorically. – Typhoid does not sleep, and neither do other microbes.
– Not everyone can afford to waste mineral water like that. – Anna expected Dali to be ashamed, but it was Dali. He raised his eyes to the sky and said:
- Thank God I can! Drink your coffee. I hope it contains boiled water. No, what kind of scoundrels are they?! “He returned to the topic of conversation again, but immediately interrupted it, unexpectedly asking:
- Why are you so sad?
And then he answered himself:
– Although, if I stood under the scorching sun and painted a cityscape that no one needed, I would also be sad.
One could argue, say, for example, that the city landscapes of Monet, Pissarro or Van Gogh are very valuable specimens. But instead the girl announced:
– Yesterday my brother died.
Only after saying this out loud did Anna feel that she finally realized what had happened. Unexpected tears appeared in her eyes, she felt ashamed and bitter for the fact that she felt relief from the departure of little Alejandro.
The artist looked at her without blinking. There is no sympathy or understanding in the look.
“My brother died,” Anna repeated, already sobbing.
- Senior? – Dali asked sharply.
- Jr. Very small. Two years old.
“Ah.” The artist casually waved his hand, as if he had lost all interest in the conversation, then said: “You’re lucky.”
Anna, speechless, dropped the spoon she was going to use to stir the sugar. Of course, Senor Dali is eccentric, but to such an extent... The artist, not paying attention to the state of his companion, followed the flight of the spoon and continued as if nothing had happened:
- I'm lucky that I'm the youngest. But in any case, I advise you not to delay and paint his portrait. It took me too many years and suffering to get rid of the ghost.
"Well, of course!" – Anna almost slapped herself on the forehead. "The artist's brother, who died before he was born." How did she not realize?!
“My Salvador,” Dali leaned back in his chair and mournfully rolled his eyes to the sky, “left the world seven months before my birth.” When I was born, I had no idea that I was named after him. But it is so. My parents created me to save themselves from suffering. They didn't hide it. They took me to his grave, constantly compared us, and when I turned five, they even announced that I was his reincarnation. You imagine? Can you imagine what it means to be a copy of a deceased person? “The artist jumped up, immediately sat down again and painted a stamp of irrepressible sadness on his face. He sighed heavily and continued:
– Should I be surprised that I believed that I was him? But at the same time, I constantly wanted to get rid of his presence. For me, one El Salvador is much better than two. What I am grateful to him for is the name. It suits me incredibly. My parents thought that I was sent to them to save their family. But I am the savior of the world. This is a heavy burden, but I bear it responsibly and have no intention of abandoning my mission. Salvador means "savior" in Spanish..
If Anna had not seen the artist’s face at that moment, she would probably have allowed herself to laugh at such bragging. But Dali, who was sitting in front of her, was so confident in his chosenness that everyone who saw and heard him at such moments did not have to doubt it.
“It’s a heavy burden to carry a dead brother within you.” I was burdened by it and constantly wanted to get rid of it, I tried to do this through the subjects of my paintings. I've already talked about this. Did you hear?
“Something like that...” Anna began hesitantly...
– You couldn’t hear anything! How old were you nine years ago in sixty-one? Seven or eight years? There was no way you could have attended Dali's lecture at the Polytechnic Museum in Paris. And Dali admitted there: “All the eccentric actions that I tend to commit, all these absurd antics are a tragic constant in my life. I want to prove to myself that I am not a dead brother, I am alive. As in the myth of Castor and Pollux: only by killing my brother do I gain immortality.” And only two years later, in sixty-three, I finally understood what I had to do to find peace. There was no need to kill anyone at all - I had to paint a portrait of my brother, show everyone that he had nothing in common with me, and finally calm my fears. Why didn’t I realize earlier, why I spent almost sixty years in torment and doubt? Even when García Lorca suggested writing poems about this, I didn’t think of the fact that since the poet wants to express the experience in poetry, the artist must find a way to release it on canvas. And if the previously chosen plots did not work, then they had to be changed. As soon as "Portrait of My Dead Brother" was published, I finally got rid of the non-existent double.
Anna, listening to the artist’s monologue, recalled the painting. The face of the boy, much older than Dali's brother at the time of his death, is written in dots. It seems this technique was quite common in pop art. And in this case, it also hinted at the ghostliness of its owner. The face itself seemed to grow out of the sunset landscape. Strange figures with spears were advancing on him in front, and on the left Dali depicted Millet’s “Angelus” in miniature. It seems that the artist himself said that with the help of X-rays it can be proven that Millet originally wanted to depict not a basket, but a child’s coffin. The idea of death was also hinted at by the raven’s wings, as if growing from the young man’s head. A gloomy, heavy, hopeless picture.
– An unusually bright work! – the artist stunned Anna.
Apparently, she could not wash the genuine surprise from her face, because the maestro condescended to explain:
– Dali became light and easy. Dali became himself. And for seven years now he has not known the fear of being devoured by a long-dead relative.
“I understand,” Anna nodded slowly.
– And you paint a portrait of your brother to get rid of grief and guilt. Feelings of guilt make life dull and dull. And there are a lot of colors in it that no one should neglect. And even more so an artist!
Anna flushed. Dali called her an artist!
– Your “Botifara”, Senor Dali.
The artist pulled the dish towards him and meticulously examined and sniffed it. The inspection apparently satisfied him, since he cut off a small piece of sausage and put it in his mouth with a tender expression on his face.
“Do you really think...” Anna began.
Dali threw up forefinger with his right hand up, calling the girl to shut up, he stabbed another piece of sausage onto his fork and closed his eyes. He spent the next fifteen minutes enjoying his dish very slowly. There was silence at the table.
Salvador Dali's painting "The Face of War" was painted in 1940. It was created on the way to the USA, where the artist left Paris, having lost all hope for normal life in Europe.
The Old World is engulfed in war... Impressed by the global tragedy that has unfolded, Dali begins work on the painting while still on the ship.
The meaning of this picture is clear to everyone: in it the author abandons the intricate language of surrealism. Before the viewer is a dead head against the background of a lifeless desert, in the eye sockets and in the mouth there are skulls, in the eye sockets of which, in turn, there are also skulls. Snakes stretch out from the head on all sides and try to bite the same head.
This is how Dali shows the horror of war, its senselessness, unnaturalness and destructiveness of all life on earth.
A handprint on the stone on the right indicates the presence of a viewer: terrible vision in the form of a head he watches from the cave.
The atmosphere of suffering is heightened by muted tones and depressive shades.
You can buy a reproduction of this painting in our online store.
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Painting by Salvador Dali The Face of War: description, biography of the artist, customer reviews, other works of the author. Large catalog of paintings by Salvador Dali on the website of the BigArtShop online store.
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Salvador Felipe Jacinto Dali was born in Catalonia, in northeastern Spain. His talent for painting manifested itself at an early age. Already at the age of 4, he diligently tried to draw. His behavior was always marked by uncontrollable energy, frequent whims and hysterics.
My first painting on a wooden board oil paints Salvador Dali painted it when he was 10 years old. Dali sat all day long in a small room specially allocated to him, drawing pictures.
He received his first lessons in craftsmanship from Professor Joan Nunez, under whose guidance Dali’s talent took on real forms.
At the age of fifteen, Dali was expelled from the monastic school “for obscene behavior,” but was able to successfully pass the exams and enter the institute (as in Spain they called a school providing a completed secondary education).
From the age of 16, Dali began to put his thoughts on paper, from that time literary creativity also became an integral part of his creative life.
In the early 20s, Dali became interested in the works of the futurists. The extravagant appearance of Dali himself amazed and shocked those around him.
He managed to graduate from the institute in 1921 with excellent grades. He then entered the Art Academy in Madrid.
In 1923, for violating discipline, he was suspended from the academy for a year. During this period, Dali's interest was focused on the work of Pablo Picasso.
In 1925, the first solo exhibition of Dali's works was organized at the Dalmau Gallery. This exhibition featured 27 paintings and 5 drawings by the emerging great genius.
The school of painting in which he studied gradually disillusioned him, and in 1926 Dali was expelled from the academy for his freethinking. In the same 1926, Salvador Dali went to Paris in search of something he liked. Having joined Andre Breton's group, he began to create his first surrealist works.
At the beginning of 1929, the premiere of the film “Un Chien Andalou” took place, based on the script by Salvador Dali and Luis Buñuel. They wrote the script in just six days! In 1930, Salvador Dali's paintings began to bring him fame. The constant themes of his creations were destruction, decay, death, as well as the world of human sexual experiences (the influence of the books of Sigmund Freud).
In the early 30s, Salvador Dali entered into a political conflict with the surrealists. His admiration for Adolf Hitler and his monarchical inclinations ran counter to Breton's ideas. Dali broke with the surrealists after they accused him of counter-revolutionary activities.
In January 1931, the second film based on Dali’s script, “The Golden Age,” premiered in London.
In 1934, Dali married Elena Dyakonova, ex-wife writer Paul Eluard. It was this woman (Gala) who became the muse and inspiration of the genius Dali for the rest of his life. Amazing feature married couple Dali was that they felt and understood each other. Gala lived the life of Dali, and he, in turn, deified her and admired her.
In 1940, after the occupation in France, Dali left for the USA (California), where he opened a new workshop. It is there that the great genius writes one of his best books “ Secret life Salvador Dali, painted by himself."
In 1951, on the eve cold war, Dali develops the theory of "atomic art", published in the same year in the Mystical Manifesto. Dali's goal is to convey to the viewer the idea of the constancy of spiritual existence even after the disappearance of matter. This idea was embodied in his painting “The Exploding Head of Raphael.” In 1953, a large exhibition of retrospective works by Salvador Dali was held in Rome. It featured 24 paintings, 27 drawings, 102 watercolors!
In 1959, Dali and Gala finally set up their home in Port Lligat. By that time, no one could doubt the genius of the great artist. His paintings were bought for huge sums of money by fans and lovers of luxury. The huge canvases painted by Dali in the 60s were valued at huge sums. Many millionaires considered it chic to have paintings by Salvador Dali in their collection.
At the end of the 60s, the relationship between Dali and Gala began to fade. And at Gala’s request, Dali was forced to buy her a castle, where she spent time, preferably in the company of young people.
In 1973, the Dali Museum opened in Figueres. This incomparable surreal creation still delights visitors to this day. The museum is a retrospective of the life of the great artist.
Closer to the 80s, Dali began to have health problems. Doctors suspected Dali had Parkinson's disease. This disease once became fatal for his father.
Gala died on June 10, 1982. Although their relationship by this time could not be called close, Dali perceived her death as a terrible blow.
By the end of 1983 his mood had improved slightly. He began to sometimes walk in the garden and began to paint pictures. But old age took precedence over a brilliant mind.
On August 30, 1984, a fire occurred in Dali's house, as a result of which Dali received burns to 18% of his skin.
By February 1985, Dali’s health had improved somewhat and he was able to give an interview to the largest Spanish newspaper.
But in November 1988, Dali was admitted to the clinic with a diagnosis of heart failure.
Salvador Dali's heart stopped on January 23, 1989. The body was embalmed at his request, and for a week he lay in his museum in Figueres. Thousands of people came to say goodbye to the great genius.
Salvador Dali was buried in the center of his museum under an unmarked slab.
The texture of the canvas, high-quality paints and large-format printing allow our reproductions of Salvador Dali to be as good as the original. The canvas will be stretched on a special stretcher, after which the painting can be framed in the baguette of your choice.
Surrealism is the complete freedom of the human being and the right to dream. I am not a surrealist, I am surrealism, - S. Dali.
The formation of Dali's artistic skills took place in the era of early modernism, when his contemporaries largely represented such new artistic movements as expressionism and cubism.
In 1929, the young artist joined the surrealists. This year marked an important turning point in his life, as Salvador Dalí met Gala. She became his lover, wife, muse, model and main inspiration.
Since he was a brilliant draftsman and colorist, Dali drew a lot of inspiration from the old masters. But he used extravagant forms and inventive ways to compose a completely new, modern and innovative style of art. His paintings are distinguished by the use of double images, ironic scenes, optical illusions, dreamscapes and deep symbolism.
Throughout his creative life, Dali was never limited to one direction. He worked with oil paints and watercolors, creating drawings and sculptures, films and photographs. Even the variety of forms of execution was not alien to the artist, including the creation of jewelry and other works of applied art. As a screenwriter, Dali collaborated with the famous director Luis Buñuel, who directed the films “The Golden Age” and “Un Chien Andalou.” They displayed unreal scenes reminiscent of surrealist paintings come to life.
A prolific and extremely gifted master, he left a tremendous legacy for future generations of artists and art lovers. The Gala-Salvador Dali Foundation launched an online project Catalog Raisonné of Salvador Dalí for a complete scientific cataloging of the paintings created by Salvador Dalí between 1910 and 1983. The catalog consists of five sections, divided according to the timeline. It was conceived not only to provide comprehensive information about the artist’s work, but also to determine the authorship of the works, since Salvador Dali is one of the most counterfeited painters.
The fantastic talent, imagination and skill of the eccentric Salvador Dali are demonstrated by these 17 examples of his surrealist paintings.
1. “The Ghost of Wermeer of Delft, which can be used as a table,” 1934
This small painting with a rather long original title, it embodies Dali's admiration for the great 17th-century Flemish master, Johannes Vermeer. Vermeer's self-portrait was executed taking into account Dali's surreal vision.
2. “The Great Masturbator”, 1929
The painting depicts the internal struggle of feelings caused by attitudes towards sexual intercourse. This perception of the artist arose as an awakened childhood memory when he saw a book left by his father, open to a page depicting genitals affected by sexually transmitted diseases.
3. “Giraffe on Fire,” 1937
The artist completed this work before moving to the USA in 1940. Although the master claimed that the painting was apolitical, it, like many others, depicts the deep and disturbing feelings of anxiety and horror that Dalí must have experienced during the turbulent period between the two world wars. A certain part reflects it internal struggle in relation to the Spanish Civil War, and also refers to Freud's method of psychological analysis.
4. “The Face of War”, 1940
The agony of war was also reflected in Dali's work. He believed that his paintings should contain omens of war, which is what we see in the deadly head filled with skulls.
5. “Dream”, 1937
This depicts one of the surreal phenomena - a dream. This is a fragile, unstable reality in the world of the subconscious.
6. “Appearance of a face and a bowl of fruit on the seashore,” 1938
This fantastic painting is especially interesting because in it the author uses double images that give the image itself a multi-level meaning. Metamorphoses, surprising juxtapositions of objects and hidden elements characterize Dali's surrealist paintings.
7. “The Persistence of Memory,” 1931
This is perhaps the most recognizable surreal painting by Salvador Dali, which embodies softness and hardness, symbolizing the relativity of space and time. It draws heavily on Einstein's theory of relativity, although Dali said the idea for the painting came from seeing Camembert cheese melted in the sun.
8. “The Three Sphinxes of Bikini Island,” 1947
This surreal image of Bikini Atoll evokes the memory of war. Three symbolic sphinxes occupy different planes: a human head, a split tree and a mushroom of a nuclear explosion, speaking of the horrors of war. The film explores the relationship between three subjects.
9. “Galatea with Spheres”, 1952
Dali's portrait of his wife is presented through an array of spherical shapes. Gala looks like a portrait of Madonna. The artist, inspired by science, elevated Galatea above the tangible world into the upper ethereal layers.
10. “Molten Clock,” 1954
Another image of an object measuring time has received an ethereal softness, which is not typical for hard pocket watches.
11. “My naked wife contemplating her own flesh, transformed into a staircase, three vertebrae of a column, the sky and architecture,” 1945
Gala from the back. This remarkable image became one of Dali's most eclectic works, combining classicism and surrealism, tranquility and strangeness.
12. "Soft Construction with Boiled Beans", 1936
The second title of the painting is “Premonition of Civil War.” It depicts the supposed horrors of the Spanish Civil War as the artist painted it six months before the conflict began. This was one of Salvador Dali's premonitions.
13. “The Birth of Liquid Desires,” 1931-32
We see one example of a paranoid-critical approach to art. Images of the father and possibly the mother are mixed with a grotesque, unreal image of a hermaphrodite in the middle. The picture is filled with symbolism.
14. “The Riddle of Desire: My Mother, My Mother, My Mother,” 1929
This work, created on Freudian principles, became an example of Dalí's relationship with his mother, whose distorted body appears in the Dalinian desert.
15. Untitled - Design of a fresco painting for Helena Rubinstein, 1942
The images were created for the interior decoration of the premises by order of Elena Rubinstein. This is a frankly surreal picture from the world of fantasy and dreams. The artist was inspired by classical mythology.
16. “Sodom self-satisfaction of an innocent maiden,” 1954
The picture shows female figure and abstract background. The artist explores the issue of repressed sexuality, as follows from the title of the work and the phallic forms that often appear in Dali's work.
17. “Geopolitical Child Watching the Birth of the New Man,” 1943
The artist expressed his skeptical views by painting this picture while in the United States. The shape of the ball seems to be a symbolic incubator of the “new” man, the man of the “new world”.
