Salvador Dalí (Reaktion Books - Critical Lives)
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climbed or looked at), that is, against the use of words as opposed to the real autonomy of vocabulary. Words were to stand for themselves, to be the inner landscapes of the marvellous and all that the best Surrealism stands for. ‘Reality and Surreality’, Dalí titles his thinking and writing. When he met the great Surrealist poet Robert Desnos at the Coupole, they spent time together, but Dalí was bored by Desnos’s inexhaustible lyric tongue, and his raving on and on about Robespierre. They were
with Edward James the collector and Gala the other kind of collector, for four-leaf clovers in the grass of the Thrall Soby estate. . . but as it is, I’ve liked looking again at the works of the artist and the writer. He too preferred his writing to his painting, and that gives cheer to the biographer who shares this preference. In answer to a question asked on French television by Jean-Pierre Lannes in 1964, ‘Tell me, Salvador Dalí, are you God?’, Dalí gave the following answer: No, not at
high-heeled shoes, or/and the glass of milk inside it, take the black stockings of a lady with raised leg. And in particular, take Dalí’s text ‘Surrealist Objects’, in another issue of Le Surréalisme au service de la Révolution. The most useful of these (we are talking, as has become the case now, about paranoia-inducing things) are the ‘Symbolically Functioning Objects’ – of which the perfect example is Giacometti’s Suspended Ball of 1930–31, in which Dalí admires the way the cleft of the wooden
rejecting all things in the past. Gala died on 10 June 1982. She had wanted to die in Púbol, and so the corpse was moved secretly, upright and wrapped tightly in a red dress, in her Cadillac, like La Reine Morte of Henri de Montherlant. Dalí was made Marquis of Dalí and Púbol, it was announced on 20 July 1982. An immense exhibition of his works was placed on show in Madrid, then moved to Barcelona. Dalí stopped eating, and remained in Púbol, fed by a tube down his throat to his stomach. All of
wrong way’.2 What he learned, among other things, from the contemplation of this riot of colour was never to use black, as it was not a colour. Later, when he was acquainted with the landscapes of Joaquim Mir, a member with Isidro Nonell of the ‘Saffron Group’, because of the yellow tones of their painting, he was to move away from this fascination with Impressionism towards an interest in machines and gradually to Futurism. By the end of 1918 he was writing as compulsively as he was painting.