Who did Dali put on the handset on one of his sculptures, options? Sculptures of Salvador Dali: photo and description of sculptures.

Two works by Salvador Dali from a private collection are up for auction. What was the pre-priced sofa lips and lobster phone? What else did the famous Spaniard create?

Crazy maestro, crazy genius, eccentric surrealist - it's all about him. Salvador Dali and extraordinary are almost synonymous. Reproductions of the Spanish artist's paintings sell like hot cakes, his image is used for photo shoots, and his single inventions are dreamed of being released into circulation. Dali managed to work in several areas at once: he made his contribution to interior design, and to the fashion industry, and to ... the design of sweets. We invite you to recall the most striking works of the brilliant Spaniard (perhaps you did not even know about some of them).

lobster phone

The artist came up with a sketch of an unusual telephone set in 1935, and a year later an interesting idea was brought to life. In many ways, this was facilitated by the British millionaire Edward James - he sponsored the artist, who was faced with a lack of funds, in exchange for his work (and was also a good friend of the Spanish genius).

By the way, according to a beautiful legend, the idea of ​​creating such a phone was born during one of the friendly gatherings, when someone from the audience dropped a lobster ... on the phone.

Dali repeatedly hinted at a sexual connotation in his idea - during a conversation, the speaker's lips should be in the genital area of ​​​​the lobster. In addition, lobster is known as an excellent aphrodisiac. In total, the world saw 11 copies of the invention - 5 colored and 6 white. Almost all of them are in museums around the world. The copy that belonged to James is currently up for auction at Christie's. Its cost was estimated at 850,000 pounds (more than 68 million rubles). Whether there is a buyer, we will find out in September. In the meantime, let's look at another lobster created by Dali.

Lobster dress

Dali was interested in all spheres of art, including fashion. In the 1920s, he met another creative person with crazy ideas. It turned out to be the legendary Italian Elsa Schiaparelli, an innovator and revolutionary in the fashion world.

The designer and Dali have created some outrageous (and now legendary) wardrobe pieces. Their imagination, long before Philip Tracy and Stephen Jones, gave rise to idiosyncratic headwear, including the shoe-shaped hats and pillbox hats made popular by Jackie Kennedy. Later, they came up with apple-shaped bags and gloves with false nails. But the main creations of this star tandem are dresses. The most famous of them depicts Dali's favorite boiled lobster surrounded by green leaves. Perhaps it would not have become so popular if none other than Wallis Simpson, the Duchess of Windsor, had decided to wear an interesting thing, for the sake of marrying whom Edward VIII abdicated (it’s good that times have changed, otherwise we would not have seen Meghan Markle's lavish wedding. By the way, even the latest collection of Schiaparelli included dresses with the image of "relatives" of lobsters - crabs.

sofa lips

This unusual piece of furniture was created especially for the Schiaparelli boutique. Dali was inspired to create it by Mae West, one of Elsa's main clients and part-time sex symbol of her time. However, Edward James again sponsored all the fun. Dali said more than once that the sofa is unsuitable for sitting - firstly, it is terribly uncomfortable, and secondly, it is unsuitable to spoil art objects. And yet a strange thing aroused genuine interest and delight among those around him.

Yes, such that in 1974 Salvador decided to return to work on the sofa, taking the promising designer Oscar Tusquets Blanca as his assistant. The fruit of their creative fusion is stored in the room of Mae West of the Figueres Museum (the one stylized as the face of an actress). Well, in 2004, the Blanca Bd Barcelona Design company, which has exclusive rights, began mass production of Dalilips (the so-called sofa), adding three more colors to the “canonical” red version - black, white and pink.

But that's not all. If you want to get your hands on the original sofa, you have a chance: it, like the lobster phone, was put up for auction. The starting price is only 400,000 pounds (more than 32 million rubles).

Aphrodisiac jacket

Dali worked on clothes not only with Schiaparelli, but also on his own. One of the fashionable inventions of El Salvador is the aphrodisiac jacket. The first version of the unusual outfit appeared in 1936 - then it was decorated with about 80 cups of real mint liqueur (and it was hard not to spill the whole thing!). They were attached to the jacket with thin straws, and in each of them lay ... a dead fly (apparently, for plausibility).

Unfortunately, this version has not survived, although they tried to recreate it from memory for a number of art exhibitions. But a later version of the jacket, in which glasses were replaced by numbered crystal glasses, remained not only in the memory of the contemporaries of the Spanish genius - Dali is captured in his uniform in a photograph that is stored in the BBC archive and is considered one of the symbols of the twentieth century.

Venus de Milo with drawers

Sofa lips and a lobster telephone were not the only pieces of furniture that were born in the imagination of Dali. Another unique work appeared in 1936. As you might guess, the classical Venus served as the basis for it. Taking an ancient relic as a basis, Salvador recreated its plaster copy, deliberately dividing the woman's body into boxes: one of them is in the head, others are in the chest, stomach and legs. The artist once again recalled the secrets of the female body and its sexuality.

In 1973, Dali “republished” his sculpture. The new Venus à la Giraffe got a long neck, which made it impossible to reach the box in the head (oh, those feminine thoughts), but from her belly, symbolizing fertility, comes a long box that cannot be closed.

In his works, the artist repeatedly addressed the topic of female sexuality - his sketches included chairs and tables with female legs and arms. By the way, they were brought to life in the same Bd Barcelona Design, as the Menagere table set with unusual forks, spoons and knives in the form of snails and plants was once recreated according to the sketches of a genius.

lollipop logo

Rounding out our selection of the artist's creations is the sweetness that we encounter every (well, almost every) day. As a great inventor and creative, Salvador simply could not leave his mark on the history of advertising, marketing and design.

The production of the famous Catalan lollipop began in 1958, but only 11 years later, its creator Enric Bernat turned to his compatriot and good friend for help in design.

For a very decent amount (the artist did not suffer from modesty), Dali invented the logo, which we see to this day almost in its original form. It was the genius of surrealism who guessed to place the logo on the very top of the lollipop so that it was clearly visible and difficult to damage. The customer was satisfied.

In his work, the great surrealist coordinated his strong phobias with deep hobbies. Dali was obsessed with erotica, masturbation and dreams.

He depicted heads, eggs, elephants, crustaceans, butterflies. The appearance of each element on his canvas can be justified according to Freud.

The surreal images of Salvador Dali retain their impact decades later and are always worth a second look.

"The Persistence of Memory", 1931.

Insects

Crawling and swarming black ants, bright butterflies flying singly or in groups, a small grasshopper sitting on a deformed head - the master's paintings are filled with insects that horrified him. Ants symbolize decay and the fear of death. Grasshoppers, which appear with a certain regularity, caused fear in Dali from childhood.

The painting "The Persistence of Memory" on the wall of the museum. Photo ©Christina Whiting.

Tiny things

Salvador Dali was endlessly fascinated by many tiny things. Except insects, of course. He liked olives, bread crumbs, grains of sand. The artist believed that little things have the power to destroy creatures a hundred times larger than themselves. And many of his early paintings are very miniature.

The most famous canvas "The Persistence of Memory" is of great importance in the history of modern art, but the size of the work is only 24 × 33 cm.

Lobster here, lobster there, lobster everywhere.

Crustaceans

In the symbolism of Dali, the shell represented the armor that protects the soft being hidden in it. This concept was closely related to the hermit artist himself, who needed a hard shell that could protect him from the outside world.

Lobsters became a central element not only in his painting. Collaborating with outrageous designer Elsa Schiaparelli, Dali painted a huge red lobster on a white silk dress. And in 1936, he created the surreal sculpture Lobster Telephone, which consisted of a rotary telephone and a plaster lobster attached to it, replacing the traditional tube.

"Eggs on the Plate without the Plate", 1932 (Non-flat eggs on a flat plate). Rigid on the outside, soft and flimsy on the inside.

Eggs

Like crustaceans, eggs have a hard shell that protects the soft contents. Eggs are the embryonic form, so they symbolize birth, new life and hope. Dali clearly had a fondness for them. Eggs appear intact, such as in the painting "Metamorphoses of Narcissus", and broken, as in the image above. And the building of the Dali Theater Museum is crowned with giant eggs.

"The Adaptability of Desires", 1929 (The Accommodations of Desire).

female sexuality

Ironically, despite his love for eggs, Dali was horrified by their origin. Female sexuality and its components horrified him. In the painting "Bleeding Roses" he literally depicted blood flowing from the organs of the female abdominal cavity. In The Adaptability of Desires (above), lion heads represent toothy vaginas. This powerful image represents the potential of a woman to injure or even castrate a man during intercourse, Dalí's primary phobia.

"The Great Masturbator", 1929.

Masturbation

Salvador Dali was disgusted by sex but was obsessed with masturbation. It is even widely believed that this was almost the only form of his sexual activity. References to this passion are found in the paintings "The Great Masturbator" and "Hitler Masturbates". In the surreal work "The Grim Game" there is also a hand motif in various variations.

"Ballerina in a dead head" (1939) and "Skull of Zurbaran" (1956).

Skulls

True to his paradoxical nature, Dali was afraid of death, but did not deviate from this topic. Skulls, as representations of human mortality, appear regularly in his paintings. In The Evaporated Skull Sodomizes the Piano on the Code (1934), the skull is deformed and disturbed. In the painting “The Face of War”, the symbol of death is multiplied by the repeated depiction of skulls in the holes of the ugly head.

The most colossal images of skulls in Dali's work are those composed with other elements, as in the work "The Ballerina in the Head of Death", which inspired many artists.

"Anthropomorphic locker", 1936.

boxes

The books of Sigmund Freud, especially The Interpretation of Dreams, delighted the artist. They even met shortly before the psychoanalyst's death. Dali responded to Freud's approach to the hidden recesses of the subconscious, the source of dreams and the driving force behind the artist's work. The paintings "Anthropomorphic Locker" and "Giraffe on Fire" are examples of the use of boxes embedded in the human figure to show hidden aspects of the personality.

Having become a famous artist, Dali turned to religious themes in the late 1940s. Photo © Getty Images.

Religion

As a child, Dali faced controversy. His mother was a deeply religious Catholic, and his father showed an aversion to religion. In his mature years, the artist experienced a renewal of faith and became interested in the traditional iconography of Christianity. He became interested in its metaphysical aspects and the possibility of integrating religion and science. From the late 1940s and into the 50s, the artist created a series of overtly religious paintings, painting The Last Supper, several versions of the crucified Christ and the Madonna, in which the features of his main inspiration, Gala, are guessed.

All my efforts, every day, always, are subordinated to a single goal: to be able to be Dali.

One day people will have to be interested in my work - and all because of me.

My body does not go beyond the boundaries of my clothes. Only the mustache crosses this border.

In my life, there are extremely rare cases when I humiliated myself by dressing in a civilian suit. I have always preferred to wear the Dali uniform.

The only difference between a madman and me is that I am not mad.

Divine Dali should always be taken seriously. Whatever he said. Well, those who find his words frivolous are frivolous themselves, because they do not take the divine Dali seriously.

At the age of six, I dreamed of becoming a chef. At seven - Napoleon. However, with age, having gained wisdom, I realized that the highest dream is to become Dali.

Everything related to Dali is true. Except me.

If you want to make money, all means are good, all methods are legal - theft, plagiarism ... - the funny thing is that many people imagine that making money will serve the benefit of mankind or benefit posterity.

Being in the spotlight of the whole world is difficult even for more than half an hour. I managed to do this for twenty years, every day.

Never, never, never, never has an excess of money, advertising, success and popularity made me want - even for a split second - to kill myself ... on the contrary, I like it all.

I can prove to you that I am capable of agreeing to take fifty thousand dollars even now, without pretense.

If you start playing genius, you will certainly become one!

Let our inner fire always burn in full force, bringing the rules and charters to a white heat and changing them! May our inner reality be so strong that it can bend the outer reality under itself! And may our passions be insatiable, but may our thirst for life become even more insatiable in order to absorb these passions!

I was once asked on television: "What is the difference between the best reproduction of the portrait of Juan de Paredes by Velázquez and the portrait itself?" And I said, "Today, that's exactly six million dollars difference."

Ideas are created to be copied. And I have a whole bunch of ideas. And I prefer to have them stolen, because it saves me from having to implement these ideas myself.

There is much less madness in my method than in my madness - methodicalness.

The only thing the world will never get fed up with is excess.

Don't be afraid of perfection. Because you will never reach it.

Don't worry about being modern. Unfortunately, modernity is the only thing that, no matter what you do, you cannot avoid.

Guided by reason, we find ourselves in a fog of skepticism with its various shades. Reason reduces reality to coefficients of gastronomic uncertainty - gelatinous, with a Proustian and putrid odor.

The pig is a symbol of perfection. With Jesuitical hypocrisy, she moves forward, but never retreats, finding herself among the heaps of garbage of our era. In this regard, I am a model pig.

All sorts of donkeys would not mind if I myself followed the advice that I give out to others. But this is impossible, because I'm not at all like the others ...

Like love, painting enters through the eyes and flows out through the tip of the brush.

Even if the meaning of my paintings eludes me at the moment when I paint them, this does not mean at all that my paintings are devoid of meaning.

An artist is not at all one who is full of inspiration. An artist is someone who knows how to inspire others.

I am always pleased when copies of my paintings are made: in my opinion, these copies are much better than the originals.

Picasso is Spanish and so am I! Picasso is a genius, me too! Picasso is a communist, I... no!

They say that in Matisse colors are combined according to the principle of complementarity. Indeed, the colors in Matisse only do what they crumble in front of each other in compliments.

Great works of art are born due to the rigid and unconditional subordination of the coefficients of elasticity and imaginary viscosity to the merciless ethical structures of moral prescriptions.

Here's what's certain: every good artist salivates. This is the result of the utmost concentration of attention and satisfaction that the images that appear before his eyes bring to the artist. True, although these images rarely leave other mortals indifferent, they never make them salivate.

If you are mediocrity, then no matter how hard you try to paint the worst pictures, people will still understand that you are mediocrity.

If you show Americans a picture of family members slicing a cello like a ham, it will not make the slightest impression on them. But if you add a mustache to a dog in the same picture, Americans will be confused and ask: why?

My whiskers, like two sentries, guard the entrance to my personality.

Every morning, when I wake up, I experience the highest pleasure, which today opens before me for the first time: the pleasure of being Salvador Dali. And I ask myself in admiration what other miracle this Salvador Dali will perform today. And every day it becomes more and more difficult for me to understand how people can live without being Gala or Salvador Dali.

In my daily life, every gesture turns into a ceremony. Even the anchovy that I chew helps keep the inner fire lit up in me.

Ever since the French Revolution, there has been a vicious tendency that can lead to general stupefaction: people are hammered into their heads that geniuses (if we put aside their creativity) are beings more or less like ordinary mortals. This is prejudice. And I, the genius of the modern age, destroy it.

The king must be a match for good cheese - constantly on the verge of moldiness. Half-wit - that's the perfect option. After all, there is nothing nobler than to obey a degenerate sovereign by virtue of conscious respect for the law and the unfailing operation of memory mechanisms.

There are people who are not smart enough to hold all opinions at once. I'm not one of those.

I have always avoided bending over the dead, in order to protect myself from the painful feeling that haunts me for several days in a row. In the same way, for fear of infection, I try to bypass the madmen.

I consider television, cinema, the press, journalism to be the great modern means of mass stupidity and brainwashing. That is why, using them, I experience a unique aristocratic pleasure. The more fools will run after Dali, the higher the price of my paintings will rise.

Since 1929, I have been clearly aware of my own genius. And, in truth, this awareness, which is taking root in me more and more deeply, never caused me the so-called "sublime" emotions. However, I will not hide the fact that I experience an extremely pleasant feeling of constancy.

At the dawn of my life, I betrayed the class from which I came out - the bourgeoisie, in order to serve the aristocracy, and now I cuckold modern art.

I never give away advice for free. The price of each of my advice is uncommonly higher than the profit received from it.

Last May, on a metro train from Cambronn to Glacier, a man in his thirties, seated across from a very pretty girl, deftly held up a newspaper - pretending to read it - in such a way that no one, other than that girl, he couldn't see his penis reaching full erection. Some idiot noticed this gesture of exhibitionism - a gesture that threw the girl into an incredible and completely charming confusion, and without a hint of protest on her part - and it was enough for the public to condemn the exhibitionist and throw him out of the car. It remains only to express all our indignation and contempt towards people who in such a disgusting way suppress one of the most innocent and disinterested gestures that are still available to a person in our age of general stupefaction and moral degradation.

I am in a state of constant intellectual erection!

My eroticism, like love, enters through the eyes and drips from the tip of the brush.

I prefer young girls and lobsters. Like lobsters, girls are delicious on the inside. Like lobsters, they blush when they want to make them fit for food.

The female vagina is, in my opinion, a dark cave where moisture boils, where children and embryos come from, and where soft traps are placed.

Women: the thinnest waist and very wide hips, that's perfection. Breasts are rubbish. So it's better to have small ones. Or proportional to the body, and in the middle - a halo of small granules, which makes me a little excited, because it always seems that they can be used like a telephone receiver.

I am one of the great clowns of my age. I've written books, and no one - not even myself - will ever know if they're serious or crazy. Things that I consider trifling jokes, pranks invented for the sake of laughter, often become an occasion for the most serious and tragic reflections. Conversely, the works on which I worked long and diligently are perceived as a childish prank, of no value.

Clowns sometimes manage to amuse the audience, make them smile or laugh for, say, a quarter of an hour. I did not cease to amuse the public for forty years.

The most ingenious ideas always come to me at the Perpignan train station, when Gala fills out the registration form for the paintings that we take with us on the train. Already a few kilometers before Perpignan, in Boulou, my imagination begins to pick up speed, but only at the station of Perpignan does the real intellectual ejaculation take place, which reaches its magnificent speculative climax.

As a child, I had a characteristic Freudian anomaly: an indescribable pleasure in holding back my own feces. All red, squeezing my buttocks, I circled the house, shifting from foot to foot. My parents followed me anxiously. I hid in a secluded place, continuing to keep my treasure in swollen intestines. I was looking for some unexpected place: a dresser drawer, a shoebox, a sugar bowl. I endured to the last, tears appeared in my eyes, my breath caught. Finally, trembling in convulsions, with sweet regret, I defecated in my secluded corner. And then he ran as fast as he could into the garden, shouting: "That's it!" There was turmoil in the house, panic, despair, shame: with shovels and rags, parents and servants set off on an ill-fated search. Throughout my childhood, I was haunted by the desire to save and then hide my treasure.

When I am offered to do an exhibition in a large room, I first ask the manager if he is ready to lose his job. If he answers yes, I'll get down to business.

Am I proud? I am proud of the celebration of pride that the genius arranges within me.

As usual, a quarter of an hour after breakfast, I put a jasmine flower behind my ear and go to the bathroom. As soon as I touch the toilet seat, I feel relieved - almost odorless. Only the scented toilet paper and the sprig of jasmine behind my ear are fragrant. Probably, this event was foreshadowed by sweet, wonderful night dreams, which I always dream about on the eve of especially pleasant and easy bowel movements. Today's chair is the cleanest of all, if the adjective "clean" is even appropriate in such a situation. This purity is a consequence of my almost complete asceticism. I remember with disgust, even with horror, what a chair I had in the era of Madrid parties in the company of Lorca and Buñuel, I was then twenty-one. An indescribable, shameful stench, convulsive, spasmodic, dirty splashes, convulsions, hellish, praiseworthy, existential, agonizing, bloody compared to what I have today. This smooth, almost liquid continuity all day long makes me think of honey made by industrious bees.

To make a woman's face seem erotic, it must be moderately ugly.

Love penetrates me through the soul, eroticism through the eyes.

Out of love for Gala, I am even ready to become an exemplary Venetian artist.

Since I don't smoke, I decided to wear a mustache - it's healthier that way; however, I always took with me an expensive cigarette case with the inscription "Faberge", where, instead of tobacco, several pairs of mustaches in the style of Adolphe Menjou were neatly folded. With all courtesy I offered them to my friends: "Moustache? Mustache? Mustache?" But no one dared to touch them.

I am in constant awareness that everything related to my personality and to my life is unique and has an exceptional, comprehensive, inimitable character in its color.

Dali is a drug.

Are my jokes serious? Am I speaking shocking truths? Do jokes turn into truth, and isn't truth childish? All the time I balance on the edge: I never know at what point I start to pretend and when I tell the truth.

I have never been to a psychoanalyst: I have no obsessions, and I am not a neurotic. Obsessions haunted me only once, and even then they were of a sexual nature. It was then that I met Gala. She cured me in a way that no psychoanalyst could have cured.

I have always said - although I never boasted modesty - that if my paintings were compared with the work of Velasquez or another artist of the same magnitude, then all my work would appear completely worthless. But if you compare me with modern artists, I'm not so bad. Let's put aside my genius: and how badly other artists draw after all ...

I often compare my ambition to a centuries-old oak, and my mind to a vine that lovingly twists around the trunk, striving upwards. If the oak seems to me eternal, unshakable in its desire for growth, and its top - arrogant and harmonious, then the tree of my mind, on the contrary, grows restlessly and fussily, as if in jerks, because if I watch myself at the moment when I start When I am working on a painting or finishing this painting, I suddenly feel the convulsive, energetic jolts of young growing buds.

The thing that I do with invincible tenacity is to be Dali. And this is a lot of work, because of all contemporary artists I am the only one who masterfully does what I want to do, and no one will prove that one day, continuing to joke and have fun, I will not become a modern Raphael!

I consider myself a bad artist, a bad writer, and even a bad actor. The main thing is my Arkhangelsk gift of cosmogony.

Dali continues to work on the opera, begun fifteen years ago. There are three wars in this opera, including a third, although it never happened - there Freud, Marx and Lenin sing as they are castrated, then their throats are cut; the principle of Raymond Lull's combinatorial wheels works: five hundred and fifty-eight pigs, against the backdrop of a thousand motorcycles with roaring engines, make sounds using electronic transparencies - authentic, piercing, animals that are orchestrated in a Pythagorean manner in the space in front of the gates of the altar - this music will sound until until the pigs die.

In the early days of surrealism, I did research looking for lovers of bread soaked in public urinals, and came to the conclusion that for the most part they were people who were revolutionary, joined the left parties, professed the ideal of absolute justice and impotent.

Fat is the exhilarating element of real meat volume, and we know that the human libido anthropomorphizes excitement, personifies exhilarating volume, transforms exhilarating volume into real flesh, and metaphysical excitement into real fat.

All at least slightly convex parts of the human body have a common geometric prototype, namely, a cone with a rounded top, bent to the sky or to the earth, with an angelic look of depression from the awareness of one's own perfection: a rhinoceros horn!

I have never tried drugs because I myself am a drug.

I don't want to be anyone other than Salvador Dali. But as I get closer to it, Salvador Dali moves away from me.

I can give brilliant lectures and speak in front of an audience for a long time, with enthusiasm and ease, but only if my shoes are too narrow on my feet, because in this case I will have to step back and forth so that the shoes do not look so tight, and this will speed up the pace my thought.

I know what I'm eating. I don't know what I'm doing.

A person has two vices: modesty and women.

Woman is the divine source of male stupefaction.

Don't ask me if I need eroticism. All aspects of life are essential.

From an intellectual point of view, I am a homosexual: here I prefer only men.

Who are secular people? These are people who, instead of standing on both legs, try to stay on one, like a flamingo. This habit, aristocratic and deliberate, indicates their desire to maintain a standing position that will allow them to look down on everything and at the same time touch the earthly vanity only in cases of emergency. Such an egocentric posture quickly tires. In addition, secular people need support, and they surround themselves with a crowd of one-legged people who - under various guises, from artists to pederasts and drug addicts - are ready to serve them and protect them from the first pushes from the "People's Front".

Death to everything useful! The time has come to use technology to sublimate trifles, to spread pleasures, dreams and luxury. It's time to finally understand that the ideal of life is to have many passions and enough funds to indulge them!

Throughout my life it has always been difficult for me to get used to the absurd "normality" of beings that I somewhat resemble and that inhabit this world. Every now and then I tell myself that what could happen never happens. It does not fit in my head that there is so little individuality in human beings and that in their behavior they do not deviate a single step from the strictest laws of conformism. Take, for example, such an elementary thing as derailing a train! All our five continents are just full of railways - millions of kilometers - and very few derailed trains. The number of those who enjoy derailing trains and actually do it is tiny compared to the number of people who love to travel and indulge their passion.

I don't care what others think. The only thing that is important to me is that everyone around is talking about Dali. Even if they speak well of him.

In my opinion, eroticism should always be ugly, aesthetic and divine, and death should be beautiful.

I never allow myself to soften and get sentimental.

Sperm? It doesn't have a human nature, but it could very well.

Sexual attraction is the basis of creativity. The dissatisfaction accumulated over a long time develops into a process that Freud calls sublimation. Everything that we lack in terms of eroticism is sublimated into a work of art. People obsessed with physical love create absolutely nothing: they find self-expression through sperm. The divine Dali is not like that. If he inadvertently leaks a drop of sperm, he immediately demands a check for a large amount so that the expense is immediately reimbursed.

The spiritual qualities of a woman directly depend on the length of her tongue.

The easiest way to refuse a gold concession is to own the gold yourself.

The dollar rain fell on me with marvelous monotony.

Fame - even the most mediocre - fascinates me. Glory, like the sun, is reflected in all reservoirs, both in crystal clear and in stagnant rotten swamps. Any evidence of my existence, a sign of my presence in another person, frees me from anxiety that the reality is unsteady - the reality of things, the world and my "I". From all the eyes in which I see my reflection, I draw my own essence.

The only true stimulus is excessive pleasure. Then all the characters in the tragedy begin to get bored.

I am waiting for you, Death, but only come so quietly and imperceptibly that I do not guess about your approach, because the pleasure of dying can fill me with vitality again.

I hate freedom: it forces us to make a choice.

An elegant woman - what is she like? This is a woman who despises you and who has no hair under her arms.

I am the seat of a genius.

I am an exemplary prototype of a "polymorphic pervert", phenomenally lagging behind in development and preserving intact all the rudiments of a heterogeneous paradise that an infant possesses.

I really value my health and try to protect what is the most amazing thing in the world for me - myself.

The least that can be demanded of a sculpture is that it does not move.

Africa is everywhere in my works. I have never been to Africa, but I remember so much about it!

Anxiety is a banal, even, perhaps, base component of everyday life. Every time I got excited, I did it in the most idiotic way.

The main thing is that my anti-Nietzschean mustache should always rush into the sky, like the towers of the cathedral in Burgos.

The Assumption of the Virgin is an elevator. The Virgin Mary is lifted by the gravity of the body of the dead Christ.

The highest mission of man on earth is to spiritualize everything that exists, and excrement needs spiritualization most of all.

Not for a second did I doubt that we had the knowledge of all phenomena in the world from the very beginning. Everything that we seek to know is already contained in the depths of our mind, and we could not master either mathematics or Chinese if the sciences and languages ​​were not implicit in our brain cells.

Of all the beauties of the human body, the scrotum makes the strongest impression on me. To contemplate it is a real metaphysical pleasure. My teacher Puhol said that the testicles contain the lives of unconceived beings. Therefore, when I look at the scrotum, heavenly creatures come to my mind, invisible and undefiled. I hate pendulous eggs that look like pauper's knapsacks. Neat, compact, round and strong, like the shells of a shell - that's it for me.

What is the sky? Gala is already a reality! The sky is neither above nor below, neither to the right nor to the left, it is in the very center of the chest of a person who has faith.

Life is inspiration, breath and emission of the spirit.

The day I went ashore in New York Harbor, my picture appeared on the cover of Time Magazine. In the photo, I had the smallest mustache in the world. The world has shrunk since then, but my mustache and my imagination have only grown.

There are two irreparable things that can happen to a former surrealist: the first is if he becomes a mystic, the second is if he learns to draw. These two abilities came to me at the same time.

Whiskers should be washed frequently, as animals that have whiskers instinctively do. There is even an assumption that a human mustache has the properties of antennas. All this is very mysterious, but I have no doubt that the mustache gives me courage and makes my mind sharper, I quickly notice everything that is happening and - most importantly - moving around me. Probably because of their length and their pointed tips, every fluctuation in the shades of light clings to my mustache and catches my eye instantly. So, one day I realized that the sun was setting behind me, noticing how the tips of my mustaches gleamed like two tiny cherries.

My ability to take advantage of everything is truly unique. In less than an hour, I was able to find sixty-two ways to use whale vertebrae: they can be used to make a ballet, a film, a picture, philosophy, a medical visual aid, a magical effect, a trick with hallucinations and midgets, a psychological note - due to their size, which strongly affects imagination; from them one can make a morphological law, a model of proportions incommensurable with human height, as well as a new way to urinate or a brush.

Beauty is nothing but the conscious totality of all our anomalies.

The horn of the rhinoceros is a member directed to the sky, or rather a useful gift, a compact materialization of the primary energies of nature. This is a cosmic member, the completion and commemoration of antediluvian times - concentrated, compressed, strongly infused, squeezed out, properly boiled under a hermetic shell thousands of years ago.

Geology has a depressing sadness that it can never shake off its back. This sadness is connected with the fact that time works against geology.

I don't like animals or children. They are moving. When something moves around, I get anxious. It would be nice if the animals were still. In a pinch, I could put up with maritime tongues, flat as postal envelopes, laid out on the carpet like Persian patterns. But they tremble, as if suffocating, and this annoys me. So let them be better artificial.

I love only bad loud music or confused, pompous, with paroxysms of disharmony - like, for example, Tristan and Isolde. When I receive visitors in Port Lligat, in the evening, on the patio, I always put on a record with Tristan and Isolde. The record is all scratched, the performance is bad. There is a continuous crackle, and it is so beautiful: as if sardines are being fried.

I can't stand dirty city flies, and even village flies, with pale yellow swollen bellies and black wings, as if smeared in a necrophilic way with mournful black ink. I like only neat, clean, sparkling fun flies, dressed in tiny gray wool suits from Balenciaga, sparkling like a rainbow in a cloudless sky, transparent as mica, with pomegranate-colored eyes and noble yellow bellies - these wonderful little flies with olive the Port Lligata tree, where only Gala and Dali live.

I'm outraged to the core! I demand that, having moved to the other world, a person retains his earthly memory!

From tender childhood, every time I was told about the inevitability of death, I screamed that it was a lie. And he assured himself that at the last moment everything would work out. Since then, I haven't changed a bit. If I believed that I would someday die - in the traditional sense of the word, suggesting decay and non-existence - I would begin to tremble like an aspen leaf, and from fear a piece would not climb into my throat. So I don't believe in death.

With enemies, I try to be as respectful as possible. The deader Le Corbusier, the more life in me! It is the sense of contrast that stimulates all my reflexes. With what pleasure I will savor every skinny sardine, remembering at the same time all my dead comrades, preferably those who were shot or died under torture.

Exquisite cuisine is out of my nature. This is a feature of my secondary personality - a decorative extension necessary for the disclosure of genius in rarefied areas of pure aestheticism.

The paranoid-critical method is Lydia, and only she, because she masterfully mastered the skills of paranoia. Once Picasso gave her a book to read. When Lydia read it, he gave her the next one, which had nothing to do with the first. Some time later, she told Picasso: "I really liked the second part, thanks to her I understood what was said in the first." She organized everything.

They say that the anatomical perfection of a plucked woodcock on a platter is akin to the ideal proportions of Raphael!

Disgust is the sentry that stands guard at the door of our most cherished desires.

There is always creativity in bad taste. Here is the dominance of biology over the mind.

My brother was just a prototype of myself, created in a space of absolutely impossible!

My eroticism: fried eggs from yolks alone.

When I first saw a smooth, hairless, female armpit, I began to think about God.

I love Gala more than my mother, more than my father, more than Picasso and even more than money.

My personal life is guarded by the dragons of my own mythology.

My goal? Systematize the confusion and make a contribution to the complete discrediting of reality.

My father suffered a lot because of me. Due to my selfishness and Jesuit inclinations, I get rid of remorse in three moves. The first move: I rise above remorse, stuff their price, selling them with a sense of my own guilt, and convince myself that it was I who killed my father. The second move: I understand that it’s not worth killing yourself like that, and I experience indescribable joy from the realization that I’m not a criminal. Third move: I celebrate being who I am, because if my father saw me so famous, his delight would be a hundred times greater than his suffering.

We have no children. And I don't regret it. [...] It doesn't matter whether creatures are born who will bear my name or not. I don't want to pass on a grain of Dali. Let it all end with me. In addition, the children of geniuses are cretins without exception. They do not create anything, they only dishonor you and bear your name, not realizing the magnitude of their father's talent.

Sometimes, for pleasure, I spit on a picture of my mother.

When I look at the starry sky, it seems small to me. Either I'm getting bigger, or the universe is shrinking - or maybe both at the same time.

Without my enemies, I would not be who I am.

If caviar is the result of the life experience of sturgeons, then this statement is equally true of the surrealists. Like sturgeons, we are predatory fish, which, as I have already noticed, swim on the border of two currents: the cold current of art and the warm current of science. It is at this temperature and in movement against the current that our life experience and our experience of fertilization reach that vague, exciting depth, that amazing moral and irrational clarity, which are possible only under the conditions of Nero's osmosis, which is the result of a powerful and continuous alloy of the flesh of the sea tongue and chilled warmth. , satisfaction and circumcision of the foreskin of the sea tongue and a tin visor, territorial ambivalence and agrarian tolerance, heightened collectivism and exquisite visors of helmets with white letters on the gangs of an old robber - in a word, an alloy of all kinds of warm and dermatological elements that exist side by side and carry characteristic properties inherent in things, through which the concept of "elusiveness" is defined, a simulacrum concept that has earned the unanimous recognition of the public only to serve as an epithet for designating the indescribable taste of caviar; a simulacrum concept from which sprouts timidly sprout gustatory perceptions of tangible irrationality, which, remaining only the apotheosis and paroxysm of this subtle goal, created from the precision and pointillist clarity of the caviar of the imagination, will become, philosophically establishing the right of its exclusive monopoly, incredibly demoralizing and incredibly complex the result of my experiences and creative innovations in the field of painting. One thing is clear: I hate simplicity in all its forms.

Every day, with my own hand, I destroy - with a kick of my foot and with my addiction to dandyism - the image of my poor brother. Today I once again took flowers to his grave. He is my ghostly deity. We are with him - Castor and Polydeuces; I am Polydeuces, the immortal of the two brothers, and he is the mortal. I constantly kill him, because the divine Dali should have nothing to do with this once earthly creature.

With her patient love, Gala protects me from the ironic and crowded world of slaves.

First: Gala and Dali. Second: Dali. Third: everyone else, again including the two of us, of course.

Dali is first of all smart, unlike God. God is the supreme creator who invented everything. Mind is always the opposite of creativity. So I'm a bad painter and a bad artist because I'm too smart.

Everything changes me, but I remain unchanged.

If a man at forty still rides the subway, then he is a loser.

Americans suffer from hemorrhoids. That is, their anus is constantly open. Unsure of their merits, they litter with money and immediately pick up this money, in a hurry to relieve themselves immediately after eating.

I am only interested in the number of newspaper articles: neither their quality nor their content counts. When newspaper clippings are brought to me, I evaluate only their length or the thickness of the entire pack. I never read them.

My ethics are exclusive and infallible. I live where the money is. I have chosen the United States to be under a cascade of checks that is like a diarrhea eruption.

The Dormition of the Mother of God is the culmination of the female will to power in Nietzsche's understanding: a superwoman who is raised to heaven by the male power of her own antiprotons!

Reality is just the amnesia of meditation.

My personality precludes any possibility of ridicule or mystification. After all, I am a mystic, and the concepts of "mystic" and "mystification" are opposite to each other according to the principle of communicating vessels.

My intuition tells me that if we could make human feces viscous, like honey, our life span would increase, because feces are the thread of existence, and every time we stop defecating or passing gases, we lose precious minutes.

Yes, yes, and yes again, to everyone's amazement, I report that Salvador Dali, a Catholic professing the religion of the Roman Church, decided at all costs to turn into the first and main pig falling into hibernation.

In Roman law, which protects private property and encourages the accumulation of property, the best thing is the idea that the highest degree of freedom, the greatest merit and measure of success achieved, is the ability to do nothing.

The envy of other artists has always served me as a thermometer of my success.

As a child, I decided to walk through life a little bit of a multimillionaire.

It always seemed natural to me that every morning they write about me in the newspapers, and I could never suppress the unpleasant sensation associated with the fact that these same newspapers might be interested in something else besides me, or at least something , not directly related to the orbit of Dali's existence.

Sperm has a divine nature, since it serves as a container for beings not yet conceived.

Women should never try their hand at creativity - they are not capable of it by their very nature.

Aviation is the most colorful expression of the sexual instinct.

Eroticism is the main path of the soul of God.

I am a nurse. I take out my breast and give the nipple to my era. All contemporaries did nothing but feed on my ideas.

It doesn't make much difference to me whether I'm considered an artist, a TV presenter or a writer. The main thing is that there should be a myth about Dali, even if misunderstood or completely invented.

I love smart enemies and hate fools who take my side.

For most artists who dream of fame, success comes with buying an expensive car. Success grows when a well-trained driver is added to the car.

The deep structure of my personality is always dual: I am two-headed and two-faced.

Bankers are the great priests of the Dali religion.

Dali lovers are creatures who try to cling to me under the pretext that I can marry them to princes, give them the lead role in the film, or simply pose with them in front of the camera lens. They are all careerists.

My personal story is politics, my life is strategy.

The more stupid my enemies are, the more I try to shower them with all sorts of honors. Let the rogues rise!

Every time journalists come to me, I declare that they should devote the entire newspaper from beginning to end to me so that there is enough space to print everything that I can tell them. Or, at least, I try to convince them that from me they will get enough material for the longest article of their career.

When ill-wishers gather around you, their hostility becomes like the wind, with the force of which the ship of your victory sails in full sail.

Today, on the day of the remembrance of the dead, I sent a wreath to the grave of Le Corbusier, because, on the one hand, I hated him, and on the other hand, I am the last of the cowards. In the end, let's imagine that the afterlife really exists, which means that I need to keep something like a protocol in order to have a minimum guarantee of getting there.

Having your own universe is much better than owning a car.

Every time one of my friends dies, I have to act in such a way that everyone thinks that I am their killer.

I have always been impressed by very rich people. And the poor too. Only people with average incomes left me indifferent.

To be a real admirer of Dali, you must first become a real masochist.

Dali likes the Inquisition more than anything in the world, even if the torture is directed against Dali himself, especially against me! The Inquisition forces people with strong wills to make the most of their feelings and ideas. Undoubtedly, the Inquisition is the greatest good.

I am a real flatterer and specialize, like all flatterers, in licking the ass of all the important people and kings, including Rafael and Velasquez! I try to please everyone who, as it seems to me, is at least somehow superior to me. I lick the ass of angelic creatures.

My philosophy is that of a man who works and plays at the same time, in other words, a man who thinks and acts, and whose life is nothing but the process of thought formation, and whose thought constantly expresses itself in the game.

My craziest paintings are in the Spanish realist style, because I myself am a Spaniard, and nothing can be done about it.

In early childhood - at the age of six, when I still did not know about masturbation - I was occupied with the question of the good of all mankind and I had sociological dreams in which all people were happy. I imagined crowds gathering around me, standing on a pedestal, and expressing their gratitude to me. Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw what an enormous service I rendered to people. But one day I could not resist - for the first time ever - and said: "Humanity does not interest me anymore." I became interested in my own penis and my sexual problems. From the pinnacle of honour, humanity has slid down to almost complete contempt on my part.

I don't believe in justice. It's not even clear what gender she is. Justice is a woman with a beard!

Sitting at the oars in the company of brave paranoid sailors, Columbus discovered America.

In my opinion, the main place of hibernation of the human body is the opening of the anus, because animals that hibernate in winter, first of all plug their butt with a mixture of earth and feces to slow down the metabolic process. In addition, it is a guarantee of comfort!

I revel in the fame that people have given me and which grows with the increase in the means of mass stupidity.

The anger of a fool is proof of your genius.

Fame is related to cruelty in the same way that a rose is related to a rose bush, and true masters are always cruel.

Freedom of speech means nothing compared to the grandeur of the freedom to bask in the sun when you don't feel like working.

The revolution in Russia is the French Revolution belated because of the cold.

The clown is not me, but this is a murderously cynical and naively stupid society that plays seriousness in an attempt to hide its madness.

The symbol of the monarchy is a sphere. In architectonics, a sphere is a dome. Under the dome of the absolute power of the ruler, the people should feel protected and pour juice like a melon in a greenhouse. The Republic, which the Parthenon represents, provides only an illusory protection, which is endlessly questioned. This is the abuse of power and its usurpation, constant and undisguised betrayal, an illegal form of government. There is nothing rougher than the right angles of the roof of the Parthenon, on which all rubbish accumulates, all sewage, starting with swallows' nests. One has only to look closely, and it becomes clear: the pediment is just a chicken coop. There is nothing more ridiculous.

Congresses are strange monsters, shrouded in the spirit of backstage life, on which people whose bodies seem to be made to slide - in other words, slippery people.

Engineers are the most humiliating phenomenon born of necessity.

The Catalan expression "bulbs in the head" corresponds exactly to the concept of a complex in the field of psychoanalysis. If a person really has an onion growing in his head, then it can bloom from time to time, and you get a real Narcissus!

The temple, whose name is Dali, was built on gold, with great frugality and prudence. And the thought that my gold is profitable, stored in banks - motionless, prudently hidden in safes - fills me with joy, calms and inspires.

Just as there is only one nose on the face of a person, and not hundreds of noses sticking out in all directions, there is an amazingly rare thing on the globe, the result of a combination of miraculous and inexplicable circumstances - called landscape - which can only be found on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea and nowhere else.

People need to be put in jail. I am for jail. The happiest time of my life was the four years spent in a Spanish prison. Before that, I was absolutely free and spoiled by parental care; I got everything I wanted. But I was tormented by anxiety, because I did not know what to do - write poetry or draw, paint oil paintings or walk with very young girls, or just become a little bit of a pederast. The most severe doubts, believe me! And then they put me in jail. All worries disappeared at once, and I began to enjoy life in a sybaritic way.

I am happy to report that a wonderful future awaits mankind, and all thanks to one thing that will save people from spiritual death - the emission of gases by my wife Gala. After all, it is because of this that I became the greatest of geniuses.

Gold is the honor of the soul. Americans fear gold as much as they fear their own souls. They turn gold into a kind of formless, indivisible, abstract substance, which they call a passion for action and civic prowess. Before they could touch him, they were already throwing him away. And what is it to them, in fact?

Politics is an anecdote of history.

If, in our era of dwarf people, to be a genius means to cause a huge scandal, thanks to which a person is not stoned like a dog, and he does not swell from hunger, then this is only by the grace of God.

All my slaves.

Everyone is a pacifist now. And this contradicts the principles set forth since Antiquity and the Renaissance, contradicts the wonderful statements of Michel de Montaigne about the art, the nobility, the greatness of military affairs ... everyone hit pacifism, from Soviet people to Americans. Complete degradation! I am convinced that the presence in the monarchical state of an anarchist who wants to kill the king truly deserves respect, because this anarchist brings diversity to the social structure of the monarchy (and any society should be diverse), and the fact that people now see the future of humanity without war seems me monstrous.

After the insights that visited me for several years at the station of Perpignan, I began to guess something. And each time the joy of discovery became stronger. Today, it would take the strength of a dozen strong Indians to restrain my impulse, to stop the cork bursting from the bottle, so that Dali's champagne would not gush over the glass walls of the Perpignan station.

Today a young man came to me, who was rather old than young, and begged me to give him some parting words before his trip to America. The situation intrigued me. So, I put on a Dali costume and go to meet him. The point is this: he wants to go to America and succeed there - no matter what, but certainly succeed. The dullness and wretchedness of life in the States is beyond his understanding. I ask him:

Do you have any addictions? For example, do you like delicious food?

I can eat anything! he replies eagerly. - Years to sit on dry beans and bread!

It's bad, - I say thoughtfully, making a worried expression.

The young man is surprised. I explain:

Eating beans and bread is very expensive. To earn money for beans and bread, you have to plow from morning to night. But if you preferred caviar and champagne, it would cost absolutely nothing.

He smiles like a jerk, thinking I'm joking.

I'm not used to joking with my own life! I blurted out. And he suddenly fell silent, completely depressed.

Caviar and champagne are treated free of charge by exquisite ladies, perfumed from head to toe, owners of the most luxurious houses. However, for this you need to look different: you came to Dali with blackness under your nails, but I received you in Dali's costume. Go think about the problem of dry beans. Think about this for now. Moreover, with dry beans you are similar in the number of premature wrinkles. As for your spinach-colored shirt, there can be no doubt: those who have aged ahead of time, as well as losers, wear this color.

I am amazed at the blindness of people who do the same thing over and over again. It's amazing why a bank teller doesn't eat checks, and it's just as amazing that no artist before me thought of painting a soft watch...

I don’t understand why when I order fried lobster they don’t bring me a well-fried phone and why they put a bottle of champagne in the ice, and not a telephone receiver, which is always so warm and electrified - it would be much better in a bucket of ice cubes. Why not chilled phones - with green mint leaves, in the shape of a lobster, wrapped in sable fur (for femme fatales), stuffed with a dead rat (for Edgar Allan Poe), on a leash or screwed to the shell of a living turtle.

I don’t understand why a person’s imagination works so poorly and why it doesn’t occur to bus drivers from time to time to ram the window of the Prizyunik store in order to catch a few gifts for their wife and children on the fly.

When images are born in Dali's head, they are not ephemeral at all - they turn into concrete.

There comes a moment in every person's life when he realizes that he admires me.

From early childhood, I developed a vicious quality to consider myself different from all mere mortals. And that makes me successful.

Humility is not my thing.

With a pinch of genius, I'm trying to spiritualize and immortalize seventy kilograms of Dali's flesh, whose last name means "desire."

From the point of view of aesthetics, freedom is the failure of form.

Art is a fighting weapon in the service of desire, which fights against the supremacy of realism.

The ship, which seems to us the freest and lightest thing in the world, actually has a very clear design.

I really never read anything. I don't have time for this. However, Gala reads aloud to me when I paint, but I don’t listen to what she reads, because there is still music playing, which I also don’t listen to, and I don’t pay attention to what I draw at all. An amalgam of complete inattention.

The greatest service I can do to someone who writes a book about me is to give him a kick in the ass every time we meet. If he can bear it, then he is truly passionate. And if he can't stand it, then he's not worthy of writing a book about me.

Mistakes are almost always sacred. Never try to fix them. On the contrary, be aware of them, try to understand these errors in their entirety. Then you can turn them into something sublime. To comply with all the laws of geometry is pure utopia, and besides, it interferes with erection. However, lovers of geometry rarely reach an erection.

Everything that is devoid of harmony of proportions gravitates towards death.

There is every reason to believe that in the very near future reality will be regarded simply as a state of oppression and apathy in thought.

Only two important events can happen in the life of a modern artist:
- to be born a Spaniard;
- bear the name Gala Salvador Dali.
Both of these events happened to me. The name Salvador indicates my vocation to save contemporary art from decay and chaos. The last name "Dali" means "desire" in Catalan, and I have Gala. Of course, Picasso is a real Spaniard, but he can only dream of Gala, and his name is simply Pablo, like Pablo Casals or popes, that is, as the first comer.

The person I hate more than anything in the world is Auguste Rodin, because he is the author of a disgusting sculpture of a thinker who sits with his chin resting on his palm. In this position, no creativity is possible, it is suitable only for sitting on the toilet.

When I was twenty-seven, before coming to Paris, I made two films with Luis Buñuel that went down in history: Andalusian Dog and The Golden Age. Then Buñuel worked alone and made many other films, thereby rendering me an invaluable service - to convey to the public's consciousness which of the two of us is a genius and who made real masterpieces from "Andalusian Dog" and "Golden Age".

The main thing is to sow confusion and confusion, and not try to get rid of them.

Deep down I love dragonflies. These insects undeniably have the property of anti-gravity. Same story with flies. Dragonflies are the aggregates of the future.

The difference between the surrealists and me is that I am a surrealist.

Aragon: so much careerism for such a flat career!

Breton: so much intransigence for such petty degradation!

If you have healthy sperm, creativity will never threaten you: you will have children, that's all. All great artists are impotent.

Modern artists don't believe in anything. And it is quite natural that if an artist does not believe in anything, then he will write almost nothing.

Cezanne will soon become known as the greatest master who has succeeded in depicting the dilapidated structures of the past.

I must confess in all frankness that painting loves me more than I love it. She gets annoyed every time I leave her for literature; I feel how she is languishing, even if I, like now, write only about her. I know she showers me with bitter reproaches, because painting is never satisfied with words thrown to the wind. She wants, dear reader, that you satisfy her at least three times a day, and not a night will pass without her slipping under your covers.

Among the students of Gustave Moreau, the best will always be the one who taught them painting.

For several years, brainless critics only wrote about Piet Mondrian, as if he personified the quintessence of all creative activity. They quoted him for everything. Pete for architecture, Pete for poetry, Pete for mysticism, Pete for philosophy, Pete's misses, his hits, Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete... Pete, Pete, Pete, poor Pete, Pete. Well! Pete - I tell you, Salvador - nothing more than an empty phrase.

In 1936, I visited an exhibition of so-called abstract painting in Paris in the company of the late Maurice Eine, a scientist and specialist in the work of the Marquis de Sade. He noticed that all the time we were walking around the exhibition, I was looking at an empty corner of the hall where no pictures hung.
“You seem to avoid looking at the pictures on purpose,” Eine turned to me. - As if something invisible attracts you to itself!
“There is nothing invisible here,” I replied, trying to calm him down. "I just can't take my eyes off that door, it's so beautifully painted!" By and large, this is the best work in the entire exhibition.
And it was the purest truth. None of the artists whose paintings hung in the hall would have been able to paint that door. Moreover, the worker who painted it could successfully copy any of the exhibited paintings! [...] Time will pass - I think it will happen quite quickly - and the value of paintings that are so easy to copy will be lower than the value of doors, not even painted at all.

Geometry and the principle of the golden ratio is slavery in the prison of the lucky ones.

It has long been known and generally recognized that a thinking artist is a bad artist, and I dare add that the same applies to philosophers who think too much - take, for example, the pathetic "Thinker" Rodin. There is no doubt that almost nothing happens in the head of such creatures.

A true artist is able to patiently paint a pear from life, even if everything around him collapses and flies upside down.

Artists, be rich rather than poor. And for this, follow my advice.

When painting a picture, think about extraneous things.

Artist, drink alcohol and chew hash no more than five times in your life.

Paint, painter!

Artist, if you want to secure a place in the sun, you must kick society in the right leg with all your might from your earliest youth.

Painter, you are not a speaker! So paint yourself and shut up.

To delve into thoughts about aesthetic taste is already a sign of impotence.

If you know in advance the meaning of your picture, then you should not paint it.

If you don't feel like learning anatomy, drawing techniques and the laws of perspective, the principles of aesthetics and working with color, then let me tell you that this is more a sign of laziness than genius.

Be a snob. Like me. Snobbery lies in the ability to enter places where others are forbidden to enter, and this causes in those "others" a feeling of inferiority.

Every artist should have a wife and a mistress. However, all three must live in perfect harmony. Of course, you already guessed that we are talking about family life together. You will begin to live with your lawful wife at the age of twelve - from the very moment when she is exactly thirteen centuries old, her name is Painting, her cheeks are fresh roses, and you hardly ever saw such a magnificent chest as hers. And you will give her at most thirty-six years of your life. Know that she will never grow old.

Sex is a cross, and we are lucky that we are not nailed to it all our lives.

Dali's sweet eroticism has as much in common with an orgy as a domestic goat has with a divine unicorn.

Every time someone dies, Jules Verne is to blame, because he is responsible for the desire of people to travel through the galaxies, which is suitable only for scouts or spearfishers. If the fabulous sums that go to the conquest of magical worlds were spent on research in the field of biology, there would be no more deaths on our planet. And I repeat: every time someone dies, Jules Verne is to blame.

God created the world without being convinced of the necessity of the act of creation. He needed to do something. He might as well sing or dance. So do not be surprised to find that He is completely devoid of morality and He has no direction or purpose, He just creates, disinterestedly and absent-mindedly. Creates a world and populates it with creatures. Visible misses, patched holes. God erases what has been done, abandons the previous plan, gropes in a different direction, crosses off some species from the list and invents others, here is His draft, bold pencil sketches, no premeditated plan. True man. An extremely successful job.

Spaniard and mystic, I am passionately in love with death, which brings me spiritual bliss. Aesthete and connoisseur of erotica, I try to prolong my orgasm - the Arkhangelsk pleasure from my own death. That's why I dream of living as if in hibernation. My deep, almost animal desire is a long, as far as possible, existence in my current bodily shell; at the same time, I know that self-restraint and refusal only stir up desire, inflame it, and the endless stretching of the waiting period brings desire to its highest point. I am playing erotic games with death in the manner of courtly games of troubadours in order to feel the highest bliss from turning Dali into an angel!

Mystic is cheese; Christ is made of cheese; Moreover, the mountains - they are also made of cheese! Does not Saint Augustine say that in the Bible Christ is called montus coagulatus, montus fermentatus, - which means that he is a real mountain of cheese!

Resurrection of the body. Probably, this formulation carries a symbolic meaning, and the particles from which our body reborn after death will be composed have nothing to do with living human flesh. Yes, of course, we are talking about immortality, but immortality is a blinding of consciousness, an expansion of matter, some kind of abstract splendor. And the very idea that my body will change the composition, even if this composition turns out to be beautiful, causes genuine disgust in me.

Hell is a state of never-ending celebration. There is no morality in hell. Relations between brothers and sisters are in the order of things there, and fornication is exquisite.

The human body is a huge factory for the production of divine fragrances, but as soon as a person is born, the factory stops working and resumes it only after death.

If someone, even if he is quite nice, starts a conversation with me about a horoscope or asks for my zodiac sign, I never call him again.

In an era when I loved humanity, I invented a system called "Defecate and eat." The Towers of Immortality - each city was supposed to have one such tower - were modeled after Brueghel's "Tower of Babel". Each resident who wanted to relieve himself, relieved himself strictly over the resident who was sitting on the floor below and was hungry. With the help of methods for improving the spirit and diet, human beings began to defecate a viscous substance that resembled bee honey in everything. As soon as one of them opened his mouth, the feces of their neighbors from above got there, and then those who had eaten defecated in turn ... this was how complete harmony was achieved from a social point of view. In addition, everyone was full without working. In this project, I did not see anything ridiculous, and I firmly believed in it. But when I discussed it with one of the medical students, I learned that human stool is completely devoid of vitamins, proteins, etc. and have no nutritional value.

Then I had to give up my dreams of the Tower of Immortality of Babel, which - unlike the tower from the Bible, conceived to reach heaven - was supposed to provide immortality on earth.

When one of the important or semi-important people dies, I experience a sharp, strange feeling of satisfaction because this death turned out to be one hundred percent in the spirit of Dali, because from now on there will be less obstacles to recognizing the genius of my creations.

Original sin is ambition, the Golden Fleece, their direct embodiment.

It took me three days to absorb and digest Nietzsche. At the end of this predatory meal, the last bone remained to be gnawed: I lacked only one single detail to capture the peculiarity of the philosopher's personality, namely the shape of his mustache. Later, Federico Garcia Lorca, admiring Hitler's mustache, declared that "the mustache is the tragic constant of the human face." Even with the shape of the mustache, I surpassed Nietzsche! My mustache does not at all inspire melancholy and do not cause a feeling of depression, they have not drooped from the fogs and from Wagner's music, no! They are pointed, imperialistic, ultra-rational, they reach for the sky, like vertical mysticism and Spanish vertical syndicates.

I always affirm that the buttocks are the key to comprehending the great mysteries. I even managed to detect a deep similarity between the buttocks of one of the ladies whom I invited to my place in Port Lligat and forced to undress, and the universal continuum, which I called the continuum with four buttocks.

I do not believe that reality can be found everywhere at the same moment in time. But God - you can.

I affirm that God is the most anthropomorphic being. God has a human form. God is incredibly beautiful, He is exactly one meter tall. It is unlikely that He wears a beard in the manner of radical socialists.

I am struck by the insignificance of the philosophical and metaphysical reflection with which the human mind has dignified such an object of paramount importance as bowel movements. And it is shameful to state that among intellectually developed people, many relieve their needs in the same way as everyone else.

Ecstasy is a state of purity and hyperaesthetic clarity of consciousness that requires a lot of effort, a state of blind clarity of desire. This is the most complete expression of the critical state of mind that modern thought - false, hysterical, surreal and phenomenal - strives to make continuous.

The soft watch is nothing more than a paranoid-critical Camembert cheese, delicate, extravagant and lonely in time and space.

Soft watch or hard - it doesn't matter. The main thing is that they show the exact time.

Crutch: a wooden prop, dating back to Cartesian philosophy. As a rule, it is used as a support for soft and flexible objects.

The slowness inherent in the modern mind is one of the reasons for the blissful misunderstanding of the essence of surrealism by those who, at the cost of incredible intellectual efforts, pinching their nostrils and closing their eyes, tried to bite off, by definition, an inedible Cezanne apple, and then were content with "pure contemplation" of this apple and platonic to it love, because the structure and sex appeal of this fruit did not allow to go further.

Just as a snowflake can cause an avalanche, a kick in the butt of a priest marked the beginning of a great heresy.

Between a fly and an elephant, perhaps there is some similarity. But between me and you?

I never part with one valuable device with which I create most of my paintings. Outwardly, this device looks more like a small fragile color TV than a nightmarish, ugly camera with its mechanics. And the most amazing thing, my device is not solid at all! Yes, it's EYE!

Form is always the result of a relentless inquisitorial process to which matter is subjected.

The opposite of Voltaire is the rhinoceros. Voltaire has "everything inside", while the rhinoceros has "everything outside". Voltaire is full of hollows and hollows, while the rhinoceros, the most irrational and cosmic of all animals, has protrusions everywhere. From the point of view of morphology, Voltaire has everything drawn inward - only cavities and voids; the rhinoceros is an imperialistic system of bumps and bumps. As in morphology, so in metaphysics, any depression and emptiness is a flaw, and convexity, on the contrary, is a virtue.

What they didn’t say about the extravagance of my mustache, but I myself madly wanted to have instead of one mustache - 2258 hard and sharp, like the needles of a sea urchin from the Mediterranean Sea, and then, having bristled my mustache well, I would have proved that, not in an example to Voltaire, Dali believes in everything.

I love stomach pain and feeling thirsty. Therefore, I am inclined to eat food that causes indigestion and exacerbates thirst to the extreme. Because of this gastric dizziness, a painful state of all the viscera arises, surprisingly beneficial for the paranoid perception of the world.

I am one of the rarest examples of viable lunatics that ever existed.

Salvador Dali, who is a clown?
- The clown is you. This is the one who makes me laugh with every question.

I like to be surrounded by puffy idiots with huge hydrocephalic heads, dressed in lace, and whose mouth never closes, which makes them constantly drool, because this kind of idiot prides himself on his superiority over the consumer society and its adherents. From time to time they utter refined words, and in their head they have much more fluid than ordinary mortals, therefore, their connection with the cosmos is stronger.

Most idiots need to work to make money. And I need to earn money to work quietly.

I am completely incapable of giving money to someone who asks me for it, even if he is dying of hunger. To give money is to go against my moral principles.

Is it hard to love Dali? - Oh no, it's soft!

As the greatest flatterer of my era, I agree to absolutely everything, with only one condition - that I be well paid.

Matisse said: "A good picture should be like a comfortable chair." Dali believes that the chair serves to instantly release the arrogant, decorative, intimidating and quantified ghost of the era - the main ghost of style. The chair should serve to release the most selective arrogance and shameful truth. Take, for example, the portable chair of the Pope, which lightly touches the sky, and the electric chair propped up by the hell of death. You can even sit on a chair, but only on the condition that it will be uncomfortable to sit on it.

Yes, the divine Dali is a pig that drools on its snout and grunts with pleasure, has a shameful passion for delicious food and is obsessed with desires; he appeared with his sticky and gluttonous maw in the midst of a heap of ammoniacal, disgusting garbage of our era to make his way through a tunnel of sausage peels and stupidity personified by the press, radio, television, admirers of Dali and his opponents - all of them wallowing in the oatmeal slurry of cybernetics.

An orange crossed with lettuce is a moral behemoth that only gets worse as the storm approaches.

Beauty is either edible or completely inedible.

The bust of Voltaire is everywhere, except for the place where it is located.

Here are some of Dali's inventions:
- kaleidoscopic glasses that are worn during boring car trips;
- ovosiped - a plexiglass ball, a vehicle, the mechanism of action of which is based on intrauterine paradise fantasies;
- transparent mannequins filled with water, inside which fish swim, simulating blood circulation;
- photo masks for newspaper correspondents;
- furniture with fingerprints of its owner;
- false nails with tiny mirrors that you can look into;
- boots on springs, facilitating walking.

Get it on your nose that in Dali's aesthetic system, the tulip is a terrible thing compared to celluloid; that sardines that exceed a certain size become vulgar, and that the shrimp is the most delightful of all the architectural structures that exist in nature, and the form with which the shrimp is most harmoniously combined is the shape of an onion.

In the dining room, you need to hang an image of a bull tied to a helicopter taking off into the sky. Food should rise vertically upwards towards God himself, which goes against the principles of Jean-Paul Sartre's existentialism.

It is one of the human rights to decide that warm telephones are disgusting and to demand telephones that are cold, green, and arousing sensuality, like the prophetic and sensitive sleep of Spanish flies. Telephones, as barbaric as church sprinklers, will shed the sugary warmth of Louis XV-style spoons and slowly become covered with the icy bashfulness inherent in the heterogeneous styles of our captivatingly degraded age of decadence.

Flour is ground in mills. And I make mills out of flour.

I dump a cup of coffee on my shirt. In such a situation, the first reaction of those who are not a genius like me, that is, all other people, is to immediately wipe themselves with a napkin. With me, it's completely different.

Of all the Sybarite pleasures of my life, one of the most subtle and piquant is, perhaps (perhaps even without "probably"), basking in the sun surrounded by flies.
- Let the small flies fly here as soon as possible! At breakfast in Port Lligat, I pour oil on my head from an anchovy plate. Flies flock instantly. Usually the work of my thought does not stop for a minute, and when flies tickle me, this work simply boils. However, on those rare days when flies bother me, I take it as a sign that something has gone wrong inside me and the cybernetic mechanisms of my ideas have rusted, because I firmly believe that flies are the fairies of the Mediterranean.

Here is a brilliant theory of three-dimensionality: the tense tensor twitching of the paralyzed tendons of the genitals, the tone, the trachea, transmitted with the help of the complete traumatism of twilight, which from time to time turn into sultry streams of spinning solar disks, a wonderful transformation in the Roca washbasin, not a single speck, triumphant, like Emperor Trajan, tantalic, terrible, tragic, like the Tarpeian rock, and also completely silent and transcendently theatrical.

Dali's invention: the magical pencil sharpener bed.

The little face of a cherub at the head of the bed is a golden cage. An ermine lives in it, perched among the pillows, and the tip of a huge pencil is inserted into its slightly hungry mouth - the ermine gnaws at it, wetting the wooden pencil with saliva and painting the memory of the royal couple, who are unable to get up from their bed, with Proust-style pictures illustrating life in this chic room where the couple smells and tastes of a sharpened pencil. Pillows - with every slightest touch of the cheek, and sheets - if you just move your toe among their folds, cascades of Mozart's music will shake out at you, and crickets will chirp, frogs will croak, and tiny albino monkeys will descend from the bed canopy, trembling, on parachutes, which rightly called snowflakes. All this magic is invented for the conception of the most beautiful children, not a bit like middle-class officials.

Finally, I must apologize for the severe hunger I assume my readers experienced when they embarked on this theoretical meal, when they were expecting a meal of savages and cannibals with exquisitely civilized caviar and heady, flabby Camembert for dessert. . But don't trust these delicacies: Behind both delicious simulacrums, served at the table, lies a healthy, famous, bloody, irrational fried chop that will swallow us all.

I'm going to make a movie that tells the story of a paranoid woman in love with her decrepit car. Gradually, the rattletrap is endowed with all the features of a loved one, whose dead body is perceived by the heroine as a means of transportation. In the end, the car comes to life and turns into flesh. That's why my film will be called "Kolymaga in the flesh."

In order for the film to seem miraculous to the audience, the first important condition is that the audience must believe in the miracles that occur before their eyes. The only way to achieve this is to do away once and for all with the stupid rhythm of modern cinema, with the vulgar, boring rhetoric of camera movement. Well, how can you believe, even for a split second, the authenticity of the most banal of melodramas, when the camera follows the killer everywhere in travelling mode, right down to the restroom, where he goes to wash the blood stains from his palms? Even before the shooting of his film, Salvador Dali will take care to nail the camera to the floor, nail it firmly with nails, as Christ was nailed to the cross. So much the worse for the action of the film, if it goes beyond the operator's view! With anxiety, despair, annoyance, holding their breath, shifting from one foot to the other, impatiently or better, even dying of boredom, the audience is waiting for the action to finally return to the visual framework set by the camera. However, they will be entertained by some nice and in no way connected with the plot of the film, which will float before the motionless, paralyzed and static eye of Dali's camera, aimed at its true object, the camera is the slave of my whimsical imagination.

Dali's idea: a liturgical bullfight, in which the brave curates dance in front of a bull, which will then be taken from the site by a helicopter.

(War in Spain): a pliable structure with boiled beans - a premonition of civil war.

Unpleasant institutions like UNESCO need to be endowed with at least a modicum of libido. Turn UNESCO into a Ministry of Public Stupidity, so as not to lose what has already been achieved. For example, glorious folk prostitution, which, however, needs to be pumped up with powerful spiritual and sensual energy. Thus, UNESCO, this most boring hole, will be transformed into a real erogenous zone, which will be patronized by St. Louis himself - the main legislator of corrupt love.

The orchid of snobbery grows out of the ear.

Here is an example of an animated aerodynamics mechanism. Find yourself a neat, clean old woman of the highest degree of decrepitude, dress her up in a bullfighter's costume and hoist a carefully shaven omelet with spices on top of her head, which will constantly vibrate due to the senile trembling of your experimental subject. On an omelet it is possible to put a coin in twenty centimes still.

As I have already said in describing my meeting with Freud, Freud's skull is like a snail. The consequences of this are obvious: if you want to eat a thought, you need to get it with a needle. Then you fish out the whole thought. Otherwise, it will fall apart - and there is nothing to be done, you will never reach the goal.

I was amazed to see Hitler's loose, full back, always pulled tight into his uniform. Each time, starting to draw a leather sash, which was fastened to his belt and thrown over his shoulder, drawing an oblique back, Hitler's soft flesh, compressed by a military uniform, brought me into a state of ecstasy and sharpened my taste sensations to the limit, reminding me of something milky. , nutritional and Wagnerian. My heart began to beat wildly - this almost never happens to me, even when I make love.

Power will not allow itself to be recognized by the vile trepanation of the petty principle of contradiction, by the quiet, like the ringing of a bell, the erosion of a humiliated old cripple, with a cold, a Breton by birth and electrified, who is stuck in nostalgic memories of spatio-temporal coordinates; recognized by the nonsense and stupidity reigning everywhere, by the barely audible sniffing of the vile old hag, which is called "causality", flabby and miserable, reminiscent of a miserable clock made of ashes mixed with food and blown with this food from the nostril of an official of an average hand, sugary and thoughtful , due to a fit of choking cough and frantic convulsions that seized him - a piece stuck in his throat, and he suddenly caught his breath at the end of a vulgar dinner alone, which ended uncertainly in the twilight of summer twilight, scattered like iridescent sparks on timid and faded colored stained-glass windows depicting storks, dressed as nurses, in the empty hall of a huge restaurant, modest and completely perpendicular.

Space, according to Euclid, who believed that the intersection, point and plane are nothing but idealized material objects, space, I repeat, could not, according to Euclid, achieve a density that would exceed the density of liquid tapioca broth, completely utopian and chilled.

A hair that has suddenly stuck to the crust of bread is removed with a sharp, quick, through and through hypocritical movement of the hand. Everything is completely different if a hair is suddenly noticed inside a densely molded bread crumb - all that remains is to close your eyes before the obvious failure of any "anti-geodetic" attempt to pull it out. You can’t confuse this with anything, and you don’t need to pretend to be blind: here it is, the hair, inside the bread! Yes, he is here, and his very presence contradicts the deep meaning of the loose structure of the bread crumb, he is here, demonstrating his morphological appearance, which does not fit in with the seriousness of the problem in its physical aspect. If the hair, like a thread, became isomorphic to loose grain structures, there would be hope to settle the matter. But this hair, even if it is thin or wet, will never change its shape and will continue to bend its line. In part, however, it will still sag under the pressure of the crumb, but this will only complicate the situation, because the hair will stick out in the most inappropriate and critical place, revealing its nightmarish curves to the eye. Hair caught in mayonnaise is just as terrible (by and large, filling a sink or bathtub with mayonnaise to the brim is also pretty disgusting). And even more nightmarish to notice hysterical hair, baked with cheese and breadcrumbs on fat pork legs.

What could be easier than carefully cutting two even holes in a loaf of bread and inserting a couple of inkwells there? And what could be more immoral and beautiful than watching the bread gradually become covered with blots from Pelican ink? It is very convenient to insert feathers into the square recess made in the crust of this ink-bread. And if you want to always have fresh soft bread that absorbs ink so well and is great for cleaning feathers, all you need to do is change the loaf in the morning.

If the snail had a pronounced taste, would the human palate, quite in a Pythagorean way, sample this delicacy of the Mediterranean civilization, deathly pale, in the shape of a horn, with a blue-moon tint, in the agony of violent euphoria - would it try garlic clove? Garlic illuminates the cloudless sky with sheaves of sparks, already watering the eyes. What comparison can there be with a fresh, tasteless snail?

Wordplay: the term "expressionism" is derived from the word expression, "expression".

Sex appeal (English) - sexual attraction.

Tarpeian rock - the name of a sheer cliff in ancient Rome, located on the western side of the Capitoline Hill. From this rock, criminals condemned to death, who committed treachery, incest, and escape from the owner, were thrown off.

From English. to travel - to travel.

Talking about Catalonia, I want to open it for you in a new way, and first of all describe the sights that have received the least attention on various websites and blogs. However, I still cannot share my impressions of visiting some of the well-known places.

Speaking about Catalonia, the names of famous artists first of all pop up in the associative series, and of the artists, first of all, of course, the eccentric Salvador Dali. We were lucky enough to visit the Salvador Dali House Museum in Port Lligat, which is fully consistent with its owner, but first things first.

Port Lligat is a small fishing village located near the old Spanish town of Cadaqués. It is impossible not to recognize Dali's house, its roof is decorated with eggs, and the white walls seem to shine in the sun. In front of the house, small fishing boats splash on the waves of the Mediterranean Sea. The view is very calming. Here the great artist lived from 1930 to 1982.

The house consists of several fishermen's huts, which Dali bought out gradually and connected with the existing premises. It all started with a dilapidated fishing hut, which was not adapted for living. It is this hut that today is the first room that you enter when entering the house, it is also called the bear hallway. The name is very telling, as you are greeted by a stuffed polar bear as you enter the cramped room. Which stands on its hind legs with a lamp that illuminates the room in one paw and several threads of jewelry made of metal and stone on its chest. Behind the bear is a stuffed owl and a framed butterfly. These are not the only scarecrows you will find in this house. In the same room is the famous lip-shaped sofa, upholstered in white fabric with tropical plants painted on it.

Nearby is a very modest dining room, where chairs with wicker reed seats are located, an old bench with a carved figured back, a table on which there are two massive forged candlesticks, a fireplace carved right into the rock.

From the dining room, going up a few steps, you find yourself in the library, with a large number of bookshelves completely filled with books. Of course, now there is no Dali library on the shelves, these are just dummies. The fact is that all the books from this library are located in Figueres, in the center for the study of Dali's work, founded at the Gala-Salvador Dali Foundation.

At the very top of the bookshelves are three stuffed white swans with spread wings. This gives the impression that the seemingly peaceful birds are preparing to attack.

In the course of further inspection of the house, you will still see many different rooms decorated in the unique Dali style. But one of the most important rooms in the house is the artist's studio. This is the most spacious and well-lit room. In this house there is also a separate room of Gala, the so-called oval hall, where she read and received visitors. To get into this room, you first need to go through a dressing room with wardrobes, on the doors of which there are collages of photographs in which the couple appears in the company of different stars.

However, the tour does not end with a tour of the whole house, you are waiting for the courtyard, the olive grove, the dovecote, the famous "Garbage Christ" of gigantic size, which Dali created from all kinds of rubbish and debris carried by the waves to the shore of the bay in Cadaqués.

And we go further to another place associated with Salvador Dali - Cap de Creus. This is the easternmost point of mainland Spain, the Pyrenees separating Spain and France descend from their sky-high heights and go into the Mediterranean Sea with rocky outgrowths, forming unearthly landscapes. These places are often compared to space. The piercing sea winds constantly blowing here make the vegetation of the cape extremely scarce (mostly thorny bushes), and the volcanic rocks turn into something like a stone sponge. This is what creates the impression of an absolutely alien landscape. The alien character of the landscape is largely determined by the transmontana - a harsh northerly wind, whose destructive gusts sometimes reach 150 km per hour.

Along the many kilometers of the coast, special footpaths are laid, which wind between rock ledges and bays with clear water. The route itself is quite difficult, gusts of wind make it even more difficult, so comfortable shoes and good physical fitness are needed to walk through this area.

The cape is attractive not only for lovers of unusual landscapes and hiking, but also for those who are interested in Dali's work. It was these landscapes that inspired the artist; Dali often depicted Cap de Creus on his canvases. For example, in the painting "The Great Masturbator" you can see the silhouette of a rock on a cape. This is not the only picture in which Dali depicted the outlines of the rocks of Cap de Creus and so that you can observe them, there are special signs on the paths that will tell you where to look and which canvas of the artist you should see. But keep in mind that the transmontana is constantly making adjustments to the landscape of the cape.

At the very beginning of the article, I mentioned that when talking about Catalonia, I want to open it for you in a new way, and first of all describe the sights that have received the least attention on various websites and blogs. You can get acquainted with such places in the June issue of Forbes Kazakhstan magazine.

I already talked about the temporary exhibition at. But in Paris there is a whole museum dedicated to this brilliant Spanish artist.

It is located in Montmartre. I found out about it at the hotel. There was a flyer in the advertising magazine that provided a discount for visiting.

This museum has the most complete collection of sculptures by the great master of surrealism

The nobility of time . The clock flows around the tree, the eternal symbol of life. At the top of the watch is a crown, symbolizing the superiority of time over man. A contemplative angel and a shawled woman look. Dali shows that time reigns supremely over art and human reality.

Time Profile. All people must come to terms with the passage of time.

space elephant. Embodies the symbol born in 1946 in Dali's painting called " Temptation of Saint Anthony«.

Surrealist piano (1954 - 1984). Dali replaced the banal wooden legs of the piano with the legs of dancers. Bringing the instrument to life, allowing it to enjoy the opportunity to dance and play.

Tribute to Newton

Birdman (1972 -1981). Dali combines two incompatible parts. Replaces the human head with the head of a heron, makes a man half a bird or a bird half a man. This creature cannot distinguish which of the two parts dominates. A person is not always who he appears to be. Dali wants to leave us in doubt, this is his game.

Space Venus. Dali pays tribute to a woman. The beauty of the flesh is temporary and fades with time, but the beauty of art is infinite. Cosmic Venus is divided into two halves, revealing an egg. Symbol of life, renewal, continuation and future.

Saint George and the Dragon. Saint George was the patron saint of all knights in medieval Europe. Dali reconstructs the famous dragon legend in 3D. We see in the background a woman raising her hand in victory. Perhaps the artist reports that all warriors are fought for the sake of women.

Vision of an Angel (1977 - 1984) Dali believes in religion, and in the power of its symbolism. According to him, the unity of the Lord is represented by the thumb, from where life arises (tree branches). Although man is united with the Lord, the Divineknowledge is the highest.

Woman on Fire (1980) The sculpture combines two vivid, obsessive ideas of Dali: fire and female forms with drawers. The flames represent the hidden intensity of subconscious desire, while the boxes represent the mystery of hidden secrets. This woman without a face represents all women. For a woman's secret is her real beauty.

Snail and angel. It is known that the snail was one of Dali's most obsessive fetishes. It paradoxically combines softness with hardness (shell). The shell is a symbol of the slow passage of time. The angel who keeps the strength of the spirit visits her and bestows unlimited speed.

Angel close up.

The artist's favorite theme is a leaking clock.

TributeTerpsichore, the muse of dance. We see two surreal dancers moving in space. The dancer with classically smooth forms represents grace and the unconscious, the other with cubic forms represents the chaotic rhythm of modern life. Two forms dance together in each.

Surreal Warrior (1971 - 1984) The warrior represented by Dali symbolizes all victories: real and metaphysical, spiritual and physical.

Space Rhino (1956)

How Dali made his sculptures

The pattern becomes clear only when reflected in the cylinder.

There are also many prints on display. I never cease to be amazed by fantasy.

A series of engravings "Search for the Grail" (1975)

And drawings

Series of works "Romeo and Juliet"

Series of works "Moses and monotheism", 1974

Portrait of Dali as Jaconda

— Dali, what do you see when you look at the Mona Lisa?
— An example of beauty.

In general, he is Dali like that ... mystical, surprising, surreal) More details about the museum can be found on