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- <text id=89TT0374>
- <title>
- Feb. 06, 1989: The Embarrassing Genius
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
- Feb. 06, 1989 Armed America
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- ART, Page 82
- The Embarrassing Genius
- </hdr><body>
- <p>Behind the kitsch, Salvador Dali wrung poetry from neurosis
- </p>
- <p>By Robert Hughes
- </p>
- <p> With some artists, death is only a ratification of decay:
- it releases them from the humiliations of their late careers.
- So it was with Salvador Dali, who when he died last week at 84
- was perhaps the archetype of that 20th century phenomenon, the
- Embarrassing Genius. He was the first modern artist to exploit
- fully the mechanism of publicity. He appropriated the idea of
- the artist as demonic obsessive. He dealt with the question Why
- should your fantasies matter? by insisting that he was such an
- extraterrestrial creature, so tuned to the zeitgeist through
- the trembling antennas of his waxed mustache, that he could not
- be ignored. Armored in paradox, he was a household word
- rivaling Picasso in fame, at least in the eyes of a mass public
- that knew him as an eccentric first and a painter second.
- </p>
- <p> Unlike Picasso, however, Dali in the last few decades of
- his life produced little but kitsch. The perfunctory replays of
- images from his inventive youth -- the burning giraffes,
- androgynous St. Johns of the Cross and nudes with chewing-gum
- hips -- were printed in tens of thousands of "rare" or limited
- works; this was art sleaze, surrealism pathetically embracing
- the ethos of the Franklin Mint. Dali's last years, surrounded
- by flacks and barracuda (from whom he was, to put it mildly, not
- protected by his wife Gala, who died in 1982), were a cautionary
- horror. Several years ago, when his hands had long been too
- shaky to draw but could still scribble, he signed ream upon ream
- of blank sheets that now bear forged "Dali lithographs," the
- pride and joy of suckers from New Jersey to Brisbane, Australia.
- </p>
- <p> The early Dali was a different matter, an insecure and
- ravenously aggressive young dandy, wringing an uncanny poetry
- not only from his own neurosis but also from the psychic
- inflammations of Europe in the 1920s and '30s. Like his fellow
- Catalan Joan Miro, Dali was deep-dyed with images of place,
- among them the contorted rocks and flat beaches of the coast
- near the town of Figueras, where he grew up, and the flowing,
- bizarre buildings of Barcelona's master of art nouveau, Antonio
- Gaudi.
- </p>
- <p> From his art-student days (if one is to believe The Secret
- Life of Salvador Dali, his charmingly mythomanic autobiography),
- he struck everyone, especially himself, as a prodigy. Around
- 1929, after moving to Paris and serving an apprenticeship in
- various realist and cubist styles, he saw that realism, when
- pressed to a photographic extreme, could subvert one's sense of
- reality. He therefore used what he called "tricks of eye
- fooling" to invoke "sublime hierarchies of thought."
- </p>
- <p> His tight, enameled technique could make any vision, no
- matter how outrageous, seem persuasively real. It fitted the
- central claim of surrealism that dreams were superior facts, the
- incarnation of desire and possibility. But it needed a system
- of images, and that is what Dali found through what he called
- his "critical-paranoiac" method. In essence, it meant looking
- at one thing and seeing another -- an extended version of the
- face seen in the fire. Heads turn into a distant city, a
- landscape resolves itself as a still life, inexplicable
- combinations are seen to lurk magically beneath the skin of the
- world.
- </p>
- <p> Most vintage Dali was painted before his 35th birthday in
- 1939. In these canvases, like the familiar The Persistence of
- Memory, 1931, we are looking down the wrong end of the telescope
- at a brilliant, clear, shrunken and poisoned world whose deep
- mannerist perspective and sharp patches of shadow invite the eye
- but not the body. One could not imagine walking on that
- stretched, satiny beach among the oozing watches. This
- atmosphere of voyeurism lent force to Dali's obsessive imagery
- of impotence, violence and guilt.
- </p>
- <p> Even in his most extreme moments of anticlerical shock,
- Dali remained a Spanish Catholic. He inherited from Spanish
- devotional art a paralyzing morbidity about flesh. He liked
- anything that was not erect: running Camembert, soft watches,
- sagging loaves of flesh held up by crutches. Naturally all this
- was much more shocking 50 years ago than it is today: Dali was
- regularly denounced by Fascists and Stalinists alike as a
- decadent threat to youth. When he could no longer annoy either
- the bourgeoisie or the self- appointed guardians of the
- proletariat, he mortally offended the avant-garde by embracing
- Franco and the Pope, and was duly drummed out of the surrealist
- group for it.
- </p>
- <p> Dali's reaction, natural in such an enfant terrible, was to
- become more royalist than the King and more ostentatiously
- greedy than his Palm Beach and Hollywood patrons. If the net
- result was a tacky, phosphorescent caricature of Genius at Work,
- an embarrassment to most aficionados, it is still inconceivable
- that Dali the bad boy will ever be expelled from the pantheon
- of modern imagination.
- </p>
-
- </body></article>
- </text>
-
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