Salvador dali gay
…one ought to be competent to hold in one’s head simultaneously the two facts that Dalí is a good draughtsman and a disgusting human being.
George Orwell
This two-part, two-hour TV documentary from 1997 has a title that makes it sound like more of an exercise in audience pandering than was typical for the BBC’s Omnibus arts strand, fame and shame being qualities that might be considered of greater interest for the general viewer than art history. But Michael Dibb’s film is more insightful than those made 20 years earlier when access to the Dalí circle, and to Dalí himself, required flattery and capitulation to the artist’s whims and attention-grabbing antics. In place of the impersonal approach taken by the BBC’s Arena documentary from 1986 we include writer Ian Gibson serving as a guide to Dalí’s life while conducting research into a major biography, La vida desaforada de Salvador Dalí (The Shameful Life of Salvador Dalí), which was published a year later. “Shame” here refers more to Dalí’s numerous fears and phobias, especially those of the sexual variety, rather than to scandal and public opprobrium, while “
The art world is full of affectionate stories that often become an crucial source of inspiration for all kinds of creations. Some of them are pretty self-explanatory, and the clearest examples happen in the music industry, where the fact that a guy sings to a lady he loves leaves no room for imagination. But there’s also the exception to the principle, when we own literally no notion who was the muse for specific artwork. Explicit or not, all creations inspired by any kind of affectionate are equally lovely.
There is also another type of love chronicles that we may never heard of, and actually turn out to be beautiful interesting and relevant to the art world. Those are stories that, for a while, were kept hidden, but with the passing of years, these tales resurface, telling a side of history we didn’t know until now. Such is the case of Salvador Dalí, the well-known surreal and quirky artist, and his controversial relationship with the Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca.
Dalí and García Lorca met in Madrid, in 1923, along with the filmmaker Luis Buñuel and the renowned writer, Pepín Bello. All four of them formed a strong friendship during their student years while they lived at the Re
The Surreal Romance of Salvador and Gala Dalí
In summer 1929, several members of Europe's surrealist art society descended on the coastal town of Cadaqués, in the Catalonia region of northeast Spain, to meet with a promising young painter named Salvador Dalí.
Dalí had signed on for what was to be his first solo exhibition in Paris in November, but he was exhibiting all sorts of odd habit, including uncontrollable fits of laughter. The visiting group, which included French poet Paul Éluard, worried that the talented but eccentric artist would be unable to focus on finishing enough pieces to fill the gallery space.
Dalí seemed intrigued by Éluard's Russian wife, born Elena Dmitrievna Diakonova but known simply as Gala, so she was tasked with communicating with their host. Gala weathered his jarring outbursts, realizing they stemmed from social awkwardness, and, eventually, the laughing fits disappeared. In the meantime, she discerned him to be a true visionary and capable of spurring, as he theorized in his autobiography The Secret Animation of Salvador Dalí, the "fulfillment of her own myth."
When Éluard announced it was time to return to Paris a limited weeks later
Miranda France
If one purpose of modern biography is to lay bare secrets and perversions, then Salvador Dalí must necessarily make a disappointing subject, for he spent a lucrative lifetime laying them all bare himself. Few are the Dalí paintings that make no reference to masturbation, castration or father-hatred. As for vanity, which biographers usually pounce on, one of Dalí’s earliest diary entries reads: ‘I am madly in love with myself.’ That love affair continued throughout his life, which may have brought the artist solace, as he successively alienated friends and family.
Dalí claimed not to have ‘the slightest problem in making public my most shameful desires’. He talked freely of his difficulty in achieving an erection and his horror of female genitalia. Yet, one of the aims of Ian Gibson’s thorough and beautifully written book is to show that the artist was also motivated by fears he chose not to express. There is some evidence to support this. Dalí never confessed to the lgbtq+ instincts which look powerfully expressed in some of his paintings. In later life he is known to own resorted to anti-depressants.
In his autobiography, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí,