And Now to Make Masterpieces

The gallery reeked of perfume and rustled with silk and feathers. The extra-heavy cream of Manhattan cafe society eddied thickly between the walls, slowed to an occasional standstill by the 15 new Salvador Dali oils hanging there. The Flying Giant Demi-Tasse gave them pause; so did the Portrait of Pablo Picasso in the 21st Century -- a creature with ram's horns and two tongues, one a foot long.

Dali himself, a man with a delicate handlebar mustache, was as soberly anxious to please as a well-behaved schoolboy at a grownups' party. Modestly, he implied that not one of the paintings was really a finished masterpiece. Said he: "I have just reached the age of 44 and have finally decided that ... it is my duty to start painting my first masterpieces."

Sitting on Air. As a start, Dali was exhibiting one he had not yet mastered. He had spent only three months on it so far, and he figured it would need another four. The "masterpiece-in-progress" was an expert, academic picture of his wife Gala, sitting naked on the air, with a swan.

Long ago, when he was an unknown schoolboy in Spain, Dali had let his hair grow in order to resemble Raphael's self portrait. Now, his ambition was to "recreate Raphael" in oils. But instead of a Raphaelesque Madonna, Dali had chosen for his "masterpiece" the Greek myth of Leda (whom Zeus seduced, in the guise of a swan). Dali's up-to-the-minute title: Leda Atomica. "Le head," explained Dali in his scrambled English, "ees the most finish. Le figure weel remain tres clair. Le rest weel become tres nocturne. Weel appear new architectures and rocks dans le sky."

Fashionable Cheese. His new devotion to Raphael, Dali believes, is just as fashionable as his handsome hotel suite in midtown Manhattan (which he once described as "an immense Gothic Roquefort cheese"). In fact, he says, "eet ees prophetique. Le people are tired of l'ugliness. Eet ees not possible to continue the destructive themes of Picasso. Mon revolution," he adds gravely, "ees very close to Catholicism."

Had he been brought up a Catholic? "Ah, every time, every time." But Bali's true religion was simply Dali--and painting.

Dali was readying for publication a handbook to be called 50 Secrets of Magic Craftsmanship. Meanwhile he gave the unfinished Leda a surrealist boost in the Dali News--a newspaper by and about himself, which he published for his exhibition. Wrote Dali:

"Dali shows us the hierarchized libidinous emotion, suspended and as though hanging in midair, in accordance with the modern 'nothing touches' theory of intra-atomic physics. Leda does not touch the swan; Leda does not touch the pedestal; the pedestal does not touch the base; the base does not touch the sea; the sea does not touch the shore. . . ."

That sounded like the old Dali, the spellbinder whose ice-cold art--like his Leda--could sometimes shock and sometimes fascinate, but almost never touch.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.