Dalì,the ladies: the drawers of ancestral memory

With Massimo Buscaini and Bedy Moratti,  one evening in Paris having dinner “Chez Maxim” we weren’t alone indeed,  at the table by our side Amanda Lear and Salvador Dalì drawed attention for the only fact of existing. 1972.

                                         Dalì the genius                                            ….with Amanda

One, no one, and hundred thousand: to have as many personalities as the others attribute to us. To be renewed constantly finding again in the drawers of ancestral memory…masquerading to be free, in the end, to be “no one”. Even Tefnut, in the ancient egyptian myth of birth of knowledge, comes to us masked as a lioness…she wears it because she doesn’t want the power to be preserved identifying it in somebody, she is free, when she takes it off, to be nobody and everybody again.

Avida Dolares, as Andrè Breton the poet of surrealism had dubbed Salvador Dalì, had exotic, almost gypsylike face devoured by large flashing black catalan eyes, moustache nearly painted waxed upwards…all elements which caused an unquestionable attraction and it was impossible to look away from the genius and from his marvellous androgynous partner….people told that she was actually a man…nothing more winning in the time of transgression in which we  were projected.

                                                                         Plain without veils
Amanda, very feminine, had long threadlike hands, outfit like a model and the tone of her voice was unexpectedly  manly, strong, charming…her laughing shaked and satisfied…and the fact of being guest of the great genius of the surrealism made her sublime before my eyes… I’d have paied gold to be at her place, to be part of that dreamy world where time doesn’t exist. To represent in a good way this concept it’s enough to remember works as “The Persistence of Memory” where depicting soft watches Dalì takes us back with the memory in a dimension out of time hanging in the perfection of colours and pure spirit.

                                                           Dalì: Antropomorphic Cabinet 1936
 What to say about the many Venus whose bodies open as drawer…adoration for his mother Felipa Domenech who died young and for his beloved sister Annamaria…certainly veneration for women who have inside them ancestral memory. Extreme knowledge come back to life with sexual stimulation, when bare from every covering… naked, their body, stimulated by the desire,  finally hands information, opens the drawers  offering the contents and so it increases the possibilities of life.


                                          Inspired love : Gala and Salvador
Dalì, a genius who isn’t died. “Dalì never dies” paraphrasing  what he told to his faithful friend and driver Arturo Carmineda, before the end of his experience on this earth, in 1989 referring to his beloved and late inspirer muse Gala, to which  Amanda had managed to succeed with honour.

                                                  Dalì:The Persistence of Memory 1931
Soft watches…only a genius of the research as Salvador Dalì  could conceive them in that dimension where memory of time is only remembrance…. I think how somebody feels satisfied when time stops  existing at least virtually,  I think intimately to live neither in my past nor in my future, to possess only the present and it is the present that interests me, the awareness to be able to decide what to do of this time that is granted to us. I know I couldn’t cease to be but I must remember to be now and only now…in that case the time will turn horizontal, will stop falling, and we, finally bereft of the desire of after, will contemplate the today, the hour,  the present and…maybe …we’ll succeed in reaching the comprehension that at the end of this experience and, for the most lucky, even along the way there is the light.

                                   Dalì: Le Christ de Saint Jean de la Croix 1951
Even in the work “Christ of Saint John of the Cross” Dalì carries out the research of the fourth dimension, the one without  an end  nor time neither place and he makes up a hypercrucifixion hypercubic, whose mathematically defined term is a “tesseratto”.  Dali adds on the line the bidimensionality of the square, on this the tridimensionality of the cube to add again the fourth dimension of the hypercube giving life, in that way, to the image of a planetary Christ.

                                                           Bright perspective of Mantegna
Starting from the work of Mantegna “The Lamentation over the Dead Christ”, extreme expression of the tridimensional perspective, he reaches the impossible  evoking Universe with the fourth dimension  atemporal.  
In Rome, Galleria Colonna, in a warm beginning of october in 1999,  visiting with my friend Cristina, Cri, the wonderful  exhibition of Dalì, we stop admired before some sculptures of his among the most symbolic: from the couch that resembles the sensuous lips of Mae West to the soft watch symbol of the memory of the time in a dimension that is void of it.

                             Soft watches                                           Cri in front of Dalì’s Mae West sofa
Salvador Dalì is everything and the opposite of everything




Dalì: La Tentation de Saint Antoine 1946

Timeless architectures that remind the metaphysical Giorgio De Chirico…I must avail myself of the time remaining to visit the Foundation De Chirico at Piazza di Spagna. On the right of the staircase, entering in the  number 31 of Piazza di Spagna,  walked a few steps in the narrow white marble lobby you come with pleasure across the timeless sculture of  ” Hector and Andromache”, Hector wears the mask that he will remove only in the greeting to the son, in a sign of an extreme respect, symbol of the fatherly love that deprives himself of his own defenses. A lift takes to the last floors where a guided visit makes come to life again, along a path marked by a red and white mat,  the rooms of the great metaphysical painter Giorgio de Chirico’s house    …remained in their unchanged condition from the moment of his disappearence, with the self-portraits of the painter that fill the wall (in one of them he appears dressed up as Velasquez, his favourite artist).

                                                              Giorgio De Chirico: Selfportrait
The works take emotionally the visitors to the upper floor, the wedding room and the room, furnished in a simple style, nearly franciscan, where he used to rest,  wilful hermit, up to his studio with skylight used to obtaine the perfect light, the illumination without shades…The tools to make, the powders to produce the varnishes of his great paintings are still there…left in scattered way  mortars, lead colours, pestles, easels, paintbrushes, on the shelves some bottle of glass melted on itself, sure memory of english markets of the Seventies, anatomical manikins and a Big Jim, silent model, by which copying the perfect and… atemporal musculatures! What a lot of sensuality in his research for the transposition on canvas of his own knowledge…in researching the useful viaticum, adopting it and…as a beloved person, let it be cuddled by colours, by materials in the creation of the work.

                                                            Hector and Andromache 1938
I’m excited by such a close contact with the intimacy of the Great Master, I know I’ve learnt ancestrally something new, even if I don’t know yet what it is…it is by then indelible present in my soul and I know I’ll succed soon in bringing it to light and in giving to it, me too, sooner or later, shape and life.

                                                            I relax near De Chirico’s horses
In visiting the ancient egyptian places of knowledge ( from our culture’s lexicon identified with the word  temples ) the groups of tourists flocked into them characterised by a multiracial crowd; it happens to ask what could they acknowledge, in that confusion, of the ancient message committed to the millenary stone and…on the contrary…when everybody come out, without their knowing it, they are unperceivable different. Their attention, seized by a symbol imprinted in the stone since millennia has spoken to their heart and their knowledge has changed unconsciously, has woken up at that stimulus, at the stone magnetism that has changed something evolving it unperceivable. The text committed to the symbol of the stone is a book that you write reading it, the thought springs spontaneous when you are ready, without the violence of word, without any induction. All this reassures our being and let’s hope….

Out in the still hot roman sun …I’m running to my friend to try to divide with her more earthly, mundane moments but nevertheless satisfying and delightful: what saying of a good “supplì” and a  “tomato with rice” in Via della  Scrofa  and contextual encounter with the sora romana the flower-vendor….

                                                                  Rome: via della Scrofa
We enjoy the stringy mozzarella cheese of the supplì and the capers of the tomato stuffed with hot rice satisfying our taste and letting our senses to be filled by those spices and by those flavours tipically roman…I like travelling with Cristina…she tastes and she becomes enthusiastic over everything…she’s so opened to life that life opens before her spontaneously.

                                                           Together  at Piazza di Spagna
She lives in such a free way that I think I have much to learn from her….from her ability to let herself go, to let herself get emotionally involved immediately, to flare up in a second…when I take a light year to realize when and how it is possible to take delight…it will be fault of my Moon in Virgo, but really at the beginning I have an attitude too rational that, luckily, changes when motors warm up! In short, simplicity is my mirage, immediacy in enjoying physical pleasure my aim…things that for Cristina are topical subjects!

                                         Cristina …free at the Galapagos

At Cap Ferrat  in an hot evening of late summer two years ago I had asked to Cristina and his sweetheart to reach me in the house looking on to the bay of Antibes,owned by my swedish cousin     Christopher.   On the Colline de  la Paix, under Mont Baron, where the sight take your breath away, on the terrace at the last level a hexagonal Jacuzzi  allowed to enjoy a hydromassage under the stars sipping excellent Champagne….So in the evening, after dinner, we are together in the water having our senses tickled by the little bubbles …a masterly lighting, from under the plants and from inside the pool, allows to suggest what needs and let space to the moon to charm us even more, if it is possible…

                                              Fantastic full-lenght bathrobes
My cousin has supplied us with full-lenght bathrobes, from New York, wonderful…Cri looks like Dopey…she takes it off and slips into the pool, naked in the arms of her love…my cousin and me admire the intertwining of their bodies, figures that let them glimpse among the crackling of the bubble of warm water…sometimes the extremities cross, we graze lightly increasing our own desires. They…free from everything, go on loving themselves…my cousin attempts an advances but I’m not attracted by him and by the idea of…a likely incest!

                                  My Swedish cousin Christopher von Shirach -Szmigiel
Reluctantly put off joining that common joy, with an excuse I go out from the pool and descend in my room remaining alone in my bed  to recall the images of those bodies that were enjoying life intertwining in the water. I haven’t had the courage to join them, fearing to cross in the intimacy my life with my cousin’s…I ask myself: and if he has been more winning? Maybe then I’d have lost my rationality to taste a little of carnality? Would I have let myself gone to the pleasure too, had I   exceeded the taboo of the incest if my sense had been  excited by the sight of something to which it’d have been impossible deny my favour? Is it then right to give up a pleasure not to disregard a taboo?  …upstairs in the pool they didn’t ask it occupied as they are in enjoying life…My cousin would have attempted to join them late in the evening, kindly rejected he will end asking himself the same things I asked me?

                                                   Dalì:Le Grand Masturbateur 1929
We should always let ourselves gone to the pleasure, living without preconceived notions…sometimes I’d like really not knowing who is making me happy,  setting mind and body free from pleasure…
A hand wakes me up in the night: “Eli, are you sleeping?”
Yes unfortunately Eli has given up that evening to be loved …in name of what it doesn’t know…but now it is too late to come back and it is non certain that the decisions taken are wrong decisions…are coherent in that moment with my nature and …this is enough.
Bonne Nuit , chèrie…

Copyright © Ely Galleani Blog. All rights reserved.

Share this post

Share on facebook
Share on google
Share on twitter
Share on linkedin
Share on pinterest
Share on print
Share on email

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *