Chapter 6 Chapter 5: Real Childhood Memories (1)

I closed my eyes and searched my memory for that which revealed itself to me in the most spontaneous and intuitive way.I saw... I saw two cypress trees, two big cypress trees about my height.But the one on the left is slightly shorter, and its crown slopes towards the other.The other is its opposite, standing upright like the letter I.I saw these two cypresses from the window of one of the classrooms at the Figueras Conventional School, which has inherited the pernicious teaching experience of Mr. Traydale. The window framing my view opens only in the afternoon, but from that moment on I devote myself entirely to the viewing activity.I followed the footsteps of light and shadow falling on these two trees. Just before sunset, the pointed top of the cypress tree on the right showed a dark red brilliance, as if soaked in wine, while the cypress tree on the left, is completely shrouded in shadow and is nothing more than a large black mass.The bell for vespers rang again and again, and the whole class stood up, repeating in unison the prayer chanted in a low voice by the clasped palms.In the afternoon sky, the cypress trees were like two large slowly burning candles, the only thing that made me feel how much time passed in class.For I was absent from this new class as often as at Mr. Traydale's, the only difference being that I had to contend with the good intentions of the Order's members, who ardently and sometimes cruelly tried to attract my attention.But I don't want someone to touch me, talk to me, "interfere" with the thoughts that come into my head.I continued the fantasies I had begun at Mr. Traydale, and when they were in danger, I clung to them with greater force, my nails as fast as a lifebuoy. watching them.

After the vespers bells, the cypresses faded into the shadows of evening, and though their shadows were gone, I knew where they were, and I continued to watch where they were.At this time, the lights leading to the classroom corridor on the right were turned on, and through the glass door, I could observe the oil paintings hanging on the wall.From my position, I could only see two of them: one showed a fox poking its head out of a burrow with a dead goose in its mouth.The other is Mielenberg's facsimile "Evening Prayer" which aroused some uneasiness in my heart, and at the same time brought a mysterious and subtle joy. Glittering in panic.During those long winter twilights when I waited for the closing bell, five terrible, noble, and faithful guards always protected my imagination, the two cypress trees on the left, and the two from the Vespers on the right The figure, the yellow Christ figure nailed on a black wooden cross in front of him, it represents God, this yellow Christ figure stands on the table on the repair.The Redeemer had two terrible scars on his knee, so faithfully reproduced in shiny enamel, that the bone beneath the muscle could be seen through the scars.Christ's feet were dirty, and the daily touch of children had stained them with an oily gray; for each of us, after kissing the hairy hand of the departing Presidency, had to wash it with Ink's black fingers touched the wounded feet of the crucified Deng Su, and then made a sign of the cross.

The monks of the order noticed that I was staring stubbornly at the cypress.So they moved me, but to no avail, and I continued to look over the wall, as if I could still see them.Through this desperate effort not to lose them, my imagination at last reconstructed the vanished sights.I said to myself: "Now the teaching is about to begin, so the shadow on the cypress tree on the right must have reached the small hole that was burnt and turned brownish red. From this hole protruded a dry branch. A tattered white cloth was wrapped around it. The Pyrenees should have turned lavender. At this very moment, as I have observed for days, a windowpane in the distant village of Villabertrand would Shining brightly. And so. The bright light suddenly radiated the brilliance of a real gem in my mind, which was tormented by the sudden prohibition of looking at the cherished plain of Ampton, which since then The entire aesthetic view of Dali's landscape philosophy must be conceived from its extremely rare geology.

It quickly became clear to people that changing my location was not as effective as they had hoped.My inattentiveness manifested itself so stubbornly that they began to despair of it.During one dinner, my father read aloud a notice from my teachers in great frustration.If they praised me for being disciplined, quiet, and intelligent in recreational activities, on the contrary, they concluded the letter by saying that I was subject to "a deep-seated laziness which prevents me from making any progress at all in my studies." control.I remember my mother crying that night.During my two years at the Friars School, I failed to acquire a fifth of the knowledge that my classmates swallowed during this period, and I was forced to repeat a grade.I became so often withdrawn that I even pretended not to understand what I had learned with effort and almost involuntarily.In this way, I wrote something casually and irregularly, which made the exercise book full of ink.But I learned to write well.One day, someone gave me an exercise book, and the soft and smooth pages aroused my enthusiasm. A quarter of an hour before I started, my heart was beating and I was licking the pen with my tongue.I wrote a wonderful page, neat and clear, which won me the first prize of calligraphy.Even put my page under a glass pane.

This sudden revelation caused amazement all around me, and it encouraged me to follow the path of mystification and pretense.Mystery and pretense became my initial way of contacting society.I felt that Xiu was going to question me, and in order to escape, I stood up suddenly and suddenly threw the book away; I have been pretending to read this book for an hour, but in fact I have not read a single line.As if with an unshakable determination, I climbed onto the bench, stood on it, then jumped down, feeling a pain, and shielding my face with my arms, as if threatened by some danger.This pantomime won me permission to go for a walk in the garden alone.When I got back to the classroom, I was given a hot potion that smelled of fir essence.My parents, who no doubt were preoccupied with these hallucinatory pretense, suggested to the superintendents of the school that I should be given entirely special care, and a special atmosphere surrounded me.Before long, people didn't even want to teach me anything anymore.

They used to take me to a doctor, and one day I was so angry that I broke his glasses.After briskly going up and down stairs, I felt really dizzy.I get nosebleeds at every turn and I'm on regular bed rest.A day of fever would give me a week of recuperation with a slight fever, so I defecated in my room.After this, some Armenian paper and sugar were lit to drive away the stench.I love strep throat, and I am anxiously awaiting heaven of recuperation. My old nurse Lucy came to keep me company all afternoons, and my grandmother sometimes brought guests, and they sat together in the corner of the room.So, while I listened to the open-faced tales with one ear, I listened with the other to the constant rhythmic whispers of the grown-ups, which were like a burning flame.If my body temperature rises, it all blends into a blurred reality that soothes my heart and lulls me into a half-awake state.Lucina and Grandma, two of the cleanest, most wrinkled and shrewdest old men I have ever met.The first was tall, like a pope; the second was very thin, like a little white spool.I adore old people!What a contrast between these two dry, wrinkled fairy-tale characters and the firm, taut flesh of my classmates!I was, and continue to be, the living embodiment of anti-Faust.Unfortunately, after obtaining the supreme knowledge of the old man, Faust actually sold his soul in order to eliminate the wrinkles on his forehead and restore the youth of his body.May someone use the branding iron of my life to brand criss-cross wrinkles on my forehead, let my hair turn white!May my conduct be virtuous!As long as I can preserve the wisdom of my soul, as long as I can learn all that others cannot teach me, all that only life can leave me!

In every wrinkle of Grandmother Lucinawa I recognized the force of innate learning engraved by the melancholy sum of the joys of past life.This unfathomable, hidden, all-surpassing power of Minerva that bends tendrils of grapes! Of course, I don't know anything about mathematics, neither can I multiply nor multiply.In contrast, at the age of nine, myself, Salvador Dali, discovered not only the phenomenon of mimicry, but a comprehensive theory that fully explained it. In Cadaques I have observed some small shrubs growing very near the sea.From a close look, it can be found that there are some irregular small leaves on them. The legs supporting these small leaves are extremely slender, and a slight breeze will make them shake.One day I felt some of these leaves being moved by some motion independent of the others; and what a surprise I was to find them moving!I pulled out a leaf and turned it over.It was an insect that could only be identified as a leaf owner by a condition that exposed its barely visible, flailing, tiny feet.I was stunned to discover this coleopteran insect.I feel that one of nature's greatest secrets has just been uncovered, and this display of mimicry has had an effect on the crystallization of the paranoid figures that appear as ghostly presences in most of my current paintings.

Proud of what I found, I tried to fool those I approached.I claim that I have some magical gift for bringing life to this inanimate thing.In fact, I pulled off a small shrub leaf and used it to cover a leaf leader.Then I beat the table hard with a pebble, which was displayed as a wide law, to give life to the leaves.It is believed that the movement of the little leaf is only due to the vigorous beating of the small stone on the table.So, I gradually weakened the strength of the beating until it stopped completely.There was a cry of admiration and wonder: the leaves were still moving.I repeated my search many times, especially in the presence of fishermen.Everyone knew the plant, but no one had noticed the trunks.

Later, when the war began in 1914, when I saw the first camouflaged ship cross the skyline of Cadaques, I wrote the following in my private diary: "Today, when I saw a desolate I get an explanation of my morros de con when the flotilla of camouflage passes, but how can my camouflaged worm defend itself?" During my childhood, camouflage was one of my strongest passions.One of the most beautiful presents I ever received was the king's costume of which I have been speaking, which was given to me by my uncles who lived in Barcelona.That night, I looked in the mirror, put on my white wig and crown, and casually draped my Baixun leather cape over my shoulders.The rest of the body is completely exposed.I hid my genitals tightly between my thighs, trying to look as girlish as possible.I've come to appreciate three things: weakness, old age, and luxury.

But it is above these three performances that I yearn for.It is the urgent need for extreme solitude, accompanied by another feeling which may be called its "environment", that is, the feeling of "heights", of "peaks".My mother always asked me, "What do you want, sweetheart? What do you want, sweetheart?" I knew what I wanted: a bathroom on the top floor of my house.The bathroom was given to me, and I was allowed to make a studio there as I pleased.What I was given was one of the two bathrooms, which had been repurposed as a storage area.The maids removed everything that had accumulated there, and I could have it the next day.It was small, and the concrete laundry trough took up nearly the entire room.This size helps rekindle in me those in-womb pleasures I mentioned.I put the chair in the concrete shape seat, and put a wooden board on it as a workbench.On those days when the weather is very hot, I take off my clothes, turn on the faucet, and fill the exterior seat with water up to waist deep.The water comes from an adjacent cistern that is exposed to the sun and so is always warm.The entire narrow space left between the juxtaposition and the wall is used to arrange all kinds of messy items.The walls were covered with pictures I had drawn on hat boxes I had stolen from Aunt Catalina's hat shop.Sitting on my juxtaposition, I devoted myself to two paintings, one showing Joseph meeting his brothers; the other, a bit of plagiarism, was inspired by the Iliad , which depicts Helen of Troy gazing into the distance.I added a self-written title to the latter: "Helen's sleeping heart is full of memories...".In fact, I added 3 towers, on which a small figure appeared, which was of course myself.I also made a "Venus de Milo" out of clay, from which I got a real erotic satisfaction.

I have taken into my washroom my entire collection of "Art of Govan", a gift from my father who would not have guessed that this gift would affect my fate so powerfully.I know perfectly well all the images from "art history" that I have been familiar with since childhood.Those nudes especially attracted me.Ingres's "Golden Years" and "The Golden Years" are, in my opinion, the most beautiful pictures in the world.Recounting what I experienced sitting in the shape seat, facing the washboard, will be endless: it is certain that the first grains of pepper and pinches of shaking salt in my humor were born in this strange place. in the washbasin.I dimly realized that I was pretending to be a genius.O Salvador Dali!Now you know the point 2 If you pretend to be a genius, you become a genius. Parents tirelessly answering inquiries from visiting friends: "How about El Salvador?" "Salvador was up there, he said he had set up his studio in the old washroom, and he spent most of his time playing there by himself, just up there. "Right up there! That's the most beautiful word! My whole life I've been governed by this opposition -- up and down. Since childhood, I've tried desperately to stay on top. I've stayed on top, And since I'm here, I'm going to stay here until I die. What a heart-warming and miraculous sight to escape from my father's drawing-room, to crawl like a madman under my roof, and to lock myself in my hovel!Here my solitary feeling of itself is invulnerable.From there (my parents' house is the tallest one in Figueres), I'm high above the city, with a view stretching out to the Gulf of Rosa.I also saw the girls coming out of the Franciscan school, and they embarrassed me as I passed them in the street.And watching them from where I am, I don't feel shy anymore.However, I have sometimes bitterly regretted not having taken part in the sensual pleasures of the evening in the streets, during which I seemed to hear the cries of joy from boys and girls.These uproars reached me, and pierced my heart with an arrow.Home!No, no, it's definitely not me, Salvador, who should stay in my shape seat, with those ugly, irritated monsters that surround my annoying personality.Besides, I'm that old.To prove this to myself, I tried to wear the crown with the white wig so low that I hurt my forehead because I didn't want to admit that the circumference of my head had grown as I grew.As dusk fell, I went to the balcony, and the calm and agile flight of the swallow was intertwined with the trembling flight of the bat.The crown became so narrow that it hurt my temples, but I did not take it off in order to delay the pleasant moment of joy.I walked back and forth, repeating "just a little more, just a little more," while trying to prolong those contemplative sessions with some sublime thought.During these moments of agony, I kept up some passionate pompous speeches, which saturated me with a tenderness which, to my own genius, was amorous and captivating. My speeches flowed automatically, and most often my words did not fit in the slightest with those thought processes which I felt touched the sublime.From time to time, I feel I have discovered the mystery, the origin and the destiny of every thing.The lights of the city and the stars of the sky lit up one by one.For every new star, a flute blares across the field.I was deeply moved by the rhythmic singing of the toads and frogs, mingled with the desolation of the evening, which expressed the sweetest remembrances of a lost spring.The sudden appearance of the moon pushed my intoxication to its peak, and my sense of chaotic megalomania reached the point of self-importance, and I thought I was among the most inaccessible stars.My narcissistic feelings turned into cosmic dreams, and the turmoil in my mind was not calmed until a tear of wisdom rolled down my cheeks.At some point, feeling a strange wet little thing in my hands, I saw in amazement: it was my genitals. I finally took off the crown and rubbed the scar on my forehead with a good mood.It's time to go to the restaurant.I'm not hungry, but my ugly face worries my parents.My mother asked me with her eyes; "Why are you not hungry? What is my heart lacking? I can't understand this little heart! His face is not yellow, but green!" Regardless of whether it is green or not, any reason is beneficial for me to climb on the balcony again.I even went up one day to the roof of the small washroom, where I experienced my first vertigo as I merged with the void.Xun had to lie prone for several minutes, closing his eyes to resist the almost irresistible pull of the void. I will not repeat this experience, but staying in the shape seat under the roof, I like to recall this vertigo feeling, it only stayed above me, and the ceiling of the bathroom protected me and separated it from me. outside.I just feel that my cement throne is higher and more privileged. What is high is completely the opposite of low!It is a wonderful definition of vertigo!What is low?If you don't count Chaos, Four Blocks, Disorder, Collective, Children, Common Ground of Human Darkness and Madness, Anarchism, Low is Left.Tall is right, where monarchy, hierarchies, cupolas, buildings, angels.All poets look only for angels.But the negativity which had become their nature spoiled their taste, and they sought only the angels.Painters, their feet are on the ground.It is through the eyes that an inspiration comes to them far above the poet.Nor do they have to wallow in the cloying insanity of the poets in order to discover and reveal true angels (such as those of the Olympian god Raphael).As for me, the wilder I am, the sharper my eyes become. In a word, now, at the beginning of my ninth year, I, a lonely child with a constant nosebleed, sitting in a concrete bucket, I, the king, stay at the top, on the roof !And below is the cannon fodder, the pile of life-related things, such as nose hairs, mayonnaise, spinning tops, souls in purgatory, idiots who know everything people want, boiled fish, and so on.I never go down to Fairy Street to learn anything. I was gritty, and I am still!Temporary respites in certain pathological aspects deepened my loneliness.My eagerness to get under that roof became so intense that after each meal I would excuse myself for having a stomach ache and shut myself in a small room to feel "alone" for a while.These evasions mitigated the punishment of eating, which I had to wait for in order to climb my mysterious cave. At school, I became aggressive and couldn't tolerate people interrupting my solitude, whether they meant it or not.The more and more infrequently the kids who tried to get close to me got a stare of extreme hatred, which kept them from coming close to me again.However, this pure and lonely world must one day be disturbed naturally by a female figure. This is a girl.When school was over, she walked in front of me, and I saw her back. Her figure was very thin and tall, which made me worry that she would be broken in two.Two girlfriends surrounded her, hugged her waist, caressed her, and fawned on her with countless smiles.The two friends looked back from time to time.And the one in the center kept walking, never showing me her face.I saw her so proud, so upright, I knew she was different from others, she was a queen.The same wave of love I had experienced for Galukika surged through me again.Her friends called her Dulita in the most ardent of terms, and when I got home I never saw her face, nor tried to see it.This is Dulita!Durita!Jialu chess card!Jialuqika Hediweiwa! I went straight to the roof.I felt my ear, the prisoner of the narrow navy cap, ache.I leave them exposed and the crisp evening air caresses them beautifully.Love took hold of me, and this time, it started with the ears. Since then, I have only one desire, and that is Dulita suddenly came to the bathroom to find me and walked towards me.I know that this situation will inevitably happen irresistibly.But how?When does it happen?My psychotic impatience was getting no relief.One afternoon I had a profuse nosebleed and had to call the doctor.I held my head back and squeezed my nose with a vinegar-soaked towel for hours.The maid had placed a large cold key under my back, and now the key has left a ruthless mark on my flesh, but I am so weak that I cannot even move it.With the shutters closed, only streaks of light can come in, and those gaps work like the lens of a camera, showing some shadow puppetry on the ceiling.I was thus able to partly follow the movement of the street, the traffic of people and vehicles, which I took for angels.It occurred to me that if Durita and her two friends passed by, I could see them on the ceiling.It's unlikely, since they don't know much about my street, but since it's possible, it doesn't matter.This feeble light plunged me into a trouble mingled with pride, joy, anticipation, and delusion, and two thoughts afflicted me; 1.If she passed on the ceiling, it would be me on the lower side. 2 If she were head down, then she would fall into the void. I always see her from behind, her slender figure ready to shatter into banks like a china eggcup.She can't get on the roof, she deserves it, but at the last moment, I'll save her... One move in the bed makes me think about the pain in my back.All my love, all my love for Majestica Garuchka Hedeviva flowed back to the aching scruff of the neck. The next day, my parents decided to send me to the country, at the Pichots' house, two hours from Figueres.A garden house for recuperation.The residence was called Tower Mill.I haven't seen it yet, but I think it's a wonderful name.I accepted, and set off there with more stoicism, the image of a tower having a subtle appeal to me. My days at Tower Mill will be my revenge on Du Rita.I hoped that staying there would bring back my loneliness, and being connected with this girl affected it. I set off in a buggy with the Pechauts and their thirteen-year-old adopted daughter Julina.Mr Pichant drove himself, his beard and long hair black and shiny as ebony.He was an expert at galloping with enthusiasm when he moved his lips a little. We arrived just after sunset. "Tower Mill" is like a wonderland in my eyes.It's like it's been built to keep me daydreaming. In an instant, I'm sure I'm fine.An insane joy hits me, drives away the troubles of the last days melancholic fatigue, a constant sense of satisfaction, makes me shiver slightly with long pleasure, like you just arrived at a place made sure it was created "for you" , And you are also where it exists, and you are sure that it is infinitely loyal to you. The next day, the sun rose over a green field filled with the sound of Kunqu opera, and May hit my temple.The love for the Magnificent Tower turned into an unrestrained pantheism that spread over everything, becoming so pervasive that the only possibility of her actually appearing would deeply disappoint me.I would rather adore her in solitude, in the dreadful solitude I have never been! The mill's machinery held little interest for me, but its monotonous crunching sound soon mingled with my homesickness, and soon I took it as a continuous call to something that was absent.The tower, as one has guessed from my taste, became a shrine, a tabernacle, an altar of consecration.Moreover, it was on this tower that I would make my sacrifice... I will later relate its details as my passions permit.I had to wait two days before getting on the "efficient" because someone had to get the key.Finally, on the morning of the third day, someone opened the door to the upper landing for me.This height is beyond all my imagination.I leaned over and spat all day into the abyss.My spit disappeared into the wild bushes, where the remains of an old henhouse were revealed.A little farther away, a small stream can be seen.Farther on, the vegetable gardens marked themselves out, but the scenery didn't extend beyond the cloud-shrouded peaks that so beautifully dotted the Catalan sky.If Durita showed up, I'd force her to bend down as far as she could, giving her a huge panic, but I wouldn't let her fall. In the days that followed, I decided to get organized into my daily routine, because I felt that my bubbling life force needed some order if my passions were not to be dissolved in conflicting desires that were arising at the same time.In fact, I want to be everywhere at the same time.It quickly became clear to me that I couldn't savor anything deeply because of the disorganized disorganization of my kind of glutton.The systematization of Dali, which has since become my glory, is already manifested at this time.So I worked out a detailed plan, thinking everything out in advance, my affairs and the feelings I was going to get from them, all taken into account.The erratic performance and enforced discipline of this plan constitute my system, and I will enforce it with the utmost strictness. I understand this basic principle - that to give a "form" to my multitude of desires requires exploration.I myself have invented a quest for the use of my spirit only.That's pretty much the outline of my schedule at Tower Mill. When you wake up, there must be a ritual of exposing scars.For this move to be successful, I had to wake up before Julina came into my room and opened the blinds for me. It was a horrible torture, and I needed sleep so badly after all the exhausting activities of the day.However, relying on perseverance, I finally woke up punctually a quarter of an hour before Zhulini arrived.I use this moment to savor the eroticism I get from my presentation, and especially to invent day-to-day variations of poses that match my intense desire to be in the poses that I find most disturbing for Julie Kie and myself Show me naked.I tried those positions and didn't stop until I heard her footsteps.It's time to make a decision, and this awkward last moment is the most beautiful moment.The moment the door opened, I remained motionless and pretended to be in a deep sleep. In fact, if you look at me carefully at this moment, you will find that my whole body is shaking violently. rattle.Giulini opened the blinds, approached my bed, and covered my nakedness with a sheet that I kicked aside on purpose.At this age, when I idealized myself to be beautiful and found the pleasure in being looked at so intense, I always had to behave badly at least once before I put my clothes back on.Every morning, I have to come up with a new excuse: "Julie, there's no buttons on it! Julie, put some iodine sulli on my thighs..." After this, the ritual of breakfast was held in the restaurant for me alone: ​​two slices of toast spread with honey and a cup of piping hot coffee with milk.Since the walls of the dining room were covered with paintings and engravings (thanks to the genius of Papido's brother, Ramon Pichaut, who was living in Paris at the time), my breakfast meant introducing me to Impressionism.In fact, this genre is the one that has stuck with me the most in my entire life.It represented my first encounter with an anti-academic revolutionary aesthetic.My eyes are busy watching the irregular impasto of paint, which idealize the picture in the most casual way, until when I step back a meter or squint, the messy scene Only then miraculously showed a vivid shape.The air, the distance, the momentary light, the whole outside world emerges from the chaos.One of Mr. Pibert's earliest paintings is reminiscent of the style of Toulouse-Lautrec. The erotic elements of those literary allusions that were popular in 1900 set my throat aflame, like choking on a sip of schnapps.I particularly remember a busker who was dressing up: she had a sickly evil face, with red hair growing out of her armpits.