Chapter 14 Chapter Eleven (1)

My Battle - Participation in the Surrealist Revolution and My Position - Surrealist Objects Against Said Dreams - Activities of Paranoid Criticism - Against Automatism my battle against: in favor of: Simple and complex Single and diverse egalitarian hierarchy collective individual political metaphysics music building natural aesthetics lasting progress mechanical fantasy abstract concrete young mature opportunistic machiavelli mania spinach snail film drama Marquis Fossard east west sun moon revolutionary tradition Michelangelo Raphael Rembrandt Vermeer Barbaric Items Super Civilized 1900 Items

African Modern Art Renaissance philosophy religion medical witchcraft alpine beach phantom ghost woman gala man myself Time soft table skeptical belief As soon as I arrived in Paris, I realized that the main consequence of the success of my show at the Gorman Gallery was that it brought me a host of enemies.Who are these enemies?Pretty much everyone.Modern art is a mobilization call to the masses against a violent, uncanny, dissonant, and destructive work.In short, this is not modern "young" art.People just suddenly understood that I loathed my era. The Handbook of Art must have ignored me to the last minute, while old gentlemen with moth-eaten leggings, snuff stained in their beards, and rosettes of the Legion of Honor on their coats pulled out their A single-handed eyeglass, looking more closely at my paintings and thinking of taking them and hanging them next to the Messonnier paintings in their dining room.For fifty years, these old people who tirelessly love painting have loved me and understood me.They feel that I am here to defend them.Actually, they didn't need to defend because they were already a force and I was just on their side, on the side of the tradition that would be the victor.

When I arrived in Paris, the intellectual world was eroded by the pernicious influence of the decay of Bergsonianism, the glorification of instincts and vital impulses, which led to an overvaluation of some crude aesthetics.Africa surged savagely above the wisdom of Paris.People worship black art, thanks to Picasso and Surrealism.I flushed with shame and rage at seeing the heirs of a Raphael fall into these anomalies.I had to find the antidote, the banner against these products of mental enslavement, confusion, fear.Against barbaric items, I intend to heavily promote items that are "modern", European, civilized, and decadent.I have always seen the 1900 period as a consequence of the psychopathology of the Greco-Roman decadence.I thought to myself, since these people refuse to listen to aesthetics and are only interested in the impulse of life, I will show them how there is more mystery in the smallest decorative detail of a 1900 object than their savage and ugly idol. , poetry, eroticism, madness, pain, hyperbole, greatness and depth of life.One day, just in Paris, I found some subway entrances from 1900, and unfortunately people are tearing them down to replace them with some featureless, horrible buildings.Photographer Brassai took a series of photos about these colonnade decoration components, and no one could believe their eyes, the "modern style" was so surreal.People started going to flea markets looking for items from 1900.It doesn't take long before the 1900's impact is felt.Work on Maxim's Restaurant, which had been modernized, was stopped.Some songs from that era are coming back into fashion in magazines dressed as 1900, and people are paying attention to the decadent outdated aspects of 1900, using it in some innocent and humorous films for our enjoyment.A few years later, Elsa Schiaparieri reached its peak when she managed to get people to accept the high nape hairstyle.

Thus I watched with my own eyes the changes which were taking place in Paris at my command.But, as ever, my own influence far outstripped me, and I could not convince anyone that it came from me.The same phenomenon happened a few years later.On my second visit to New York, I found that most of the big store glass windows were inspired by the surrealist material I first promoted.The constant drama of my influence is that it escapes my grasp, and I can neither channel it nor enjoy it.I feel that I am living in a Paris that obeys my orders.When I read an article against utilitarian architecture, I know it comes from me.If someone says anywhere, "I'm worried this will be modern," it's still from me.The public has not yet made up their minds to follow me, but I have broken their faith!Modern artists do have reason to hate me!

I am constantly being ripped off and unable to take advantage of my various discoveries.The "modern style" I initiated, I can only go to the street to understand its spread: lace, films, nightclubs, shoes all match it.Legions of artisans make them for a living, and I wander around Paris doing nothing.Everyone can realize my idea like this, but I can't!I don't even know how and where to get help finding an extra in one of those 1900's films that cost millions of dollars and a lot of stars and people don't even think about it thing! This was a debilitating time for my inventions.The sale of my paintings clashed with the Freemasonry of modern art.I had a letter from Viscount Noel that gave me a premonition of the worst.I had to make a living differently.I've drawn up a list of inventions I'm confident are absolutely valid.

I invented: Humane nails with a little mirror to look at yourself; The transparent mannequins used in the closet are filled with water, and some fish that simulate blood circulation swim in the water; Bakelite furniture cast according to customer impressions; rotating electric fan sculpture; Car-mounted kaleidoscope glasses for passing through annoying landscapes; Photographic masks used by journalists; Multifunctional cosmetics that remove various imperfections of the face; Spring shoes for easy walking; Tactile film, with the help of an extremely simple mechanical device, allows people to touch everything they see, such as textiles, fur, whiskers, skin, sand, dogs, etc.;

Objects of every kind that gratify the most intimate pleasures of body and mind, some of which should arouse such a revulsion that the buyer throws them against the wall and smashes them to pieces; ~What people feel when they scrape a knife hard against a marble.Extremely stimulated nerves will cause the buyer to immediately throw an object against the wall, and it will make a very pleasant sound when smashed; Objects that people don't know where to put them create a sense of dissatisfaction that doesn't end until they get rid of them.Masochism has the potential to make these items a big hit;

Dresses of all kinds, with artificial appendages and bodily padding cleverly placed inside to create a certain type of woman who fits the most erotic imaginations of men; False breasts added on the back, they are likely to revolutionize fashion within a hundred years; Bathtubs of different shapes, and even bathtubs without bathtubs where the water is artificially dropped; A catalog of streamlined shapes for automobiles that would be adopted by all limousine bodybuilders in ten years' time; These inventions are our suffering.Especially the crucifixion of Gala, with her fanatical devotion, after lunch.Departing with my plan under my arm began a protracted crusade that was too much for everyone to bear.She came back at night, livid and deadly tired, made more beautiful by her suffering.I ask her:

"Things are not going well. She explained it to me with great patience, down to the tiniest detail.We used to cry and then go to a movie theater uptown to work out our worries in the mind-numbing darkness.Always the same story: At first they thought my invention was grotesque and commercially useless; then, when Galla tried her best and succeeded in convincing them of the practical benefits of the invention, they rebutted her by saying that even if the thing It is indeed profitable, and that cannot be achieved, because the price to be paid is too great.It was frustrating, and we had to drop the plan and start over.

"If artificial nails don't work out, try haptic films, kaleidoscope glasses, or streamlined cars." Gala finished her lunch in a hurry, kissed me hard on the mouth, and said, "Be brave and go out on her bus crusade. And I'll stay home all afternoon, During the painting of my anachronistic and anti-modern paintings, countless unrealistic plans flashed in my mind. And yet . . . yet sooner or later my plans were carried out by others, and they were generally so badly done that I never thought of them again.One day we learned that someone had just thrown out some artificial nails for the night, and another day we saw some streamlined cars driving down the street.I read in the paper one morning: "Someone just put some transparent mannequins in the window that look like live fishbowls, and it looks like a Dalí." Another good time to mention me , because many times it has been asserted that I have copied other people's ideas in my own paintings!Some nameless person made my idea dull under the pretext of doing a better job, and from then on people liked my idea.The formidable French insight took hold of my soon-to-be famous name, and turned it into something like a scarecrow. "Oh, Dali! Yes, he's amazing, but he's crazy, and it won't work. If I think so, it will work! I want to snatch a little golden chaff from this society that praises me and fears me , so that Galla and I could live without the debilitating phantom of the need for money that has existed since Torremolinos. Though I say I don’t earn money, But Gala managed to do wonders with the little money we had. The dirty-eared, shambling bohemian with the filthy sheet cloak Life, never entered our homes; we knew neither fried potato chips nor feared slights from the gas and electric clerks who rang the bells by the empty kitchen door with receipts in hand. We Never giving in to the mediocrity of day-to-day mediocrity. Thanks to Gala's shrewd arrangements, everything became an opportunity to bring our two hearts closer together. With little money, we ate modestly, but well. We No going out. Gala sews her dress myself, and I myself work hard and take a hundred times more time than any mediocre painter. I put my heart and soul into responding to some rare comrades, Prepare some new exhibitions. Gala sometimes reproaches me for working for too little pay, and I answer her that it is more wonderful to have such comrades, since I am a genius, and geniuses are doomed to starve to death.

"If we live in moderation, it is thanks to the uninterrupted superhuman effort you and I make with every step of the day that we finally make our mark." All around us, there are some artists who are forgotten today, who lived extremely well by "vulgarizing" Dali's ideas.If whole Dalí seems like an over-peppered, hard-to-absorb food, the usual way to compensate is to sprinkle a little Dalí on the worst cold dishes.Sprinkle a little of Dali on the clouds, in the landscape, in the melancholy, in the fantasy, in the conversation, but only "a little", because it gives everything a tingly seductive taste.It all gets more commercial and provocative as pure Dali gets more violent, scarier, and non-commercial.I thought to myself: be patient, and persevere.Gala was as stubborn and uncompromising as I was. With her encouragement, instead of taking a step back, I took five steps forward.On the day of success, all kinds of rats, all kinds of dirty-eared bohemians, all kinds of easy-living pink-cheeked people will crawl under our feet!The hardships and abstinence of life accomplish the task of giving us one form, while others dissolve in convenience!Cocaine here, heroin there, some alcohol here; alcohol and cockroaches everywhere, cocaine, heroin, booze, opium, cockroaches become the natural tools of short-lived success.Members of Guilty Freemasonry support each other with an emotional devotion against a common fear of loneliness.We live together, we sweat together, we piss together, until the first beat man straightens his back and lets a friendly dagger go in. Our strength, the strength that belongs to me and Gala, lies in living hygienically in this mixed environment, not smoking, not injecting narcotics, not taking drugs, not sleeping too much, just two people forever, just like me in Like childhood and adolescence.We not only distance ourselves from the artists of Montparnasse, from the communists, from the lunatics, from the bourgeoisie, but equidistantly from them.We are in the center, staying here, keeping our sanity. We also take care to always keep for ourselves a free world from which to escape from time to time.This free world is Cadaques, where we hid for months, leaving behind Paris that boiled like a witch's cauldron, into which I threw something that would be gone when we left. Cooked dishes, some ideological slogans that were essential to the Surrealist group.For those chicken lovers, I re-implement Palladian classical romance.For those addicts.I gave a complete theory of the various images about to fall asleep and spoke of the masks I invented for colored dreams.For upper-class people, I made some Stendhal-like conflicts popular, or tempted them with the forbidden fruit of revolution.For the Surrealists, I offer another forbidden fruit, which is tradition. Before leaving, I prepared a list of those last visits: in the morning, a Cubist, a Monarchist, a Communist; Picked out of those; leave it to Gala and me tonight!These evenings showed all that we had come to expect, and in restaurants, around couples, we were often amazed to see us speak and act with the tenderness and passion typical of honeymooners.What are we talking about?We talked of the solitude that was our two, and the prospect of returning to Cadacas.There we will have a sun-filled wall to shield us from the wind, a well to supply us with water, and some stone benches for us to sit on.We built those first staircases with a paranoid critical approach and continued this tragically beautiful work of living together, all for ourselves. We go to the station of Orsay, loaded like bees with many things.I have always traveled with a lot of information, a dozen suitcases stuffed with books, a batch of photos of various insects and art treasures, and endless notes.On this trip, we also brought some furniture and oil lamps from our Parisian residence, because there was no electricity there.My painting boxes and big easels with chutes also took up a fair amount of space in our luggage.During the two days of settling down, I have been very excited.The walls were still damp, and we had to dry it with the heat of oil lamps.Finally, the next night, I was able to lie on the big sofa that I turned into a bed at night.The northerly wind off the Mediterranean is howling outside like a madman. Litty, the "strong woman," sat before us on a small wrought chrome stool.She told us about mysteries, and lord, and an essay that lord just wrote on William Tell. "William and Tell, these are two different people, one is from Kadakes and the other is from Rosa..." She came to make us soup, but since the conversation about William and Tell would go on and on, she went and brought the chicken, plates and knives to sit in front of us and kill the chicken.Then she sat down and went on to explain Eugenio Dolce's latest paper, neatly inserting a knife into the artery in the chicken's neck.Chicken heads fall in a clay dish. "No one will believe that I am a strong woman. I understand the situation. They are not bound by worldly views like the three of us. They have no spirituality. They can only see what is left on paper. Words, more can't be seen. Picasso loved me very much, though he rarely talked about it; he could sacrifice for me! One day he lent me a book by Goethe..." The chicken twitched two or three more times, then went rigid, and stretched its paws motionless.Lydia plucked it, and the fine fluff danced in our room.With another blow, she slit the chest open, and with bloody fingers pulled out the entrails, which she placed on a plate on a glass table, not far from a very rare book on Giovanni Bellini. .Seeing me get up uneasy and move the book, Lydiane said to me sternly: "It will not be stained with blood. Honey is sweeter than blood. I myself am blood, and other women are honey. Now my son is against the blood, chasing the honey." Then the door opened, and there appeared the two sons, the first with a reddish-brown beard and a very gloomy face; the second with a constant smirk. "She's coming soon," said the second. "Her." That is, our maid, Lydia, who has been chosen for us, and who will take care of the house from the next day.A quarter of an hour later a woman of about forty arrived, her black hair shining like a horse's mane.Her face may have been painted by Leonardo.There was a little madness in her eyes.We'll get all kinds of dramatic evidence of this madness later on.So many times I've caught a madman sucking a bow!Wherever I went, there was always a guard of lunatics and suicides waiting for me.They knew instinctively that I belonged to them, even though they also knew that the only difference between me and a madman was that I wasn't mad.Yet my breath attracted them, and two days later, in this solitary port of Lligat, my little room was full of lunatics.This situation threatens to make life difficult, and I must do something about it.Every day, I get up at seven o'clock to draw.Since opening the door would affect my work, no one came in.I see them all staying outside.The lunatics who wandered maliciously about the house were only allowed to step over the threshold on Sundays.One of those annoying people in Port Ligate was Ramon de Hermosa, who looked like a fifty-year-old Adolphe Menjou.This is the laziest person in the world.He always repeats: "There were those years when no one did anything!—in fact, for him, they had been going on from childhood. Whenever he saw someone else working, he would shake his head and say: "I don't understand how they don't get tired of doing all this. This idleness earned him a certain popularity among the fishermen of Cadaqués.Everyone speaks like an adage: "I'm afraid Ramon agrees to do it. If he had said yes, he would have upset them all.His laziness seemed to be a local honor, an original phenomenon found nowhere else.This parasite is the pride of all fishermen.But when they dragged their heavy nets across the square one summer afternoon and found Ramon sitting on a patio in a bistro sipping coffee, wine, and cigars, they never missed an opportunity to throw him a Going to a series of curses, but this series of curses just made the victim show some incomprehensible smiles.Knowing that he could not earn a living, rich people gave him old clothes and money, with which he eked out a living.Thanks to the old clothes he always looked like a gentleman.In some years he was seen wearing an English jacket.The mayor gave him the use of a large, somewhat run-down house, which he had to share with passing bums.He can get them to tidy up their rooms and fetch buckets of water, but it's hard to see the bums.I went to his house several times to see him.There were two beautiful fig trees growing in the yard, so full of rotten fruit that Ramon didn't even bother to pick them, he didn't like them.Rain dripped in from the perforated roof, flooding the house.Countless fleas started fighting, and a group of cats chased the mice.One day, Gala summoned Ramon and told him to pump water and fill the small wooden buckets for washing.He only needs to do ~ hours a day, and he can do it when the weather is cool after sunset.After the second day, there was always no water in the small wooden barrel, but the regular sound of the water pump could be heard.I went to the scene to see what was going wrong, only to find Ramon lying under an olive tree, expertly banging two pieces of iron to imitate the creaking sound of a water pump.A mechanical system of ropes enables him to do this with a minimum of effort.Every day, I see him come to collect our leftover meals, and I ask him: "Ramon, how is this?" "It's not good, it's bad, Mr. Darley, it's getting worse!" A faint, sly smile dug from under his beard.Ramon had a gift for telling the most tedious things in the world in an epic tone with the care to leave nothing out.His best story is the three-day trip he took with the small suitcase of a pool champion.He talked about it minute by minute, and it would take him three days to finish it.After those agitated, tense, overtones, malice, and tactful conversations in Paris, Ramon's story reaches a level of peace of mind and an anecdote that can be overwhelmingly tiresome .Likewise, the thoroughly Homeric schmoozing of the fishermen of Port Lligat was a nutritious reality to my mind, weary of "thoughts" and affectations.Gala and I, we spent several months in the company of Lidina, her two sons, the maid, Ramon de Hermosa, and the dozen or so fishermen who anchored their boats in the port of Ligat.Every night the whole company, even the maids, returned to Cadaques; we were alone on the shore of this deserted bay.Our lights are often still on at five in the morning.The moon was about to melt into day, and a fisherman knocked on the door. "I saw the light and I want to give you this pike. You'll have a very fresh fish tomorrow morning. I picked up this stone for Mrs. Gala. I know she likes these strange stones. Mr. Salvador , you work too much. The day before yesterday you went to bed late too... So he told Gala: "Monsieur Salvador should take laxatives. I told him about it yesterday. The insomnia he complains of is all caused by his stomach. He should take it out once and for all, and then he won't think about it anymore." !The sky is as bright as a fish's eye! From this moon on, we'll have fine weather. Good night..." The fisherman was gone, and I looked at Gala and begged her: "Go to sleep, you're dead. I'll draw for another half an hour." "No, I'm waiting for you. I have a lot of things to tidy up before I go to bed." The indefatigable Gala weaves my rambling Longne Robb cloth.No sooner had she organized her papers and notes than I messed everything up again in search of one thing that was of no use but a whim of mine.I almost always left it in Paris, despite the advice of Gala, who knew better than I what my work required.The clock struck five and the moon left the brightened sky.Gala desperately opened the boxes that had been packed and closed with great difficulty, knowing that we would not be able to sleep any more.If I don't sleep, she doesn't sleep either, watching my work more nervously than I do, because I myself often play tricks in order to get pleasure from my plays, and even to understand suffering. "Gala, I will return my paintings, especially with your hard work." One day I said to Gala. I have decided to sign our joint signature forever.And so we lived in Port Lligat for three months straight, three months we clung to like two cancers, one in Time's stomach, the other in his throat.We do not want a moment of time to pass unless a destructive press consumes the life of these organizations.We torture time and force him to think of us.Every day, not an hour escapes our search.We care about these slippery sharp-edged rocks, dull Ligat Harbor, hungry cats, sick public servants, excited lunatics, flea-ridden Ramones in gentleman's suits, a dozen or so people who look noble in the face of death The indifferent fisherman, the black nails for digging fish intestines, the hard feet covered with absinthe-colored calluses.For almost a quarter of an hour, behind the hill that separated us, in the house where I had spent my childhood and adolescence, hid my father's fierce hostility, I could guess its various smells.I saw this father's house from a distance on a walk, and it seemed to me like a piece of sugar soaked in resentment. Symbol of Port Lligat, of ascetic and solitary life... It was here that I learned to impoverish myself, to restrain and nourish my mind, to make it sharp as an axe.This hard life without stealth and schnapps, this life tinged with an eternal splendor... the nonsense of Paris, the wisdom of the city, the jewels of the Rue de la Paix are irresistible to this all-encompassing wisdom with the forehead of Cryptoniva , this kind of wisdom has been around for thousands of years, and it is always calm and peaceful.After living in Port Lligat for two months, I returned one day to see those eternal foundations of Catholicism standing up in my mind.The landscape and our soul seem to be bathed in a Raphaelite light.Every evening we went for a walk in one of our favorite places. I said to Gala, "We should dig our pool five meters deeper, so there is more water. We will fish for sardines under the new moon. We will plant two orange trees next to the well..." Those words took the fatigue out of a long day.Our gaze rests on the cloudless vastness which hangs like a dome over us, in anticipation of the frescoes which sing its glory in the paranoid critical way.Ah, how nostalgic the Renaissance that knew how to match the dome of the sky with the dome of stone!Where are the religious, aesthetic and moral cupolas that have sheltered the soul, mind and conscience for centuries in our time?Today, the soul is outside, in the street, like a dog!People have invented a mechanical brain: the radio!All this poor noise we receive from Europe, from China, at a slow rate compared to the lightning-quick visual phenomena of Nostradamus, Paracelsus, and the Egyptian astrologers, What use can it be to us!Of what use are these shouted kangas and war communiqués, transmitted from one hemisphere to the other, to a man who can hear the battle of angels and archangels in the sky?What could television mean to someone who just wants to close his eyes to catch a glimpse of the most inaccessible places, and bring every Baghdad out of his dreams out of the dust?What is the socialist "standard of living" improvement for someone who would believe in the resurrection of the body?If a donkey began to fly, if a fig tree grew some wings, it might amaze us for a while, for a moment's amusement, just as a flying branding iron thrown into the air like an airplane is not to be praised, why should we Want to be amazed by a machine that can fly?What is flight to a machine when man regards his soul as flight? Our age is full of moral skepticism and spiritual nihilism!The dullness of the imagination demeaned, disarmed, and discredited the spirit while trusting in the pseudo-progress of post-war machinery.Mechanical civilization will be destroyed by war and the masses who built it and will serve as cannon fodder.Yes, I am thinking of you, enthusiastic and loyal young men of all nationalities, with the passionate, cheerful faces of sports heroes who have gained prestige in track and field championships, and of your fellow follies! "Gara, give me your hand. I'm afraid I'll fall. It's dark. I'm too tired from this walk. Do you think the maid can find the sardines for dinner tonight? If it stays this warm tomorrow, I'll take off my sardines." A cardigan. We'll take some sleeping pills and we'll get a good night's sleep tonight. Tomorrow, I have to finish something before this moment starts over..." we go home.A wisp of smoke rises from our roof.The fish soup is calmly cut on the fire.We hoped she would put some crab in it... We walked forward, we walked close together, with the desire to make love in our hearts.I suddenly felt a surge of joy that made my whole body tremble. "God, you and I are not Rodin, so lucky!" Whenever I finished a painting, the two of us agreed to give us permission to go with the fisherman to the reefs of the Cruz, a place where the Pyrenees just died at sea, where we grilled sardines and sardines. Ribs, observing and thinking about these rocks for a long time is very helpful to the birth of the "soft and hard morphological aesthetics", which is Gaudí's Mediterranean Gothic aesthetics.I believe Gaudí, like me, saw these rocky reefs in his youth.Here, too, I see the principle of paranoid distortion, which I have pointed out many times in this book, embodied.The various images suggested by the rocks change shape as you advance and retreat.This feeling is not unique to me, it has long been expressed by the fishermen, who have given these bays, bays, and crumbling rocks piles of different names: camel, eagle, monk, dead woman, lion's head. Our friends pointed out those transformations to us as we rolled our way: "Monsieur Salvador, look, now where a camel is, it looks like a rooster." The camel's head becomes a cockscomb, and its elongated lower lip reveals a likeness.Rocks are constantly changing "what is simulated".In this eternal disguise I discovered the profound meaning of this natural shyness which Hercules contained in the enigmatic formula that "nature likes to hide itself."Observing the shifting shapes of these immobile rocks, I pondered the peculiar rocks in my mind.I want them to be, like the rocks of the Costa Brava, relativistic, little shifting in mental space, paradoxical, bonkers, hypocritical, feigned, ambiguous, concrete, dreamless, Measurable, ascertainable, tangible, objective, material like granite without a "mist of magical things".What I am looking forward to has some philosophical precursors, such as the Sophists in Greece, the Jesuit thought of St. Ignatius de Loyola in Spain, and the dialectics of Hegel in Germany. ··. • Unfortunately, the latter lacks the essential element of thought - irony.Moreover, Hegel was an embryo of a revolution...· The languid way in which the Cadaques fisherman rolls his prizes conceals patience and passivity, which are also forms of irony.I thought to myself that if I intended to return to Paris as a victor, I should not disembark from my boat, and sail directly to Paris with the light of Port Ligate still on my forehead.Like wine, the spirit is hard to transport, and too much shaking can ruin it.It is with these languid rowing rhythms that one is able to transport traditional rare liquors on calmer days.There is nothing more foolish than the speed of modern means of transportation, and nothing more frustrating than the decline of records.What an annoyance when you can go around the earth once in a day!What a disaster when we can do it in an hour or a second!On the contrary, how dizzying it would be if we were told that the journey from Paris to Madrid would take three hundred years!But this is from Romanticism to Méliès!Three hundred years is a little more.The ideal speed exists in those of the stagecoach that sends Goethe and Stendhal in Italy.At that time, each distance also allows for a short rest period for the wise man, so that he can fully appreciate various scenery, forms, and emotions. Roll the paddles, Salvador Dali, roll the prizes!Better to let someone else row the oars, these honest fishermen of Caddakes.You know where you want to go and they will get you there.It was by rowing oars and surrounded by a paranoid crew of righteous sailors that Columbus discovered America. It was time to go back to Paris, we finally ran out of money, and had to earn some more "coins" to get back to Port Ligate as soon as possible.The so-called as soon as possible will be three or four months later.I have endeavored to enjoy these last days, full of farewell dirges, to the fullest.One begins to feel a spring as feeble and muddy as a carelessly revived autumn.The yellow flowers on the fig branches shone like candles in an Easter candelabra.节日用的蚕豆变得柔软了。一天，我用这种很像是包皮的蔬菜做了一餐饭。卡塔卢尼亚人有一种烹调它的方法，这种方法使我很开心，它是用肥肉、很油腻的血肠、一些巧克力和几片月挂树叶来做的。我吃完蚕豆，看着那块平放在桌子上的东西：我的面包，我的眼睛再也离不开它了。我拿起这块面包，吻着它、吮着它，接着突然一下子用牙咬掉了面包头。这块面包立在桌子上了。我刚重新创造出哥伦布的鸡蛋：萨尔瓦多·达利的面包。同时我发现了面包之谜，即它可以不被吃掉地站立着！这个如此有用的、象征着营养和神圣生命的东西，我想把它变成无用的、审美的东西。我要用面包制作各种超现实主义的物品。有什么事能比在一个面包背上适当挖两个规整的洞并在里面嵌入一对墨水瓶更容易的呢？有什么能比看到溅出的鹤鹅牌墨水渐渐在面包上形成印迹更降低色调和更美丽的呢？在这个面包墨水瓶架上，面包皮被切开了一个长方式小块，绝妙地插着羽毛笔。要是人们总能有颇为新鲜的上好面包心擦拭笔，只需每天早上更换面包就成，再没有比这更简单的了。 一旦我回到巴黎，我就抛出了这新的谜语般的口号： "要面包、要面包、只要面包。" 人们不无幽默地寻思是否我变成了共党主义者！可他们已经猜到了达利的面包并非用来救济大量家庭的。我的面包是极度反人道主义的面包。它象征着豪华的想象对讲究实际的世界中的功利主义进行的报复。这个面包将是贵族的、审美的、偏执狂的、矫饰的、耶稣会的、与众不同的、令人无力的面包。两个月的沉思、工作、研究和写作，导致了在我离去的前夜出现这一表面上无价值的、受到启示顿悟的行动。直立在我桌子上的面包头总结了我生活中这个时期的心灵体验。这就是我独创性的所在。 有一天，我说过："瞧，一个拐广而大家认为这不过是幽默、是随心所欲。五年后，大家开始明白了它的重要性。现在，我说："瞧，面包户大家就理解了它的意义。这是因为我总有能力把我的思想实际体现出来，它达到了使那些物品具有魔力的程度，这些物品是我在经过无数次思考、研究和启示后才决定用手指点明的。 回到巴黎一个月后，我跟乔治·凯勒和彼埃尔·柯尔签订了一份合同。没多久，我在后者的画廊里展出了我的《无形的躺椅～马一狮子》，这是我在克鲁斯静观沉思的果实。诺埃尔子爵买下了这幅画，让·柯克多买下了《亵渎圣体饼》，安德烈·布列东买下了我的《威廉·泰尔》。我的作品开始让艺术批判家们感到不安。可实际上，只有超现实主义者和上流社会的人士显得被触到了痛处。过了些时候，福西涅一路辛日亲王买了《欲望之塔》，这幅画表现在一个狮子头旁有～男一女，他们赤裸着身体，以一种犯罪的色情姿势搂抱在一起，一动也不动。 我开始越来越经常参加社交界的晚宴，人们抱着混合赞美之情的几分害怕接待由加拉陪伴的我。我利用这种场合安置我的面包。一天晚上，在波利尼亚克伯爵夫人府上，听完一场音乐会，一群十分优雅的女人把我包围起来，我觉得她们特别受不了我的这类胡言乱语。我对面包的着迷使我梦想创立一个面包的秘密协会，它的目标是系统地把一些疯子变蠢。那天晚上，饮着一杯杯香按酒，我阐述了它总的路线。天气极为理想，我们都呆在花园里。一些流星不断划过夜空。我觉得看到了我那些最美的女朋友在笑着，她们的灵魂就反映在她们闪光的首饰上。这些笑从非常美的麻木的嘴里迸发出来，三年来它们从没这么笑过了。另外～些女人克制着，因为她们发觉我可怕；或是只愿挂着几分怀疑微笑着，设思考过，不想装出完全领会的样子。这些笑像螺钢珍珠扇一样展开着，送来～阵令人快慰的清风，我有分寸地接受它，以便在轻浮和讽刺方面走得更远一点儿。 确信已成功地吸引了她们的注意力，我便强调我的"秘密协会"的话题！这个计划很天真，我也知道这一点。可我无法不想到这个计划。人们求我继续讲下去：这个面包的故事是怎么回事？你发明了什么？大家怀着一种不正常的狂热态度笑了起来。我不得不让步…… "要实现的第一点，就是烤一个十五米长的面包。假如有个尺码够大的烤炉，就没有什么比这更容易的事了。除了它的尺寸外，这个面包完全应当跟每个法式面包一样。第二点，要找到一处能安放它的地方。我认为得选择一处不太热闹的地方，这样它的出现会显得更加怪诞，因为唯有它那要让人变蠢的目标才是重要的。所以我建议把它放在王宫花园。在夜间，两队秘密协会的成员，要装成安装管道的工人，把这个面包运到这儿来。得用一些报纸包起它，外面再用绳子捆扎上。一些秘密协会的成员会租下一个朝向王宫花园的房间。他们的职责是观察和记录公众当面看到这个面包的各种反应，给人们提供详细的第一手报告。事实上，预见到这样的一次行动会在巴黎这样的一座城市中造成极其伤风败俗的后果，这是很正常的。在特定的场合下，尽管有用绳子捆扎着的报纸，某个人肯定能发现这是个面包。这个异乎寻常的东西就这样显露了出来，使人们不得不谨慎地对待它，人们将会把这个面包运进警察局的化验室进行分析。它含有爆炸物吗？没有。它含有毒药吗？没有。这是一个面包商的广告吗？是哪个面包商？不是，这也不是广告。渴望有难以解答的奥秘的报纸将夺取这个问题，社论作者将投入最荒谬的论战。有种看法把这视为精神病的表现，上层人士会认为这是真实的。好多论点将相互冲突起来。实际上一个孤零零的疯子无法烤这个面包，也无法单独把它运到王宫。要是这是个疯子，那么无论如何他就必定表现出实践的意识，他要获得一些助手的合谋和保密。因此，这是一个疯子或一群疯子所为的假设并没建立在可靠的基础上。似乎这确涉及了一种如谜的社会倾向的表现。不过既然谁都无法理解它的效果和它的意义，那又怎么来解释这面包象征着什么呢？这显然不会是共产党的一次暴动。它到底证明了什么？除了这个面包是神圣的，大家要它做什么？不，这太愚蠢了！把它设想为是学生们的一个玩笑，也完全无法说服什么人。一群超现实主义者的混乱状态和他们拙于实践的情况，同样会使他们无法搞出一个能烤十五米面包的烤炉。出于更有力的原因，学生们也不会干这件事。人们有可能会想到达利和他的秘密协会，不过那可能性仍然是极为难得的。各种争论还处在高潮之际，一件新事又会出现：在凡尔赛宫的庭院里出现了一个二十米的面包。一下子，新闻记者就会想出存在着一个秘密协会，用它来解释这第二个面包的出现。摄影师们将开始窥测第三个面包的来临。不应迟迟不给他们提供第三个面包，这样才能使新闻本身感到焦虑并吞食越来越长的面包。同一天同一时，在欧洲的不少城市中，将会出现一些三十米的面包。第二天，美国的有线电报将宣布发现了一些陌生人把一个新的四十米长的法式面包放在从萨伏依广场到圣莫里兹旅馆的人行道上……显然，这样的一些神秘展示会带来好处，它们诗意的效果无疑将是惊人的、并能创造出一种从未见过的集体歇斯底里和混乱的状态，它为了等级制君主政体的利益，系统地毁灭了这个理性世界的逻辑……" 大家总是怀着高傲的优雅女人特有的专注和轻率的态度听我讲话。我差不多在各处都能看到所有女人在使用我的术语。 "亲爱的朋友，我很想使你变蠢……" "两天以来，我无法确定我的里比多，你呢产 "我嘛，我去听斯特拉文斯基的音乐会。这真美妙！这真讨厌！这真是件五行广 我到处都辨认出我的句子和观念。那些东西是或不是"食品"。布拉克最近的那些画"纯然是崇高的"，如此等等。这些源于卡塔卢尼亚的丰富用语是我独有的，人们在两次社交界的闲谈之间，怀着幽默感从我这儿借用了它们。然而，我故弄玄虚的"意义就像小小的寄生虫那样在他们的头脑里迅速地移动着。 "得啦，达利，现在为什么是面包，总是面包呢？" "这个嘛，"我说，"亲爱的朋友，你应当询问的是偏执狂批判的方法。" 于是人们请我解释我偏执狂批判的方法，我发表的那些论文实在太费解了。我今天得承认当时我自己并不很明白这个发明会成为什么样子。它"超越了"找，正如我许多发现一样，找只能在后来才理解其中的全部意义。我一生都在听别人重复地说： "这是什么意思呢？这是什么意思呢户 有一天，我彻底挖空了一个面包头的内部，在里面放了个小佛像，用一些死跳蚤把它完全盖上。接着我拿了块木头堵住面包头的开口，抹上水泥，把一切固定住，并在上面写下了："马的果酱。＠。这是什么意思呢？ 室内装饰家让米歇尔·弗朗克给我提供了两把最纯粹的1900年风格的椅子，我用～个巧克力扳代替了其中一把的情背，从而改变了它的面貌。随后我又用一只门把手接长官的一只脚，使它失掉平衡。另一只脚则永远插在一个啤酒杯里。我称这个不舒服的物品为"大气之椅"。所有看到它的人都感到很不舒服。What does it mean? 那时我开始发起一场运动，大力宣扬超现实主义的物品、具有象征作用的荒谬物品，用来对抗讲述梦的东西、自动书写的东西以及诸如此类的东西。超现实主义的物品应当是绝对无用的，并且从实用的观点看，最绝对荒谬的。它以最大的可触知性体现着发狂个性的精神奇想。这些物品的出现和流传向有用和实际的物品展开了一场竞争，这种竞争是那么激烈，使得人们相信目击了一场愤怒的公鸡的战斗，正常的物品经常在战斗中被拔光了羽毛赶去。很难抵御超现实主义的巴黎人，在他们房间里迅速塞满了超现实主义的物品，初看起来，它们很不和谐，不过每个人都能用手去接触和操纵它们。人们来触摸裸体，并从我的共中汲取这一天主教的真理：物品是种"圣宠的身份"。 超现实主义物品的风行＠，扫除了那非常令人烦的自动性叙述和梦的影响力。超现实主义物品造成～种现实的需要。人们不再想要"美妙地讲述的事物"了，他们想要用手制造的美妙的东西。"从未见日上"，很快就引起中欧的超现实主义者、日本人和各国后来者的兴趣。大体而言，我用自己的物品杀死了最初的超现实主义绘画以及总的现代绘画。米罗说过：俄想谋杀绘画片我暗中在绘画的两肩里给了致命的一击，从而帮他谋杀了绘画。然而我感觉到米罗明白我们的牺牲者是"现代绘画"，而非古代绘画；在最近重看过梅隆的收藏品后，我可以向你们保证，古代绘画的状态是极为良好的。满怀着对超现实主义物品迷恋之情，我在一些快镜照片的启示下，画了几幅表面上正常的绘画作品，我给它们添加了点梅索尼埃的东西。疲倦的公众立即上了钩，而我暗想着："再等一下，别怕，我就要向你们讲出真情的……" 这个新时期不久就要结束了，我和加拉，我们在一个半月内为回到卡达凯斯存够了钱。我的威望已经相当稳固了。批评家们已经把超现实主义分为达利之前和达利之后的了。人们只依据达利来观看和判断……柔软、衰落的装饰、粘糊糊的东西、跟生命有关的事物、腐烂，这全属于达利。一件难以预料的中世纪物品，这是属于达利的。勒南～幅画中奇特或痛苦的目光，这是属于达利的。一部有着通奸的乐队指挥和坚琴演奏家的荒唐的影片，这还是属于达利的。巴黎的面包不再是巴黎的面包了。它成了我的面包、达利的面包、萨尔瓦多的面包！ 我的影响的奥秘之一，就是它永远是奥秘。说到加拉的影响的奥秘，那就是它是双重的奥秘。不过我有保持奥秘的秘诀。加拉则有在我的奥秘中对我保持奥秘的秘诀。人们时常认为发现了我的奥秘：谬误！这不是我的奥秘，这是加拉的奥秘！ 我们缺钱这件事也是我们奥秘之一。大部分时光我们几乎一无所有，我们一直体验着由缺钱带来的苦恼。然而我们知道我们的力量就是不显露这个奥秘。别人的怜悯被扼杀了。加拉说，这种力量不在于唤起怜悯，而在于唤起羞愧。我们会死于任何人都绝不会知道的饥饿。"至死都保持天才和风度"是我们的座右铭。我们很像这么一位没有东西吃的西班牙人，当中午的钟声敲响时，他回到家中，坐在空荡荡的桌前，既无面包也无酒。他等着别人吃完午饭。空旷的广场在无情的阳光下显出～副无精打采的样子。人们从每扇窗子里看到那首先吃完饭的人正穿过广场。我们这位老兄在他认为恰当的时刻站了起来，唇间叨着根牙签，边剔着牙边在广场上漫步。人们必定相信他吃了饭，否则他不会塞住牙缝。 一旦钱开始稀少了，就应当增加小费，决不让它低于中等水平。人们能省掉某些东西，但人们不能适应种种东西。人们能不吃，但不能吃得讲。从马拉加那时起，我成了加拉的学生，她向我揭示快乐的原则。她也使我懂得了全部的现实。她教会了我穿衣、下楼梯不数次跌倒、不丢钱、吃饭时不把鸡腿抛到天花板上、辨别我的那些敌人。她是宣告了我古典主义的平衡和匀称的天使。我并没丧失个性，就清除了束缚我的那些怪病。我意识到了我的行动。 生活能够把我变得坚硬，取代这种作法，加拉为我构筑了一个寄居蟹的壳，从而使我能把我的外部镶嵌当成一个堡垒，而在内部，我则继续在柔软和超级柔软中变老起来。于是在我决定画一些表的那～天，我把它们画成软软的东西。这经历了疲劳的一夜。我头痛，感到极不舒服，这种情况很少见。我们本应同一些朋友去看电影，但到了最后时刻，我决定留在家里。加拉踉他们一起出去了，我则早早就睡下了。我们是用一块上好的卡芒贝尔乳酪结束晚餐的，当我独自一人时，我在桌子上支着胳膊肘呆了一会儿，想着这块稀乳酪的"超级柔软"所提出来的各种问题。我站起来，走进画室，依照我的习惯最后看一眼我的作品。我正在画的这幅画表现的是利加特港周围的一处风景，它那些岩礁仿佛被黄昏的透明光线照亮了。前景上，我勾勒出一棵截断的无叶橄榄树。这处风景应当作为某种观念的背景，可这是什么观念呢？我需要一个惊人的形象，但我还没找到它呐。我熄了灯，走出画室，这时我完全"看到了"解决的刃、法：两只软表，其中一只悲哀地挂在橄榄树枝上，虽然头痛，我仍准备着调色板，动手工作起来。两小则后，加拉从电影院回来了，这幅或许是我最卓越作品之一的画已经完成了。我让她闭上双眼坐在画的前面。 一、二、三，现在看吧，你会……" 她目不转睛地凝视着这幅画，这回轮到我观察她了，她的面容反映着她那种惊奇的赞美之情。于是我确信了我的形象的效果，因为加拉从不会弄错的。 "谁看过都会忘记的。" "那么，我们睡觉去吧。我头痛得很。我要吃点儿阿斯匹林。电影院上映什么片子？它好吗／ "我不知道，我记不起来了。" 早晨，我收到一家影片公司的回绝信，我向它提交过一个认真准备的小脚本，事实上，这个脚本最为深刻地总括了我的各种观念。只读了最初几行，我就明白这是个否定的答复，我没再读下去。画完我的油画店，我更平静地拿起了这封信，从中我读到这些先生觉得我的观念非常好，可是这部影片不会"受大众欢迎"，因此不可能投入商业化的生产，无论如何，观众决不会喜欢这么有力地打乱他们的习惯。 几天后，一个来自美国的家伙买下我这些软表，我给它们起了《永恒的记忆》这个题目。这个家伙举起两只黑色的大翅膀，它们就像格列柯的大使的翅膀。要是人们没看到他的黑色翅膀，那么作为补偿，人们决不会不注意到他的白麻布西服套装和他的巨大的巴拿马草帽。他名叫朱里安·列维，这个人想让美国了解我的艺术。朱里安·列维向我承认，他认为我的作品非常独特，但它是反大众的、也是卖不掉的。他要把我的画挂在自己的住宅里，供自己享受。《永恒的记忆》并没有证实这错误的预言，它被卖掉了，并一再被卖掉，最终进入了现代艺术馆，现在它无疑是该馆最受大众欢迎的画。我时常在外省看到一些绘画爱好者复制它，而他们见到的仅仅是它的一幅黑白照片。在食品杂货店和室内家具店，它也被用来招徐顾客！ 过了些时候，我出席一部所谓的喜剧片的放映式，这部影片重复了我那个小脚本的大部分观念。它是愚蠢的、制作得很拙劣，真是非常糟糕……我的"观念"显然是被糟蹋了。不过幸运的是这些观念不时把那些唯利是图者开得要死了，因为在进行彩排前这些观念在他们手里爆炸开了。如同拉罗斯词典上的那位女子，我吹着我各种危险观念的花朵。但我只让它们有毒的病菌随风播撒。人们无法不受惩罚地模仿萨尔瓦多·达利。那胆敢这么干的人将死于它！虽然被偷窃、被诈骗、被抄袭，要是我无法挣钱，那么作为补偿，我仍然能感到我的威信每天都更加距顶峰近了点儿。经过这么多努力之后，我和加拉，我们将再去利加特港，几乎可以肯定有两个月摆在我们面前：一个半月去西班牙，两周在巴黎，后者是为了在我们回来时静观情况的变化。自从我被家庭赶走后，父亲不停地追逼我，试图使我无法在卡达凯斯生活，仿佛我们只要一出现就是他的耻辱。