By Paul Chimera
Dalí Society® Historian & Writer
I want to look at two things in today’s blog post: Dalí’s portraiture, and Dalí’s technical brilliance.
Let me address the technique question first. It’s pretty much a cliché by now, but it still means as much as when it was first articulated: Dalí paintings, Dalí drawings, Dalí prints – virtually everything about the surrealism and post-surrealist works of Dalí – reveals superb draftsmanship.
Dalí possessed a technical virtuosity reminiscent of the Old Masters. There’s no denying it, and even his most ardent detractors concede that the crazy mustachioed Catalan could paint! And paint magnificently.
Simply put, Salvador Dalí never could have pulled off the illusions he did, had he not had the ability to produce “hand-painted color photography,” to use his own description. He was a brilliant technician, pure and simple.
I think I’ve made my point. But why is it important?
For at least two reasons, one already stated: his spectacular technical skill was so photographic in quality that Dalí made the unreal seem real! Things just don’t float like that in mid-air. And yet there they are – knife, leaf, glass of wine, giant cauliflower – in a remarkable work like “Nature Morte Vivante” (1957, Dalí Museum, St. Petersburg, Florida).
Secondly, great craftsmanship is always admired and appreciated, no matter how it’s demonstrated.
Which brings me to a Dalí portrait of great craftsmanship – the portrait seen here of Madame Ortiz de Linares, painted in 1942 (private collection).
Can you say stunning!
Look how Dalí handled the lacy transparent veil, the lush clouds, really everything in this exquisite portrait. It is one of many society portraits Salvador Dalí painted, which typically featured a faithful likeness of the sitter within an often wildly surrealist background.
Of course, not everyone was thrilled with what became a somewhat commercial turn on the road Dalí began to travel around this time. It’s not that he didn’t continue to produce important art for the ages – he certainly did – but some (jealous?) contemporaries and others felt Dalí was becoming too seduced by dollars and less guided by inspired ideas.
Not surprisingly, Dalí had a brilliant explanation. He reasoned that most people work to get money. But, in his case, he earned money in order to work! He meant, of course, that the hefty paychecks that poured in from society portraits – and all manner of other lucrative commercial projects – meant he now had the financial freedom to devote more time to what he loved best: creating great art!
It worked beautifully. Dalí became a wealthy man. And, yes, he flaunted it. The stereotype of the brooding, starving, bohemian artist, dressed in tattered clothing and enduring the millstone of poverty never visited Dalí’s lifestyle.
Instead, he was effusive; dined generously; dressed flamboyantly in brocade vests and classic capes, brandishing an assortment of walking sticks and watching that iconic mustache twitch all the way to the bank! “Bravo! Bravo!” he’d surely exclaim.
Dalí knew that being a great artist, while also attaining great wealth in his chosen profession, were not mutually exclusive paths!