I could only describe my assignment as daunting: Visit a famous art museum and review a world-renowned artist’s work? I was certain that it would push the limits of my qualifications as a novice artist and reporter. How could I look at baffling art pieces and come up with anything novel or meaningful about the malleability of time, dreams or the human experience?
I was worried this would be my dilemma as I entered the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA), just a few days before the Dec. 1 closing date of its first Salvador Dalí exhibit. The exhibit, titled “Dalí: Disruption and Devotion,” encompassed a wide variety of his unique artistic endeavors.
Dalí, a 20th-century Spanish artist, was most famous for his dream-like surrealist work and his eccentric persona. Today, he is in many ways a hallmark of modern and contemporary art. The exhibit boasted nearly 30 works on loan from private collections, the MFA’s European collection, and the Salvador Dalí Museum in St. Petersburg, FL. Dalí’s work was coupled with the work of other prominent European artists, including 16th century Dutch engraver Pieter van der Heyden, and fellow Spaniards Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez and Fransisco Goya.
Viewers of “Dalí: Disruption and Devotion” were encouraged to find connections between Dalí’s art and the art that inspired him, highlighting the bold and unprecedented liberties he took in his work while still paying tribute to those who influenced him. There was a lot to take in and appreciate.
My favorite painting in the whole exhibit was Dalí’s 1958 painting, “Velázquez painting the Infanta with the lights and shadows of his proper glory.” It is, in many ways, an emulation of the 17th-century Spanish painter Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez’s painting of the Spanish Infanta, Maria Teresa. Velázquez’s painting hangs on a blood-red wall next to Dalí’s interpretation. I couldn’t decide if Dalí took a sinister or beautifully nostalgic approach to Velázquez’s masterpiece.
For an unpracticed eye such as mine, the resemblance between the infanta (princess) in both paintings was hardly apparent at first. While her shape is largely the same, in Dalí’s painting, the Infanta is more of a suggestion than a concrete rendering. Crafted of lines and particles and seemingly suspended in midair, she appears almost ghost-like, watching over everything. The infanta seems illuminated by light, creating the impression of a memory rekindled and alive, quietly witnessing her legacy. This was a powerful reimagining of a traditional artwork.
However, I would certainly not be capturing the essence of this exhibit if I didn’t also give some airtime to the other, wildly different (but not less memorable) works of art. I decided that there were generally three thematic categories that summarized this exhibit’s artwork: demons, surrealism and religion.
The “demons” were mainly the work of 16th century Dutch engraver Pieter van der Heyden, (though the nightmarish scenes depicted in his work were after designs by Pieter Bruegel the Elder). These engravings featured convoluted and disturbing scenes with half-human, half-monster creatures engaged in all manner of strange activities. I watched as many viewers leaned in close to try to make sense of the chaos depicted. One woman even laughed out loud while admiring Heyden’s 1556 piece “The Temptation of St. Anthony.” (A rotted fish carcass rests atop a giant hollow head while swarms of those dreadful demonic creatures run around “tempting” the poor priest St. Anthony). Despite being startling and creepy, something is fascinating and almost comical about this artwork.
As for Dalí’s trademark surrealism, there was plenty of it. Yes, there was a ‘melting clocks’ painting–no, it was not the melting clocks painting–but I didn’t find myself gravitating towards it. Instead, I ended up in front of a less-crowded painting, one of Dalí’s earliest surrealist pieces: “The First Days of Spring.”
This piece stood out because of its brighter, bolder colors amidst the gloomier palette of this part of the exhibition. In it, an (apparently) random collection of objects and semi-recognizable figures are scattered throughout a vast gray plain, under an ombre blue sky. I was unsure what to make of it or how to interpret it. The more I tried to access any semblance of understanding, the more perplexed and disoriented I felt. To tell the truth, I didn’t especially enjoy this painting: there was something uncomfortable about a piece that seemed to be so entirely incomprehensible.
And finally, religion. Between a simplistic yet breathtaking red-chalk sketch of Christ on the cross, drawn from an aerial perspective, and Dalí’s giant, dream-like “Ecumenical Council,” there was plenty to see here, too. “Ecumenical Council” was the most well-lit and the largest of all the paintings in this exhibit, spanning almost an entire wall.
For me, the most interesting aspect of this painting was Dalí’s own rendering of himself in the bottom-left-hand corner, touting his signature handlebar mustache and staring back at the viewer, paintbrush in hand. It was interesting to see two entirely different artistic concepts–religious iconography and self-portrait–combined seamlessly to create a breathtaking illustration of spiritual devotion.
I spent over an hour in “Dalí: Disruption and Devotion,” moving slowly through the crowded gallery whilst furiously scribbling my observations in a little notebook. Frankly, I could have spent another hour exploring.
Despite my initial apprehension, I’m so glad I made it out to the MFA to learn more about the world around me. “Dalí: Disruption and Devotion” was not only a wonderful window into the artistic brilliance of one globally revered artist; it was also an opportunity to witness the evolution of art. As the exhibit made clear, imitation can often be the highest form of admiration–and Dalí wholeheartedly embraced this idea.
