Diary of a Genius [antikvár]

FOREWORD FOR MANY years Salvador Dali has been telling us about the diary he is in the habit of keeping. Though tempted at first to call it My Re-Secret Life, as a sequel to The Secret Life of Salvador Dali by Salvador Dali, he has chosen to go on calling it Diary of a Genius, the more apt title which embellishes the first of the exercise books that he used for this new work. Because it certainly is a diary. Dali has jotted down helter-skelter his thoughts, his torments as a painter thirsting for perfection, his love for his wife, the story of his extraordinary encounters, his ideas about aesthetics, morality, philosophy, biology. Dali is conscious of his genius almost to distraction. And it seems to be a very comforting feeling. His parents gave him the name of Salvador because he was destined to become the saviour of the art of painting, in danger of extinction as it was by abstract art, academic surrealism, dadaism, and all the anarchic 'isms' in general. So this diary is a monument erected by Salvador Dali to his own glory. If it is entirely lacking in modesty, it has, on the other hand, a burning sincerity. The author lays bare his secrets with brazen insolence, unbridled humour, sparkling extravagance. Diary of a Genius, like The Secret Life, is an ode to the splendour of Tradition, the Catholic Hierarchy, and Monarchy. Which is tantamount,, these days, to saying that these pages will, to the ignorant, seem subversive. Besides which it is hard to decide what to admire most: the sincerity of his immodesty, or the immodesty of his sincerity. In describing his everyday life himself, Dali confounds his