Tag Archives: Harpo Marx

Dalí and the Surreal

Over the weekend I was in Chicago to see a special exhibit at the Art Institute called Salvador Dalí: The Image Disappears. It got me thinking about the appeal of the surreal. Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane

Over the weekend I was in Chicago to see a special exhibit at the Art Institute called Salvador Dalí: The Image Disappears. It got me thinking about the appeal of the surreal.

I for one really like Dalí’s art, it captures something of the subconscious possibility in the way it bends and transforms nature. Surrealism creates a mirror universe governed by its own laws, inhabited by a cast of characters that are just familiar enough to us to warrant closer inspection and intense curiosity. When developed to its fullest extent with sound and movement, the color and light of the surreal comes to life in a truly radiant and radical fashion. I’m talking of course of Dalí’s collaboration with Walt Disney, which became the short film Destino, a gorgeous film that is available today on Disney+. The Spanish guitar and drums, and singer’s voice pair well with Dalí’s images that find themselves unlocked from the monumental stone edifices they were built into upon their creation, the permanence of place and pose in painting.

The Dalí paintings at the Art Institute reflected the opposite of the great monuments of Destino, and more the impermanence and fragility of life itself. Crafted and devised throughout Dalí’s life, in particular during the troubled years of the Spanish Civil War, these images tell their own stories of paranoia and chaos. They show how Dalí expressed his emotions and innermost thoughts in his art. When world events on his doorstep forced him to contemplate horrors that pulled him from his passions, those horrors showed themselves in his work.

The Persistence of Memory

I’m drawn to Dalí’s most classic examples of surrealism, The Persistence of Memory being the type painting of these. They remind me with their distant hazy horizons of a book of labyrinths that I was given for Christmas one year in the early 2000s that had the same eternal yet present horizon line which stretched out from the central object echoing the idea of infinity yet not quite reaching that point itself. About a decade ago I was lucky enough to get to see another Dalí exhibit, this one in the Hallmark Headquarters at Crown Center here in Kansas City, where several Dalí images commissioned by Hallmark in the 1950s for a new line of greeting cards were on display for employees and their families. I remember Dalí’s interpretation of Santa for a Christmas card was fascinating, though not what Hallmark, the Norman Rockwell of American companies, necessarily wanted.

On Monday, I decided to compliment the Dalí exhibit with a visit to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art here in Kansas City to see Alberto Giacometti: Toward the Ultimate Figure, a collection of sketches, paintings, and sculptures by the Swiss master artist whose work spanned the first six decades of the twentieth century, and was in many ways Dalí’s contemporary. Yet where Dalí sought to interpret the human form through distortion imbued with a great sunny sense of Catalan romance, Giacometti’s works narrowed down their focus to the purest and ultimate human figure, which he crafted throughout his life’s work into sculptures notable for their roughness, slenderness, and height. I for one prefer Dalí’s vision over Giacometti’s, though I respect both artists for what they were trying to create.

The surreal appeals to me because it echoes the disorderly world of my own dreams, the images that dance through my mind when I sleep are best described as surreal. Dalí collaborated with one of my favorite comics of his day, Harpo Marx, to create a film which ultimately was dropped by MGM for being too strange and finally in the last decade adapted into a graphic novel called Giraffes on Horseback Salad. Neither man spoke each other’s language, yet they both knew how to approach the language of the surreal, and so crafted a story that is the definition of weird and silly, that proved to be too strange even for Harpo’s brother Groucho. It’s good for us to have this alternate to our own world to turn to, this dreamlike fantasy realm where things don’t quite add up to how we expect. We humans are too imaginative to really fully be the normal people we make ourselves out to be. We have dreams, all of us, and rarely do they turn out to meet our expectations of what is normal.

Terminologies

Today, I'm going to talk for a bit about how the meanings of words change. Click here to support the Wednesday Blog: https://www.patreon.com/sthosdkane

Normally, I’ll have something written for the Wednesday Blog by Monday and recorded at the latest by Tuesday morning. Yet this week I’m sitting here on Tuesday at 2:30 pm with nothing written, and thus nothing recorded. Some weeks I’m abuzz with ideas and others, like this week, the hive remains silent. So, while I was talking this morning with my friend Rebecca Legill, I was in the background searching for something to write about this week.

Our conversation turned, as many conversations in Kansas City do these days, to the new terminal at Kansas City International Airport. The big shiny new building opened to the public a month ago on February 28th and has seen around 300,000 travelers pass through its doors in the weeks since. What struck me while I was talking about the new terminal with Rebecca was that the word terminal itself is a bit of an odd word. Terminal comes from the Latin terminus, a word for a boundary or a limit. The modern context of a terminal as a transportation hub came from the railways whose end stations are called terminals. Think of Grand Central Terminal in New York or the London Terminals that you used to see on old British Rail tickets. Here in Kansas City, it’s a bit of a weird idea because our Union Station was built as a through station. Sure, trains once terminated and still terminate here, the Missouri River Runner’s western end is in K.C., but elsewhere the idea of a terminal station makes sense.

So, when the languages of railways and ocean liners were being adopted for airports a century ago the idea of the airport terminal as one building among others where people board and disembark from planes was born. In many cases a terminal isn’t necessarily where a trip ends, especially on a point-to-point carrier like Southwest Airlines here in the United States, yet for hub airlines like our big three––American, Delta, and United––to say that the new building at KCI is the terminal works pretty well. In a similar way, saying that O’Hare Airport in Chicago has Terminals 1, 2, 3, and 5 or that London Heathrow has Terminals 2, 3, 4, and 5 also makes sense in this logic of aviation naming considering that a flight is most often the equivalent of an express train, they rarely make stops along the way anymore to unload some passengers and bring aboard others.Language evolves with its speakers; my English today is different from my English twenty years ago when I was a spry 10 year old. The complexity of any language becomes more noticeable with time and experience speaking that language. Language is the vehicle that carries us from one terminal in our lives to the next, it’s how we interpret the experiences that our senses describe to us. Language is our mechanism for crafting new worlds and ideas, whether fantastical or ordinary. Language is how we think, so it strikes me as curious to consider which philosophers speak to which people. Some appreciate the Stoics for their straightforwardness, others like me the Existentialists who see patterns and subtext in every interpretation. In the study of history perhaps the most influential thinker is Karl Marx, whose economic philosophy has defined a great deal of historians especially in Europe following the Second World War. All of us have read Marx to varying degrees. I get his ideas though I don’t entirely buy them. Of all the Marxist philosophers the one who speaks the most to me has to be Harpo Marx for all the life and joy that can be found in his chaotic wisdom. Language can be more than just words, and Harpo lived and breathed that kind of expression.