About this title:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
"Maniac Eyeball is the third, final and most comprehensive volume of autobiography written by the late Salvador Dali. "Maniac Eyeball contains the frank and uncensored confessions of Salvador Dali, from his childhood and first adolescent sexual experiences to his emergence as a painter, surrealist and eventually the most famous-and possibly richest-artist of modern times. These inspired tracts, covering art, love, sex, money, death, fame, science, his famous friends and enemies, and his extraordinary creative genius, reveal the intricate workings of Dali's mind to create not only an unparalleled autobiography, but also one of the key surrealist texts yet published.
Salvador Dali (1904-"1989) entered the ranks of the Surrealists in 1929 with a series of iconoclastic paintings which fused technical virtuosity with Freudian infantilism, leading to his invention of the "paranoiac-critical" method. Later expelled from the surrealist group, he was christened "Avida Dollars" by Andre Breton while acquiring the reputation of master showman and scandalist. His art and writings remain among the most unique and important bodies of work of the 20th century.
"Dali's paintings reveal in the most powerful form the basic elements of the Surrealist imagination: a series of equations for dealing with the extraordinary transformations of our age. Let us salute this unique genius, who has counted for the first time the multiplication tables of obsession, psychopathology and possibility"-J.G. Ballard
Volume One of Creation Art Directives, a new series devoted to promoting the avant-garde
Contains over 100 photos, illustrations and paintings by Dali
Cover quote by J.G.Ballard
Companion toCreation's successful "Diary Of A Genius (20,000 sold to date)
HOW TO CONQUER PARIS I was dreaming not of love but of glory, and I knew that the road to success led through Paris. But in 1927 Paris was far from Figueras, far away, mysterious, and big. I landed there one morning with my sister and aunt, to judge its distance and size, as a boxer does during a round of studying his opponent. First I discovered Versailles (and continued to like the Escorial better) and the musty Musee Gravin waxworks. My self-confidence increased daily, but nothing essential had been accomplished. What I needed was the accolade of the only Parisian who mattered in my eyes: Pablo Picasso. I had carefully prepared my way to him. I knew that Picasso had seen one of my paintings in Barcelona, Muchacha de Espaldes (Rear View Of A Girl; known in English as Girl's Shoulder or Girl's Back), and had liked it: he had mentioned it to his dealer, Paul Rosenberg, who had written me out of the blue to ask for some photographs of my work. I had asked a friend of Lorca's, the Cuban painter Manuel Angel Ortiz, to take me to Picasso's studio. As soon as I got to 23 Rue La Botie, I knew those two jet-black button eyes of his had recognized me. I was "the other one" - the only one able to stand up to him. (In truth, now I know the world was a little too small for the two of us. Fortunately, I was still young!) I respectfully tendered a gift to him, another Figueras muchacha such as the one he had appreciated, and it took me quite a while to extricate it from its mummy's wrappings; but it was a real live painting that came out of the diapers and it seemed to me that as he looked at it, it took on a sudden new life. Picasso spent a long while, scrutinizing it minutely, and it had never looked finer to me. From that minute on, he was at great pains to dazzle me. My opening agitation was now replaced by assurance, as he took me into his studio on the floor above and for two hours kept displaying his paintings for me, the largest as well as the smallest, which he put on his easel. He went to and fro, choosing, weighing, setting up, silent and quick, stepping back, carefully inspecting his own genius but dancing his courtship dance for me alone and looking at me with long looks of complicity. We each knew who we were. Our mutual silence was charged with an electricity of the highest potential...
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