It has been a pleasant surprise to see the dimension, quality, depth, and interest of the exhibition dedicated to Dalí's relationship with Barcelona, a city where he was seen more frequently than it would seem (no landscape or Barcelona icon appears in any of his paintings) and which he never stopped visiting. His mother was from Barcelona and his father grew up in the Catalan capital, and it is where he held his first solo exhibitions. From his youth (the exhibition in the Dalmau, Ateneu, Uncle Anselmo galleries) to his triumphant return (Ritz, Via Veneto, Gaudí, the zoo...), Dalí cultivates his own itinerary of privileged places and almost always makes them play an important role in his cosmogony: as in all his writings and paintings, nothing in Dalí is accidental. As a figure in a dream never is. And, therefore, if he went to do a performance with the white monkey, it is because he wants the scene to remain for history. And, if he wants to go see a Sant Andreu match, also.
Right from the start, once access is paid (which includes a visit to the Cathedral), you are offered a map of the city where the places visited during the exhibition are marked, so you can get a general idea of Dalí's Barcelona and even take a summary in your pocket. The exhibition itself, which can be visited until December 1, is distributed in black panels cut by islands with chamfers, filled with texts and images that turn them (these, yes) into true superblocks with meaning.
Curator Ricard Mas explains to me that the commission came to him from his visits to Sant Felip Neri, that is, praying, specifically following the death of his father. Apart from this almost Freudian and mystical, almost Dalínian explanation, the exhibition has been made from images that come from various contributions: the National Library, the Gala Dalí Foundation, individuals, RTVE, public archives... He tells me, figuratively speaking, that it has been an exhibition made "with an Excel," that is, the maximum efficiency between cost and content, and the truth is that the content is truly exceptional. I repeat, a delight. A discovery in every phrase, in every scene, in every space.
"People don't read," he tells me: therefore, he feels comfortable making an exhibition of images despite the exhaustive book he published with the same title. We see the "animal antics at the zoo," which take us back to childhood (Dalí evidently went to the zoo as a child) and from here directly to the happening with a rhinoceros that the artist starred in in '60, leaving the imprint of his hand next to those of the animal (the rhinoceros horn is, for him, the most perfect shape in the Universe) and the homage he paid to Duchamp in 1969, facing a bride mannequin towards the newly arrived albino gorilla Snowflake, an experience he repeated in 1970 with model Amanda Lear (not forgetting the deposit he made of an Indian elephant some years earlier). Next, we will see the reference to the restaurants most frequented by the genius, ranging from the sophistication of French cuisine to popular Catalan cuisine (and from luxury restaurants like Via Veneto or Altaya to more popular ones like El Canari de la Garriga or Los Caracoles). For Dalí, there is no middle ground and he has a declared allergy to the bourgeoisie: either you are with the nobility and royalty, or you are with the people (hence the barretina and espadrilles combined with jackets and shirts from the best tailors). But he considered the middle-class concept vulgar and despicable.
The Ateneu (specifically Quim Borralleras's club, the most important one, where his uncle Anselm went ---among other things, co-founder of the Orfeó Català---, where the young Dalí delivered his scandalous lecture Moral Position of Surrealism, where he ranted against the former president Àngel Guimerà, and where, as an adult, he lectured Why I Was Sacrilegious, Why I Am Mystic with praise for Llull, Gaudí, and Pujols). This scene, accompanied by the famous video in the romantic garden, is followed by the panel corresponding to suite 108 of the Ritz hotel (where Dalí always returned after his American exile, where he brought everything from stuffed horses to Czech contortionists, snails scattered over models, and happenings of all kinds). However, in the middle of each space there is also room for display cases with various objects: letters, postcards, telegrams, magazines, Paris Matchs, Patufets, books, manifestos...
The spaces are separated by illustrated curtains with photos (the exhibition is designed by Jesús Galdón), and the themes extend from flamenco Barcelona (tablaos, Tarantos, bailaoras), the bullfighting afición (where the never-realized project of a surrealist bullfight with Dominguín, Monturiol's submarine and La Cierva's Autogiro that would take the dead bull and throw it to the top of Montserrat mountain is mentioned...), football (the engraving for Barça's 75th anniversary agreed with Armand Carabén ---which we can contrast with what Miquel Barceló has done today for the 150th---, the help to Sant Andreu through the painting Gol!), and above all a long section dedicated to the edible architecture of Modernism and Gaudí (the events in Park Güell with castellers and smoke bombs, the Palau de la Música Catalana, La Pedrera ---which he wanted to be the headquarters of the Commissariat of Public Imagination---, the Sagrada Família ---in front of which he wanted to premiere Verdaguer's L'Atlàntida---, Casa Batlló...) or to the relationship with Lorca (adopted Barcelonan, Mariana Pineda, Turó Park) or with Llongueras (with a violent but failed happening at the inauguration of his hair salon, the gigantic wig in the Sala Mae West of the Figueres Theater-Museum), Foix, Picasso, Abelló, Subirachs...
In short, it is worth going to see and experience it, touch it, witness it. Ricard says he wants to make it tour Spain, and that he wants to lend it to Llull and Cervantes to take it to other countries. I leave with a desire for a second visit and, with the map in my pocket, material to take home. And indeed, when I go out into the street I return to the ungrateful Barcelona of always: not a street, not a commemorative plaque, not a city corner. Perhaps that is why Dalí decided to install his museums in less putrid latitudes.