Today’s words come to us from the mustachioed surrealist painter, Salvador Dalí. (Sidebar: his full legal name was Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, Marqués de Dalí de Púbol. That must have been a real drag to write on school papers.)
Dalí was part genius, part eccentric loon. Mostly eccentric loon. Lots of folks get Dalí, but I’m not one of them. Most of his art looks like he dropped acid and painted things in various stages of melting. But Dalí claimed he didn’t do drugs — I don’t do drugs. I am drugs. And one of his favorite methods of artistic inspiration involved standing on his head until he passed out and then painting his melty visions once he regained consciousness.
In 1977, Dalí published a wine book called, The Wines of Gala (Gala was his wife). Though not entirely written by Dalí (but by a close confidant, Max Granger), it drips with Dalinian oddity, and includes many Dalí illustrations. In the photo on the right, I’m sure you’ll recognize Château Y’quem. The other photo is, well, something melting. The Wines of Gala attempts to categorize wines not by regions or varieties, but by the emotional sensations they create — Wines of Generosity, Wines of Frivolity, Wines of Dawn, Wines of Purple, and (my favorite) Wines of the Impossible. I’d love to know which wines are Impossible, but I don’t own a copy of The Wines of Gala. It’s out of print and runs $300+ on the secondary market, so I’ll just have to be at peace with that mystery.
Melting aside, these words made me smile . . .