Dalí stayed on in America that summer in order to create a work for the New York World’s Fair, his Dream of Venus; it was unrealised due to a disagreement with the World Fair’s management. But soon after he returned to France, World War II broke out and the painter vacated Paris. Eventually he settled in Arcachon, in the south-west of France, a locale chosen for its good restaurants. Following the fall of France in June 1940 the Dalís returned via Spain and Portugal to the United States, where they arrived on 16 August 1940 and where they sat out the rest of the war.
Salvador Dalí’s move to America in 1940 marked a watershed in his career, for his artistic achievements before that date were far richer than they ever were after it. Until then the painter had genuinely and inventively grappled with his innermost responses to the world, and produced his greatest masterworks in the process. Moreover, his occasionally madcap antics seemed the natural offshoot of those responses, especially where a genuinely Surrealist subversion of accepted standards of ‘civilised’ behaviour was concerned. But after 1940, and especially because of the need to make money once the financial support of the Zodiac group had disappeared, Dalí the showman took over, whilst after the end of the Second World War a newfound interest in scientific, religious and historical subject-matter meant that the authenticity of Dalí’s exploration of the subconscious began to drain away, to be replaced by something far more calculated in effect. Moreover, after 1940 a new banality often entered into Dalí’s work, as his imagery was made to bear a more rationally comprehensible load and a more directly symbolic meaning. Of course there is nothing innately invalid about Dalí’s enthusiasm for scientific, religious and historical subject-matter; the painter had as much right to pursue such interests as anyone else. But the question arises as to whether those concerns led to any creative enhancement of Dalí’s imagery and its development into new areas of aesthetic experience, and for the most part the answer has to be a negative one, for too often Dalí’s later quasi-scientific, religious and historical pictures lack any innovatory aesthetic dimension and thus seem merely illustrative. And sadly, financial greed – in which Gala played a major part – would also determine much of Dalí’s artistic sense of direction after 1940, eventually making the painter into the willing accomplice to one of the largest and most prolonged acts of financial fraud ever perpetrated in the history of art.
Once safely across the Atlantic in 1940, the Dalís at first settled with Caresse Crosby in Hampton, Virginia, where they lived for a year, virtually taking over the widow’s mansion and holding court there in the process. Later they moved westwards to settle in Monterey, south of San Francisco. In 1941 Dalí produced his first volume of autobiography, The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí, a work in which he greatly furthered the myths about himself as a madman who was not mad. This book was later analysed by George Orwell in one of his most brilliant essays, ‘Benefit of Clergy’ (1944), in which he took at face value the Dalínian myth but argued that ‘One ought to be able to hold in one’s head simultaneously the two facts that Dalí is a good draughtsman and a disgusting human being’. He also questioned the right of an artist like Dalí to claim exemption from the normal moral constraints of mankind (hence the title of the essay).
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