Like a Toreador's Nose with Venus's Breast

Besides my mother's house, the one place I try to be sure to visit during every trip to Florida is the Salvador Dali Museum.  Though there are usually special exhibits to add variety to each trip, I spend most my time with familiar favorites.    This time, the presentation was historical, paralleling events in each decade of Dali's life with his progress as a painter.  It was fascinating to see early works that echoed the impressionists (whom I love as much as I love Dali) with think, clumpy paint and hazy lines.  

 

Also, on this visit, the walls were a new rusty orange, reminding me of my orange wall at home.  I don't know that I ever felt the colors of a museum walls so prominently before.

 

Perhaps that is what moved me to tears when I stepped up to Femme Couchee, a husky woman splayed on some rocks, a contradiction of strength and surrender, her eyes unseen to show how she really feels -- defeated or free?  A waterfall flows from her open hand; the other is a fist.  Is she in agony or ecstasy?   Dali truly understood me at that moment.

 

Moving on into the surrealist elements of Dali, I became aware of the beauty of surrealism, for me.  As I stood in awe of the towering The Hallucinogenic Toreador, for instance, I can see it all at once, the Venus and the Toreador are visible; there is no need to shift my focus, looking at one or the other, a visual representation of the unity and interconnectedness of everything.   Science and art.  Man and woman.  Hungarian or American or Spanish or Colombian or Scottish or Irish.  Everything overlaps and is the other.   Only when we shift our perspective, choosing to focus on one aspect over another, do we see separation rather than unity. 

 

After the museum I headed out to the St. Pete Pier to check out a new salsa venue.  It was a beautifully cool night; I breathed in the darkness of the water at the empty end of the pier, reinforcing the feeling of oneness with the world that Dali imparted to me.  The night began with basic lessons for a fairly empty courtyard.   I realize I no longer need the basic lesson and that, at this pace, I would not warm up any time soon in the increasingly chilly air. So I hopped back on the trolley and headed home, a bit disappointed that I did not get my salsa fix, which was to be my day's exercise. [1]

 

Once back at my mother's we indulged in our scrabble addiction.  I revel in getting those words between all the words, building in multiple directions at once.  My mother is the three-letter word queen, making my above revelry a necessity.  As long as it all fits together, like a toreador's nose with Venus's breast.

 

[1] (On the trolley ride to the car, I contemplated how going dancing on my own is getting a little lonely, but it is something I truly love doing [and think I am getting quite good at].  I may invest in some more advanced classes as I hope to continue to improve my repertoire, also a great place to meet people to go to clubs with me.  [This resolve is strengthened after another unsatisfying salsa outing -- are the salsa goddesses trying to tell me something?  To give up?  Or to give in and take the lessons so I can be the dancer I always wanted to be like on that Christmas ornament from childhood?  Am I bored with it already?])