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Salvador Dalí never worked small. In fact, he was downright operatic in everything he did—colorful, bombastic, and loud. Now, Dalí the painter is finally Dalí the Opera. Yo, Dalí ("I, Dalí" in English) recently opened at the Theatre of the Zarzuela in Madrid, Spain, and will move on to Barcelona’s Gran Teatre del Liceu in October. Originally meant to celebrate the centennial of Dalí’s birth in 2004 but delayed until now, Yo, Dalí begins in 1929, when the arch surrealist met his muse and soul mate, Gala, and ends with his death in 1989. This opera tries to capture all the passion and tragedy of the six decades in between. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "
Salvador Dali… the Opera?"
Any American who has steeled him or herself to watch the fur fly in the latest political fray over the debt ceiling knows that civil discourse is anything but civil. The idea that ideas can be brought out in a open forum for debate without someone getting insulted seems downright colonial (even though, truth be told, the Founding Fathers didn’t pull their punches either on the British or on one another). With so many windows seemingly slamming shut, is it possible that art museums might be the last hope for civil discourse in America? As Robin Cembalest recently wrote in ARTnews, “experts from outside the art world are converging to collaborate on projects that extend far beyond the galleries—and beyond conventional definitions of art.” Call it common sense or outlandish mission creep, museums as “think tanks” is fast becoming a reality, and perhaps a necessity. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "
Are Museums America’s Last Hope for Civil Discourse?"
[Image: Jeff Grantz’s The Equation of Time lighting up the exterior of the Basilica at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral as part of Nuit Blanche New York’s Flash:Light installation during the New Museum’s Festival of Ideas for the New City.]
When I found out today about the death of American artist Cy Twombly at age 83, I quickly ran a gauntlet of reactions: one, I have to write about him; two, how do I write about the one major American artist I (like many others) just don’t “get.” The scribbles and seemingly random marks of Twombly’s art just didn’t speak to me, regardless of how hard I strained to hear them. Now that the man is gone and the art remains, I feel compelled to give him one more try. Twombly, the stereotypical “My kid could do that!” modern artist, is dead, but maybe the inner child he channeled in his work lives on. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "
How Cy Twombly’s Inner Child Lives on."
[Image: Cy Twombly. Sunset, 1957. Oil, pencil, and crayon on canvas. 142.5 x 195 cm. © Cy Twombly.]
