A confused artist but a genius. Distinctly gay (and I mean that in the most admiring way), but claimed to admire Franco, who was a fat little upstart. Painted perhaps the most famous artworks to join the Surrealist canon. Never got on with self-styled Surrealist Pope Andre Breton, who cynically pointed out that Dali's name was an anagram for "Avida Dollars". Then again,
have you ever heard of a line of perfume called "Andre Breton"? No, I didn't think so. Gave his paintings long-winded titles that made their puzzling
complexity all the more puzzling, and in
whatever afterlife awaits Surrealist genius, his eyes are surely sparkling mischievously at the nonsense that
academics are spouting about his sexuality. Well known for his antenna-moustache, his penchant for walking his pet lobster up the Rue de Rivoli, and his motifs of flyblown donkeys, ants, melting watches, crutches, conical anamorphoses of the Spectres of Voltaire, and all the rest. Without him, Ozzy Ozbourne would never have bitten a bat. Referenced in
all the best rock songs from U2 to Queen. Worked with Luis Bunuel on L'Age d'Or and Un Chien Andalou (The
Golden Age and An Andalucian Dog), two waaay cool movies. His antennae were the vibrissa of the world, and Cadaques was its nose. He promised to eat his wife Gala after she died, which contributed to her longevity. He said the only difference between himself and a madman was that he was not mad, and paranoiac-critically speaking, he was right.
