Salvador Dali and Memento Mori
Lincoln Park, January 2023
In Monterey, California sits a curated private collection dedicated to the Spanish surrealist painter Salvador Dali (1904 - 1989). The museum pays homage to the painter, who had lived in this coastal city in the 1940s. He was known for a style of distortion, and the museum in Monterey shows just this. The eclectic mix of Dali artwork is brought together across colored walls sprinkled with Dali quotes such as “when we are asleep in this world, we are awake in another” and “there is only one difference between a madman and me. The madman thinks he is sane. I know I am mad.”
Dali appeals to the “madman” in all of us. The parts of ourselves that cannot fit into the script. The indescribable sentiments that crop up and startle us. The gut feelings and instincts we cannot shake. Almost mad, for the very reason that we ourselves have difficulty deciphering their meaning, or where they came from. Surely, from some inner part of ourselves we haven’t yet brought to awareness. The parts of ourselves that do not perfectly mesh into the full picture, but are particles of our essence nonetheless. Floating somewhere, ebbing and flowing, and on occasion surfacing to the forefront.
I suppose this goes to show that there is not just one version of l’être, the persona. That we find that different versions of ourselves exist with different people, and are formed by the experiences we shared with each. Or in different geographies, where we were tasked with processing disparate stimuli. How they laid the building blocks of our selfhood during the course of that period lived there, and depending on the locality that came next, each building upon a long line of memories that developed the être, the being, that stands today.
Memory is something that Dali was fascinated by, as most prominently illustrated through his painting “The Persistence of Memory.” It was in this piece, and others to come, that Dali painted his famous melting clocks. The clocks were meant to signify the ethereality of time. By melting these clocks and signifying that they would eventually degrade into nothingness, Dali points to the relativity of time. He challenges our notions of the continuum, of a fixed cosmic order.
While a powerful painting, the title is what captures me even more than the work of art. “The Persistence of Memory.” The power and permanence that exists in a memory - how much it can carry us, or impede us. Haunt us, or illuminate our path forward. The art of letting go, or cherishing closely, a certain grain of time. The nostalgia for that version of ourselves that existed in that blip of time. Or the nostalgia for, and attachment to, the people with whom we shared those memories. The bond that comes from knowing that same experience exists in that person’s mind, as part of their story, as much as it exists in our mind and as part of our story. That with that person - our memories, and therefore each of our selves, are forming in tandem. The place that memory holds. The place that person holds.
Unraveling these thoughts around time and memories brings me to think of the latin concept of memento mori - remember one’s death. Rather than seeing this as a bleak reminder of a dark inevitability, I find that the phrase speaks more so to making the most of the time we have been allotted. Viewing death in this way is a core tenant of Stoicism. Seneca, a famous Stoic philosopher, stated “the one who puts the finishing touches on their life each day is never short of time.” And the idea of limited time has not escaped us today either. From ancient philosophers to modern man, the fascination with time persists. This is underscored further by the fact that many clocks today are often engraved with the latin phrase tempus fugit, or “time flees.”
Recalling memento mori, then, can serve us greatly. The concept serves as a tool to create priority and meaning. It reminds us that life is fleeting, and resultantly, this reminder instills in us a sense of urgency. To speak our truth. To walk in alignment with our purpose. To cultivate those connections that add meaning to our lives. To listen to that “madman” in us that Dali had embraced.
That madman is akin to that part of ourselves that realizes life is too short - so carpe diem, or for those who prefer the philosophy of Drake, YOLO. Acknowledge openly that feeling that exists in your core. Chase that feeling that you are meant for something more. Tell that person what they mean to you. And most importantly: acknowledge every part of yourself, madman or sane.
The bravery that comes with realizing within ourselves what feels right, but putting that into practice as well. Adhering to that externally, in what we project outward and how we interact with the world, is equally as important. And scary. But doing so in spite of that fear, the bravery of persisting nevertheless, is the antidote. Because memento mori. Our days are numbered, but our allegiance to our highest selves, our innermost truths, should not be.
The unfortunate reality is that many of us only decide to live as our highest and truest selves when we are confronted with the possibility that we could be running out of time. Or through tertiary reminders of memento mori that confirm nobody escapes death. But a startling event is not required to tap into the urgent need before us: to truly live, rather than merely exist. No candle burns forever - but the bolder the flame, the greater the warmth and the larger the life.
