a melting watch at every bus stop

As an artist, I've been told to be concerned about employing a copyright on all of my work; of being vigilant to protect both my art and my artist reputation. However, I'm a digital artist; the ends don't merely justify the means, they pay for it repeatedly. There is no original artwork in digital art: if someone is willing to pay for a copy, they must realize they're getting the result of a file being sent to a printer. A year later, another copy can be produced with no loss of integrity.

This type of tech - tho' not yet digital - was hitting its stride by 1964 when Salvador Dalí, already blinded by the glare of his zenith, was entering an era when his extravagant genius lifestyle and that of his bride, Gala, needed to be assured. An aging couple living in a wonderfully funky house on the coast of Spain, in the midst of having the first Dalí museum built, they were all but semi-retired (but who can really elect to stop being Dalí?) Apparently, it never became an ethical concern whether Dalí would sell an original or a reproduction sporting with his fresh signature. In a time before rampant product placement and sponsored name brands, Dalí envisioned his artwork would appear everywhere: he creates it once, it magically duplicates and replicates until it becomes as ubiquitous as his name. Viral Dalí.

There are also tales about Dalí lending his signature to stacks of blank sheets of paper (10,000!). This wasn't as much a picture of an artist in his decline ("The Hallucinogenic Toreador" will appear in 1969), as it was a portrait of a celebrity who ignored the quality of his output as long as he was able to make money off it. He cannily knew how to expand his art beyond the realm of the canvas: By ‘64, he was designing liquor bottles, jewelry and golden chalices. One of his truly inspired commissioned projects was a chess set where the pieces were sculptures of his own thumbs and fingers. (The queens were Gala's fingers tipped with a tooth and the rooks were saltshakers from a ritzy hotel.)

Also paramount to the nurturing of the Dalí brand was his writing: 1964 saw the publishing of Dalí's "memoirs", Diary of a Genius, in which decades of carefully crafted suitable backstory - a lot of it contrived - got the stamp of legitimacy. Here’s an artist who is in complete control of not only birthing but also maintaining his own extensive self-aggrandizing mythology. Dali turned 60 in 1964 - he was as world famous for his personality as he was for his artwork. He publicly worshipped money, as far from the art-for-art's sake school he had decades ago become a poster boy for, taking on all manner of work. If a backer paid him to produce illustrations for the Bible, Dalí did so (but not as enthusiastically as he produced illustrations for The Arabian Knights).

1964 witnessed the unveiling of Apotheosis of the Dollar, where Dalí literally gilded the monetary sign, raising it to the sanctified holy relic most of Western civilization presumed it to be. Surrealist André Breton had already nastily anagrammed Salvador Dali into "Avida Dollars" as a suitable pseudonym for just this type of art. Fittingly, both "Apotheosis" and Dalí-designed jewelry were seen at the France and Spain pavilions of the World's Fair in New York City. Photographed alongside both Dalí and "Apotheosis" was Andy Warhol, I would assume, busily taking notes on the balance of art, commerce and public persona.

Works Cited
Caws, Mary Ann. "Chapter 15: Scandals and Seclusion, 1960-79." 143-151. Reaktion Books Ltd., 2008. Art & Architecture Complete. EBSCO. Web. 13 Sept. 2010.
Dalí, Salvador & André Parinaud. Maniac Eyeball: The Unspeakable Confessions of Salvador Dalí. Creation Books. 2004.
Descharmes, Robert and Gilles Néret. Dalí. Taschen. 1998.
Gibson, Ian. The Shameful Life of Salvador Dalí. W.W. Norton. 1997.
Salvador Dalí: an Illustrated Life. Tate.
"SALVADOR DALI GIVES THE FINGER TO A CHESS SET." Antique Shoppe Newspaper Mar. 2008: 35. Art & Architecture Complete. EBSCO. Web. 13 Sept. 2010.
Schiebler, Ralf. Dalí: The Reality of Dreams. Prestel. 1996.