Diary of a Dali intern – Archive
Written by Crow's Nest Staff, Jan 24, 2011, 0 Comments
Photos contributed by Rob Baynard
Brittany Long
Contributing Writer
“Infanta, Infanta.”
I am repeating this in my head as I run. I look down at my heels and give myself a silent pat on the back for making such a good shoe choice for the night. I am also looking down because I am running, in heels, on carpet. I am prone to imagining events before they happen and in this sequence I see my heels snagging on the carpet, my body flying through the air, only to land sprawled out on the rough terrain.
“Infanta,” I repeat.
This is the first time since beginning at the Dali Museum that I have felt like a frantic intern. My goal at the moment is to make it to the computer to type up a name card for a very important event, for a very important (and forgotten) person, on a program I have never used. And with all my infinite computer knowledge, I still do not know how to make the squiggly line over the “n”. (It’s ALT 164 in case you’re ever in need of the elusive squiggly-lined “n”.)
The event is Banquete, a dinner with La Infanta Cristina—the Princess of Spain. It was one of the four opening events for the new Dali Museum that I worked and attended.
When I was first interviewed for the position, I was told that my tasks would be stressful, that if I didn’t have tough skin I wouldn’t make it.
“We won’t call you by your first name until you’ve worked here a week because no one really lasts longer than that,” they told me.
I laughed at first because I figured I’d be working on social media projects for the Dali, such as blogging or Facebook. How thick of a skin would I need when I most likely would be in my own little bubble, typing away about how fabulous the Family Fun Days are? They even had me write up a little blurb about an upcoming event to test my skills.
But to my surprise, I was plopped into the Development Department. I still get to use my writing abilities, but for a side of an art museum you rarely stop to think about.
As you gazed at Dali’s “Portrait Of My Dead Brother” in the old Dali building in Poynter Park, you probably weren’t thinking, “I hope their donors offer up large sums of money so that they can get better lighting.” Your thoughts were more likely along the lines of, “Wow, those tiny blobs morph into spacemen! I had no idea.”
But unfortunately you also probably didn’t realize that the two cherries in the picture are two different shades (a symbolic meaning you will have to look up yourself). This is because the lighting really was horrible. That’s where my department comes in with their behind-the-scenes schmoozing. As a non-profit organization, the Dali relies on support from the community to continue to run and operate—to flick on the lights each day so you don’t have to hold the light from your cell phone up to a painting, to analyze one of Dali’s masterpieces.
Keeping the lights on is not an easy task. With “the economy how it is” (a popular phrase), asking for a hefty donation and getting people to pry open their bear claw trap wallets is often more difficult for artistic endeavors than, say, a medical endeavor.
My job consists of writing letters to potential donors, writing letters to thank those donors, making sure those donors’ names are on the list for events like the dinner with La Infanta Cristina, inviting them to other events, editing and re-editing.
One thing I have learned while running the business side is how important art truly is to a community and the commitment of those who give their time and their donations, who saw the same vision for the new Dali Museum as of equal importance to giving to any other foundation. The donations helped construct a necessary building that will house the works of an artistic genius, whose paintings continually allow those who look upon them to broaden their minds. It opens the eyes of those haven’t, and satisfies the palette of those who do strive for symbolism and a twist to reality—constantly making you think and rethink, look and then look again.
I spent a good month in the new building before I got to marvel at the architectural masterpiece from the galleries rather than the office. The walls are modern and white. The stairs are a spiraling gray concrete giant and as I promenaded around the area I felt a certain coldness. I imagine Dali wasn’t much for emotions, maybe even emotionally detached. However it does contrast with the paintings and drawings. They stand out against the starkness, leaving the emotional symbolism to be the only warmth in the room, drawing you in. The new array of paintings displayed shows you a new side to Dali’s talents and leaves room for a surplus of pondering.
As I stood glancing over “Portrait Of My Dead Brother” for the first time in the new building, the lighting was positioned just so that I noticed a raven in the painting for the first time. It was surreal.
The new Dali Museum, designed by renowned architect Yann Weymouth, opened Jan. 12, 2011.
