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The first step into the intangible, we plunge headfirst into a sandy and milky reality, where the clocks themselves revel.
In a world where the normal is abstract and the banal is fantastic, a new reality defying even physics welcomes us, where swimming in a sea of strangeness, the clocks gently sleep on the cradle of dreams and distorted time.
Dali, aboard his train of consciousness, takes us on a hallucinatory journey where the rules and fundamental laws of nature bend to the will of imagination. “Clocks are not just for telling time, but also for dreaming. In my dreams, they are sweet, liquid, happy, and limitless,” declared Michel Montreuil yesterday, the famous watchmaker who is said to have lost his mind in a jar of pickles.
The mountains resemble giant meringues, the trees grow upside down, and the rivers flow toward the sky in this landscape dripping with incongruity. Here, the “tick-tock” of the clocks is replaced by the “splash-splash” of the clock that gently dissolves, pulverized by the warmth of a blue sun.
And yet, in this ethereal madness, there is a kind of serenity. The inhabitants, half-man half-teapot, move with calm and confidence, ignoring the whirlwind of absurdity that surrounds them. For them, it is the norm. A state of being where one can lose their watch in a teacup or find their hat transforming into a cloud.
In conclusion, one can confidently say that this seemingly chaotic world is nothing but a reflection of our own consciousness, where time, space, and reason are imbued with the color of our dreams. As Salvador Dali himself summed up: “Do not fear perfection, you will never reach it.”
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