Galatea of the Spheres

Floating in a misty gray space, a woman's face emerges from dozens of pale spheres, each one hovering as if frozen mid-orbit. This is Salvador Dalí's "Galatea of the Spheres," painted in 1952. The face belongs to Gala, Dalí's wife and constant source of inspiration, who turned up in his art again and again over the years. Rather than painting her with solid skin and features, he shattered her into round particles that drift apart and pull back together, suggesting something closer to atoms or spinning planets than a portrait.

The work grew out of what Dalí called his nuclear mysticism phase, a stretch of years when he threw himself into science, atomic theory, and faith all at the same time. The bombing of Hiroshima left him gripped by the notion that all matter breaks down into tiny particles, and he began constructing his figures from these floating orbs instead of continuous shapes. The name Galatea reaches back to Greek myth, and pairing that ancient reference with cutting-edge physics was exactly the sort of odd combination his mind loved to chase.

The real fun comes from moving closer and then backing away. Seen from across the room, the spheres blend into a clear human face, but step in close and they dissolve into scattered abstraction. Dalí was partly flexing his skill here and partly working through his fascination with the hidden pieces that make up everything, casting Gala as a being both tender and cosmic.