Dalí vs. Ants

Dali vs Ants

Written by GQR / Image by Jakoz Idzie

Salvador Dalí recognises the terror ants can stir in a person. Ants frequently establish their presence in his artworks, the same way they establish their presence at a picnic or a kitchen. It’s a panic that began in his childhood.

In Dalí’s world, ants symbolise decay, decomposition, personal anxiety, human morality, the ephemeral, and overwhelming sexual desire. Pick your poison. Dalí’s pursuit is relentless. He must wrestle with that which torments him. In sporting terms, it’s round after round of bareknuckle boxing for Dalí and his ants.

So, ladies and gentlemen, we begin with our two contenders. In the red corner, brandishing one of the most famous moustaches in the world, Spanish Surrealist superstar extraordinaire Salvador Dalí. In the blue corner, with the antennas, every housewife’s waking nightmare: ants.

Let the battle begin!


The clash between Dalí and the ants rages across various art forms, none more famous than The Persistence of Memory (1931), also known as the Camembert melting in the sun.

Dalí throws a left hook! jab! right uppercut! with this artwork concerning itself with dreams. Watch as the ants scurry across the orange melting clock, working to decay the timepiece as though it were the carcass of an animal. Brutal comeback from the ants. There’s a backstory to this fight, and it’s none more pleasant than the ravaged clock.

In The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí, he reminisces on a childhood encounter with a half-living bat “bristling with frenzied ants”, picking it up and biting it. Like, biting the head right off.

“With a lighting movement I picked up the bat, crawling with ants, and lifted it to my mouth, moved by an insurmountable feeling of pity; but instead of kissing it, as I thought I was going to, I gave it such a vigorous bite with my jaws that it seemed to me I almost split it in two.” The Secret Life of Salvador Dalí

This psychological impression recreates itself in The Persistence of Memory. For Salvador Dalí, the memory is a stinger, and so, the ants win this round.

melting clocks dali
The Persistence of Memory. 1931. Oil on canvas. 9 1/2 x 13″ (24.1 x 33 cm). © 2020 Salvador Dalí

* * *

Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve only gotten through the first round. A near harmless spat between Dalí and the ants. A few bruises have bloomed, but the real impression the insects have on the artist is yet to reveal itself. As we go deeper into the ring, or rather, closer to the end, prepare to feel the warm touch of blood on the skin, the spit flying through the air. Notice, reader, the rounds seeming to get shorter and shorter, the impressions deeper. Before the end, there must be a climax, and it is one which comes early in Round 2: the productive year of 1929.

* * *


The presence of ants throughout Dalí’s oeuvre is unmissable, and if you are expecting another psychological annotation of a Dalí-and-ants painting, then I must disappoint you now. It’s for your own good, darling. We shall not analyse this man’s every surreal creation, otherwise we’ll be here all night, and nobody wants that. Instead, see here, 1929. An unmissable year in the Dalí oeuvre, punches from both sides that really land blows.

The ants make the first move with a terrible right hook, scurrying across the canvas of The Accommodations of Desire in 1929. Inspired while on a walk with his future wife and collaborator, Gala, Dalí felt a wave of anxiety wash over him as he thought about the situation of his complex love life (at the time of said walk, Dalí was having an affair with Gala’s husband, Paul Éluard). The ants make their appearance here, crawling over a pebble in the bottom corner.

Actually, they appear throughout the year in the paintings Desecration Descripti, Illumined Pleasure, Playing in the Dark, The Ants, The Great Masturbator, and The Lugubrious Game, raising alarm bells for academics intent on theorising art. These are only a few of the many artworks Dalí made in the ever so productive year of 1929, a gallerist’s wet dream. While it is difficult to believe an individual’s productivity could lead to such a high number of artistic executions, it is also hard to believe the number of times ants are included in the mix.

dali ants
The Ants. 1929. Gouache, ink and collage on thin plywood. 4 1/2″ x 6 1/2″ (11.5 by 16.4 cm). © 2020 Salvador Dalí

The punches and jabs, combination body shots and uppercuts, are all too apparent in these paintings featuring ants: – Combinations (or The Combined Dalínian Phantasms; Ants. Keys, Nails) (1931) – Autumnal Cannibalism (1936) – Ant Face (1937) – Soft Self-Portrait with Grilled Bacon (1941) – Juliet’s Tomb (1942) – Apotheosis of Homer (1944-45) – Melancholic Atom and Uranium (1945) – The Alchemist (1962) – The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus (1958-1959)

This is but a fraction of the art in Dalí’s body of work that contends with ants. The battle continues with the ants, continuing to overwhelm the punchout, with works like The Font (1930) and Daddy Longlegs of the Evening – Hope! (1949), but my editor wouldn’t allow for all those artworks featuring ants to be listed in this article. Apparently, it’s excessive. Apparently, it’s a waste of words. Apparently, it isn’t necessary. Apparently, I should just get to the point. Thought I was.

Daddy Longlegs of the Evening-Hope! 1940. Oil on canvas. 40.5 x 50.8 cm. The Dali Museum, St. Petersburg (Florida). © 2020 Salvador Dalí

In any case, the ants are now outnumbered by Dalí, thanks to his unrelenting production of paintings. He simply won’t let them bring him down, no matter how many body shots they’re getting in there. They’re not getting the better of him, not if he can help it. Guard up. There he goes with a jab-cross-hook combination, another jab, uppercut, left hook. Raining down those blows. The crafty Catalan charges through, clearly winning the round.

Homemakers and those generally suffering from myrmecophobia roar with applause.


Ants throw their weight on every medium Dalí expresses himself on. The onslaught is brutal to watch. These insects are relentless, never letting Dalí out of their sight. The psychological impression shines out from the ink, the film, the porcelain, like a nasty bruise. But the impression runs deep and stings terribly in the Surrealist film Un Chien Andalou (1929).

Hands feature prominently throughout the film, but no image is more striking than that of ants infesting a man’s hand caught in a door. The insects symbolise a Freudian castration complex and, with the hand being caught in the door, it doesn’t relieve one from the fears of dismemberment of a vital organ. Any sleeping beauty would wake in horror at seeing creepy critters swarming around a hand. To have dreams like this, one would need a therapist’s lounge to throw their body across.

ants hands chien andalou
Still from Un Chien Andalou (1929). Dir. Luis Buñuel.

Dalí co-wrote Un Chien Andalou with the director Luis Buñuel (also known for trying to strangle Gala that one time. But the Gala vs. the Surrealists is a fight to witness on another occasion). After the production of Un Chien Andalou, ants make at least one appearance on every other medium Dalí experiments with. Dalí dares to roam outside the canvas and battle the ants across posters (Bryans Hosiery Advertisement (1944)), porcelains (Retrospective Bust of a Woman (1933)), and magazine covers (Vogue Magazine (April 1944)).