Sans titre, deux figures et architecture or Finestra di veranda con uccelli neri e due figure 1966

This untitled watercolour on paper by Salvador Dalí, made in 1960, layers shadowy washes with more deliberate figures. I can almost feel the artist in that moment, coaxing these spectral shapes into being. The washes create depth, but those spindly marks like black rain... they pierce the surface, don't they? There's a figure in radiant yellow, and another reclining. It's like Dalí’s mind is a stage here, a theatre of dreams, populated with half-formed memories. Are they solid, or are they dissolving? That drip of dark paint, see it? It's like a question mark, a physical manifestation of the uncertainty at the heart of it all. It reminds me of Goya's dark paintings, that same sense of unease and mystery. Isn't it incredible how artists, across centuries, keep wrestling with the same big questions using just paint and feeling?