More about mystery in Dali’s art, an extension of this post.

In online blurbs and press releases, self-styled “Dalinean researcher” Roger Michel Erasmy continues to churn out “explanations” of Dali’s supposed magical or psychic precognition.

He earns his living writing books, though. “Le mystère de la gare de Perpignan” (1985), “Codex Dalianus” (1989) and “L’Apothéose du Dollar” (2004) present a more or less apocalyptic vision drawn from cryptic messages inferred from Dali’s canvases.

“Topical Abduction of Europe” (1983), from the elderly Dali’s “catastrophe series”, seems to be Erasmy’s launching pad, and Erasmy sees his oracle proved right in the politico-economic grappling of the European Union, with France’s May 2005 rejection of the European Constitution treaty being crucial evidence.

Dali, says Erasmy, foresaw the fall of the Nazism in “The Enigma of Hitler” (1939, detail here, with the Fuhrer circled) and the collapse of communism in both “The Enigma of William Tell” (1933, detail below), with Lenin knelt at his own coffin, and “Partial Hallucination — Six Apparitions of Lenin on a Grand Piano” (1931, shown further down).

Dali also predicted the 9/11 attacks (though I haven’t been able to identify in which artwork) and, as read in the “emblematic table” seen in “The Apotheosis of the Dollar” (1965, also further down), the disaster of the US-led war in Iraq.

Andrew Roberts, in “A History of the English-speaking Peoples Since 1900″, pointed out that the “newspaper” Dali once briefly circulated, the Dali News, had on November 25, 1947, published prophecies for the coming 10 years.

“The painter predicted such forthcoming occurrences as ‘The Summa Theologiae of St Thomas shall be revised by the atom cooked three times’ and ‘An American art critic of Irish blood shall win fame defending the Dalinian theory of painting.’

“He also predicted,” Roberts wrote, “that ‘Belgium shall know glory in legislation and finance’. Sure enough, 10 years later, that country became the focus for a new Great Power in the world.”

The European Economic Community came into being with a treaty signed in Rome on March 25, 1957, and the Belgian capital, Brussels, became the centre of the new European Union’s legislative and financial power.

Erasmy seems to believe that the figure sitting back from the piano keyboard in “Partial Hallucination” is Boris Yeltsin (it looks more like Max Ernst to me). The overall message is a warning about Russian aggression, he claims, drawing a line to Moscow’s 2008 invasion of Georgia and the intervention of French President Nicolas Sarkozy, who was then also heading the European Union. Ukraine, however, remains vulnerable, Erasmy has noted.

“The new geopolitical order described by Dali does not correspond at all to the hegemonic ideas of President Bush, nor to the futuristic designs of the eurocrats of Brussels,” Erasmy wrote in 2007.

“Tuna Fishing” (1967) evidently foresaw the European Union’s 2008 decision to shut down Mediterranean bluefin tuna fishing, which caused an uproar in France.

The interpretations that Erasmy has shared for free on his Dali Décodé website and blog haven’t always enjoyed the success he claims his three books have met with the reading public.

The Frenchman’s divinations of the prophetic meanings in Dali’s art failed signally in 2007 when French voters chose Sarkozy as president over Ségolène Royal.

What made Erasmy so sure that Royal would win the election?

Because the other Dali painting on which he’s built a career — “The Mystery of the Railway Station of Perpignan” — supposedly contains the “code” 229 CL 66.

This “message” Erasmy transcribes (by means I don’t understand). via the date of modern France’s founding, September 22, 1792, to Royal’s birthdate, September 22, 1953.

And then there was this postage stamp Dali designed in 1978, depicting Dante’s Béatrice, which Erasmy said presents the “myth-sign of Marianne”.

The stamp went on sale on November 17, 1979, he pointed out — and on the 27th anniversary of that date Royal was nominated as her Socialist Party’s candidate for the presidency. (Wikipedia says Royal was nominated on the 16th.)

Dali, Erasmy continued, produced no fewer than 64 variations on Millet’s popular painting “The Angelus” and insisted that the woman in the picture was a dominating “praying mantis” ready to crush the man. (Shown here are the left and right components of the stereoscopic “The Eye of the Angelus” from 1978.)

This woman, said Erasmy, is Ségolène Royal, who hails from and is president of the Poitou-Charentes region, where the repetition of the Angelus prayer was first introduced in 1318.

Dali Planet has much more about Dali and the Angelus in this post.

Finally, Erasmy noted, Cécilia Sarkozy — then still the wife of the eventual president — is the great-granddaughter of the celebrated Catalan composer Isaac Albéniz, for whom the city of Barcelona built a “palace” in 1929.

Forty years later Dali was asked to paint a fresco on the ceiling of the Palauet Albéniz (see this post), and did so with the coming reinvestiture of King Juan Carlos in mind. He called his mural “The Hour of the Monarchy” and this, in Erasmy’s mind, was a nod to Ségolène “Royal”.

Erasmy was surely on safer ground forecasting Barack Obama’s election on the basis of Dali’s “Poetry of America” (1943), which contains an acknowledged allusion to the evolving acceptance of racial equality.

Far less convincing is his claim that Obama’s effort to save the US auto industry was somehow foreshadowed in “The Appearance of the Town of Delft” (1936), with its vegetative car rotting from the roots.

And who has the energy to argue when he says the 2009 financial crisis was there for everyone to see in “Apotheosis of the Dollar”, and perhaps in “The Basket of Bread” as well?

The full title of the former painting is “Salvador Dali in the Act of Painting Gala in the Apotheosis of the Dollar in which You Can See on the Left Marcel Duchamp Masquerading as Louis XIV behind a Vermeerian Curtain which Is the Invisible Face, but Monumental, of Hermes by Praxiteles”.

Dali traced the moire patterns from an image projected on the canvas, just as the Old Masters had done in previous centuries to ensure precise measurements and perspective.

Although Erasmy didn’t specify which version of “Bread”, it’s a safe guess he was referring to the 1945 one (they’re quite similar anyway). The basket, he said, forms “a notation symbolic of the stock exchange” and the nub of a loaf suggests a severed penis. Thus the fiscal crisis marks the end of “a system built on phallic capacity, from now on threatened by the emancipation of women” (Erasmy champions Hillary Clinton and Angela Merkel as well as Royal).

Erasmy seems to have done Dali’s admirers a more palpable service in locating the railway coach that was depicted in “The Mystery of the Railway Station of Perpignan”.

He claims to have found the car in 1986, abandoned behind the station and occupied, suitably enough, by a “tramp”. He talked the local transport firm Raymondis, which owned it, into letting him convert it into a “cultural platform”.

By 1994 Erasmy had the railroad coach in the “Dali Triangle” and the following year publicly inaugurated it in front of the press with the help of television celebrity Marlène Mourreau, who Erasmy said was “selected as godmother” to the project on the basis of her physical assets, “in conformity with the erotic phantasms of Salvador Dali”.

When last heard of — there were no updates on the website about this the last time I looked — the “Dali Wagon” was headed for Wolnzach in Bavaria in October 2005 for an exhibition of the work of 10 Eastern European surrealist artists calling themselves the “Heirs to Dali”.

This collective had been assembled by a German painter who goes by the names Angerer-DER-Aeltere and Ludwig Angerer the Elder and also includes Frenchmen Jean-Pierre Alaux, Jean Bailly, Yo Coquelin, Lukás Kándl, Jacques Resch, Jean Reus and Eli Tiunine, Miguel Garcia-Diez of Spain and Michael Maschka, another German.

What exactly happened to the Heirs’ proposed exhibition in May 2005 at the Place du Pantheon in Paris’ fifth arrondissement isn’t quite clear from Erasmy’s website. The event appears to have been originally planned to coincide with the centenary of Dali’s birth in 2004 and, with the Dali Wagon included, was deemed part of a project called “Train of Fantastic Art” (TAF 2004).

Art dealer Stephan Gissinger and Yo Coquelin, one of the Heirs, made the arrangements with the Town Hall, but everything fell apart, Erasmy claimed, due to “jealousies and meanness” involving a “cabal” that opposed him. Nothing seems to have happened in 2005 either.

Architect and painter Angerer designed a logo for the project from a likeness of Dali. His striking painting shown alongside it below is titled “Moderne Schoenheit 2″.

The 10 Heirs did manage to hold a show in 2007, however, at the thermal springs in Mont-Dore, west of Lyon. Michael Maschka won a trophy called the “Apocalypse Dore” for his painting “Travels to the Crystal Mountains”.

“The Black Mass”, 1974

Getting back to Dali himself, and along the same spooky lines, the maestro’s superstitions are well documented, but there’s room for speculation as to just how much he delved into the supernatural, apart from its utility to any hard-working surrealist.

Amanda Lear has recorded that anything green meant bad luck to Dali, and he “hated” green parrots as a result. Ill fortune also came from peacock feathers and starting a journey and marrying on a Tuesday.

He always carried a wooden talisman “wrapped in a sock and secured with a rubber band”.

Gala, he wrote, “believes in my wood — a piece of wood that I found at the beginning of our acquaintance among the rocks of Cape Creus, under extraordinary circumstances. Since then we have never been without this ‘pure Dalinian fetish’, though we have lost it on several occasions.

“Once we lost it in Covent Garden in London, and found in again the next day. Another time it had been taken out with the bed sheets. It was necessary to go minutely over the whole laundry of the Hotel St Moritz, yet we finally found it.

“This piece of wood has assumed in my mind the form of a compulsive maniacal neurosis. When I get the idea that I ought to go and touch it, I cannot resist doing it. At this very moment I am forced to get up to go and touch it … There, I have just touched it, and with this my anxiety, which otherwise would only have grown agonizingly, has been calmed.”

Gala had a chunk of wood just the same, and when she died, Dali gave it to Lear.

On one occasion when Lear’s love life was in turmoil, Dali went hunting for a particular carbuncle that would put things right.

In a 1939 letter to Luis Bunuel, Dali wrote: “For three years now I’ve been occupying myself passionately with all matters relating to ‘objective chance’. Destiny, prophetic dreams, interpretation of the smallest events in daily life in order to act in consequence, chiromancy, astrology, etc etc.”

At the Dali Museum in Florida in 2008, lecturer Vickie Brunner focused on “Dali, Women and the Occult”. She began with Lydia (often spelled Lidia) Noguer, the so-called “last witch of Cape Creus” to whom Dali referred in his autobiography “The Secret Life” as the “Godmother of my madness”. Noguer told biographer Ian Gibson that she was “the witch responsible for the whole business of Dali and a whole lot more besides”.

“Lidia de Cadaques”, 1954

Pictured here is the cover of a local history about Lydia published in 1954 by the celebrated author Eugeni d’Ors, featuring illustrations by Dali including the one above.

Noguer, who died in an asylum, was the person Dali turned to in 1930 after his father disowned him. He needed a place to live, so she sold the 26-year-old a fisherman’s derelict hut in Port Lligat, and it became his and Gala’s home — and the basis for the house they always kept, now the Dali House-Museum.

Dali wrote sentimentally about Lydia in his 1942 autobiography, recalling his and Gala’s return home after their second pre-war trip to the US. He refers to her using Eugeni d’Ors’ compliment, “La Ben Plantada” — the “well-planted woman”. Earlier he’d attached the description to his beautiful childhood neighbour Ursula (see this post).

“We arrived in Port Lligat toward the end of a very bright December afternoon. Never had I understood so well how beautiful the landscape of Port Lligat was …

“Already from afar we perceived the figure of Lydia ‘La Ben Plantada’, dressed in black and seated on the threshold of the door to our house, awaiting our return.

“When we got close, Lydia got up and came to meet us. She was weeping. We went inside, and she confided to us that her life with her two sons had become unbearable.

“Her sons no longer went fishing; they spoke only of their [imagined] radium mines; they spent most of the time lying on their pallets. Sometimes they would weep; sometimes, taken with dreadful fits, they would beat her. She showed us a scar on her head, pulling aside two strands of her white hair, and let us see the blue marks all over her body. A week later her two sons were sent to the madhouse in Gerona.

“In the afternoons Lydia would come to the house and weep. Port Lligat was solitary. A violent and persistent wind prevented the fishermen from going out to fish, and only the famished cats would skulk around our little house.”

Lydia puts in an appearance in the post about the Lligat house as well.

Much has been written about Gala’s talent with the tarot deck. Dali believed she could read the future in the cards and, according to Tim McGirk and Meryle Seacrest’s book “The Wicked Lady”, she did indeed foretell the day the day Nazi Germany would invade France.

She would consult the oracle every evening under an olive tree in their garden (or every morning, according to another source), and Dali would decide accordingly whether it was appropriate to do some painting that day or the next.

Gala’s engagement in such things had early on piqued the interest of the surrealists, who sought to channel the subconscious through hypnosis, thought-transference, seances and automatic writing.

While she was still living with Paul Eluard, before Dali arrived from Spain, there were weekends of group experimentation, and they tried to interpret each other’s dreams. The poet Robert Desnos would writhe around in a trance and then begin automatic writing.

Rachel Pollack’s book Salvador Dali’s Tarot” claimed it was Gala who “nurtured his interest in mysticism”, and to repay her he produced a deck featuring original paintings. But Amanda Lear, in “My Life with Salvador Dali”, says Albert “Cubby” Broccoli, the producer of the James Bond films, commissioned the cards, and Dali in fact put her in charge of the designs.

Broccoli, wrote Lear, was making “Live and Let Die”, which had a black-magic theme, and Dali accepted the commission but soon bored of it, so he turned to her. She did the research and made collages from reproductions of Dali works in his books.

Pollack noted that the Dali Tarot, with Hebrew letters on the trump cards, drew on the Jewish Kabbalah. The 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet corresponded to the 22 trumps of tarot’s Major Arcana, four worlds of existence and 10 stations on the tree of life to the four suits of 10 numbered cards.

When Gala and Dali moved to Arcachon in the south of France in 1939, distancing themselves from the onslaught of war, their next-door neighbour was Leonore Fini, an artist even more eccentric than Salvador. She was involved in alchemy.

Amanda Lear described her at a restaurant outing in Paris as bringing “her own court” and wearing a full-length gown topped by a magician’s cape”.

“She had stars in her hair and carried a wand like a scepter.”

In 1939 Fini was a close friend of Leonora Carrington, Max Ernst’s partner, and the three of them shared an interest in alchemy and ritual magic. In answer to her question, Dali said he too believed in magic.

“It is the most primitive of all the religions,” he told her. “Man will always need magic. Superstition is simply the application of magic to everyday life.”

“I am not a mystic,” Dali was quoted as saying in Carlos Rojas’ book “Dali or the Art of Spitting on Your Mother’s Portrait”.

“I think I may be a pre-mystic, for since my childhood I have been in a state of pre-mysticism. I was impelled towards celestial things, even via evil [posession].”

On the other hand, it depends. In 1960 he told a New York Herald Tribunes reporter, “I am not only a mystic, I am also the reincarnation of one of the greatest of all Spanish mystics, St John of the Cross.”

He had vivid memories of being St John and could recall the experiences of the monkhood as well as “divine union”. He did indeed depict himself as a Franciscian monk in “Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus”.

An admirer of St Theresa of Avila and St John of the Cross, Dali felt that Christian mysticism might offer a door to the unknown.

Fleur Cowles, who wrote “The Case of Salvador Dali”, said he told her in 1957 that the “idea of an angel” stimulated him immensely, and he saw protons and neutrons as angelic elements. While he’d played a game called Seeing Angels as a child, which involved pressing against the eyeballs hard enough to produce phosphene images, he now believed in real angels, often embodied as people he loved and admired.

Amanda Lear recalled Dali spending an “entire winter researching old volumes regarding the study of odours. He theorised that the saintly odours of certain martyrs (such as the scent of violets) were directly related to the moral quality of the individual.” Only mystics were free of body odour, he speculated, and, since Lear didn’t perspire, she was “angelic”.

“Crepuscular Old Man”, 1917-18

As a boy Dali often came to Cap de Creus — the Cape of the Cross, Spain’s most easterly point — on boating trips with his family.

The photo here shows the Dali clan on one such outing. He’d watch their friends, the musical Pichot family, perform concerts from their boat moored beneath the cape, a grand piano aboard, which helps explain why the instrument often appeared outdoors in his paintings.

“If I paint grand pianos on cliffs or by cypresses,” he said, “it is by no means a fantastic dream vision — they are things I have seen.”

Seen and participated. As a lad, he recalled, “I espied my first pubic hairs and found expression for my narcissistic desires among the rocks at Cap de Creus. I ecstatically sowed my seed as I masturbated along the coves, creating a sort of erotic Mass between that earth and my body.”

Seen here is “Cadaques (Seen from the Tower of Creus)”, from 1923.

The wildest spot on the Costa Brava — the “Wild Coast” — Cap de Creus has a unique allure because of the way the Pyrenees (the Pirineus in Catalan) pushed southward into the sea as they swelled. The primarily schist and migmatite rock was heaved into dramatic formations that were partially melted in the formative heat, further sculpted by the ferocious tramontana winds and silvered by the Mediterranean sun.

Isolated by the hump of Mount Peni and the lack of a decent road (until the early 20th century), the people of Cadaques were a breed apart from their Empordanese countrymen, developing their own strain of Catalan, known as salat, and preferring clothes of vivid colours that Catalonians elsewhere would have found audacious.

In summers the Pichot family escaped the oppressive heat of their mansion in Barcelona’s Garrigal Quarter to a residence here called Es Tortell (named for a ring-shaped cake, apparently), the larger edifice on the left in the 1910 photo above, overlooking Llaner Beach.

This is where the Dalis stayed until they could build a place of their own, seen almost next door on Platja (Beach) Lane.

The view from Google Earth, with the summer homes circled. The Dali house sits at the foot of what is now called Drecera de Dali — “the Dali Shortcut”.

Both buildings were still standing in 2008, and out front of the Dali home was a sculpture by JM Subirachs dedicated to Gabriel García Lorca, the celebrated poet who was close to Salvador in art school and spent time with the family over a couple of summers. This photo comes from VirTourist.com.

“The Artist’s Father at Llana Beach”, from 1920.

Salvador’s sister Ana Maria remembered him sketching the Cadaques house one evening in 1918 when it was too cold to go outside. “It depicts precisely the atmosphere of the house during the long summer afternoons,” she said. “I was watching in amazement as what we had experienced over the previous summer gradually appeared … All the details are exact, except for the roof of the house, which wasn’t pointed at the front but rather at the sides.”

Ana’s teddy bear peers from a window, and in another a candle flickers because the electricity often failed.

Neighbours arrive as Papa is shown reading the paper, Mama and Aunt Ana sewing, the maids doing the laundry, and little Ana herself playing with friends. Behind a eucalyptus Salvador drew himself painting, surrounded by curious children, and in the foreground dozes the gardener and boat man Enriquet. Also included: the cow that used to terrify the children, come to steal oranges.

“Beneath the dining-room window there is a bench, the same one I still have today, and at both window and door there are glass-bead screens that are ideal for frightening the flies and keeping them out. The other window is protected with fine-wire netting … I can see granny coming out the door, moving the bead curtain to one side. She is dressed in black. She was short, thin and very pretty. My brother would say that she looked as neat as a reel of black silk thread.”

“The Garden of Llaner”, 1920-21

“The Vegetable Garden of Llaner”, 1920

Read about Antoni Pichot’s role as director of the Dali Theatre-Museum in this post.

“Thought”, 1925

In 1907 Dali’s sister Ana Maria was born. Seen here in his 1924 portrait, she would be almost the only female model in his paintings until he met his wife Gala in 1929. In 1949 she published a memoir, “Dali as Seen by His Sister”.

Dali was, by his own ready admission, thoroughly spoiled by his family. Apart from being barred from fraternising with the household staff in the kitchen, he wrote in “The Secret Life”, “I was allowed to do anything I pleased. I wet my bed till I was eight for the sheer fun of it. I was the absolute monarch of the house. Nothing was good enough for me. My father and mother worshiped me.

“On the day of the Feast of Kings I received among innumerable gifts a dazzling king’s costume — a gold crown studded with great topazes and an ermine cape; from that time on I lived almost continually disguised in this costume.”

Perhaps inevitably, his sister would suffer as a result of Salvador’s elevated status in the household. When he was six, in 1910, he recalled, the appearance of Halley’s comet created quite a stir. When everyone rushed up to the terrace of the house one day upon hearing that it was visible, Dali remained paralysed because someone had suggested its tail might touch the earth and destroy it.

When he finally set out to join them he noticed Ana crawling through a doorway.

“I stopped, hesitated a second, then gave her a terrible kick in the head as though it had been a ball, and continued running, carried away with a ‘delirious joy’ induced by this savage act.

“But my father, who was behind me, caught me and led me down into his office, where I remained for punishment till dinnertime.

“The fact of not having been allowed to see the comet has remained seared in my memory as one of the most intolerable frustrations of my life. I screamed with such rage that I completely lost my voice.

“Noticing how this frightened my parents, I learned to make use of the stratagem on the slightest provocation.

“On another occasion when I happened to choke on a fishbone my father, who couldn’t stand such things, got up and left the dining room holding his head between his hands. Thereafter on several occasions I simulated the hacking and hysterical convulsions that accompany such choking just to observe my father’s reaction and to attract an anguished and exclusive attention to my person.”

Salvador’s brutal kicking of his sister didn’t prevent him from lunging to her defence when the family doctor came to the house to pierce her earlobes. Reacting to what he perceived as “outrageous cruelty”, he waited for the doctor to settle into position to perform the operation.

“Then I broke into the room brandishing my leather-thonged mattress beater and whipped the doctor right across the face, breaking his glasses. He was quite an old man and he cried out with pain. When my father came running in he fell on his shoulder …

“Since then I loved to be sick, if only for the pleasure of seeing the little face of that old man whom I had reduced to tears.”

In “The Secret Life”, Dali happily chronicled his horrendous childhood behaviour. It should be stressed, however, that biographer Ian Gibson found little that was bizarre in Dali’s youth, the suggestion being that Salvador deliberately invented myths to enliven this era and cast himself in a cruel and macabre light.

Dali remembered catching a bat and biting it nearly in two, and at school — the Immaculate Conception primary school, run by the Brothers of the Marist Order — deliberately throwing himself down stone staircases just so he could relish the attention he received.

“The Broken Bridge and the Dream”, 1945

Earlier in his autobiography, Dali described another cruel episode. He was five at the time, and walking alongside a smaller boy on a tricycle, pushing him along. They were on the edge of the village of “Cambrils near Barcelona”, he wrote, and came to a bridge under construction.

Salvador was suddenly seized with the impulse to injure the boy. He made sure no one was watching and pushed the child over the edge, sending him five metres to the rocks below.

The boy was laid up for a week “with a badly injured head”, but in the initial commotion back at the house, Dali sat in a parlour chair quietly eating cherries. “I don’t recall having experienced the slightest feeling of guilt over this incident,” he wrote.

“There is no doubt that Dali really committed this atrocious deed,” Carlos Rojas and Alma Amell insist in their 1993 biography “Salvador Dali, Or The Art of Spitting on Your Mother’s Portrait”.

They note with surprise, though, that “as if his superego censored at least a symbolic part of these memories, he gives the wrong name for the place”.

Since he places the location near Barcelona, they say, it couldn’t have been Cambrils, which is in Tarragona, but Cabrils, some 120 kilometres away. Below is a almost surrealistic Google Earth image of houses on a hill in Cabrils.

Rosa Salleras, another Figueras native, was a childhood friend of Dali’s, six years younger but a frequent playmate, “a kind of younger sister”, as Ewen Carmichael described her in a 2004 article for the Scotsman, a recollection of meeting her before her death two years earlier.

Their parents’ summer homes were next to each other in Cadaqués, and when Rosa was nine and Dali 16 he painted her “standing high above the Bay of Cadaqués”.

“On first glance it appears raw and amateurish,” Carmichael wrote, “but on closer inspection the true genius of Dali shines through. It is an extraordinary painting for one so young and captured the mood of the child-woman.”

Rosa said Dali, always short of money and materials, painted a landscape on the reverse side.

It’s not clear what painting they’re discussing, but the 1918 canvas above — “View of Port d’Alguer, Cadaqués” in the collection of the Dali Museum in Florida — was originally owned by “Rosa Salleras de Naveira”, and then by Barcelona’s Galeria Maragall, where Eleanor and Reynolds Morse purchased it.

Below, two canvases that might “stand in”, but painted much later and hardly “amateurish”.

“Girl of Cadaques”, from 1926

“Portrait of a Girl in a Landscape (Cadaques)”, circa 1926

Rosa remembered Dali — who she characterised as timid, shy and always blushing in front of girls — teaching her to catch bats by tying white cloths to the top of poles and waving them around until the bats fell exhausted to the ground.

Dali’s father, she said, “was a sort of dictatorial man” who reminded her of Mussolini.

And Rosa remembered, as well, Ana Maria’s dismay when Gala arrived on the scene.

Dali’s sister “was furious”, she said. “And she was hurt. I think she was very jealous because she was always in the front row. Whenever Salvador was invited, Ana Maria was invited. She was the first lady. Then when Salvador met and married Gala, Ana Maria didn’t have any place.”