Di Donna to Mount First Major Dalí Show in NYC in Nearly Two Decades

As Emmanuel Di Donna prepares to leave his Madison Avenue gallery, the veteran dealer is returning to the artist most people think they already understand.

This spring, Di Donna Galleries will mount one of the most significant exhibitions of Salvador Dalí seen in New York in decades. “Dalí: The Great Years, 1929–1939,” on view from April 16 through June 13, brings together more than two dozen paintings, sculptures, and works on paper focused on the decade in which the artist forged his visual language and his public persona. 

It is the first major Dalí presentation in the city since the Museum of Modern Art’s 2008 exhibition, and it will be the last staged in Di Donna’s current space before he embarks on a new joint venture with Pace and David Schrader. 

For a dealer with a reputation for expanding the canon of Surrealism—often spotlighting overlooked figures and reframing the movement’s global reach—the decision to focus on Dalí may seem obvious. 

“There hasn’t been a proper Dalí show in New York in years,” Di Donna said, pointing to the difficulty of assembling one. The best works, he noted, are largely held by museums and major collections, where they function as anchors for entire institutions. “They’re magnets,” he said. “People don’t want to let them go, even for a few months.” 

Loans for the exhibition come from institutions including the Art Institute of Chicago, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and the Salvador Dalí Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida. (A handful of the works in the show are for sale).

That scarcity has shaped both the market and the public’s understanding of the artist. Dalí is one of the most recognizable names in 20th-century art, but his reputation has been flattened into a handful of images—the melting clocks, the theatrical mustache—rather than the psychologically dense, formally rigorous work of his early career.

Di Donna’s exhibition zeroes in on the years between 1929 and 1939, when Dalí aligned himself with the Surrealists, developed his paranoiac-critical method, and began producing the imagery that would define his legacy. As Di Donna put it, “that decade is when Dalí became Dalí.” 

The show traces an artist channeling Freud, confronting personal trauma, and translating those impulses into meticulously rendered dreamscapes. Works from the period reveal an approach that is at once deeply intellectual and deliberately theatrical, collapsing the boundary between the unconscious and the visible world.

At the same time, Dalí was moving far beyond the canvas. He collaborated with figures as unlikely as Coco Chanel and Harpo Marx, sending the latter a harp strung with barbed wire and later working with him on film ideas, gestures that treated popular culture not as something beneath fine art, but as material to be reshaped. 

Contemporary artists now routinely collaborate with global brands; Louis Vuitton with Takashi Murakami and Yayoi Kusama, as well as Damien Hirst with Alexander McQueen. Today, the line between art, fashion, and commerce has since become so thin it barely exists. Dalí, decades earlier, was already operating in that space, treating film, design, and celebrity as extensions of his practice rather than distractions from it.

If that breadth now feels contemporary, it also complicates the artist’s place in the market. In recent years, Surrealism has surged, with artists like René Magritte and Leonora Carrington achieving record prices at auction. Yet Dalí’s market has remained comparatively uneven, in part because the most significant works from this formative decade rarely come to market at all.

According to data from ARTDAI, the broader Surrealism category has seen substantial long-term growth, with an index increase of more than 2,400 percent since 1980, even as individual markets fluctuate with the availability of top-tier works. 

For Di Donna, exhibitions unlock that attention. Without them, he has argued, even strong markets can stall; not for lack of interest, but for lack of context. Major shows, he said, create the conditions for collectors to understand what they’re seeing and why it matters, setting off a chain reaction that moves from scholarship to visibility to price. 

That logic has guided his program since opening the gallery in 2010. In the intervening years, Di Donna has focused on tightly researched exhibitions that reposition artists within a broader narrative. Past projects have explored underrecognized Surrealists and unexpected dialogues, including a recent pairing of Magritte and Les Lalanne built around shared sensibilities. 

The Dalí exhibition, however, represents a different kind of ambition. It is not an attempt to rediscover a neglected figure, but to deepen the understanding of one who has never disappeared from view.

For visitors, Di Donna hopes the show will shift attention away from the caricature of Dalí toward the complexity of his work. “People know Dalí,” he said. “But they’re not seeing enough.” 

As a final statement in this space, the exhibition lands between culmination and pivot: a return to one of Surrealism’s central figures at a moment when the movement itself is being reexamined and, increasingly, revalued.