I Might Need to Explain Myself Here
I’m a dadaist, was born that way. Some people have never even heard of dadaism, but that’s partly because they (we) tend to be a bit crazy and sometimes suicidal.
I really was a born dadaist. The easiest way to explain is by telling a story.
When California was being settled, Australians brought over seeds for eucalyptus trees. The seed pods looked like the ones in the thumbnail image above.
I sometimes walked up to the Dody Ranch, behind my parent’s house. Dody was a real jerk of a rancher, but the place I hung out, under a stand of eucalyptus trees, was a place he never visited.
I’d spend several hours, gathering the hard wooden seedpods, and little sticks of eucalyptus to stick in the “x” in the middle. I’d poke the assembly into the dirt, and it looked like a wooden coolie hat on a stick. I put hundreds of them in the ground every session. I never told a soul what I was doing.
Actually even I didn’t know. It was 5 decades later that I first heard of dadaism, and boy oh boy it was me!
Now. About that strange photo up at the top of this story! Yeah, it’s a bit dated, and it should be. It’s 101 years old.
I’ll let *them* explain it to you:
“Grand opening of the first Dada exhibition: International Dada Fair, Berlin, 5 June 1920. The central figure hanging from the ceiling was an effigy of a German officer with a pig’s head. From left to right: Raoul Hausmann, Hannah Höch (sitting), Otto Burchard, Johannes Baader, Wieland Herzfelde, Margarete Herzfelde, Dr. Oz (Otto Schmalhausen), George Grosz and John Heartfield.[1]”
No, I have nothing more to say, except to thank you for taking the time to read this. Dare to be different — celebrate your gifts. And I thank you again.
Fred
