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Hello.
In the spring of 1916 in Zurich, young people gathered on a small stage in a bar, sometimes dressed in cardboard, often performing nonsense poems.
And people are still talking about it today.
This was the start of Dada, a cultural phenomenon that spread to other cities in war-torn Europe part protest against the inevitability of constant wars on the continent, part artistic experiment.
And if the poem songs, costumes and art made no sense well, that was deliberate, since what, after all, could make sense to people of conscription age, horrified by the killing?
With me to discuss Dadaism are Dawn Addis Emeritus, Professor of Art History and Theory at the University of Essex.
Ruth Hemus, Professor of French and Visual Culture at Royal Holloway University of London, and Stephen Forcer, Professor of French at the University of Glasgow.
Stephen, let me come to you first.
Zurich, 1916.
Why there and why then?
Thank you very much.
So 1915-16?
We are, of course, in the middle of World War I, the mechanised mass murder of the Western Front.
The war, of course, extends across Central Europe into the Balkans.
Rampant nationalism is on the rise.
The Ottoman Empire is collapsing.
Russia is about to go through a revolutionary moment.
So if you're an aspiring student or an aspiring writer or artist and you don't want to be brutally murdered in an insane war or in social unrest, then Zurich is a pretty good bet.
Switzerland, of course, is neutral.
It's German speaking, but ferociously multilingual, multicultural.
It's a site where people are seeking refuge.
It has a university where a lot of our Dadaists and proto-Dadaists are enrolled.
It is a place to meet people, and that is important not only culturally, but also because friendship is really important for our young Dadas.
They're looking for a sense of community.
And of course, Zurich is home at that time to a lot of cultural and political heavyweights.
Joyce spent a lot of World War I in Zurich and wrote a chunk of Ulysses in the city.
Lenin is there with Nadezhda Krypskaya as well.
So it's in some ways a sort of an unlikely place looking, I guess, back at it from a kind of you know, a kind of Anglo-centric perspective.
But if you think about it.
The immediate context, it makes a lot of sense as a place where people can go, be safe, but also be energized and come together around this feeling, as you say Misha, profound disgust really at what's going on in the world.
We'll talk about this as we go on, but can you give us a first taste of the link between Dada and the absurd?
Yeah.
So this takes us, among other things, to Hugo Bell who, with Emmy Hennings, has already been on the scene as a cabaret actor, sort of empresario, and Baal was very interested in Nietzsche's work on the absurd.
The absurd in Dada is an index, so their absurdity is a kind of marker of the absurd collapse of civilization as we know it.
There's also a degree of self-satire.
In the absurd.
The Dadaists are laughing not only at the world around them, but they're laughing about themselves.
And absurdity.
Well, it looks like absurdity and we are meant to be provoked by it, but it's also the opportunity for a lot of very interesting aesthetic innovation.
And we might get into later some of the fine details, some of the semantics about what kind of comes out of this absurdity.
So they are provoking, but they're also experimenting.
And this follows on from Fauvism, from Cubism, from a whole host of other currents that are in train and that, of course, extend for a long while after Dada.
And both Hugo Ball and Emmy Hennings were actually quite experienced performers, Emmy Hennings in particular.
Is that right?
Yes, exactly.
So between the two of them, they've got the kind of professionalized bases covered.
Hennings, particularly as a performer and as a writer in her own right as well. as an organiser.
They're a bit older.
They're around 30 by the time they get to Zurich and found the Cabaret Voltaire.
It's situated on Spiegelgasse, which translates roughly into Mirror Alley, which I always think is lovely.
And Voltaire.
Yes, I mean it's a rejection of an Enlightenment tradition of rationalism, But there are also some affinities, I think, with Voltaire and going back further perhaps, to Moliere, who talks about the duty of satire to correct audiences as well as to entertain them.
And in that absurdity you can certainly see a desire to entertain, to shock, but also to be a corrective for society in the direction it's headed in.
Well, right now, I'd like you to give us a first example of how shocking they could be.
Could you read a couple of lines from one of Ugo Bal's poems?
This one goes under the title Gajiberi Bimba.
With great pleasure.
Self-idiosy is a key theme of Dada, so here goes.
Gaji beri bimba, glandridi lola loni kadori.
Gajama grama berida, bimbala glandri galasasasa, lolita lomini.
Wow.
Yeah, we can discuss that later.
But Ruth...
When these first performances take place with poems like that in the Cabaret Voltaire, as it's called, as Stephen has mentioned.
Can you take us there and give us a sense of the atmosphere of what was going on in Cabaret Voltaire?
Yeah, I mean, I think that's one of the questions that drives anyone who's interested in Dada trying to grasp what this moment must have been like.
It feels ungraspable, but there's lots of memoirs and accounts and pamphlets.
And there's even a painting by Marcel Janko that's gone missing, but there's a reproduction of it that gives a sense of the kind of noisiness and the fact that it was so crowded and people were intervening.
I think it must have been pretty chaotic and confusing.
Bald talks about it as a centre for artistic entertainment.
So what Stephen says about the professional side as well of Emmy Hennings would have been a draw.
You know there's parts of it that would have been, I suspect, almost.
Oh yeah, this is what we're expecting.
And then other elements that would have been completely a surprise.
So I think we've all seen sort of recreations over the years of these to try and understand what it's like.
And sometimes I found them quite uncomfortable.
But then I think that's probably right, because I'm not sure that I would have thought at the time we wouldn't have known that this was going to turn out as it did.
Well, presumably discomfort was one of the sentiments they wanted to nurture.
Yeah, absolutely.
I think just to question everything.
All the established systems, what your expectations of art and literature are the different languages going on at the same time?
And we just heard this, or even something that's not language, that's not recognisable as language, so that the semantics become less important than the materiality, the emotive side of the words that are coming out of the sounds and the noises.
And I think that must have been confusing.
But, as Stephen said, in Zurich, where you're hearing different languages overlaid or fragments of them, I think that's a perfect place for it to arise.
But what were the key ideas behind Dadaism?
Was there a political aspect to it rather than this sort of anarchic sense of chaos?
Yeah, absolutely.
They were anti-war, anti-nationalism.
There were people there avoiding the war draft or who had perhaps gone to war and then been discharged.
So they quite definitely had political ideals, but they weren't dogmatic.
I would say they're more investigative than dogmatic.
And I think that's, again, something that is appealing about Dada.
They didn't align themselves quickly with any kind of current.
I think they were looking for what that might be.
And in some senses, it's quite spiritual experiences as well.
So it's, you know, it's known as being anti-art, anti-religion.
But I think, anything.
They were open to many different currents and trains of thought and were drawing on those different elements to find something.
But you know, definitely anti-establishment, very unhappy about the way that language was being misused for propaganda and for nationalist aims.
Dawn Addis, it starts in Zurich in 1916, 1917, but it then spreads to other places.
How does it spread?
And is it the same movement that you see in other cities around Europe?
It spread incredibly fast, I think partly because of that wonderful name, which is completely nonsense.
In a way though, it has meanings in various languages.
The person who really started spreading.
It was Tristan Zara, who came from Romania out of exile to Zurich, and he started sending little magazines that they produced online.
To everyone he knew, all over Europe and the United States, New York, Paris and Berlin and everywhere.
So the name sort of spread like that.
People also moved from Zurich to Berlin, to Cologne and so on and ignited something else there where they were, which is not always the same.
In a way, Dada is extremely different in the different places where it took brief root.
Yes, it struck me that in Berlin, for example, it was a much more political movement than say, in Zurich.
It was a much more political movement.
And the works that were produced were very famous photomontages by Hartfield, who anglicised his name deliberately in the middle of the war.
And George Gross, rather than Gail Gross, also anglicised his name in the middle of the war produced these very violent photomontages which juxtaposed things to, as it were, to sort of undermine photography.
The surface, the kind of apparent reason that governed things, even the war.
So was there any sense of coherence at the time as to what Dadaism actually was, or was it forever shifting?
Oh, no.
I mean, I think, no, they didn't want to define it.
They rather preferred producing sort of little manifestos of things like, what is Dada?
Is it a state religion?
Is it a philosophy?
Or is it nothing at all?
They were challenging people all the time.
But of course, in a sense, it did have importance.
We're still talking about it in a way.
And one of the things that Zaha said when he was interviewed here in the BBC in 1959 was that it was a kind of dialectical negativity.
Oui égale non.
Yes equals no.
So we can start trying to unpick that.
Well, please do unpick it, Stephen.
Yeah, I mean, amazingly, this is a job working on this kind of stuff.
And I've thought about this in some detail.
As Dawn was just saying there, that idea of something which is simultaneously a cancellation on the one hand, and a renewal on the other is very Hegelian.
That's a key notion of Hegel's dialectics.
And there's this fascinating parallel, and it comes into view around 1922, where Zara is calling time on Dada.
Dada has run its course.
It must not prolong itself needlessly.
He's going around Europe giving this talk and he goes to Jena and at that same year, down the road in Gottingen, I think, a young Werner Heisenberg is starting his studies in physics and And we'll go on over the late 20s to produce the uncertainty principle.
And, of course, quantum physics, uncertainty principles entanglements, which are still live questions for scientists, now recently, I think, recognized in the Nobel Prize.
This idea that there are these bizarre yet real contradictions going on at a subatomic level, at a philosophical level, at an artistic level, Dada really encourages us to think beyond simple binaries of yes or no, of this or that.
Dada wants to synthesize this and it comes together actually in what Ruth was saying earlier about Dada as a profoundly ethical thing.
Yes, it's a violent rejection.
But it's also a profoundly sort of, yeah, kind of ethical drive towards a world that can be better.
We haven't used the word nihilism yet and I don't like using the word nihilism about Dada, but it's not pure nihilism.
It is a rejection and an endorsement of ways in which we can live better together.
So, Dawn, just going back to the movement, it goes to Berlin, it goes to Paris.
It also goes to Cologne, which is a strange place for it to be.
Why would it go to Cologne?
It went to Cologne largely because of Max Ernst.
He'd been fighting and on the front he had actually fought, opposite Éluard, one of the early surrealists they discovered later when they became great friends.
But Ernst was there.
Arp, Hans Arp, who had been in Zurich, he moved to Cologne as well.
And they joined one other person.
It was a tiny little group, just really three of them, who put on an exhibition which challenged people.
It's one of those exhibitions that must have been quite extraordinary.
And one finds echoes of it today.
It included an aquarium with a woman's sort of false wig floating on the surface of it and various other objects, and there was a pile of chairs in the corner, and one of the visitors thought the chairs were a sculpture, but they were actually chairs.
They were chairs.
They were chairs.
So I think that confusion between what is sort of art and what is not art was already there in Cologne.
The two worked very happily together with Bargeld as well produced a magazine, as all Dalais did in every site where it took root.
But they weren't sort of in constant contact with each other.
They were emerging as separate...
Well, I think they were in contact.
I mean, Zahara made sure that everybody sort of knew what he was doing in Zurich, and he called it Mouvement Dada, I think partly ironically, but that was the name that was attached to it.
They were in contact, not so much necessarily individually but Arp, you know, he'd moved from Zurich and he kept his connections there.
So there were...
So a sort of loose network, as it were.
Ruth Hemis, the use of language is absolutely critical in Dadaism, even with the name Dada.
Can you enlighten us about language and also what does Dada mean?
So I've got a few quotes from what Dada means which I don't think will enlighten but maybe further confuse, because it's always like a fascinating question which I think is part of its enduring charm and appeal, somehow.
It's like sort of trailing a brand when you don't know yet what it is.
And it's kind of clever marketing, isn't it?
There's various examples.
Yes, yes, in Romanian.
And of course, there were a lot of Romanian participants.
Hobby horse in French.
Sign of foolish naivety.
The beginning at zero.
I mean they did say Arp says the Larousse dictionary was consulted for an international word free from any political or partisan colour and even from any exact meaning.
So they were trying to get beyond meanings and get beyond fixed semantic ideas.
But that's very difficult still because of course you do whatever language you're using, it rings bells in your head.
So I'm also intrigued by the fact that for many participants in the Cabaret, Voltaire and other centres in Dada, They had different languages.
You know, the language that they were using in that place was not their first language.
And I think part of what you see is this real revelry in the texture of language.
So we heard Stephen reading that sound poem.
There's another example, which is a simultaneous poem called L'admiral cherche une maison à louer.
The admiral is looking for a house to rent.
And here you have three overlapping voices, largely in French, German and English, but also bells and whistles and drums, all sorts of percussion.
And, you know, speaking these at the same time, it's like a musical score.
It was also printed in the magazine.
And it's at once sort of you know you can't guess the meaning, but it's generating new meanings, new words.
So I love this texture of language when, even if you don't understand what's being said, you get a feel for something.
You get emotion and it can have an impact on you.
Is that almost axiomatic for works of Dadaism that they defy interpretation?
I read that article, that sound poem of the admiral looking for a house, and I found it quite entertaining, but I didn't really know why.
Yeah, it's a bit like being moved, I think, by a piece of abstract art or music that hasn't got a very clear narrative.
I suppose that sense of anti-narrative, but still feeling something from it.
And you're not always sure why, but you're getting something from tone.
And yeah, this texture breaking apart the elements of language.
And I think someone like Tristan Zara or Selina No, who is another Romanian who was working in Paris a bit later.
Sometimes I see these like these lists of these words, and I think of learning vocabulary or coming across a strange word or an expression that's really fun or different in another language.
So I think the multilingual element is really important to how Dada was propagated elsewhere.
Stephen?
Ruth, you mentioned the simultaneous poem.
Again, not to sort of flog the horse, but it's a rejection of the reader in our attempts to interpret it, or just a kind of you know, an absence of that possibility.
And yet, at the same time, these are the three languages primarily involved in the Western Front French German, English.
It's as if you're kind of tuning in. to a radio that's broadcasting simultaneously.
Quantum physics, simultaneity you know a very different sphere, but that idea of simultaneity, of a whole profusion of things going on at the same time, as you find in the George Gross paintings actually the kind of undigestible rush of modernity, that is something that's captured in those paintings.
I kind of describe paintings or photomontages as noisy because they do feel multi-sensory.
I think they were trying to capture that sense in some of these works of the huge rush of the sensations and modern life.
Dawn, you wanted to come in there.
Well, I was just thinking that it's interesting to consider the kind of artistic and cultural bedrock which existed just before the First World War and which, of course, the Dadaists in Zurich were very aware of.
And Zara had sent his little magazine to Marinetti, the leader of the Futurists in Italy, as well as to Apollinaire in Paris.
And I think that's a kind of.
It's interesting to think about that simultaneous poem in terms of futurist simultaneity, because it's like a deviation of what was intended to be a genuinely sort of modern experience.
And Dadaite is not an expression of modernity at all.
It's something quite different.
And they were very anti-modern.
You mentioned that Zahra referred to it as an art movement.
Does that help us to understand it?
Is it a movement?
I suspect that he used it partly in the spirit of irony, as I said.
You know, we have the Futurist Movement, which has its manifestos.
Dada had its manifestos, lots of manifestos.
But they aren't necessarily saying, this is what we should be doing as artists.
This is what we should be doing as poets.
They're something else.
They're disruptive.
They're aggressive.
He's not trying to propagate a particular thing.
So calling it Mouvement Dada is both a challenge to the existing movements and a sort of genuine feeling that something is going on here.
It's an adventure we're all involved in.
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One of the problems that I think some people have with Dadaism is that there are no iconic works from the movement itself.
It's not like surrealism with Magritte and Salvador Dali or...
So when somebody says, tell me about a work of art that Dada produced, what do you say?
Well, there are several things you can say, because actually everywhere Dada sprung up, something appeared that was visually very arresting.
Arp is particularly interesting in Zurich because he begins with a kind of attempt to make things as non-expressionist as possible.
He cut paper for collages using a knife rather than using his hand.
Then he discovered chance and he thought that chance was a very, very productive possible process to use and he started tearing up paper and dropping it down and making collages.
Ruth?
I would mention photomontage as a technique that was a popular technique.
It wasn't owned by the Dadaists, but they used this technique to artistic effect.
Somebody like Hannah Hoch, who...
I really find resonates with students.
She's one of the Berlin Dadaists.
Yes, that's right.
And she worked with Raoul Hausmann.
And there's a photo montage called Das schöne Mädchen from 1920 or The Beautiful Girl.
The new woman.
She's got a jaunty in a swimsuit with her legs crossed, and then this huge bouffant, modern haircut.
A light bulb instead of a face.
And then in the background there's the BMW insignia, repeated over and over again.
Machinery watch to think about time.
And that's a comment on modernity, I think, and on beauty and on the mass media.
So this cutting up of newspapers and popular magazines to create these surprising new images.
And that's something that I think is used now, but in a more digital rather than handmade way.
Usually people see that and find really intriguing because it's both of its time.
You know, all the photo matter is from its time.
But it's something that one can do as well.
And we've got lots of questions about now, about what's real and what's not real when you first come across one of these images.
So it strikes me that what Dadaism was was about various techniques emerging which became traditions later on but were not necessarily themselves set in stone, as it were.
Stephen, can you tell us about the poetry and how it was performed?
Well, your listeners might well be thinking, in what way can this possibly be poetry?
It's just a load of slob lock to pick up a word used by Fry and Laurie in a sort of, you know...
Post Dada moment.
If you think about the Greek etymology of poetry, it means to create, to imagine, to make something.
That is exactly what these people are up to.
Hugo Baal, back to him, talks about the urgent need to reinvent language.
And no less a luminary than André Gide.
At the end of World War, I says we cannot just sit down at the table and start writing and speaking and using language in the way that we did in 1914.
Discourse has got to change.
So it's poetic to the extent that it's messing around with and experimenting with language.
You don't necessarily know what that is going to produce at the outcome.
And if you look at well some of the iconic, as well as the ephemera that's buried away Because Iowa's as unlikely a place to be.
Exactly.
I've yet to go.
I must.
If you look at some of this stuff, it has the features of poetry.
It has anaphora.
It has meter.
It has rhyme of different sorts.
It has occasionally the, in French, the Alexandrian.
You know the kind of gold standard of 12-syllable lines and people like Zaha messing around with the place of the caesura.
So it does respond, actually, to poetic analysis understood in a kind of a serious sense.
The other thing about the manuscripts is that the Dadaists corrected their work.
So I've looked at Zahra's manuscripts where you get this nonsense verse.
He corrects the nonsense words.
So he'll write off, you know, starting off, booze duke.
That would be a double O, but then you correct it to an OU to make that more distinctive OO sound.
And then it's very amusing and interesting looking at what translators try to do with this stuff.
Because let's say you're translating Booze Duke into English.
Well, do you translate that into OO?
And another thing that you've mentioned Ruth, is photo montage, because this really is one of the great legacies, surely?
I mean, we see it emerge in Russia, in Germany, in France, in Britain, everywhere.
Photo montage becomes, you know, one of the great innovations.
It really appeals to people because it can be it's very rooted in its particular moment.
It's, you know, political, social context.
It tells us a lot about what's going on.
But it also seems to, you know, you can still respond to it now.
So Hannah, for example, started using colour which has a whole different aesthetic later in her life.
And you can really relate it to that moment.
And then it was used for very political reasons.
I mean, I would say that she was political.
They would poke fun at the politicians of the time.
There was lots of celebrities from that moment, the fashions, the sport.
It was like a real kaleidoscopic event. version of what was going on.
But it became especially political in the 1930s.
With John Hartfield's work above all else.
Absolutely.
So very you know there was an urgency in the late 20s and early 30s and some of the photo montages that Hartfield produced, you know, very particularly against fascism.
And this combination of text and image as well is something, because we've talked about the visual and the verbal but the interaction between them.
So you have the slogans remade, you have the images remade, something that looks familiar, that is not quite familiar.
So it asks you to look again.
And I think that technique is very useful still.
So, Dawn, it's time to talk about the fountain.
Can you tell us about Marshal Duchamp's fountain, the porcelain urinal signed Armat?
Is this a Dadaist work, and if so, what is its importance?
Well, it's kind of been annexed to Dada, but it certainly was not linked to Dada in Europe at the time.
It's not quite clear whether Duchamp, at the time this is 1917 in New York had even heard Duchamp or seen the name.
His friend Picabia might have done, but that would be, I think, irrelevant to the incident, which has actually had such reverberations throughout the 20th century.
There was an exhibition being planned for the Society of Independent Artists.
Duchamp was one of the people on the kind of board that was organising it.
And shortly before it opened, a porcelain urinal arrived just before it was opened to the public.
It then was never shown.
And there is a considerable confusion about what actually happened.
There are lots of different accounts of what happened and why it wasn't exhibited.
But it wasn't exhibited.
And, as a result, Duchamp of course his name was not officially linked to it immediately resigned from the board of the Independent Artists.
And he and his friends Beatrice Wood and Henri-Pierre Rocher produced another little magazine called The Blind Man.
Asking the question why was Mr Mutt?
The fountain had been signed.
The Paulson fountain had been signed with the words R Mutt.
Why was Mr Mutt's sculpture refused?
So it turned into a publicity event.
He had already been experimenting, if you like, with giving ordinary objects a title.
The question of course is, are they to be called art?
And he was always, I think, quite clear that they were asking a question about what is art.
They're not saying this is art, but his point was actually that he was questioning it.
I mean, what is art?
Can you define art?
And this is a question, of course, which we've heard repeatedly ever since then, from the pile of bricks in the Tate onto some of the young British artists' work, and so on.
This is a question which hasn't yet been answered, but it was posed by Dadaism.
It was posed by Dadoism and it was also posed in the text that was published, together with the photograph of the fountain that appeared in the little magazine The Blind Man, a text saying that what happened was the object was given a new thought, very carefully sidestepping the question of whether it was art or not.
Stephen, some of Dada was intended to prompt laughter.
But what sort of a laughter was it intending to prompt?
Yeah, that's an excellent question.
Dada is a case study really in the multifaceted directions and functions and consequences of humor.
Dada is a joke.
It's a joke about the sick joke of a civilization flushing itself into the fountain, as it were, or kind of down the toilet of history.
It is a joke about themselves.
And part of that is not only to satirize themselves, but also, again, back to contradiction.
It's a joke against the viewer or the audience, but also with them.
And it's really clear that the audiences were in on the joke.
André Breton, who was a Dada, as they called themselves before he was a surrealist, writes about 1921, a visit to Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre in Paris, attended by crowds and crowds of people in the rain.
There was this public interest and affection for Dada.
And in the Bibliothèque littéraire Jacques Doucet in Paris there's this wonderful series of scrapbooks that Francis Picabia kept, and they are press cuttings of Dada being mentioned by journalists.
So journalists are also sort of interested and sceptical.
There's something going on here.
They're not convinced...
But they're sort of interested.
So the humour is pushing you away, but also kind of drawing you in.
And there is this ethical dimension to humour as well.
You know, the Dadaists are laughing at themselves.
They're making a joke about language.
And I think they're promoting, going back to what we were saying earlier about satire, absurdist culture as not a political party it's not a political program but as something that society needs a radical injection of in order to progress.
Now, Dadaism didn't really make it over to London, and yet that humour that you're talking about appears to be shot through all of British satire ever since.
What is that linkage between British humour and Dadaism?
This is fascinating.
In a way, it's as if British cultural, at least...
And figures in an organized sense don't need Dada.
There are these interesting individual cases.
So Hope Mealy, for example, wrote a very long and quite lauded poem in 1920, Paris.
It looks very much like a sort of mix of Dada and Apollinaire.
There's Helen Bigger, who wrote an experimental quasi-Dadaist film about Dadaism.
The commercialisation of armaments.
There was this prank that was on the BBC recently, the centenary of the 1926 hoax by Father Knox about ministers of transport being hanged from lampposts, and
And that was on the BBC in 1926.
We're not interested in this in an organised form but, as you say Misha, if you look at British culture since it's shot through with examples of this Dada spirit and Zara refers to Dada as a spirit
You're absolutely right, Dawn.
He's messing around with the idea of a movement, but he also says Dada is a state of mind.
So, whether it's the Bonzo Dog Doodah Band, whether it's Philomena Kunk, whether it's Fry and Laurie Python, of course,
It's kind of nowhere formally and everywhere in comedic and cultural discourse.
I'm very pleased that Philomena Kunk has been name-checked on in our time.
Ruth, you mentioned Hannah Höch in Berlin, but can you tell us about some of the other women who were engaged in Dada?
We've heard of Emmy Hennings as well.
Yeah, so we often come to them through talking about one of the men in the movement, but that wasn't unusual, in that there was quite a network.
So Emmy Hennings was the star of the cabaret.
And, as Stephen said, a writer herself.
We think of her as a performer, but she used to sell her poems in the cabaret and so on, go around with her photographs and so on, and was involved in expressionism before as well.
And then Sophie Toiba Arp, who has got a lot of recognition actually because she's such a talented artist designer, maker.
You know she was doing textiles and jewellery and furniture and architecture and was a dancer in the cabaret as well.
So what's striking, I think, about a lot of the women that we come across, is how many different activities they were involved in as well, you know, as were many of the men.
But I think There's no area in which they weren't participating.
And then she became very important in terms of geometric abstraction later on.
Another person to mention is Suzanne Duchamp, sister of Marcel.
Very briefly, but nonetheless quite interesting and small body of work.
In the mechanomorphic style from around like 1916.
So there's a work called Ernestine Menace, or Male and Female Threatened, which is this kind of strange crane-like machine imagery of two people, of two figures.
That would also have been was very unusual and quite early on, in the sort of style of Francis Picabia or Marcel Duchamp.
So, and then finally, I would mention a poet called Selina No, I think I spoke about her earlier who was like Tristan Tzar, was Romanian Jewish, born Carolina Goldstein and moved to Paris around 1914 to 15.
And then she produced a huge amount of poetry and manifestos and dramatic texts and so on, largely for these magazines that we've been talking about, these pamphlets.
She started her own again, just a one-off called Projector in 1920, which included all of the kinds of Dada and proto-surrealist writers of the time and 11 of her own volumes.
And she was forgotten until relatively recently.
And didn't much take to surrealism or Breton, precisely perhaps for some of the reasons we've been talking about, about keeping a free spirit.
So Dawn, tell us how Dada comes to an end.
What happens to it?
It does come to an end.
Exactly who wanted it to end is another question.
Zara had moved to Paris in, I think, 1920 and interrupted what was already a kind of budding movement which became Surrealism.
A little magazine called Literature which was very experimental and very interested in automatic writing.
But Zara arrived and Picabia was also there and Duchamp was there.
And so a kind of Dada in Paris moment.
Yes, yes, a lot of activity.
I think it was about 1922 when Breton began to tire of Dada.
André Breton, who became, of course, the leader of the surrealist movement.
Being very involved with Dada, he tried to organise what he wanted to call a congress to determine the direction of the modern spirit.
Now, this was far too organized, far too deliberate for Zara, who immediately sabotaged it.
And that was one of the reasons.
It just broke up.
It split up.
Zara went on talking about Dada, went on visiting and giving lectures about it.
But basically, that was the end.
And after a gap, Surrealism was launched.
We've heard a lot, Stephen, about how it spawned all sorts of other things in large parts of Europe.
What was its fate?
It was actually really dangerous to be associated with this kind of activity, especially in someone like Berlin.
You know, German Revolution right after the end of World War One nascent.
Farm our Republic alongside National Socialism.
And as a modern embodiment of Dada, we've thought about where is Dada to be found today?
I often think of Pussy Riot as an iconoclastic brave anti-Orthodox, anti-authoritarian phenomenon who have got that Dada spirit.
I don't know if they have any conscious connection to Dada.
They may, they may not.
But there's that sense of political protest through culture.
Grail Marcus has produced a really nice book on this called Lipstick Traces.
It tracks...
Dada and other forms of cultural revolution through hippie culture punk post-punk, Elvis Costello, Pete Townshend you know they're all there.
So in a way it's almost impossible to point to the neatly defined political relevance of Dada.
But
Its irrelevance is profoundly relevant.
Dawn, you mentioned Andre Breton just there.
Is there a direct link between Dadaism and Surrealism?
Surrealism is much more easy to define, as it were.
One of the obvious links is through the artists, because surrealism inherited a lot of the Dada artists.
And this is where it becomes more difficult to disentangle them, which I think is important to do.
But it is difficult because someone like Max Ernst, who was so central to Dada and Cologne, then moves to Paris.
And what he had been doing with photomontage, what he called collage, was so unlike what the Berlin Dadaists were doing and was far more in the line of a spark that is produced from unlikely juxtapositions that seem to be brought together by chance.
So artists are a link, but I think it's a mistake to put them together too much.
I have done so myself frequently in the past.
Dada and surrealism.
They seem to go together, but actually they are very distinct, and I think that's quite significant.
Ruth, a final question to you, and it's a big one.
What's the legacy of Dada?
I mean, we've heard some of the sort of disparate things that it appeared to spawn.
But why do you think that it has so much persistence, so much energy culturally?
It's a bit of a paradox because it resists definition.
People can identify it in so many different ways.
I like the slogan, jeder kan dada.
Anybody can do dada, really.
Anybody can make art.
I think that's often I don't know if you're working with school groups or students, then it feels like an accessible way to use techniques and the spirit as Stephen said, it's a spirit, it's an attitude and to redeploy them for things that matter to you.
And because it's not dogmatic. precisely because it's not dogmatic.
It sort of persists in that way, I think, like a protest, a rebellion anti-authority, feels like a sort of democratic way of approaching art.
So that sense, I think, continues.
And then the absurdity.
I mean, we talked about laughing, but I often think we take ourselves very seriously about this and you can forget to laugh sometimes.
You know, you're like looking at something and thinking...
That discomfort actually that we mentioned before, that actually it's quite funny.
You know, and I've seen lots of good examples where how to make museum exhibits about Dada, for example, is a really trying question, but where humour is brought into there where, like cabaret, elements that remind you what it must have been like.
To have this multisensory experience, I think, that's another thing.
You know, it's musical, it's verbal, it's visual...
It has all those different elements.
It has different languages.
And it's not just tied to one person, which kind of confuses us.
But it's not aligned with do I like this artist or not, because it's so multifarious.
Yes, I think that it's quite extraordinary.
You've mentioned Philomena Kunk and Pussy Riot.
I also watched in preparation for this the Franz Ferdinand video, Take Me Out.
And it almost transported me back to the beginning of the 20th century.
It was extraordinary.
Dawn, a final word from you on the legacy.
I was just thinking about the tremendous presence that Dada managed to have disparate, as it were, all these different places, and I was thinking about a photo montage with the phrase Dada Siegt, Dada Conquers, and I think actually yes, that was a terrific slogan.
My thanks to Dawn Addis, Ruth Hemus and Stephen Forcer.
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There's one thing that intrigued me.
I mean, we mentioned that it never reached London, really, as a movement.
The other place it strikes me that it didn't reach is Vienna, even though, you know, Vienna was this cauldron of activity.
And I wonder if.
Was it just through the persons that it?
I mean, Cologne was a.
I highlighted Cologne because it struck me as odd that it would go to cologne, not the.
Cologne isn't an interesting place, but it's not usually associated with innovative movements.
That's a fascinating question.
I don't really feel qualified to answer it, but in dada style, i'll have a go.
Um, i mean, maybe it's got something to do with the imperial context that it's perhaps got too kind of close or too closed to take off there.
I mean, it must be something to do with the collapse of the old order in Europe and the complete collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
And Vienna obviously changes identity.
So we may think of it now as a wonderful artistic and musical centre.
I don't know what it was like, you know, 1916, 17, 18.
Very traumatised is the answer to that.
I mean, very traumatised in a way that I don't think Berlin was at the same time.
The other interesting thing I wanted to ask you about was the contrast between futurism Italian futurism which, of course, was so aligned with fascism, and Dadaism, which was so not aligned with fascism.
And yet there seems to be some sort of connectivity there.
I mean, that's one of the deeply fascinating aspects of the avant-garde, then, if we use that term.
How can we talk about it as these multiple groups?
But they were so different in different places, which kind of reminds us that they were generated from very specific political social, cultural circumstances.
To have such different approaches because, as you say, there's techniques that you can sort of assimilate, both poetic techniques of fragmentation and sound and so on.
And what you mentioned earlier about simultaneity, these paintings of speed and so on, but they were very into modernity.
I think Dawn, you said Dada wasn't but the futurists loved the idea of speed and machinery and modernity.
So I like the fact that the big umbrella term embraces so many different elements of what the avant-garde was doing in different places.
Just on the spreads, Dawn, you alluded to this.
They're writing each other loads of letters.
They're sending the magazines.
I got into French through pen pals.
And there's this beautiful sense of them writing each other letters.
In the Doucet holdings, there's this gorgeous set of letters between Zara and Breton.
Breton writes with this immaculate, pretty blue ink.
And there's so much excitement and love between them, and they're desperate for something to do and for an outlet.
So when Zara arrives in Paris in 1920, he's awaited as a sort of messiah.
When he arrives, he's a bit of a disappointment to them.
He's not a physically... imposing person.
But back to politics.
One of the things that he would do Dara, at these Dada soirees in Paris, would be to read a political tract but simultaneously undercut himself by having a siren going or an alarm bell going.
And again, it's that kind of political, anti-political, there's a synthesis of opposites here.
Yeah, Dawn.
He later, in this interview with the BBC in 1959, he denied that there was any real politics in Zurich.
Though, of course, in Berlin, there was.
It was very different.
Futurism, I mean, of course, it wasn't aligned with what became fascism at this time.
And Marinetti was certainly in contact with Zara and visited.
And they would reproduce works by futurist artists as well as, you know, expressionists and so on in the magazine.
So there was a considerable eclecticism also at the beginning.
This idea of a network.
I mean it's fascinating because you said you know it relied on people moving.
You know actual movement of people or letter writing and contact making in that way.
That's how it proliferated.
How revealing are the letters?
I mean, presumably a lot of the letters are extant and you can read them.
Yes, a lot of them have been published.
There's a chunky correspondence at the end of Michel Sanuier's volume.
I'm always intrigued by the number of Romanians who pop up in the absurdist movement.
I mean, there's UNESCO as well, of course, later on.
Is there anything special about the Romanians?
Of course, most of them were Jewish as well, which is very important because they lived in very difficult circumstances in Romania.
So I'm not an expert on Romanian.
I spent time in the country for research and I actually feel very affectionate about the Dada scholars that I've met there.
There was a Romanian avant-garde there.
And Zara plugs into that and works with others associated with symbolism and post-symbolist journals.
So there's that going on.
The education system in Romania provides French and German.
Bucharest is one of these places described as the Paris of the East.
So, you know, France and Paris has...
I think, significant cultural capital in Romania over the 19th century.
So, in a way, it's a natural thing for Zara to gravitate towards French and towards And, of course, Romanian as a Latin language means that it's quite easy certainly, to learn French if you're a Romanian speaker.
Exactly.
One of them was the artist Marcel Yanko in Zurich, and he was responsible for some of the tremendous masks that they would wear in the performances, which are very, very strange, transforming people's appearance.
In Cabaret Voltaire.
In Cabaret Voltaire.
We've not mentioned Sophie Toiber, who worked with Janko on these masks and between the two of them.
They provide these masks and they write afterwards about just how liberating it was to put on a mask to be someone different for a bit.
So they're trying on new ideas, new senses of self.
And Ugo Bal says in his diaries, it's hard to say just how constricting society at the time was.
So this chance to experiment, to mess around is so empowering for them.
Ruth and then Dawn.
I think it's a good question about the Romanian presence because, although we're saying oh, it's multilingual, it's wonderful, it's all these different languages, we can erase it a little bit.
It would have been a very different experience to be an outsider.
Sometimes there is a feeling of being an outsider or of coming from elsewhere.
When you're in that environment.
You know and I know, for example Selina, I know where she writes a lot of her where you can pull out thematic threads.
It's about that kind of sense of being away from home and being somewhere else and the way one is treated, even in an avant-garde group.
So I think yeah, I think sometimes we, although we say we don't think of it as a Swiss group or a French group or a German, it's important to
To remember that these were a mix of people with very different cultural, linguistic backgrounds.
And that's what makes it so thrilling.
But also, I think I always hoped that they'd also be very, very close to each other.
It's not always the case.
No, there's plenty of falling out.
Don, you wanted to say something and then we can have a cup of tea.
Well no, I was just thinking about the fact that it was so liberating as an experience, these performances.
And how that might show a little light on why Dalai really never came to this country.
I was thinking about the origins of the Cabaret Voltaire in the literary cabarets in Germany, which is a very different kind of cultural event from anything we have, I think.
And the idea that you could produce serious avant-garde things in a sort of cabaret culture.
Context is interesting.
And I think that's one of the ways perhaps that they were able to have this liberating experience.
That's true.
The tradition here was musical, which is a rather different experience.
There's Simon hanging up, which means our tea is on its way.
Who'd like tea or coffee?
Tea.
Coffee.
Tea, please.
Tea.
Three teas and a coffee.
I should ask for eggnog or cabbage or something.
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