By Harry Eiss
Richard Dadd is a trickster, a pre-post-modern enigma wrapped in a Shakespearean Midsummer Night's Dream, an Elizabethan Puck dwelling in a smothering Victorian insane asylum, foreshadowing and, in great, Mad Hatter conundrums, getting into the fragmented shards of ultra-modern nightmarish oxymorons lengthy ahead of the artists presently attempting to supply them the joker's ephemeral maps of discourse. i believe of Bob Dylan's Ballad of a skinny guy, that cryptic refusal to lessen the warped mirrors of fact to prosaic lies, or, maybe All alongside the Watchtower or Mr. Tambourine guy. much more than Samuel Beckett's looking forward to Godot, which interestingly sufficient comes off as overly esoteric, too studied, too unsleeping, Dadd's complete lifestyles foreshadows the forbidden front into the numinous, the belief of the inexplicable labyrinths of latest life, that splendidly wealthy Marcel Duchamp panorama of puns and satiric paradigms, that surrealistic parallax of the bright gamester Salvador Dali, that smirking irony of the works of Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Rauschenberg, John Cage, and Robert Indiana, that fragmented, meta-fictional fight of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse 5. John Lennon definitely sensed it and could not aid yet push into meta-real worlds in his personal lyrics. ponder Strawberry Fields endlessly, i'm the Walrus, and the extra self-conscious Revolution quantity nine. In Yer Blues, he even refers to Dylan's major personality, Mr. Jones from Ballad of a skinny guy. If Lennon's track is taken heavily, actually, then it's a darkish crying out by way of a suicidal guy, Lord, i am lonely, wanna die; or, if taken as a metaphor for a lover's misplaced emotions approximately his unfulfilled love, it falls into the romantic rant of a customary blues or teenage rock-and-roll tune. despite the fact that, even in this point, it has a sarcasm approximately it, a feeling of guffawing at itself and at Dylan's Mr. Jones, who understands whatever is occurring yet simply now not what it truly is, after which, via extension, we all who've woke up to the truth that the studied Western global does not make experience, we all who fight to discover which means within the nonsense photographs, characters, and happenings within the track, and maybe, coming to a end that the nonsense is the feel. whilst Andy Warhol made the deliberately overly noticeable punning conceal for the Rolling Stones' Sticky hands album, depicting a man's crotch (presumably Mick Jagger's - notwithstanding now not actually) lined by way of denims with a true zipper to be unzipped to bare the sticky underpants from a man's cum, the relationship with musical creativity and sexual creativity was once humorously conjoined, however the genuine irony wasn't quite a bit that sexual double entendre, because it was once a self-mocking, a giggling on the writer, a enjoyable conceptual undermining of the hunt for which means via paintings, a providing of the artist as trickster, a great deal in accordance with Carl Jung's trickster because the impulse to anarchy, a light-hearted metaphysical funny story just like Robert Rauschenberg's mattress - a literal cover and pillow (rumored to were from the particular mattress he shared with Jasper Johns. Which basically makes the blending of realities even thicker, simply because even if the rumor is correct, it turns into actual, maybe even extra actual just because it suits so well into human maps of meaning), that's then reworked with splashes of paint, held on a wall, and specified a piece of paintings, within the culture of Duchamp's ready-mades and the full irreverent Dada stream.