We crave instruction. We always have, however mundane or obvious. “If it is not right,” wrote Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, “do not do it.” He is still revered to this day. More recently, Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life begins with this advice: “Stand up straight with your shoulders back.” It has sold more than 10m copies.
Even if the instructions may seem mundane, individuals will still trust in them if they believe it will bring them wisdom and progress. This fact was noticed by avant-garde artist Yoko Ono in her book “Grapefruit” published in 1964. The book features 200 sets of instructions written between 1953 and 1964. Ono describes them as unfinished pieces of art. The intention is to motivate readers to “complete” them by following them or responding in their thoughts. At the new Ono exhibit in London’s Tate Modern, there is an entire wall dedicated to her instructions.
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Their language is deceptively simple, but the statements resemble the directions found on a packaged meal and frequently include intricate and illogical requests. For instance, a piece titled Painting to Exist Only When It’s Copied or Photographed implores the viewer to: “Allow others to replicate or capture images of your paintings. Then, destroy the originals.” The nonsensical phrases and absurd imagery, on the other hand, can evoke bursts of laughter. In Back Piece I, the instructions read: “Turn off the lights. Remain behind another person for a duration of four hours.” Smell Piece proposes: “Utilize a name tag with no name. Include an address and a scent instead.”
I am concerned that I may not fully comprehend everything, but assistance is available. In 1971, Yoko Ono provided this hint: “To comprehend the pieces, you must perform them. Even just performing them mentally is a step towards improving your communication with yourself.” So, six decades after Grapefruit was released, I choose to follow this advice – and in New York, where it was originally created.
Plane Piece
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The first event, titled “Plane Piece,” starts at JFK airport. It instructs, “Rent a plane. Invite everyone. Request that they draft a will for you before boarding.” I choose to consult a lawyer beforehand.
According to an anonymous lawyer, most real lawyers would not engage in this activity, as they tend to lack a sense of humor. It is possible to find a licensed lawyer who can draft legal documents, but it is important to note that this type of action is illegal. Luckily, I am able to locate a lawyer who is both currently bedridden with Covid and willing to play along with my request. He drafts a contract that states: “In the event of my death while flying from JFK airport, I hereby leave all of my belongings to Oobah Butler. However, if I survive this flight, this agreement will be deemed null and void.”
I am currently hoping to convince someone to sign their will and transfer all of their possessions to me. While waiting for my flight on Etihad Airways, I encounter Fahad and his daughter. He is traveling in business class to Abu Dhabi for work. Being a businessman, he is likely accustomed to pushy sales tactics, so I present my strongest argument.
“Absolutely,” he chuckles. “Why not?” Before I realize it, Fahad has consented to relinquish, in the case of his demise, all the contents of his suitcase: high-end clothing, laptop, and stylish shoes. This could potentially be a fruitful – yet sorrowful – day. We seal our agreement with a handshake and, as I depart the airport, I jot down his measurements and flight information.
Conversation Piece
This one is a bit longer. “Talk about the death of an imaginary person,” it begins. “If somebody is interested, bring out a black framed photograph of the deceased and show. If friends invite you, excuse yourself by explaining about the death of the person.”
I contemplate this situation while strolling through Tompkins Square park in the warm winter sunshine, concerned that my actions may not be considered kind. I have just left the art supply store, carrying a new black frame. Earlier, I inputted the phrase “Show the funeral booklet of a compassionate person who passed away too early” into an AI image generator. The outcome is an image with words, but all of them are unintelligible – except for a possible name: Eabi.
“May I sit beside you?” I ask a man sitting on a bench with an acoustic guitar. He looks up at me. “Of course,” he responds, moving over a bit. He introduces himself as Jacob. I sit down and gather my thoughts, attempting to find the courage to break the quietness. “You know,” I start, “I recently lost a dear friend.” I pull out a frame and show it to Jacob. He makes a sympathetic noise and looks at it. “My friend, Eabi.”
“I apologize,” he states as I nod, choosing to remain quiet. “He appears quite youthful. If you don’t mind, may I inquire about the cause of his passing?” I pause, feeling caught off guard. “I would prefer not to share that information,” I reply, then pause again. “It was a disease. A serious one.” Jacob’s attention is drawn to the frame, and I can see him processing the illegible writing. Is he going to question me about it?
Jacob expresses condolences and nods in agreement. The conversation ends and I take my leave, wishing him the best. I am perspiring heavily and make my way back to my apartment.
Fog Piece II
I am not able to reword this as it is a request to view an image in fullscreen.
I have engaged in enough interaction and now believe it is time to focus on self-introspection. Fog Piece II appears to be fitting as it prompts to “polish an orange.” I grab a piece of fruit and begin polishing it vigorously. As I reflect on my actions today, I feel like a puppet being controlled by its strings. Ono must have had certain expectations when creating these instructions, including where the limitations lie. However, I have been fulfilling her intentions exactly. It’s time to break free from this avant-garde puppet master and take a step ahead by doing something unexpected.
Smoke Piece
“Utilize all available resources,” advises this statement, “even your pubic hair.” I venture onto my fire escape, equipped with an apple bong crafted from WikiHow’s instructions. I fill it with small amounts of recently cut pubic hair, light a flame, and ignite the pile. Instantly, the smoke assaults the back of my throat and causes a burning sensation. I cough and feel the urge to vomit. Smoke escapes my mouth – smoke from my own pubic hair! The gravity of my actions sinks in. The joke is on me, isn’t it?
I am nearing the conclusion of my Grapefruit challenge, but I do not feel any closer to achieving enlightenment. Instead, I feel as though I have taken many regressive steps that could each be labeled as “the moment everything went awry.” With low expectations, I depart from my apartment, getting ready for my last prompt.
Shaking Hands in a Painting (Art for the Fearful)
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I am currently positioned at the stairway of the subway station at Union Square Park, with a canvas in my possession. I am prepared and eager to execute your instructions, Yoko. This particular instruction requires me to drill a hole in the canvas and extend my hand from behind it. I am to welcome my guests in this manner and engage in conversation using only my hands.
I punch a hole in the canvas and thrust my hand through as the crowd ascends the stairs, extending my hand. Someone quickly grabs it and shakes it, followed by another person. As I lower the canvas, I see a woman capturing the moment on her phone with a smile. A middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap then comes up to talk to me.
“He exclaims with excitement, ‘What a strong image!’ He goes on to say that art is dominated by foundations and the upper class. Your handshakes form alliances against corrupt art. Such a powerful portrayal, powerful indeed.” He then briskly departs.
Lowering the canvas, I come to the realization that I have found something I didn’t even know I was searching for: an understanding, a semblance of meaning. Afterwards, I take inspiration from a page in Yoko Ono’s “Grapefruit”: a postcard that instructs me to draw a circle. However, this time, I choose not to follow the instructions. Instead, I jot down the words spoken to me by the man wearing the baseball cap.
Afterwards, I bring it to the postal office and send it off to an undisclosed location.
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The exhibit “Music of the Mind” by Yoko Ono is currently on display at Tate Modern in London until September 1st.
Source: theguardian.com
