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The story begins with a phone call, answered by the artist after some time. Yoko introduces herself and hangs up, as this is an old-fashioned call without an answering machine. This conversation is also the final track on Ono’s 1971 album Fly, and it is the first thing you hear upon entering her Tate exhibition, Music of the Mind. Music can be dull, quiet, or mind-bending – it’s up to your imagination. But before we hear Ono’s repeated screams and cries, we’re greeted with the sound of a toilet flushing and a recording of Ono coughing for 30 minutes and 18 seconds. The phone rings again, and this time the artist answers in Japanese. We’re still at the entrance, and I’m contemplating a small message written in Ono’s handwriting on the wall, stating that the room moves at the same pace as the clouds. It’s good to know, but doesn’t it depend on the direction of the wind and the Earth’s rotation and orbit around the sun? Is this some sort of test?
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We cannot stay here for an extended period of time fretting, as there is a line forming and many interactions to be had in the upcoming rooms: paintings to be stepped on, walls to be vandalized, personal messages to be written, and ladders to be climbed. Additionally, per the artist’s directions, I must locate a broken sewing machine and a large glass tank to contain it, then transport the tank to a town square and convince people to throw stones at it on a snowy evening. The reason for this is not to be questioned.
I admire Ono’s bold approach in her Instructions for Paintings [1961-2], particularly her decision to keep them in a liminal space between concept and action, evoking a disruption in the mundane. These instructions could be as improbable and exaggerated as she desired. Personally, I find them more appealing than her participatory pieces, which I used to enjoy participating in. However, my days of crawling on the floor while concealed in a bag are now behind me, unfortunately.
One can greet a stranger by reaching through a precise opening in a large, empty, self-supporting canvas. In a work titled “My Mommy Is Beautiful,” you are welcomed to jot down a message about your mother or attach a picture of her onto one of the 15 unadorned canvases arranged in a line along a wall in the last exhibition space.
At the age of 90, Ono is still actively involved in her work, although she no longer creates as much art. While many of Ono’s pieces were originally conceived in the 1950s and 60s, her retrospective is expected to be popular not only among students of fluxus, early performance, and conceptual art, but also for those seeking interactive experiences. In contrast to being passive observers, audiences now desire to be more engaged and have a sense of involvement. This is something that Ono has recognized and promoted from the beginning.
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Ono’s exhibition features a large display of historical documentary photos, as well as vitrines showcasing flyers, invitations, tickets, programs, announcements, posters, magazine spreads, and other ephemera. However, there are also other captivating elements to catch the viewer’s attention, such as a photo of Ono draped over a grand piano while John Cage and David Tudor tinker with the strings. Another photo shows Ono in downtown Manhattan where she and composer, musician, and performance artist La Monte Young began the Chambers Street loft concerts in 1961. The concerts were attended by notable figures such as Cage, Marcel Duchamp, and Max Ernst.
Ono gained fame prior to her widespread recognition. She began as a neo-dadaist and, like Cage, served as a source of inspiration for the fluxus movement. This movement, or potentially anti-movement, was spearheaded by George Maciunas, who transformed the concept of the Chambers Street loft into his own gallery. In essence, fluxus aimed to free art from its own constraints. In Ono’s hands, fluxus was both playful and poetic, and her exhibitions were interactive and theatrical experiences. The only guidance provided was through Ono’s instructions, objects, or situations, which the audience must then spontaneously respond to.
In addition to earlier films featuring Yoko Ono smiling and blinking, and performing Cut Piece, there is also a film of her in bed with John Lennon, surrounded by male newspapermen and photographers. She engages in spontaneous conversations with the hostile and bewildered journalists. I personally prefer Fly, a film from 1970-71 that Ono made with Lennon. In this film, a woman lies on a bed while flies crawl over her naked body. Soon, more flies join in as Ono performs a wide range of vocalizations with minimal musical accompaniment by Lennon. It is a haunting and mesmerizing piece.
Ono’s vocal style has been compared to that of Meredith Monk and Diamanda Galás, and her vocals in the film Fly reminded me of a Sámi performer mimicking the annoying buzz of a mosquito and the howls of a wolf. She often pushes her voice to its limits, a rarity in her art. Cut Piece, originally performed in Tokyo in 1964, involved Ono sitting on stage with a large pair of scissors and inviting audience members to cut her clothes. This predates Marina Abramović’s Rhythm O by ten years. While Abramović faced the risk of injury, rape, and murder, Ono’s Cut Piece was relatively tame. However, it can be seen as foreshadowing the criticism and threats she received after the Beatles’ breakup.
Ono’s work has been known for promoting love, peace, and unity, as well as making subtle critiques of traditional art. Despite causing some controversy, her 1966-7 Bottoms film appears to be relatively tame in retrospect. There is no explicit or provocative content, and the display of bare buttocks comes across as innocent and pure. However, the film was met with backlash from outlets like Radio 4’s Today programme and tabloids, resulting in a ban from British film censors. As I watched, I couldn’t help but wonder which famous artists’ bottoms were featured in the film.
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Many of Ono’s later pieces lack strength, disregarding their symbolism or their use as a platform for audience involvement, or their simplistic appeals for us to envision peace. In her 2001 artwork Helmets (Pieces of Sky), several German WWII helmets are displayed upside down and suspended from the ceiling, resembling planters. Instead of flowers, they are filled with blue puzzle pieces that, when put together, form a sky. This is a nod to Imagine, the iconic song written by Ono and John Lennon in 1971. It wasn’t until 2017 that Ono received credit as a co-writer for the song.
At the end, a white boat is placed in a room with entirely white walls and floor. The piece, titled “Add Colour (Refugee Boat)”, was initially conceived in 1960 and was first displayed in 2016. It encourages viewers to use blue paint and brushes to create messages and symbols wherever they can reach. Photos of the installation in Portugal in 2020 show the boat surrounded by a sea of messages, names, hopes, and pleas for freedom. It is likely that a similar effect will be seen with the boat on display at Tate Modern. Ono is the unseen captain of this boat. Some may find it cliché and obvious, but it still resonated with me.
Source: theguardian.com
