Yoko Ono has her mother to thank for armoring her against what the world threw her way when she dared to marry a Beatle.
As a child in Japan during World War II, the artist and musician was
evacuated to the countryside, where her parents would visit her. Ms. Ono
believes her mother sensed that her daughter “was going to go through
some strange things. I remember her saying, ‘Yoko, you’re a very good
writer, why don’t you write about this experience and think about
whatever you encounter as material for your book?’ ”
For the past
60-plus years, Ms. Ono has followed that advice, channeling her
experiences and encounters into conceptual art—first with the
avant-garde Fluxus movement in New York, then with her own
much-misunderstood “instruction” paintings, often bearing a single word,
which invited the viewer to interpret and take figurative ownership of
the artworks. Later, with
John Lennon,
she attracted notoriety—and animosity—when they staged their
“Bed-in for Peace” protests in 1969.
That large body of work has now been compiled in a lavish, limited-edition book, “Infinite Universe at Dawn” (£325; genesis-publications.com ).
Its contents—abstract and conceptual art, poetry, text works,
photography—not only remind us how pioneering and fearless Ms. Ono has
been in her life, but also represent a defiant riposte to those who
insist that her career amounts to little more than a few slogans and a
fortuitous marriage. But the warmth of her welcome at the English
seaside two months ago, when she dotted the streets, shop windows and
public buildings of Folkestone with text works and installations during
the town’s triennial (until Nov. 2; folkestonetriennial.org.uk ), confirm that such doubters are now very much in the minority.
We
recently caught up with Ms. Ono, who has gone through some very
“strange things” indeed—and used all of them as material for her
artwork. Her mother would be proud.
From left, Yoko Ono’s ‘Imagine Peace Tower,' 2007; Ms. Ono at
Folkestone Triennial; her new limited-edition book, 'Infinite Universe
at Dawn'; with John Lennon in 1969.
Yoko Ono; Folkestone Triennial; Genesis Publications; Getty
Artists should adhere to what we are,
instead of being sidetracked by other desires. We’re supposed to have
that independence. But many artists today are, you know, going with this
gallery, with that museum, and thinking too much about monetary
success, which means they can’t be free. A life of not being challenged
and only hearing what you want to hear is being dead.
I do sometimes think,
“Am I always going to be in New York?” In a way, it’s destiny, in that
even if I try to find somewhere else to move, I just can’t. But, of
course, it’s not destiny—it’s my mind that is blocking that.
When John and I were about to go
to Japan to see my parents for the first time, he said, “I bet they
live in a hole or something.” And I thought, “Just you wait.” Isn’t that
funny?
Everybody is creative. These days, I
think that’s truer than ever. There were very few activists in our day,
when we were doing “Bed-in” and things like that, but now probably 90%
of the people in the world are activists.
The main criticism I got
for the instruction paintings was about how arrogant I was, telling
people what to do. Can you imagine? Instead of saying, “Thank you.” It
typified the image they were giving me: this arrogant woman. Or they
just thought, “Oh, she’s one of those kooks.”
I never think of things as being a long time ago.
Everything is getting more one-dimensional now. The other day, I was
just pulling a chair over to the wall so that I could clear a space, and
I thought, “I did this when I was 2½.” Experience repeats itself. There
is that belief that just before you die, you go through everything
you’ve done in your life. Now, I really believe it. I remember very
interesting details about the smallest things. You turn a corner and
think, “I turned a corner in exactly this way in Italy that time.” It
just all comes back.
I always thought that I was dealing in the future—creating the future and the unknown, which is far more interesting and exciting.
When I titled one of my works “Surrender to Peace” and sent it to the
New York Times
many years ago, the criticism I got was that it wasn’t
grammatical, that you can’t surrender to something abstract. And that
was them being annoyed about the fact that I was being political. But it
just showed their thinking, you know, “She’s an Asian. We’ll intimidate
her.”
John was so intelligent, so quick. I
didn’t have to explain, and we didn’t have to talk about what had
happened. We just immediately knew that we understood each other.
Folkestone reminded me of
the first time I went to Iceland. I was really upset that the world
seemed to be only into centralization, globalization…. I thought that
the way to go was to localize things, to give energy to all these
communities and make a difference that way. So I went there thinking,
“This is great. This is a place that is never talked about. I’m going to
go there and revive them.” And, in fact, they gave me far more than I
was giving them.
Women have come a long way. We should be proud of that. We jumped and hopped and came to this point instead of just walking.
— Edited from an interview with Dan Cairns
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