To better understand Ono's multimedia oeuvre, it helps to know something of her life. While she was born into wealth in 1933, she suffered greatly during World War II, often having to beg for food. Her family moved repeatedly, following Ono's father from Tokyo to San Francisco to New York and back to Tokyo. From an early age Ono studied classical piano, German lieder, and Italian opera, but gave them all up for the bizarre atonalities of the New York avant-garde scene when she moved to the Big Apple in 1952.
After collaborating with boho classicalists John Cage and LaMonte Young in the late '50s, Ono helped initiate the fluxus movement, which mixed bits of dada, existentialism, social thought, and Eastern minimalism. Ono's early shows -- one of which featured a miked toilet-flushing, years before Married With Children -- were abject failures in the eyes of the art press. Her two pre-Lennon marriages, to Juilliard student Ichiyanagi Toshi and Young's musician friend Anthony Cox, didn't fare much better. (Cox had married Ono after he'd rescued her from a Japanese mental institution, where the staff was accused of oversedating her after a suicide attempt. Perhaps they were trying to make a statement about her art.)
But by the mid-'60s, the world had caught up to Ono's way of thinking. At a show at the Indica Gallery in London in 1966, a young Liverpudlian named John was particularly taken with a piece called Ceiling Painting, in which a viewer walked up a ladder and used a magnifying glass to read the artist's stated "instruction," a simple, block-lettered "YES." Three years later, Ono and Lennon were sharing their honeymoon "bed-in" with reporters, hippies, and Smothers brothers; plastering album covers with their bare butts; and suggesting we give this peace thing a chance.
"Yes Yoko Ono" covers the full scope of the artist's career, although it focuses heavily on her groundbreaking work during the '60s and '70s. In S.F., the traveling exhibit also re-creates Ono and Lennon's infamous "wish billboard," which sported the slogan "War is over! If you want it" and was erected in 12 cities throughout the world before Christmas 1969 (on the corner of New Montgomery and Howard). Personally, I think they should've updated the billboard for modern times; then they could've wished for a smaller miracle, like for people to stop using the word "jiggy."
The exhibit, which takes its name from the punch line of Ceiling Painting (on display here but not available for climbing), is divided into six sections. The first, "Grapefruit: The Early Instructions," is the most pretentious and least effective. All the works are from the early '60s, when Ono was in her highly conceptual period. It may have seemed revolutionary at the time for an artist to place instructions for a vine to grow and die next to a photo of a blank canvas against a wall, but now it just seems lazy. The same goes for the section's Instructions for Painting series, which consists of various ideas for paintings translated into Japanese and written in calligraphy, and Touch Poem No. 5, a bunch of hair trapped in a book. During a walk-through with fluxus scholar Jon Hendricks, he suggested that this period showed Ono "trying to get away from the artist having to put paint on canvas." This theory sounded good to me, although I bet if I attempted something similar, my editor would tell me to get back to work. As for On Insound, a concert piece that plays out of a speaker on SFMOMA's wall, the intro line should be self-explanatory: "Like really in-within-inner-non-un-insane-crazed ..."
Luckily, the next section, "This Is Not Here: Yoko Documents," brings Ono's sense of humor to the fore via exhibition fliers, posters, ads, programs, and more. A sales list is written on one wall, but instead of prices for her works it includes a bunch of imaginary devices like the Danger Box, described as a "machine that you will never come back the same from if you get in," a steal at $1,100. Next to the list is the re-created Blue Room Event, in which Ono takes a white room and writes phrases such as "This room slowly evaporates every day" and "This room glows in the dark while we are asleep" all over it.
The fourth section, "Fly: Events, Performances, and Films," contains some of Ono's best work, in a variety of mediums. One of her continuing motifs is interaction with her audience, best exemplified by Painting to Hammer a Nail, which is a block of wood affixed with a bunch of nails waiting to be pounded in by viewers, and Amaze, a large Plexiglas maze that leads a barefoot patron to a life-size toilet.
Ono's experimental films, some conceived with Lennon, vacillate between the trying and the insightful. The bug crawling across a passive naked woman in Fly seems more about insect life than gender, whereas the audience participation in the declothing of Ono in Cut Piece strikes a creepier chord. The parade of naked flesh in Bottoms is cheeky as can be, while the howling sexual congress accompanying the construction scenes in Erection hints that John and Yoko were as irreverent in bed as they were outside it. For those who miss the revolutionary fervor of the '60s, there's Film No. 5 (Smile), 51 minutes of Lennon's face, which was supposed to inspire a TV network to show images of people from all over the world so that heads of state could see who they'd had killed that day.
Not surprisingly, "War Is Over! The Peace Movement and Other Collaborations With John Lennon" is the most affecting section of "Yes Yoko Ono." Watching the famous Bed-In for Peace film from 1969 inspires many emotions, from wonder at the couple's tenderness toward each other to awe at the audacity of a honeymoon spent discussing foreign policy with reporters to sadness at the overwhelming naiveté and hopefulness of "Give Peace a Chance."
The last section, "Play It by Trust: Recent Works," feels ephemeral, as if Ono dictated the pieces as she cast her mind back over the past. Her new sculptures are cold; a pile of rocks on the floor seems like just a pile of rocks. A trio of music video excerpts points to Ono's influence over modern music, but it wasn't until later, when I picked up the 1982 album It's Alright (I See Rainbows) for $5, that I realized how much of a debt modern singers such as Björk, Miho Hatori, and the Slits' Ari Upp owe her.
The exhibit's curators would do better by showing footage of Ono's surprise one-song performance late last Saturday at "Club Universe." There, hundreds of shirtless, six-packed boys thrust forward to slap high-fives with Ono, as the 69-year-old moaned and groaned her way through a remix of her 1980 tune "Kiss Kiss Kiss." Clad in a black tank top and her trademark large shades, she looked overjoyed by the crowd's response, perhaps feeling appreciated at last.
For more information about "Yes Yoko Ono," call 357-4000 or go to www.sfmoma.org.