Welcome to One Fine Show, where Observer highlights a recently opened exhibition at a museum not in New York City, a place we know and love that already receives plenty of attention.
The recent passing of the great performance artist Alison Knowles (1933-2025) served as a poignant reminder of the enduring influence of the Fluxus movement. There was a period in the 20th Century when it seemed art might evolve beyond its concrete and two-dimensional origins, which were no less profitable than they had been, but perhaps no longer as cutting-edge when it came to politics or ideas. The evolutionarily minded lost that battle, of course, but their advancements cannot be erased and seem ever more popular following the explosion of the art market. I’ve seen Knowles’ important and nutritious Make a Salad (1962) staged in many places over the last decade, even at Art Basel.
But my favorite (unofficial) member of the group will always be Yoko Ono (b. 1933), whose extensive retrospective has just opened at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago. This blockbuster show comes from the Tate Modern and covers over 70 years of Ono’s trailblazing career, with over 200 works including participatory instruction pieces and scores, installations, a curated music room, films, music and photography and archival materials.
I believe that Ono would have become one of the world’s most famous artists even if she hadn’t married John Lennon. Certain parts of conceptual art are too obscure for your average viewer, but you don’t need to know anything about Marcel Duchamp to enjoy works like Glass Hammer (1967) and White Chess Set (1966). These are ideas so clear and trenchant that they were destined to be popular. I don’t even need to describe them, though I wouldn’t take it to the Lawrence Weiner level of saying that these objects don’t even need to be made or seen. Aren’t they attractive in their strangeness? Don’t you want to take a peek?
Of course, the show features rich documentation of Cut Piece (1964), which might be my favorite piece of performance art ever. In it, Ono kneels onstage and hands the audience a pair of scissors. They take turns cutting off pieces of her clothing until she is naked. No advice is given as to how much they should remove; one sadist might end the whole performance on the first turn. There’s much to unpack with this piece—like the fact that the atomic bombs dropped by America on Japan had the weird effect of blowing the clothes off some victims—but as with much of her oeuvre, there’s something instinctual to this work. To see it, or even a photograph of it, is to understand all.
Much of the early work in this show comes from the Museum of Modern Art, which Ono seemed to enjoy tweaking. In 1971, she sent out announcements for a show she was supposed to be having there, or as the postcards sometimes referred to it, the “Museum of Modern (f)Art.” She seemed to think it was crazy that the system could ever absorb the ideas perpetuated by people like her and Knowles.
“Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind” is on view at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago through February 22, 2026.
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