Spring passes and
one remembers one's innocence.
Summer passes and
one remembers one's exuberance.
Autumn passes and
one remembers one's reverence.
Winter passes and
one remembers one's perseverance.”
― Yoko Ono
Yoko Ono, in case you were born in the current century, was
the second wife of John Lennon and if I have to explain who John Lennon
was---well, then maybe that should be your summer research project because I
don’t have enough time left in life to explain how deeply John, The Beatles and
their music influenced an entire generation and from all accounts will continue
to influence the world of music for centuries to come. I’ve never liked Yoko or
tried to understand---until today---her multimedia art but the poem above does
speak the truth. My problem is I can’t decide if I’m still in autumn or have I’ve
crossed over the metaphorical bridge into winter. I want to hold on to my
reverence for what I and the entire world has gone through in my lifetime until
I turn one hundred. But that’s like wishing all yellow ice cycles hanging off fire
hydrants are pineapple Popsicles. The odds are I won’t live that long and if I
did, the odds are I won’t remember the seasons of my life much less which one I’d be in. More importantly, perseverance sounds so dreary. Like a WWII battleship turned into a port museum, still hanging in there and treasured
for no other reason than it persevered through tough times.
It occurs to me that maybe I don’t like Yoko because after
all these years---36---she still plays the widow card. Does that make me a
judgmental old biddy, to say that? To be fair---and I should try to be---do widows like Nancy Reagan and
Yoko Ono who were both married to famous men have any choice but to carry
a flaming torch for the rest of their lives? The world wants them to preserve
the legacy, to polish their famous husband’s pedestal and document their time
together. We don’t want them to move on and be happy in another relationship. After
all, our icons are irreplaceable. Sometimes I think of Nancy or Yoko when I
bring my husband up in conversations. Am I carrying a torch, trying to pretend that
others still cares as much as I do? Or do I talk about him because our lives
were so intertwined that I can’t talk about my own life experiences without
including my husband? Maybe a little of both but back to Yoko. My dislike of
her is more basal and catty, something like she usually wears black and white
and she does it so much better than me. And more recently I don’t like her
because she claims to have had an affair with Hillary Clinton in the ‘70s while
she was living with John. The only way I’ll believe that is if she produces a
video of them French kissing and feeling each other up. To quote a Lee Ann
Womack‘s country song. “…I really hate her, I'll think of a reason later.”
Did you know that Yoko’s daughter by a previous husband was
kidnapped and kept hidden from the world in a religious cult for her entire
childhood? John and Yoko searched for her with private detectives but money can’t
buy everything and it wasn’t until after John’s murder, when Yoko wrote an open
letter to her by-then adult daughter, did the girl slowly come back into Yoko’s
life. Do you suppose Ono’s art can be explained by the losses in her life? Yoko
believes art and music should never be finished like Schubert’s’ Unfinished Symphony. That seem
counterproductive to me and would drive me crazy not to finish a creative
endeavor on purpose, but maybe to someone who didn’t get to finish raising a
child, who lost a husband in the prime of his life---John was only 40---it makes
perfect sense.
New York Times columnist
Lisa Carver wrote this about Yoko: “Her paintings aren’t recognizable, her
voice is not melodious, her films are without plot and her Happenings make no
sense. One of her paintings you are told to sleep on. One of her paintings you
are told to burn. One of her paintings isn’t a painting at all — it’s you going
outside and looking at the sky. Most of her stuff is not even there. This is
why I love her. This is why we need her. We have too much stuff already. It
clutters our view, inward and outward. We need more impossible in our culture.
Go out and capture moonlight on water in a bucket, she commands. Her art is
instructions for tasks impossible to complete.”
Ya, sure Yoko can do art shows like that. When you’re worth
500 million you could serve bunny turds for lunch and someone will agree they’re the
best delicacy on earth. (Actually, my dog does think that!) But Carver inspires a
good question: Do you have an impossible task that is calling your name? I do. ©
“The regret of my
life is that I have not said 'I love you' often enough.”
Yoko Ono
