Yoko Ono’s Timeless Message of Peace: Why It Still Matters in a Fractured World
There’s something profoundly moving about Yoko Ono’s latest exhibition at The Broad in Los Angeles. It’s not just the art itself—though that’s undeniably powerful—but the timing. In a world grappling with conflicts, divisions, and a seemingly endless cycle of violence, Ono’s decades-old message of peace feels both urgent and eerily relevant. Personally, I think what makes this particularly fascinating is how her work transcends time. It’s not just a relic of the 1960s counterculture; it’s a mirror held up to our current moment, asking us: Have we really changed?
The Billboards: More Than Just Words
The centerpiece of Ono’s exhibition is a series of digital billboards scattered across Los Angeles, each bearing phrases like “THINK PEACE” and “PEACE is POWER.” It’s a direct callback to her 1969 campaign with John Lennon, “WAR IS OVER! If You Want It.” But here’s what many people don’t realize: these aren’t just slogans. They’re a call to action, a reminder that peace isn’t passive—it’s something we must actively choose. From my perspective, this is where Ono’s genius lies. She doesn’t just preach; she engages. By using the language of advertising, she hijacks our attention and forces us to confront our own complicity in the world’s chaos.
What this really suggests is that peace isn’t a distant ideal but a daily practice. It’s about thinking, acting, and spreading it in our own lives. In a world where outrage and division dominate headlines, Ono’s message feels almost radical in its simplicity. And yet, it’s precisely that simplicity that makes it so powerful.
Performance Art as Provocation
One thing that immediately stands out is the inclusion of Ono’s performance pieces, particularly “Cut Piece” (1964) and “Sky Piece to Jesus Christ” (1965). These works aren’t just art—they’re acts of vulnerability and trust. In “Cut Piece,” Ono sits silently while audience members snip away her clothes, a haunting metaphor for the erosion of boundaries and the fragility of human connection. If you take a step back and think about it, this piece isn’t just about the artist; it’s about us. It challenges the audience to confront their own impulses, their capacity for harm, and their willingness to participate in something larger than themselves.
What makes this particularly interesting is how these performances still resonate today. In an era of performative activism and social media spectacle, Ono’s work feels like a rebuke. It’s raw, uncomfortable, and deeply human. It reminds us that true art isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about provocation, about forcing us to question our assumptions and our roles in the world.
The Music of the Mind: A Celebration of Ono’s Legacy
The exhibition’s title, “Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind,” is more than just a catchy phrase. It’s a testament to Ono’s ability to blend art, music, and activism into something wholly unique. The accompanying concert series, “Yoko Only,” curated by Yuka Honda, is a love letter to Ono’s influence on generations of artists. From Yo La Tengo to Sleater-Kinney, the lineup is a who’s who of musicians who’ve been inspired by her fearless creativity.
A detail that I find especially interesting is Honda’s observation that Ono is often perceived as “foreign” or “alien.” It’s true—Ono’s persona has always been larger than life, shaped by both her genius and the tragedies she’s endured. But Honda’s multimedia musical, “I Am Yoko,” seeks to humanize her, to peel back the layers of myth and reveal the woman beneath. This raises a deeper question: Why do we feel the need to elevate artists to godlike status, only to tear them down when they don’t fit our narratives?
The Enduring Relevance of Ono’s Message
What’s most striking about this exhibition is how Ono’s work continues to feel relevant, even decades after its creation. Curator Sarah Loyer notes that the show was in development long before the current global conflicts, yet it couldn’t feel more timely. This, to me, is the marker of a true artist—someone whose work transcends its original context and speaks to the human condition in any era.
But here’s the thing: Ono’s message isn’t just about peace in the abstract. It’s about personal peace, about finding harmony within ourselves so we can contribute to a more harmonious world. As Honda reflects, Ono’s life has been marked by immense difficulty, yet she’s turned her pain into a philosophy of growth. “View difficulty as a blessing,” she says. It’s a radical idea, one that challenges our tendency to see suffering as something to avoid rather than something to learn from.
Final Thoughts: What Ono’s Work Demands of Us
As I reflect on this exhibition, I’m struck by how much Ono’s work demands of us. It’s not enough to simply admire her art or applaud her message—we have to live it. Peace isn’t something we can outsource to billboards or politicians; it’s something we must cultivate in our own hearts and actions.
In my opinion, this is why Ono’s legacy endures. She doesn’t offer easy answers or platitudes; she challenges us to confront the complexity of our world and our place in it. Her art is a mirror, reflecting both our capacity for destruction and our potential for transformation.
So, as you walk past those billboards in Los Angeles or explore the exhibition at The Broad, don’t just see them as artifacts of a bygone era. See them as a call to action, a reminder that peace is possible—if we want it. And personally, I think that’s a message worth spreading.
