Dear Yoko

August 12, 2010

posted by caroline picard

Again, part of something I’m working on…in which Yoko Ono functions as the parallel/balance to Josef Bueys.It’s all pretty fresh and I’m still a little awkward with it. The other day I asked myself why this second part of the project seemed so difficult. I then realized that I’d come to a new level of commitment with the piece–whereas the first part was kind of an experimental whim, wading into its continued development, adding pages, means the project is getting larger, more complex, with more voices–so of course it’s going to be more difficult and scary too. Which is great. Any case. Here is one snippet from the beginning of the second section, in which Yoko Ono is acknowledged as the mother of the work.

Dear Yoko,
Mothers don’t always ask to be mothers and dogs scratch any old door to escape dog catchers or their idea of dog catchers—but here we are now, we’ve found ourselves Here.
Yrs truly.

P.S.
At the age of 18, before she knew you, before she knew the war, before she knew knew knew, she saw your Cut Piece.
You were in London, sitting on a stage. There was a queue outside the door, all the way down the street, all the famous people brought their own shears in order to snip snip your clothes away, to take your dress home as a souvenir, to remember you by. The flashing lights went off pow pow pow like lightening, like strokes from a belt, contracting and dilating pupils with a fleeting and unconscious violence as the line passed quickly, the fever of possession grew, and all the pretty people with their perfect shears, ravenous, the snip snip snipped you all away.

This 18-year-old girl threw up in the alley behind the Tate Museum.

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