Let’s get one thing straight: I do not hate Yoko Ono because of her music. I mean, yes, it’s lamentable. Yes, it’s laughable. But it’s not her most grievous offense.
No, I hate Yoko Ono for her participation in one of the art world’s worst movements: Fluxus. Fluxus was allegedly Dada for a new generation. On paper, it was free-wheeling, free-thinking, and free-spirited. But in reality, it was just untalented, stinky hippies making bad, sloppy art that museum preparators would grow to loathe. And Yoko Ono, not surprisingly, was the Fluxus poster girl. (Well, she would have been, if she’d gotten her act together and had posters made.)
So the next time you ask your mother or father or aunt or cousin to visit the museum with you and they respond “No, I’ve got better things to waste my money on than watching saggy-breasted women roll around in paint,” you can thank Yoko. She and her cronies have ruined it for the rest of us.
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