I arrived at The Broad expecting an exhibition.
I left with questions, emotions, and a completely different understanding of what art can be.
To be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect from Yoko Ono's work. Like many people, I knew her name before I knew her art. I walked into the exhibition curious but cautious, prepared to admire a few pieces and move on.
That is not what happened.
Walking from one room to another felt almost hypnotic. The exhibition became less of a museum experience and more of an emotional and intellectual roller coaster. My brain was fully engaged, constantly searching for meaning, asking questions, making connections, and reflecting on my own experiences.
Each room got me talking to my inner self.
Every installation sparked a new question, a new feeling, or a new perspective. I wasn't simply looking at the exhibition—I was actively participating in it through my own thoughts, memories, and emotions.
Coming from a graphic design background, I found myself noticing something beyond the individual pieces. As I moved through works from the 1960s, 70s, 80s, and beyond, I began connecting the dots throughout Yoko Ono's creative evolution. The exhibition unfolded like a timeline of a creative life.
It wasn't simply a collection of artworks.
It was a visual record of an artist's thoughts, experiments, questions, triumphs, and transformations across decades.
For the first time, I wasn't looking at individual works of art. I was witnessing the creative journey of a human being unfold through time.
One of the most memorable moments came when my friend Marie and I stepped inside one of Yoko's participatory works. Inside a large black translucent bag, we became part of the artwork itself. Suddenly, we were no longer observers. We were participants.
I approached it cautiously.
Marie embraced it completely.
We laughed, recorded videos, and became collaborators in the piece. What could have been a simple interactive installation became a reminder that art doesn't always live on a wall. Sometimes it lives in the experience itself.
As the exhibition continued, I realized that Yoko Ono's work asks something different from its audience.
Most art asks you to look at it.
Yoko Ono's art asks you to look at yourself.
And then I reached the final room.
"Message to a Mother."
This room was about to mess with my head.
The walls were covered with handwritten notes to mothers—some still alive, some no longer here. Some visitors had even attached photographs of their mothers alongside their messages. As I started reading the notes, I felt something I didn't expect.
Every message reflected a love that felt foreign to me.
Love.
Gratitude.
Admiration.
Longing.
For a moment, I hated the room.
I couldn't relate to what I was reading.
I wanted to move on.
Instead, I stopped.
I took a deep breath.
I gathered myself and allowed curiosity to take over. I glanced at a few more notes, trying to understand what everyone was feeling. Then I picked up a pen and left my own message in Russian.
"If I don't see you in this life again, we will meet across the rainbow."
As I pinned my note to the wall, something shifted.
Walking out of the exhibition, I realized I had been looking at the individual pieces all afternoon, but I hadn't fully understood the exhibition as a whole until that moment.
Yoko Ono wasn't simply creating art.
She was creating experiences.
She was planting questions.
She was inviting complete strangers to participate in something larger than themselves.
What I carried out of that museum was far more than an appreciation for conceptual art. I left with a deeper understanding of creative expression and its ability to move the human spirit.
Every room challenged me to feel.
To question.
To reflect.
To connect.
For the first time, I understood that art can live in any medium. It can be a photograph, a performance, a written note, an instruction, a conversation, or even a thought.
Yoko Ono's greatest gift may not be the works themselves, but the love, intention, and humanity she infused into them. Like a mother nurturing generations, she has given life to ideas that continue to inspire creative minds decades later.
The exhibition took me to a level of understanding I never expected.
Not only about art.
But about people.
About emotion.
About connection.
About what happens when creativity becomes a vehicle for something greater than self-expression.
Walking out of The Broad, I wasn't thinking about which piece I liked the most.
I was thinking about the questions the exhibition left behind.
And perhaps the most important one was this:
What is the meaning of life if there is no love in it?