Our curatorial intern, Laura Solsona Plazaola, has been thinking about one of our current exhibitions, Yoko Kondo Konopik: On Canvas. She writes—
On the first day I was writing this article about Yoko Kondo Konopik: On Canvas, we had an interesting interaction with a patron. He walked into the exhibition without checking in, and promptly walked out saying that this was not real art. I feel he accidentally encompassed a fundamental misconception about abstract art. I myself have been on the side of not classifying abstract art as ‘real’ when I was younger and childish; this interaction pushed me towards researching more about the history of the genre and other artists like Yoko.
When I first started looking at abstraction, I struggled with my preconceived notions of what I thought art was supposed to be. To me it felt like there had to be a narrative meaning attached to it, whether or not it was obvious to the viewer.
To use Jackson Pollock’s words, abstract art is “energy and motion made visible.” Yoko’s art, like that of other abstract artists, does not aim to tell a story. A person can find their own meanings and interpretations; some have seen doors, fish, and jump ropes. To me her paintings are like instrumental compositions, triggering emotions without the need for words or, in her case, figurative subjects.
Yoko has said artists like Ellsworth Kelly inspired her during her career. Kelly was one of the most influential abstract artists of the twentieth century, his career spanning over seven decades. His work is known for bold colors and simple geometric shapes. Most of it focuses on form and shape. These shapes can vary: some are rounded while others are quite sharp and fragmented. Yoko uses similar sharp angles, and her work juxtaposes a variety of circular, rectangular, and triangular shapes. Unlike Kelly, she often chooses not to connect her lines; the deliberate space leaves some room for the image to breathe.
Yoko has been painting since the 1970s. On Canvas is her very first large-scale solo museum show. It includes her oldest painting, “Prelude” (1984) and her most recent, “Beyond” (2024). "Prelude" consists of two huge canvases that together are larger than the artist herself. The lines in this painting, as in most of her pieces, do not meet. They are described with brushstrokes that are precise and yet fluid. Even forty-one years later the vibrant orange and blue areas are captivating, pulling you into her carefully defined areas of color. "Beyond" is a couple dozen feet away but still visible from "Prelude." There is a large blue swirl surrounded by a series of charcoal lines that seem like one gray background from a distance. This is a small piece, especially in comparison to the ones around it, but its size or possible simplicity does not make it easy to understand.
My need to find meaning originally drew me to these two paintings, wanting to tie them together in some way. Another piece ended up catching my attention, hidden away when you first come into the exhibition. "Las Vegas Lullaby" was painted in 2021: it is composed of angles and curves with more oranges and blues, very common features of Yoko’s work. The black crescent moon-shape is an unusual addition, situated inside a rectangle that resembles a window of sorts.
Her moon looks like a smile, and the zigzags remind me of those I would scribble all over my school notes when I was younger. The entire work feels very youthful, not unlike her other brighter pieces. I felt a touch of melancholy while looking at it. I can imagine myself now and fifteen years earlier staring up at my nighttime window with bleary eyes to see the moon and dawn happening simultaneously.
I reached out to Yoko to ask about the meaning of this title, and she explained how this piece, like all her pieces, cannot be pinned down to the kind of definition you can explain with words. Her titles only exist to allow her to keep track of her paintings. This work is named “Las Vegas Lullaby” solely because there is a moon in it and it was painted in Las Vegas.
I had the pleasure of sitting in during an interview with her that our director led last year, and the artist's presence is as captivating as her pieces. She was similarly reluctant to limit her work to a simple explanation back then. When she was asked how she thought people would react to the show, she said, “I hope I don’t disappoint them. Because after all, I'm making it for fun.”
Her words charmed me. Hearing her speak makes it clear how passionate yet humble she is about her art. The whole time she spoke, and even at the opening of the show, one could feel her surprise at her work being appreciated by others. It was a lovely and emotional experience.
With Yoko’s paintings I have come to realize that art doesn’t need to be made with a specific meaning, it can be about manifesting your dreams on paper. Part of it is about bringing into the physical world what she sees in her head. The paintings do not lack precision but they do not have the thematic clarity of some other styles of art since there are no obvious subjects present. You walk into the exhibition and you are instantly overtaken by the brightness of it all; the absence of subjects allow you to focus intently on her colors.
The patron who called her art fake, and those who feel that abstract art is not the equal of other styles, are doing a disservice to the profession, and to themselves. Of course, every piece of art is not for everyone, which is not what I’m trying to argue.
I am trying to argue that expression is beautiful.
Being able to dream something up and place it on a canvas is beautiful.
Yoko's art is beautiful because it’s her way of showing us a part of herself. We sit in this exhibition and we get to see over forty years of dreams. If that’s not art then I don’t know what is. Yoko’s show will be at the Marjorie Barrick Museum of Art until May 17, 2025.
Image: Yoko Kondo Konopik, Las Vegas Lullaby, 2021, Oil and charcoal on canvas. Photo courtesy Krystal Ramirez.