The experience of standing in line for hours in the cold, on the blustery West Side, in order to be immersed for forty-five seconds each in three successive environments by Yayoi Kusama falls somewhere, culturally speaking, between waiting to skate beneath the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center and staying out all night at a club in the hope that Grace Jones will show up. On the one hand, it’s tiring, touristy, and probably not worth it; on the other hand, it’s Yayoi Kusama. When the eighty-eight-year-old phenom signs her name with the regal title Avant-Garde Artist after a commaas she does in the high-minded “Message to the people of the world from Yayoi Kusama” statement that accompanied her fall takeover of David Zwirner, New Yorkshe’s being accurate. Who cares if she’s also being grandiose?
With the quaint term avant-garde, she invokes the early days of her
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