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Why must I smoke my pubic hair? My wild day following Yoko Ono’s avant-garde orders
Polish an orange. Grieve for a made-up friend. Inherit a dead passenger’s luggage. As Ono’s ‘artwork instructions’ delight a new generation, our writer carries them out. Will he end up enlightened – or in hospital?
‘Should I die while flying, I bequeath all my property to Oobah Butler.’ Photograph: Maria Spann/The GuardianMy first, called Plane Piece, begins at JFK airport. In fact, I feel as if I’ve taken rather a lot of dangerously regressive steps, each one of which could be called: “The moment it all went wrong.” With expectations low, I leave the flat, preparing for my final prompt. Photograph: Maria Spann/The GuardianI’m standing at the top of the stairs at the Union Square Park subway station, holding a canvas.
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