When I told my son that Yayoi Kusama just passed away at 97, he was understandably upset. Her dots, colors and fantastic worlds have been part of our lives for years.
I am a huge fan of her work. More importantly, so is my eight-year-old son. The two of us have gone out of our way to see Kusama’s work whenever we could; we have seen it in galleries, botanical gardens and along waterfronts. We have searched for her larger-than-life pumpkins, dot-filled spaces and, of course, her famous Infinity Mirror Rooms.
There are many artists I love, but there are no others who have become part of my relationship with my son in quite this way.
One of my favorite memories of Kusama was taking my son to see her “Infinity Mirrored Room — Filled with the Brilliance of Life” at Tate Modern in London back in 2023. The show was spectacular, but what I remember most clearly from the exhibit was that I could barely get a picture of him experiencing the room.
For many parents, when you take a child somewhere special, you try to snap a picture. I tried, of course, but my son would not pose or stand still. Looking back at that moment today, I really appreciate that he wasn’t listening to me at all in that room. He was so enchanted by the lights, the reflections and the strange feeling that the room just kept going on — hence infinity — that he was not looking at me and certainly was not paying attention to me. He was just living in the moment and I think experiencing awe; for those few minutes, I had completely lost him to the room. Kusama did that to him; he was totally absorbed by her work and looked almost transcendent.
I did not expect that room in London to stay with him and continue to impact him so strongly. But ever since our visit to the Tate, whenever we have had the chance to see another Kusama room, he has wanted to go. Amazingly, he has even been willing to stand in line for it, which anyone with children knows is not nothing. He eagerly waits to see what is on the other side of the door because each room is different and he is always excited.
It was never just the mirror rooms. My son and I went to see Kusama in all kinds of places: galleries, gardens, waterfronts and even auction houses. The setting mattered, but so did what her work did to it. A giant pumpkin sitting in a garden made the place feel different. Dots along a promenade could make it feel playful, a little strange and much more alive. That was part of the fun of looking for her work wherever we could find it.
Part of what made Kusama so extraordinary to me is that her work did not require that I explain it to my son. While there are many books and numerous scholarly explanations of Kusama’s work, there was no need to talk with him about the meaning behind infinity, dots, repetition or how Kusama was part of the avant-garde. He saw something extraordinary in front of him and simply responded to it.
Sadly, Kusama’s life was much harder than her bright colors suggest. She lived for years with hallucinations and other psychological struggles, and they shaped the art she made. Despite that, I have always been struck by how much joy still came through in the work and her work continues to resonate and connect.
There was something spiritual about watching him in that room, even though we were standing in a museum and not anywhere religious. I do think faith has something to do with being open to wonder, to being surprised, and to both realizing and embracing the fact that not everything has to be explained before it matters. My son was not trying to make sense of the room, he was simply absorbed by it.
As a father, I think a lot about the things we try to hand down to our children. We take our children to museums and sporting events, we play them music, read them books or bring them somewhere because we hope they will see what we see. That is not really what happened with Kusama. I wanted to show my son an artist I loved, but I watched him form an attachment and real affinity of his own.
My son is still young, and I have no idea what he will remember decades from now. But I suspect he will remember London and those lights which seemed to go on forever. More than that, I hope he remembers how Kusama made him feel. For a few minutes, the world seemed bigger and more joyful than it had before and I know that seeing her work makes him and so many others feel that way too. Kusama will be missed.