Exhibition: “This Is What You Get: Stanley Donwood | Radiohead | Thom Yorke” runs at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, until February 11, 2026, showcasing their creative history.

The exhibition This Is What You Get: Stanley Donwood | Radiohead | Thom Yorke at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford stands as a landmark celebration of one of music’s most enduring visual partnerships. Running from August 6, 2025, to January 18, 2026 (extended from the original January 11 close), it marked the first major institutional showcase dedicated to the artwork of Stanley Donwood and Thom Yorke, intertwined with Radiohead’s iconic imagery. Curated in close collaboration with the artists themselves alongside Ashmolean curator Lena Fritsch, the show offered an intimate glimpse into over three decades of creative synergy that has defined not just album aesthetics but a broader dialogue between sound and sight.At its core, the exhibition drew its title from the haunting line in Radiohead’s 1997 track “Karma Police”—a phrase that encapsulates the dark, wry, and prophetic tone permeating much of Donwood and Yorke’s work. Visitors encountered more than 180 objects, ranging from original paintings and digital compositions to etchings, unpublished drawings, and personal sketchbooks filled with lyrics and evolving ideas. These pieces traced the evolution of visuals across Radiohead’s discography, from the early experiments of The Bends (1995) through groundbreaking albums like OK Computer, Kid A, In Rainbows, and beyond, including Yorke’s solo projects and work with The Smile.Stanley Donwood and Thom Yorke first crossed paths as art students at the University of Exeter in the late 1980s, where their shared sensibilities laid the foundation for a lifelong collaboration. When Yorke formed Radiohead (originally On a Friday) in Oxfordshire, Donwood was soon enlisted to handle visuals, starting with the My Iron Lung single and The Bends album. Unlike many bands that outsource design, Radiohead retained full creative control, allowing Donwood and Yorke to experiment freely—scribbling over each other’s work, layering glitches, ink blots, and distorted motifs that mirrored the band’s sonic innovations.One of the exhibition’s greatest strengths was its chronological and process-driven layout, guiding viewers album by album through the creative journey. Sketchbooks revealed raw beginnings: tentative pencil marks morphing into the pixelated dread of Kid A’s bear motifs or the minimalist, tree-like abstractions of OK Computer. These notebooks, often collaborative and chaotic, highlighted how lyrics and visuals fed into one another—Yorke jotting fragments of poetry alongside Donwood’s doodles, creating a feedback loop that blurred the lines between musician and visual artist.The show delved into their pioneering use of technology, from early photocopier distortions and digital manipulation in the late 1990s to more recent lockdown-era collaborative paintings. This technological thread reflected Radiohead’s own evolution—from analog rock to electronic experimentation—while underscoring a consistent aesthetic: haunting, dystopian beauty laced with humor and unease. Recurring symbols like fractured bears, circuit patterns, torn paper collages, and shadowy figures became visual signatures, evoking anxiety, environmental dread, and the alienation of modern life.Critics offered mixed perspectives on the exhibition’s artistic merit when divorced from its musical context. Some praised its accessibility and cultural significance, calling it a “marvellously accessible” display that bridged generations and inspired visitors. Others questioned whether the works—often described self-deprecatingly by the artists as “a succession of bad paintings”—held up as standalone fine art in a prestigious institution like the Ashmolean. Yet the overwhelming visitor response leaned positive, with comments describing it as “blown away” inspiring, and one of the best modern art shows in years.A standout feature was the emphasis on collaboration itself. Donwood and Yorke have pushed boundaries between album art, merchandise, posters, and marketing, treating every visual element as an extension of the music. The exhibition included T-shirt designs, gig posters, and ephemera, demonstrating how these “minor” forms contributed to Radiohead’s enigmatic identity. This holistic approach invited reflection on how visual culture amplifies sound, turning passive listeners into active interpreters of layered, often cryptic imagery.For fans, the show was a pilgrimage. Seeing physical originals—paintings that once existed only as CD booklets or pixelated downloads—evoked goosebumps. Unpublished drawings and lyric annotations offered rare intimacy, revealing vulnerabilities behind the polished releases. It humanized two figures often shrouded in mystique, showing their process as messy, iterative, and deeply personal.The Ashmolean’s presentation elevated the material thoughtfully, with an audio guide narrated by Adam Buxton tracing the duo’s journey (available for a small fee, free for visually impaired visitors). An accompanying catalogue delved deeper into the art-music relationship, making the exhibition not just a retrospective but a scholarly contribution to understanding contemporary visual culture in pop music.Merchandise extended the experience beyond the galleries, with bespoke items like bear keyrings, themed teacups, and tote bags allowing visitors to carry echoes of the show home. This playful extension mirrored Radiohead’s own approach to fan engagement—never purely commercial, always infused with the same off-kilter creativity.Though the exhibition has now closed, its impact lingers as a testament to 30+ years of boundary-pushing. In an era where album art often feels secondary or algorithm-driven, Donwood and Yorke’s work reminds us of its power to haunt, provoke, and endure. “This Is What You Get” wasn’t just about what fans received from Radiohead—it was a mirror to the anxiety and beauty of our shared cultural moment.Ultimately, the show celebrated friendship, experimentation, and the quiet revolution of keeping creative control close. For anyone who has ever stared at a Radiohead sleeve and felt something unspoken, this exhibition affirmed that those images were never accidental—they were deliberate, collaborative acts of vision that amplified the music’s emotional depth. In the hallowed halls of the Ashmolean, they found a fitting, if unexpected, home.