In the run-up to Christmas, humans all over the world seek a variety of things – none more so than to waste their precious time. In days of old this could be done by taking a long walk, writing a revolutionary pamphlet or invading a small country. In the noble present we merely turn our computers on and watch short videos of kittens in clogs dancing rumbas to Russian military bands.
Alternatively, there is always ‘reading’. And what better reading material could one ask for at this time of year than a short review of contemporary ‘bruise artist’ Maria Von Uppelhart? Over to you, D H Laven:
It’s all very well arguing that artists ought to let the art speak for themselves, but when there doesn’t seem to be any art of which to speak, one does need to cast one’s net a little further. What happened next, however, did little to assuage the worst fears of the assembled company. Von Uppelhärt sprang from her throne, dropped her smart brown trousers and invited the nearest bystander to land a punch above her knee..