“Schwittersian” is a brilliant made up non-word. I know people (artists especially) whose houses are totally Schwittersian in the sense that there’s a load of crap everywhere and random shit stuck to the walls, and they seem pathologically averse to tidying up. I’ve also seen lots of art exhibitions that were just a load of old junk, but neither of the aforementioned things necessarily amount to visual poetry. OCD, possibly. Incipient full-blown mental illness, occasionally. Sheer laziness, often. The prospect of a gallery show but they haven’t done enough work, frequently. But visual poetry? Rarely. And if it is visual poetry, we the audience will decide that for ourselves by looking at the work, not just because somebody tells us so.

Read the rest of my original commentary on this text here: Artbollocksonate.

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