Egon Schiele used to say that “everything is living death”. Springtime, with its awakening of living things, fuels my appetite for all things unhealthy, especially unhealthy art.
As time goes by, I find myself liking the work of Egon Schiele more and more, even though – having first been considered incriminatory, and then feted – it is becoming risqué again. There can be no fun without risk. Besides, it’s not only sickly art that can be seen as threatening; life itself is a terribly unwell affair, and it’s impossible to go through it without falling ill from time to time. Schiele, a proponent of unhealthy vitality, would have had plenty to say on the subject.
The year 2018, waking from its winter slumber, promises in our part of the world to be pregnant – heavy, even – with promise. Among the burdens we may be forced to
