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Everyone has a body and that's funny. And Wurm revels in the humor of making the body appear against everyone's better wishes for it to disappear behind the prim decorum that Wurm won't let it. Fat or thin you appear tented behind fabric. That our bodies are, of course, comedies, and every Wurm sculpture seems made to exhibit the body as a meat gag. Wurm's eating at our bodies presents the other end to the contemporary assault of the body by advertising slowly eating up our erotic capacities as commodity, Wurm programmatically mocking it as doughy dull thing. Wurm today is in a good place, a child of Nauman and Actionism and bearing the torch of violence to the "puddle, portal, pothole" youth re-uping slapstick and its aggressive alienation potential that the world that feels ever more like. Our faces and bodies are a joke. The best that can be said is that at least sometimes its a funny one.
See too: Martín Soto Climent at Proyectos Monclova, “Puddle, pothole, portal” at Sculpture Center, Andro Wekua at Sprüth Magers
