Lucy McCormick’s half-naked body is covered in tomato puree. The floor is littered with confetti and broken glass. Everything is slathered in hummus.
The disruptive artist’s new show at the Yard theatre in London is an intensely haphazard cabaret evening, in which she performs every act. With the pandemic, the scarcity of Arts Council funding and the unignorable pull to grow up and out of the arts, her co-performers have dropped out, she tells us. So she’s going solo. Since we’re here already, we may as well help her out.
