This could be a scene from an Alan Carr session in which the smokers keep on puffing, stubbing out their fags in overflowing ashtrays, appalled to see the accumulation of butts. Hirst’s gigantic Brobdingnagian tray is filled with the contents of several bin bags, apparently all from a night at the Groucho club in the days when members could chain it. The work stinks, the pristine sculpture is defiled, life is going up in smoke. Let Horror at Home stiffen your resolve: it’s an all-out cautionary tale.
Read more from the Huffington Post.