The lightness of being can turn unbearable. Armanious’ whimsical assemblies of everyday objects – a pair of wire hangers, a broken chair, or an umbrella stand – are so arbitrary that not even Daniel Day-Lewis would welcome them into his loft. It is a pity, therefore, that their gravitas stays firmly on the page of the gallery handout: that the artefacts are all copies of life cast in precious metals and synthetic rubber is barely the plot of a novel.

Silver hangers dangling from golden screws are about as endearing as Tereza’s cough. Even less that the art market, bereft of lasting value, looks to material trickery for meaning. Art loves a good plot twist, but this one’s long spoilt.