Mary Brogger was cruising the spines at Myopic Books last winter–a conceptual artist on the prowl for concepts–when she picked up William James. Eureka! It was love at first read. “No absolutes, truth depends on practical outcomes, process is all;” she says, rattling off the charms of James’s old line on pragmatism. “I was predisposed to it. It’s what I had been practicing all along.”
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Brogger, a motorcycle mama with ice blue eyes and a pixie’s grin, had already established a body of sculptural work that stood certain “absolutes” on their ears. Her delicately patterned Persian rugs, brocade chairs, and damask curtains, all cut out of steel, defied traditional, constraining women’s roles.
Brogger’s show, “Strip,” consists of three hinged seating arrangements, two mirrors, and a video of a faceless mason grouting a brick wall. The lighting from the previous show has been left in place, Brogger says, to suggest continuity. If that’s a tad too subtle for some viewers to pick up on, she doesn’t mind.
