Follow me: Tauba Auerbach folded a piece of paper, lit it from the side, took a photo of it, then printed it in a monochromatic pastel color, then folded the print in a different pattern than the original folds and hung it on the wall. That's the first piece you see hanging in front of you, almost the size of a door or a twin bed, when you walk up the stairs at Western Bridge. The next one is that same process applied to the first one, then the third is the process applied to the second one, and etc etc around the room so that ringing the walls is a progression of images built on each other.

Real, physical folds cross paths with photographed folds on each surface, the sculptural act kissing the photographic one, locked in an embrace like Brancusi's stone Kiss, in which the lovers are so entangled that parts of them have become congruent. Each of Auerbach's tacked-up pieces holds the memory of the one made before it, hanging to its left. Each piece is like an empty bed in the morning, the memories all set in the sheets, doubled on skins somewhere.

The room is like a ghostly update of the wraparound Rothko Chapel in Houston, or a surround-sound version of Monet's water lilies—but with circular logic. The final piece is folded physically in the same way that the first one was folded before it was photographed, so form-wise, it takes you back to the beginning. The whole installation is called Ouroboros 1, after the mythical creature that eats its own tail.

Details on the show are here.