One of Cajsa von Zeipel’s monumental sculptures has been crouching under the entrance to the MOOD gallery, which was officially opened in 2012, for several years. An androgynous figure in sky-high heels rests as if supporting the building’s enormous weight. A much-needed warning to those who want to shop till they drop or get something to eat or drink there.Or is the sculpture signalling an invitation? The artworks are like touts in rooms used for meetings, shops, stores, pubs, cafés, food, places catering to every need.

Since 14 January this year, Cajsa has had an exhibit on display at Galleri Andréhn-Schiptjenko. The exhibit is horrifying and beautiful. It staggers with its overly white figures in death-defying positions. There is something not quite right about all that white. A hint of aggression.

A woman’s figure bears her child like a growth from her lower back, while her front shows a heavily pregnant belly, and the apparently heavily pregnant woman seems to be overdue. Perhaps she has already given birth to her child from her womb and does not want to give it up, but instead carries it as if in a kangaroo pouch, except that it is on her back?

The large halls in the illuminated gallery are filled with other sculptural entities. They assume human forms, while animal but also chemical transformations seem to be taking place. Parts of people and their organs are being transformed into other forms of existence. A child is transforming into a sea creature. Or possibly some sort of mermaid. As if it would grow up and learn to sing a siren’s song. The way that many small beings are taught that they can change even the fate chosen for them by what we might call nature.

The works might be horrifying, but the aesthetic precludes any horror at them. It is fascinating that the white is so white. The colour that is said to contain all colours. The idiom is so artificial, but at the same time so organic that it becomes visually alive. I want to touch them, but I dare not. I leave them alone, but approach them. Some sculptures seem to have eyes, and anyone who meets their gaze is looking into what looks like empty holes. There are no irises or pupils looking back. Nonetheless, visiting the exhibit gives an experience of being seen that is pleasant but uncomfortable at the same time.

The title “Saturn – Return” suggests a kind of aggression. An anger at the loneliness of our time and the era of change that we all wish we could share with each other – but can we? At the same time, the simulation portrayed is abhorrent because of the way they seem to be carrying such heavy weights. Such a lot of pain.

Flowing out as if one no longer existed is also terrifying. If I as an art collector chose to share my home with one of the sculptures, would I end up in the same situation as these tormented creatures? Crouching under heavy weights, teaching methods nobody wants to know about, carrying excessive burdens?

Judith Butler has taught us that that discourse does not allow us to conform either within or with it. We cannot be together. We are all situated as unique. But we still share its order. Von Zeipel seems to want to say something about that. That, when we bow before the order of authority, the next burden comes along. So where should we stand up?

We obey, we conform, but just as the sculptures show what is most concrete – a man’s hand taking a firm hold of somebody’s backside – we are challenged again. Holding fast to that and not draining into eternity like the sculpture of the little child might be all we humans have left. As the hand grabs an androgynous rear, so von Zeipel’s grabs hold of the cis discussion in this exhibit. How certain people feel that they were born in the wrong gender, or that they have no specific gender and thus fall into the category that used to be known as androgynous.

This review asks a lot of questions – the answers are in the exhibit, which runs until 20 February.

For anyone who does not have the chance to visit the gallery during that time, the permanent public sculpture can be seen on the corner of Mäster Samuelsgatan and Regeringsgatan. Both are well worth seeing. Von Zeipel is a provocative artist. For myself, I had never appreciated that the woman outside the gallery would need to support such a heavy institution.

At Andréhn-Schiptjenko, this experience is complemented by still more touching beauty, horror and disgust. Von Zeipel’s aesthetic is as good as irresistible.It remains to be seen whether I can afford to own one of the works. For now, I can content myself with describing this megalomaniac art in words that, in many ways, are insufficient.

The best thing is for those who read this to visit the gallery themselves and experience the sculptures in situ in those inviting and beautiful art rooms.