Marcus Bergman
No Weapons Beyond This Point
April 10 – April 18, 2026
Korvfabriken
Styckmästargatan 6
121 62 Johanneshov
Review by Koshik Zaman
It’s one of the first sunny days of spring as I head out to Korvfabriken, an artist studio collective housed in a former sausage factory in Stockholm’s Meatpacking District, just south of the city. Like its counterpart in New York, there is no longer active meat production in the area. In recent years, however, the district has seen a surge of culinary venues and nightclubs. Amid this transformation sits Korvfabriken, founded and run by a group of recent art school graduates, several of whom have already made their mark through notable gallery and institutional exhibitions.
One of them is Marcus Bergman (b. 1993), currently presenting a solo exhibition on the premises—the first since the collective’s successful output Solfångare in a nearby building. Bergman first drew attention already at the Royal Institute of Art, Stockholm, with his queer-themed reliefs, and gained wider recognition as the recipient of the Fredrik Roos Grant in 2025 which coincided with his first institutional solo show at Artipelag.
Placed on the wall inside the main entrance is a plaque dimly illuminated with the exhibition title: No Weapons Beyond This Point. At first, it appears somewhat out of context, but on closer inspection—given that Bergman’s body of work draws from his own experiences navigating dating in the gay community—it makes perfect sense. If titles matter—this is one that resonates and adds another layer.
A subtle soundscape, alluding to birdsong, draws me further into the space. Produced in collaboration with Stella Dieden Richter, the piece I later learn is an abstraction of mating sounds, introducing an unexpected dimension to Bergman’s work which lately has been seated in sculpture and installation.
The exhibition, which presents a new body of work, is confined to Hallen, a tiled section of the space—visually busy, with exposed pipes, power sockets, fans, and multiple entrances—yet it aligns well with the works on view, some of which even reference the existing features. Rest assured, this is a space that can easily overwhelm more timid artworks, though fortunately that is not the case here. Mounted in a corner, for instance, is a shiny, menacing-looking meat hook that reinforces not only the site’s industrial past but also the corporeal and carnal elements inherent in the artist’s work.
Having seen Bergman’s work sporadically over the years—perhaps even more so in recent ones—what stands out as a strength is its openness to multiple readings. At times, it feels otherworldly; at others, the queerness becomes almost too literal, at least for the queer gaze. For instance, a pair of worn briefs has been imprinted onto one of the reliefs (Life functions, 2026) on the wall. Personal items stressing intimacy recur throughout the works: tube socks, made to appear casually strewn about, form part of two installations held up by pipes cast in transparent epoxy, a material currently favored by the artist. Wax has also been employed, a medium familiar from his earlier work. A particularly lush belt, rendered in epoxy, rests atop one of the pipes, the object itself, of course, open to interpretation.
These charged gestures bring to mind frontrunners Elmgreen & Dragset, particularly the duo’s Powerless Structures, Fig. 19 (Jeans) (1998), in which two pairs of jeans, each revealing a hint of Calvin Klein underwear, are placed on the floor. While not particularly novel, it’s effective enough to be evocative for a fellow member of the community.
Tower (2026), the centerpiece—perhaps the strongest work in the exhibition—is a sculptural installation suggesting two conjoined bodies clad in fabric. It is supported by a massive pole that cuts through it at the center, while metallic shower hoses penetrate the form, adding both sexual tension and ambiguity. This interplay of dualities which I’ve encountered in Bergman’s work in past, combined with a distinct sensibility for material and form, reaffirms him as an emerging artist to keep monitoring in the years to come.
Koshik Zaman is a writer and independent curator based in Stockholm, Sweden.