The gallery attendant waved me into Nick Bastis’s exhibition “Real traps,” barely able to restrain his mirth: “You’ll find it very . . . repetitive.” And it was. Along the walls were what appeared to be spirit levels: long, brightly colored prisms studded with small perforations. On closer examination, they weren’t tools at all, but rather the plastic dividers that supermarkets offer to separate my shopping from yours on the checkout conveyer belt. (In French, these are called “barres de caisse.”)

How does one acquire these things? They are not for sale. We just use them to neurotically cordon off our prospective possessions from those of our fellow shoppers. It would be easier to steal them than to try to explain why one wanted them, but swiping two dozen dividers from under the noses of checkout staff is no simple logistical exercise. Bastis had drilled through each one multiple times and lined the holes with an aluminium sheath, presumably so that they could be hung from a variety of positions. The drilling was precise, presenting a pattern of perforations as full of intent as a musical score, but I could not work out what it might convey.

I decided that the work must be depreciating the history of Minimalism, both attempting to join it and undermining its claims at the same time. When I turned to leave, the attendant was still chuckling at me. Picking up one of the works (I hadn’t dared to touch them), he turned it upside down to release the sound of falling rain. The object seemed to be filled with dry rice, like a rain stick. He chuckled some more. So did I, partly because I realized that I thought I got it, but I didn’t get it. Although Nick Bastis was born and educated in the United States, “Real traps” is a very Belgian exhibition: sardonic, humorous, and self-deprecating. I still don’t completely understand what Bastis is doing, but I wish to see more of it.

—Adam Jasper