I recently meandered over from the School of Communications, where I teach at American University (disclaimer 1), to the art department, from where I graduated a couple years ago, back when it was still largely a painting program (disclaimer 2) to check it out the MFA Thesis Exhibitions. I'd heard a few accounts already; the word "postmodern" lumped in a few times. But it's easy to be a bit skeptical of a dismissive comment that casually uses "postmodern."

In essence, postmodernism is a philosophical movement reacting to the genocides of World War Two and after by examining and deconstructing language. Boiled down, postmodern theorists took language, stripped it of universal meaning and showed that context is created by each individual. A postmodern painting, then, does not necessarily have to be produced with paint; the same effects of large matted swaths of color can be produced with tape or cut patches of colored paper. When applied to fine art it allows the boundaries to broaden beyond the traditional media of painting, drawing and sculpting, opening the doors for digital, video, installation, and performance.

But justifying all “strange art” as a result of postmodernism doesn't fly. Arguably strangeness in art can be addressed by Pollock’s splatters, by the Dada happenings in the Cabaret Voltaire, by Manet’s brash handling of paint and representation in Luncheon on the Grass, or by the birth of easel painting in Renaissance Italy. But the work at the MFA Thesis Exhibition at the Katzen Arts Center is not a result of postmodernism, but rather of the evolution of art and perhaps some awkward decision-making. While the work does not break the boundaries of what is and isn't art, it might push your boundaries, just a little. What is clear is that American University’s MFA program is no longer the Mecca for the cult following of Stanley Lewis landscape painting.

On the surface, it seems a pretty cool show at first. But some of the pieces begin to fall short as they can be hailed nothing more than the last attempt to try something new and different in a very large space, before going out into the "real world": heroic, but not monumental. A painting spreads up one wall like a fungus and in the back someone yawningly exercised an attic of old toys and a refrigerator. There are quality mixed media drawings on Mylar and paper, a catchy video, and a tremendous design in graphite on the wall. But three artists stick out amongst the several graduating.

Max Kuller's This Is Why I'm Hat (pictured above) is a nostalgic installation for those reminiscing about friendship beads, Velcro shoes, and Huffy bicycles. On a sprawling section of linoleum tile, a large baseball cap faces the visitors walking into the gallery space. Behind it stands a 12-foot tall Johnson's Baby Powder box. Reminiscent of Claes Oldenburg, these two large sculptures are environments for the audience to enter. Stepping up and into the Babypowder box, an individual will find himself falling into a ball crawl – three feet of soft plastic balls rising with the distribution of mass. There is not very far to crawl, the box is only a few feet wide and deep, but without ledges upon which to grab, wrestling your way out of the ball crawl proves a little difficult, especially if you sat down to admire the chandelier of plastic ice cream cones above. The underside of the giant hat next to it is like a private recreation room for kids to giggle. It is necessary to crawl on hands and knees to get inside the thing, but once there it is furnished with banana pillows, a typewriter, and a shag carpet. Illuminating the space is a constellation globe. To say the least, these are silly pieces, and taken less seriously by the hand scrawled note requesting the audience remove shoes before entering. But, it is a more compelling way to engage art than with arms crossed or akimbo.

Located behind it, and overpowering the silliness, was Rebecca Johnson's Fortune Teller, Dust Mote Seller. A compilation of drawings and sculptures constructed over the past couple years, the experience was akin to the nightmarish imagery Adam Jones concocts for Tool's music videos: dolls stood silent, hair growing out of odd places; encaustic faces fragmented and stitched together; fetuses protruding from abdomens of stuffed nylon figures; dried and used tea bags dangling from string; false fingernails used in eerie ways; a crushed bird, dried from days lying on asphalt; the ribcage of a dog still has bits of dried meat clinging to the ribs. There is a sense of a personal history portrayed across the wall. Like a great Shakespearean play it possesses comedy, tragedy, the majesty of human emotion, and the need of an editor.

Perhaps the most understated works are the baseball card icons of Graham Childs (pictured at left). The titles are even louder than the pieces: At The First Sign Of Daylight You Came To The Door, You'd Fallen So Fast You Smashed On The Floor is just one – every title is a borrowed lyric from the song Surrender is Treason by Crooked Fingers. Some of the baseball cards, no better than good condition, have been embroidered and fixed with gold leaf. Both media radiate and make the subject of the card appear otherworldly, whether the subjects are unknown Cuban players of the 1940s or Chicago Cub favorite, Ron Santo. The process alone might be looked upon as blasphemous acts of sacrilege to hardened collectors of sports cards. But, the care and detail given these pieces far outstretches the boundaries known by nerds assessing market value in a Becket Baseball Card Magazine. Set apart from other works in the gallery by borders of green paint, some of the cards rest on beds of silk. Some are encased in glass, nestled in red velveteen displays like relics of Roman Catholic Churches. These pieces are holy shrines.

The Katzen Arts Center at American University is located on Ward Circle in NW, and is open Tuesday through Sunday, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. The MFA Thesis Exhibition runs through May 27.