Now that media has displaced the primacy of memory, the nature of this endangered function has garnered much speculation. Like many concepts, memory is a collection of barely tangible objects and emotions ordered for ideological impact. In Erika Suderburg and Lynn Kirby's Memory Inversion, Los Angeles becomes a stagnant "landscape" where the residue of some alleged, glorious era distorts the perceptions of the moment. Using a discontinuity of styles, the videotape depicts a radical culture that sees beyond the distortions of sanctioned memory. Excluded from the luxuries of the deception, this sub-culture lives outside the true poverty of the past. A strong complement to cohesion and permanence, memory is something to be nurtured in Helen De Michiel's Consider Anything, Only Don't Cry. Divested of nostalgia, the past is the site of heritage, value and a number of improved-upon lessons. This is not a simplistic view: De Michiel lyrically celebrates brash feats of "textual kleptomania," finding letters, literary reference, memorabilia, an occasional interview and other disparate remnants necessary to this complex act of archaeology. How memory, idea and perceptions adhere to their concrete representations is the predicament of Intellectual Properties. Like a visual linguist, John Adams shows representation to be fickle at best, thoroughly elusive at worst. A number of stories and anecdotes are grafted on to like images, reconstituting meaning at every turn. By employing this slippery strategy, the viewer is pressed into the service of recall and remembrance, sorting out the mind's products. Steve Seid