Six years ago, Edward Kienholz and Nancy Reddin-Kienholz embarked on a project that would address the arbitrary, unfair distribution of wealth in the world. Their stated premise was that human fate is largely determined by “accident of birth”—that economics can be destiny. Through extensive travel they gathered raw material for their work: an octagonal life-sized carousel, controlled by the spin of a wheel of fortune, was exhibited with thematically related 3-D wall reliefs referred to as “drawings” and with monoprints. All the works were fabricated largely from items collected during visits

Moonlight served as the model for the light that emanated from, was reflected by, and shone through the human-scaled, domestic-inspired devices in Linda Roush-Hudson’s show, “Lamp Light,” which consisted of found objects, blown glass, translucent fabric, and printed Plexiglas. Like moonlight, the luminosity of her discreet works is derived from an invisible source: it is, in a sense, recycled light. But Roush-Hudson’s meticulously crafted objects are less concerned with environmental consciousness than with peripheral vision. With impressive consistency, the young Los Angeles-based artist

Dying dads invariably push witnessing children off psychic cliffs: into a hotbed of treacherous narrative material. The desire to inflate a father to mythic proportions, and to kill him again in the retelling of the story that terminated his life, might be considered a natural, or historically intuitive, (oedipal) urge.

Writer/performer Jan Munroe addressed the death of his father under the title Nothing Human Disgusts Me, 1992, and managed to keep this gargantuan project small: the tour includes his extended southern family (a picaresque group) and his once brilliant, now schizophrenic