The story so far: The first (2002) chapter of this series plunged elbow-deep into the ’60s and ’70s canon with revivals of works by Carolee Schneemann, Hermann Nitsch, Stuart Brisley, and others, exploring notions of the expressive, excessive, or abject body as privileged site of avant-garde resistance. The 2003 installment, with contributions from the Atlas Group (Walid Ra’ad), Mark Dion, Andrea Fraser, Inventory, Robert Morris, and Carey Young, tipped the balance toward recent and new work, organized around the theme of the performance lecture. Thus, it usefully identified a much-used but

Luke Gottelier used to make photographs—orchestrations of items found in his studio which, shot close-up and flooded with lens flare, instigated scale-collapsing double visions: A modest cluster of erasers would read, for instance, as a dramatically backlit ring of Neolithic standing stones. In the late ’90s, as if disdainful of these works’ effortless assimilation into the discourse of constructed photography, he began to produce paintings, casual semi-abstractions in a pastel palette. At first exhibiting them alongside his photographs, Gottelier then dropped the latter altogether. Literally

An Irishman, an Australian, and an American walk into a bar. That’s the setup—not for a joke, but for Stuart Croft’s single-screen DVD projection Hit, 2003, a nourish “celluloid” narrative twisted into the shape of a Möbius strip. The bar, doused in soft magenta light and helmed by an expert mixologist, is that of London’s plush Great Eastern Hotel—and it’s dead, apart from two drinkers. Some quick-and-dirty expository dialogue confirms that this pair has a history, possibly sexual: “This is really fucking rude, you know? Given what happened—what you did,” gripes the first, adding, a few moments