If Logos, figured through language as “the Word,” represents the all-encompassing unifying order of the world in metaphysics since Heracleitus, then Brett Lund’s exhibition title “ProtoLogos” would seem to suggest a breathtakingly ambitious attempt to step back even further in the mystical fog of being’s origins to grope something more embryonic, primordial, and pelvic at work in the universe. Palpating the transition between oozing chaos and inchoate order, between language and the inarticulate and ineffable on either side, the three wall works and five sculptures on view here manifested the

How about “A guy walks into a diner . . .” or “A guy gets a phone call . . .”? Either mundane opener—which in a joke would set up a punch line, which would achieve humor by creating an unexpected turn in the narrative course—could have articulated an action in the script for Terry Chatkupt’s new video short Transferase, 2010. Part psychodrama, part nail-biting suspense flick, the nine-minute digital video is also a comedy, deriving its dramatic tension from the split perception of its lone, anonymous protagonist and the degree to which he alters the experiences of the people around

Perhaps the single most striking aspect of Koki Tanaka and Naotaka Hiro’s dizzying two-person exhibition was the choreographed sound that swept through the gallery in a protracted clatter: noises that evoked the prepping and chopping of fish, lights switched on and off, dishes broken, rhythmic drumming, repetitive chiming. This percussive orchestration arose from the show’s seven video installations (five by Tanaka and two by Hiro, both projected and screened on monitors) and served as white noise, the hypnotic power of which pulled the viewer into the action of each. The accord between these