“We all want stability,” Liz Larner once commented, “but it’s forever slipping away from us, even on the most personal level.” Larner’s new series of ceramic sculptures suggests that stability eludes us on the most objective, terrestrial level as well. Combining a global outlook on geology with a locally sourced sensibility formed in Southern California, Larner’s exhibition—comprising twelve wall-mounted ceramics, three large-scale sculptures, and a small gallery of related work—offered a meditation on the surface realities of inhabiting the earth. The wall works—which, despite

William E. Jones’s experimental film and video work of the past two decades has consistently aimed to resurrect and reframe lost, repressed, or occluded visual histories, including those of gay subcultures going back to antiquity, military and police surveillance, and the vast photographic project of the Farm Security Administration. Jones’s practice has also consistently involved deep archival research, which increasingly takes place via the Internet. For his latest series, “Heraclitus Fragment 124, Automatically Illustrated,” 2013– , Jones expanded his purview to treat the Internet itself—or,

Its drum churning, a red, white, and blue A&A Concrete truck awaited the verdict. Should, or could, Liz Glynn refabricate the five big open concrete boxes, now weathered and crumbling, of Donald Judd’s 1977 Untitled (for Leo Castelli)? As the truck idled and a restive audience looked on, Glynn and four assistants screwed together plywood molds to match the Judd boxes. Every few minutes, Glynn read into a microphone excerpts from decades of internal Los Angeles County Museum of Art memos and letters, laying out the complex deliberation behind the conservation of Judd’s sculpture. Nearly two-hours

Four, maybe five scenes made up Samara Golden’s sprawling exhibition “Mass Murder,” though clear boundaries were not easily distinguishable. One room spilled into the next, and sounds bled through the walls. The overall effect was disorienting, at times delirious, and scenes may not have appeared quite the same going as they did coming. I call them scenes, though one might think that environments, situations, or tableaux would serve just as well. But there was a heightened theatricality to the exhibition, a gruesome domestic drama, at once high camp and genuinely unsettling.

With its gloomy mood