Many elements of the show bear the mark of the respective milieus from which they arrive; that is, they weren't created purely for an aesthetic reflection of death, but as works for remembrance, ritual, and commerce. They are pragmatic in their relation to death, objects with a clear purpose. Joss paper, for instance, is a token of ancestor worship in the Chinese Taoist tradition. It initially appeared as a special type of money to be burned for ancestors to use in the afterlife, but its use has since evolved to include contemporary objects such as electronic devices and name brand clothing. Ms Smith and Mr Hauschild have collected a number of these objects and arranged the effigies on a series of shelves, where the dizzying accumulation recalls the packed aisles of a big-box shopping center. Candy colored paper cell-phones glint in cellophane packaging, where they are placed by foil accented paper boom-boxes, which themselves are stacked near other reproductions of various gaudy desirables. Many of the effigies are based on Western consumer goods and luxury items; their use in traditional Chinese funeral ritual is both a witness to the influence of consumer culture and a sly visualization of the ephemeral nature of its products.

The globalization of mourning is also apparent in the work of Leeli Devie and Amrita Das. Both artists work in the Mithila painting tradition, a distinctive folk art from Northern India that emphasizes delicate line-work and pattern, but the images included in the show reference the tragedies of 9/11 and the Sri Lankan Tsunami of late 2004. The fluid use of line and dense imagery captures not only the flurry of disaster, but also weaves together suffering of the peoples depicted in the paintings, becoming a tragic event history alternative to the widespread and electronically produced media coverage the Tsunami received upon its impact.

Amrita Das, The Tsunami in Sri Lanka, 2005, ink on paper, 30 x 22 inches. Via Bellwether Gallery.

"Death is all metaphors, shape in one history," as Dylan Thomas said. It is a truism that escapes neither kin nor kind, as Roy Kortick recognizes in his memorial to his lost dogs that died on 9/11. Mr. Kortick, whose work has a folksy-homemade feel, here works in ceramics and mixed media. The piece, a hodge-podge shrine of eccentric relics and miniature surreal sculptures, conjures the workshop of a mad apothecary. It is our memorials to the dead that help heal the rift that is left in the wake of their passing. Kortick seems here to be saying that death is more than an inheritance; it is also a place for us to celebrate our common humanity, however solemn that celebration may be.

The photographs of Lisa Ross examine the mourning rituals of other cultures; in particular, the stick and cloth built burial mounds of the ethnic Uyhgur people of China. The Uyghurs are primarily Islamic and have faced persecution since 9/11 by the People’s Republic of China under the pretext of the war on terror. As the PRC gains in economic power, a unique cultural identity may rapidly disappear. Ross’ photographs -- solitary, arid shots of spindly, scrap decked bundles in the desert -- are like the remainders of a tree plucked bare. These images are themselves a memorial to a culture whose very existence is threatened. It is a reminder that while death may be the fate of everyone, it is the living who control the fate of the dead.

It is this very problem that Patricia Cronin’s Memorial to Marriage, a sculpture of two women embracing, seeks to address. The work, classically sculpted and cast in the eternal medium of bronze, is meant as a grave marker for the plot she has reserved with her partner Deborah Kass. Only time will tell whether they too will be allowed to rest in peace.