Perhaps the most surprising of the many surprising things about Hilma af Klint’s retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum is how rational it feels.

Within the universe of Julie Ault’s work—in the dozens of exhibitions staged as a member of the collective Group Material, pages written on her artistic heroes, and histories recorded on alternative and hard-to-categorize creative practices—chronologies and an accompanying interrogation of the structures that guide them are perennial matters of concern.

“Rebellion?” Lee Lozano asks in one of her late 1960s journals. “Ce-rebellion! Cerebellion.” The note, an offhand entry jotted out in ballpoint pen, seems a fitting way to describe the artist’s particular brand of artistic defiance, synthesizing as it does the tone, form, and ideology of her now-legendary conceptual practice, which manifested itself as a series of private acts of refusal.

n the age of Dropbox and cloud computing it is not difficult to imagine the USB flash drive’s future techno-fossil status. Yet as a presently universal interface, pathway, connector, translator and storehouse, the flash drive is a simple and even obvious way to distribute digital works of art.