In Memoriam with Norman Kleeblatt My thinking about meaningful physical monuments and memorials has shifted 180 degrees over the past decade. As a gay man, a curator for The Jewish Museum in New York, and the child of refugees from Hitler's Germany, I have closely followed the remarkable amount of activity over the past two decades commemorating the Holocaust in memorials, monuments, and museums. Issues about Holocaust memorialization relate directly to discussions about AIDS monuments, built and contemplated. Surveying the many Holocaust memorials I'm struck by the impression that what once seemed necessary, urgent, even late in coming, continues to unravel over time. The original intents and purpose of them have continually changed and audience reactions have varied. Lots of money and energy has been expended. Have they effectively served their commemorative purposes and has society learned any lessons from this dark chapter in history? In the Jewish tradition, the memory of the dead is meant to inspire and instruct the living. So I bristle a little as I prepare my remarks for this virtual symposium within the context of an Artery issue called In Memorium. It smacks of sadness, tragedy, past, inactivity. Here I sit a living, breathing, hopefully contributing member of society, knowing full well--as does everyone--that my days are numbered. I want to make the most of them: I want to see art, hear music, share meals, read, write, garden, travel, think. Of course I remember those who have died. I fondly recall the wisdom and tenderness of my wonderful grandmother who died more than 25 years ago at age 74. The wit and devotion of my friend Alain, who died of suicide in 1991, the brashness and talent of my artist-friend Hannah, who died of lymphoma in 1993, the humor and intelligence of my colleague Monroe who died of AIDS in 1985-all remain part of me. Their memory inspires me; the memory of their death does not. I want to remember the grandparents I did not know who died in the Holocaust. My father taught us to remember them by the examples of their deeds, not by the grisly way they died. How can we use memory to channel positive activity, commitment, and creativity? In his opening remarks to this symposium, Robert Atkins points to the connection between the issues surrounding the memorialization of the Holocaust and AIDS memorials: How we remember those we have lost and how we use our power to militate against the pandemic's continued devastation. There has been a great deal of thoughtful writing about the Holocaust. Saul Friedlander has warned about the limits of representing the Holocaust. James Young has shown how most Holocaust monuments are politically charged and self-serving, and the mutability of their audiences and meanings over time. Andreas Huyssen has discussed how monuments can freeze memory and cautions us about the Fascist tendencies intrinsic to the best of them. Pierre Nora has contrasted the absolute quality of memory with the relativity of history. Such critiques helped spawn a brilliant group of counter-monuments in the eighties created by European conceptual artists like Jochen and Esther Gerz, and Horst Hoheisel. Participatory by nature, the Gerz's Harburg Monument against War and Fascism and for Peace (1986) asked viewers to inscribe their thoughts on a lead pillar. As a metaphor for the loss of memory, it was created to sink into the ground and disappear. Hoheisel was asked to create a monument to replace a Beaux-Arts fountain in Kassel commissioned by a Jew and destroyed by the Nazis. Hoheisel replaced it with an exact copy that was submerged in reverse under the pavement. A mirror of history, its waters now fall tragically downward. In this Aschrott-Brunnen Monument (1987), we actually hear the inverse rush of the memory of destruction before we see its fleeting outlines on the surface. These works were revelations to me at one point because they demonstrated, as part of their conception and design, the pitfalls of conventional historical monuments. Holocaust Museums are also types of monuments; many of them, in fact , use the term memorial in their name. They are institutions that teach about the depredations of one moment in history and hope to leave visitors with uplifing moral lessons about racism, hatred, and violence. Which is not to say that, the Holocaust Museum in Washington, and others like it, do not offer moving experiences. Lately, I have been questioning the meaning of these highly intelligent sculptures and well-programmed museums. Watching the wars in the Balkans, the slaughters in Rwanda and Somalia, and the hate crimes in America (such as the murder of Matthew Shepherd), makes me ask how successful all these works of memory are. Geoffrey Hartman has eloquently reflected on this issue, showing up the incongruity between contemporary society's reverential position in teaching about past atrocities and our tolerance for observing present ones at a distance. An idea for an AIDS monument is a curious one, because monuments are usually erected after the end of a war or devastation. One does not usually stop the fight to erect the monument. Although the geographic situation and demographics of AIDS keep changing, we are still in the middle of this battle. I wonder whether artists and architects might now be able to imagine more performative monuments. Not like the NAMES Project Quilt, which, although wonderful, was an end unto itself. A more active monument. I propose, instead, places where activist, human and charitable acts might become the building blocks of another generation of conceptual memorials. These sites would remind us of the illness and ignorance we continue to fight, in memory of the loved ones we have lost. Two prototypical examples come to mind: Krzysztof Wodiczko's cart for the homeless; and Projecto Axé, which was organized by the curator France Morin. Wodiczko's cart was a mobile "safe" space for the homeless, which might both ameliorate fragile existences while its multiplied presence would also remind us of the extent of our problem. Projecto Axé served as a model for artists to interact with disadvantaged communities including those of Salvador, Brazil. Its goal was to create collaborations that might yield positive change for marginalized and at-risk groups or individuals. That such collaborations might yield beautiful works embodying that memory of care and concern, of interaction and giving, suggests that these qualities can indeed be made tangible. Norman Kleeblatt is the Susan and Elihu Rose Curator of Fine Arts at The Jewish Museum, New York. He is currently organizing the exhibition "Mirroring Evil: Nazi Imagery, Recent Art," which is scheduled to open in March 2001. The symposium "panelists'" - Alexandra Anderson-Spivy, Aaron Betsky, Norman Kleeblatt and Dui Seid.