The artists in Hardland/Heartland don't write proposals. They write manifestos.

Like a sinister cabal, this beguiling art collective cloaks itself in a dark mythology, positioning its members as philosopher/warriors crusading through a wasteland of consumer culture. And while their agenda is not entirely clear, the breadth of their vision is astounding: The past few years have witnessed gritty zines, post-apocalyptic fashion performances, video work, sonic assaults and one enthralling website loaded with mysterious acronyms and strange allegorical imagery. Combining monstrous wit with a visceral aesthetic, they've produced some of the brainiest -- and most challenging -- work this city has seen in recent memory.

This weekend, the collective brings its drastically bleak and violently triumphant ethos to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts as part of the Minnesota Artists Exhibition Program. While H/H is officially a duo comprising Eric Carlson and Aaron Anderson, many collaborators cycle through its projects, and, like Tyler Durden's Project Mayhem in "Fight Club," its members could very well be anywhere.

"'Hardland/Heartland' is a descriptor that allows our creative output to be easily categorized, filed and understood," the group explained in an official e-mail statement. "And that is why it will someday be left behind. If it were up to us, we would simply go by 'WE' or 'US.' "

The MIA show, titled "Millions of Innocent Accidents," will feature work from Carlson, Anderson and Crystal Quinn. However, in keeping with the group's language of "we" and "us," each artist has collaborated on each piece, producing a unified exhibition seemingly crafted by a single entity. The drawings and collages tend to be prankish: a copy of the Constitution with the entire text blacked out, or a black masked fashionista standing before an upside-down American flag.

Though at times blisteringly subversive, H/H's work is too slippery to be pinned down politically, and the group is at its most cunning in avoiding such pigeonholes. Asked via e-mail about the MIA's ubiquitous corporate sponsorships, the collective wouldn't take the bait:

"Logos are the new rich people's last names," the group replied. "At least these corporations are funding culture, or -- better yet -- they are giving large sums of money to art institutions that are defining contemporary culture ... wait, who are we supposed to be rebelling against again?

"Tattoo 'WE' on your feet, 'W' on the right foot and 'E' on the left. Now, look down ... branded for life. 3M upside down spells 'WE.'"

Clever stuff. And refreshingly so, considering the show opens just days before the beginning of the Republican National Convention, where there will be no shortage of trite critique.

"Six months ago, some of these drawings were being exhibited in a bedroom in south Minneapolis. But then [due to the convention], we had to ask ourselves, 'Do we make political art? Does the intentional scheduling of our exhibition doom us to enter the real [sic] of sociopolitical commentary?'

"And yes. Yes it does."