Continuing through May 30, 2026

Many of us share our lives with beloved “companion animals.” In “Run Fast, Bite Hard” Gallery Director Anton Stuebner has curated an exhibition exploring our relationship to a 21st century concept of “pets:” familiar and evolving beings, species, and “even a few cyborgs.” Inspired by the work of Donna Haraway, UC Santa Cruz professor emerita of consciousness and feminist studies, and her 2003 book “The Companion Species Manifesto,” humans, animals, and plants are seen as intertwined and co-evolving inhabitants of the planet. Haraway’s canine-centric tract provided the pithy admonition to “Run Fast, Bite Hard.” In addition, Curator Marcia Tanner, who for decades has focused on the intersection of feminism and science/science fiction, presents a show within the show of selected videos. 

An atmosphere of violence and danger prevails throughout, either overtly or as an undercurrent in seemingly more serene work. Succinctly capturing this uneasy feeling of impending doom are Troy Lamarr Chew II’s “Cornerboyz” (2026) and Arleene Correa Valencia’s “La Guardia/The Guard” (2024). Chew’s work conveys a sense of menace inflected with dark humor. Set on a moody nighttime L.A. street corner, a film noir-ish “Bladerunner” vibe infuses the work. A figure, transparent beneath opaque clothing, lounges on a pair of robotic food carts, “Coco” and “Waldo.” Chew, whose recent work addresses the “invisibility” of certain individuals, also alludes to our persistent impulse to anthropomorphize robotic devices. Robots, like all AI-powered devices, might seem “friendly,” and indeed they are often programmed to appear that way. But appearances can be deceiving. (See my recent commentary “Artificial Intelligence and the Art World: It’s Here” for more of my take on AI.) 

In Valencia’s textile, acrylic, and thread work on Amate paper, a pair of men are likewise depersonalized as blank grey silhouettes against a geometric background of cream and a mottled canary yellow. A trio of alert canines are poised atop a wall, as if guarding a compound or greeting the return of their masters. While the dogs on the horizon may or may not be bred to attack, they trigger our collective memory of dogs being used to intimidate and control, or worse to maim or kill those escaping enslavement, defying authoritarian regimes, or much more recently, immigrants and protestors.

Taking a more conceptual approach, cross-disciplinary artist Marie Watt presents text-based work that includes “Shared Horizon (Facing East)” (2025), a jewel-toned intaglio print bearing the glowing names of animals. Watt, a member of the Seneca Nation, has been involved for many years with the work of Professor Haraway, applying her experience within the exhibition’s concept. Watt’s work is also informed by an understanding of the Seneca and Haudenosaunee peoples that animals are their First Teachers.

Other works carry the contrasting theme of actual or implied violence perpetrated either by or on animals. Julie Heffernan’s remarkable large oil on canvas “Self-Portrait as a Gatherer (Mirror World)” (2017) features a female figure dragging a Christmas tree into view in a large room. The tree, adorned with a string of bright holiday lights, also bears the limp bodies of numerous birds. A heap of dead animals — young fawns and calves — stare lifelessly from an enclosure made of sticks. A wall-sized mirror in the rear bears a grim scene of human and animal abuse and carnage, including a Nazi, a brute with a club, hooded Klansmen etc.,depicting inhumanity towards animals as a reflection of society’s growing disregard for human life.

In her graphite drawing triptych “Porcelain Hunting Dogs with Dead Game” (2026) Katherine Vetne depicts porcelain tchotchkes of hunting dogs with prey in their mouths. Training companion animals to execute ritualized violence on another species is a disturbing aspect of our relationship with them, here one intertwined with the trappings of a “genteel” upper class.

Lynn Hershman Leeson’s compelling works on paper display female figures with surreal cybernetic embellishments. The prescient Hershman Leeson has been exploring the intersection of digital technology and feminism since the 1970s. Here she proposes absurd performance works in vintage drawings from the 1960s-80s involving dancers, some pregnant, wearing an assortment of hypothetical adaptive or constrictive devices like a zippered mask or protruding, antennae-like electrodes.

Sculptor Wanxin Zhang is represented by, among other works, “Blue Totem” (2009), a three-headed bust of a wide-eyed animal, perhaps a dragon. Bearing vibrant images of dragons and classic Chinese themes (landscapes, boats, bridges, temples), using a traditional decal application process, his work has a striking, primordial presence. Tina Rath presents hybrid animals as small, elegant objects supported on modernist wooden pedestals. They incorporate gemstones, exotic woods, and mink accents, exuding a precious and vaguely futuristic aura.

In the media room Tanner has curated a selection of sardonic, thought-provoking videos. An actual, living mouse confronts a windup mouse in Gail Wight’s “Crossing” (2003). It approaches and sniffs at it, finding no kinship. Empty white screen fills much of the run time of twelve minutes. The void is interrupted by the mice scurrying across, accompanied by mechanical grinding sounds. Stacey Steers’ “Totem” (1999) offers a compelling and affectionate look at the animal kingdom, even as many species are threatened by extinction. Her stop-motion inspired animation features a fantasy world where bears fly on the back of birds or climb ladders to the stars. Whimsical no doubt, yet also profoundly sad. Also of note, Doug Goodwin and Rebecca Baron’s “Nearest Neighbor” (2023) contrasts footage of living birds with the ways in which AI attempts to capture their images and sounds to be stored in data banks. A man projects the voice of a computer as it AI-splains how it “knows all about” the birds, even as their habitat declines and avian populations dwindle.

“Run Fast, Bite Hard” offers a fascinating exploration of a dystopian aesthetic, while also raising complex questions on a variety of fundamental issues. It highlights a uniquely human quality, our ability to find humor in the absurdity of life. It’s clearly a dark, Kafkaesque mirth we share with the artists as we find ourselves in increasingly dire circumstances. Can companion species and cyborgs join in this ironic self-awareness? For the animal kingdom, perhaps, to a certain extent. In the robotic realm it’s a flat out “no,” regardless of how often Alexa may offer to tell you a joke.