Nearby, the sounds of mighty roars, guttural growls, and high-pitched screeches do their best to intimidate or attract. Upstairs, exotic plumed birds put the Mummers to shame.

"Zooid Vamoose," Tory Franklin's prints, vinyl cut-outs, sculpture, and paintings of animals, some of which contain LED lights and sound, is one of the more accessible shows given by this artist-run contemporary art space in Kensington. I'd thought of Oliver Herring's close-up videos - shown here a couple of years ago - of kids using the gush of water from opened fire hydrants to sluice down gutters like Olympic athletes, as defining FLUX's mission to exhibit experimental art. But Franklin commands these rough old warehouse rooms, too, in her own way, with her handmade art assembled from factorymade materials.

Franklin's quirky sense of humor informs all her work, but especially the first piece you encounter here. Prey not pray looks like a painting from a distance, but is actually found printed fabric onto which Franklin has drawn constellations of wild animals. Large push buttons to the work's immediate left activate parts of the painting with sound, tiny lights, or both.

The aforementioned snakes aren't really alive - they're cut pink vinyl to which Franklin has added whimsical touches of painting - but they make the dark elevator doors appear to recede, an effect that leaves the snakes looking as if they are writhing in the air or on a movie screen.

Upstairs, Franklin has used a windowed upper wall (a staple in old factories, to let in light from other rooms) as a grid on which to mount cut-out colored-vinyl shapes of various kinds of birds. This piece, flirty flock (pecking order), also includes salon-style installations of small mirrors on the opposite wall, in which the birds are reflected.

The theme of birds as creatures of vanity is continued in Franklin's ink screen prints on stretched Tyvek, a series titled, "gone a courtin (dress to impress)," in which solitary male birds strut and pose like runway models, their long plumes illuminated with myriad blue lights.

Except for its decorative qualities, Franklin's one sculpture, catch and release (it's not you it's me), a chandelier encrusted with pearls from which strings festooned with fishing bobs and lures are suspended, doesn't immediately strike you as going with the rest of her show - certainly not the jungly downstairs component. Then you look around at her mirrors and portraits of strutting males and realize she's transformed this space into an old-fashioned parlor for birds.

Old home week

Don't go to the 111th Fleisher Faculty Exhibition looking for the cutting edge. It's not there, and clearly no one's worried about it either. This is a sprawling, friendly, exhaustively eclectic affair in which all faculty members are invited to participate.

Of the works by the 71 artists, the pieces that drew me back for a second look included Phyllis Gelmin Lever's larger-than-life portrait of a man's face (think early Chuck Close, but rife with emotion); John Sevcik's impressionist-influenced painting Pond Composition; Melissa Andrade Johnson's color photograph of an abandoned Ferris wheel draped in vines; Elaine M. Erne's gigantic graphite drawing, Mr. Bunny Gets Screwed, and Hiro Sakaguchi's Brainstorm and Lightning, a drawing that suggests a city's neighborhoods as conjoined flea markets or a patchwork quilt, bursting at the seams with pinwheels, cats, Victorian houses, cars, heroic outdoor sculptures, lamps, and seahorses, all intersected by large zig-zags of lightning. Just like home, no?

Through Sept. 19.