THE Event Horizon is a show (or a season of exhibitions, artist projects, discussions, films, haircuts, candybars, you know the drill) that aims to fail and jerkily succeeds. Curator Michael Tarantino has brought together the work of a number of artists - several of them not native to the world of visual art - to create something like an image of the European landscapes of the 21st century.

Tarantino's continent finds little use for borders or passports - not because they have been unified out of significance, but because his chosen artists already work in ways that ignore such administrative divisions. Many of those involved in this first instalment (part two begins next month) are exiles or emigres - such as Tim Robinson, born in England but now resident in the west of Ireland, or Atom Egoyan, born in Cairo to Armenian parents, but now living in Toronto - whose biographies, already represent renegotiations of identity - following geographical displacement.

For the current show Robinson - who is perhaps best known for his writings about the Aran Islands - has resurrected a piece he made while working as a visual artist in London in the early 1970s. On the floor of one room of the gallery lies a jumble of striped poles, (resembling those used by surveyors) offering a collapsed monument to mapping, while next door, another small room somewhat paradoxically contains Robinson's own, maps of the west of Ireland.

Colin Newman and Malkat Spigal, who work under the title Immersion, have produced a sound work that hums through speakers scattered a round the building, presumably intended to be "polyphonic" in both the acoustic and critical senses of the word. Marie Jose Burki turns in a video installation which mingles and confuses the differences between human cultures and languages and the animal, kingdom, while Anna Eva Bergman's paintings pound a strange strip between landscapes, abstracts and precious religious icons.

All this bobbing about, of course, makes the current exhibition an uncomfortable one. The work on show often seems so skeletal, so insistent on its liminal position that it could, without much trouble, be mistaken for bad work. In this context, the pieces that seem strongest - Jerusalem artist's Sigalit Landau's carefully violent bric a brac installations - may enjoy that status - despite dealing with various kinds of displacement, they have the he It to stay put.