The Event Horizon: Part II, the concluding instalment of Belgium-based curator, Michael Tarantino's tricky investigation of landscape and identity, includes works already seen in the first half of the exhibition, as well as some notable and impressive new pieces.
Overall, this second half of the show is more explicit and communicative than part one, which occasionally seemed a little too cosy in its pessimistic self-sufficiency.
Still in situ from the earlier show is Atom Egoyan's elaborate video installation, a piece which was passed over briefly in this writer's original review of the show. With further attention, the work seems more resonant and Egoyan's almost jocose exploration of the cliche's of television reporting and the way the medium conditions responses to "foreign" countries and their faceless inhabitants - refugees become sheep on the roadside - seems particularly trenchant.
The highlight of the show, however, is work delivered by Paris-based artist Seamus Farrell. His work for part one may have been either carefully opaque or terminally dull butt Step a Side the Monkey Wrench, is a fascinating installation, rich and engaging enough to be a mini-exhibition by itself.
Farrell has taken over one room of the museum and filled it with representations of a "riot" made in various media. Most space is occupied by washing line of tracing paper onto which various motos, comments and quotations have been written. The remainder of the room is taken up with snapshots, widescreen snaps, some Super 8 projection, some video and even some cheapo holographic photographs. All of these feature a group of youngish people apparently engaged in a pitched battle.
There are naturally echoes of 1968 but the stones might just as well be flying through the air of Belfast or Hebron. What really counts here is the way the conflict is watched - the manner in which surveillance retells the skirmish, an event which may be, in any case, a fiction.
Mitja Tusek's waxed-up canvases and wooden panels may be gnawing at the same bone as Farrell's installation - the wax always keeping the viewer away from the canvas, the centre of the painter's activities - but it does so in a way that always feels self defeatingly aestheticised.
Jean-Pierre Temmerman's antique light box is equally involved in the notion that things are getting worse. "In the beginning," it proclaims, "there was an image and the image was ours." Since then, Temmerman's spoof-scientific work suggests, things have changed a bit.
