Light fantastic

It would be easy to tell you that Dan Flavins can be made at home, provided you've got £50 for a pink fluorescent tube from The Conran Shop and a knack for pompous titling. But that would be deeply unfair. Seeing his work in bulk, you will be converted: prepare thyself for exquisite perceptual overload.

Flavin, who died in 1996, treads a fine line. He distanced himself from the minimalist artists of the 1960s and their literal aesthetic of "what you see is what you see". But equally he distanced himself from the James Turrell school of mystical wallowing in coloured light. Hence, no seats are provided, which can be frustrating, but keeping you on the move does yield some killer effects.

For example, the west gallery contains a virulent retina-searing green barrier of fluorescent light; moving from this into the central rotunda, the entire space is saturated in deep pink. After a few minutes the colour drains away to a rotting flesh kind of grey-pink, and then you realise that the works you've been staring at (Flavin's series of light pieces for the Russian artist Tatlin) are all white. Everything you look at is dependent on the colour you've just been immersed in.

This is deliciously disconcerting. Even more trippy is Untitled (To The Real Dan Hill), a group of four fluorescent tubes in blue, green, pink and yellow, strapped together in a bundle. The knack is not to look at the lights but at the surrounding wall, which bleeds from pinky violet to a sumptuous blood-orange. Then again, the whole room appears to pulsate with blue when seen from under the harsh red glow of Monument 4 Those Who Have Been Killed in Ambush (to PK Who Reminded Me About Death) - don't say I didn't warn you about the titles. I realise this isn't edifying in print, but you really should check it out.

The only disappointment in this otherwise radiant show is the installation of four corner works in a cramped display unit, rather than in the actual architecture. These works are meant to "flatten" out the corner of the room that they frame, but installed in this ridiculous contraption they just look too literal.

? Until 23 September. Tel: 020 7402