Last month's degree show at Dundee's Duncan of Jordanstone college was dominated by animals, with fur and feathers flying everywhere. Down in Glasgow, a good number of this year's School of Art graduates seem to have been thinking with their stomachs, using food in sculptures, installations and performances.

One of the highlights of the show is Rose Hughes-Jones's hanging sculpture, made from a dense tangle of pyramid-shaped bags, impregnated with honey, which slowly drips on to the studio floor, forming a gooey little slick. Off to the side, a perfectly smooth pool of honey is bounded by a ring of fur. Besides being a beautiful, meditative piece, it also makes use of the one sense that artists rarely seek to engage, smell - the scent is so thick you can almost taste it.

Thankfully, this is not yet the case with the work of Gary Bolam. He has sewn strips of desiccated ham together and hung them over a portable plug-hole, presented the liver of an unidentified animal on a rough-hewn plinth, and, in a curiously moving piece, placed a dead fly on a greasy slick of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. A video in which Bolam toys with another dead insect adds a dark note to the skewed humour.

Erik Smith's work is, by comparison, almost earnest, using snacks as raw materials to craft a sort of edible minimalism: grapes are strung precisely on a wire bisecting his studio space, pizza boxes are neatly stacked in a corner and knobbly cheese-flavoured crisps are piled into towers.

Like Hughes-Jones, Penny Rafferty makes use of honey, but this time in what looks to have been a rather violent performance, which left great smears of black paint and honey, applied with strips of fabric across the studio walls. Helen Tubriddy's has an air of violence, too, but the results are more controlled, with a tangle of umbrellas and picture frames broken down and reassembled to form a spindly infestation, accompanied by smashed, smeared eggs and balloons filled with yolk.

These last two point to another strong trend this year for immersive, unrestrained installations, which often threaten to escape the bounds of their allotted space. Laura Yuile has fashioned one of the best of these complete environments. In a crazed update to Baroque excess, she has piled up great waves of tape torn from video cassettes, fashioned dense forms from interlocking kirby grips and made lurid collages from the pages of bodybuilding magazines.

Hazel Donaldson takes a more soothing tack with her beach installation. A steep sand dune and projected waves hidden by a gauzy curtain, and visitors are invited to take off their shoes and play. Laura McConnachie's tiny foil figures, lit by rainbow lamps, at first seem similarly welcoming, but there's an undercurrent of threat - the shadows cast by the figures have claws. The work of Ronja Svaneborg, whose installation displays an unusual breadth of practice, has a sinister edge, too, matching lightbulbs sheathed in leatherette with a ball of sticking plasters and a chair, its seat reduced to wood shavings.

Carolyn Barrett does not quite fit the tendency toward cohesive constructions, but her sculptures work together to foster an uneasy atmosphere - low, vaguely medical seating suggests some unpleasant procedure, matched by a stool tethered to the wall and buttressed with a steel rod.

Frances Walker bridges the gap between the graduates seeking to overwhelm their audience, and those who work with more economy. Walker has hung long rolls of translucent paper from the ceiling, unfurling across the floor, smeared the walls with a sickly green paste, and wrapped strip lights in DayGlo green paper. From a distance, it seems slight, but up close, it reveals Walker's gift for combining elements in a way that fosters connections between them.

The same might be said of Caroline Gallagher, who makes taut, restrained sculptures, lifting materials from the builders yard. One piece sees a section of steel mesh, cut, bent and adorned with a tied strip of yellow lacing, another consists of a squat stack of gently striated concrete blocks, a third is nothing more than a metal pole pushing a folded piece of foam into a corner.

John McLaren goes a little further, but again uses restraint in his investigations into everyday materials, connecting a wall-mounted wooden frame to a gently curved metal grille with bungee cords, and weaving frayed shoelaces around a black bamboo stick leant against the wall. Nicola Nisbet's chosen material is water, liquid and solid - she has made a memento mori in the form of frozen casts of a skull and flowers, and used melting ice and paint to make sculpture-paintings, leaving behind drips of black and white on her studio walls.

Next come the artists whose work is rooted in environments, be they natural, built or social. Cassandra Baron's work is perhaps the simplest on show, but among the most affecting, consisting of an open entranceway, leading on to a claustrophobic corridor which culminates in the dead end of a sharp corner - a concise investigation of our relationship to architecture and interiors. Ric Warren occupies similar territory, with a large-scale model of three homes merged into one, with a foam-clad flattened section offering comfy seating for visitors. This welcoming sofa of the suburbs is undercut with another model home, this time bobbing half-submerged in the sea of the gallery floor. Natalie Lambert has engaged with the fabric of the Mackintosh building itself, building kinetic columns into a stairwell, which would look like original features, if they weren't moving.

Keith Allen is rather more boisterous, cobbling together a temporary social club, complete with mildewed camping equipment, a dart board and oche, the latter emblazoned with the crude, mystifying slogan, "Dae ye want to see ma dugs dance?".

Last, the painters. Louise Chang's circular collaged works stand out, with their dense layers of paint, as do Richard Oscar Godfrey's naive paintings of bleeding limbs and masked figures. Claire Paterson's huge canvases, portraying arcane rituals augmented by cryptic symbols, and Lucy Macdonald's queasily psychedelic portraits of weeping women are also strong. Those four aside, precious few painters make their mark, and fewer photographers still.

This makes for a decidedly lopsided show, leaning heavily towards sculptural work and installation, but the graduates working in those fields show enough verve more than to make up for the lacklustre performance of some of their peers.

The 2008 Degree Show is at Glasgow School of Art from tomorrow until June 21.