In a post-program note, Cardona writes about the collaborative process of reconstruction, and how the animating question evolved from “what would THEY do?” (David and Valda) to “what would WE do now?” (Wally and Molly). Though I can’t point to exactly where the choreography makes this shift, the series does gradually grow more physical. The calculated space that dancers maintain between them widens. They move between floor and standing more often and quickly. A certain humor emerges. For example, after holding a low forearm plank position uncomfortably long, they each finally release to the floor, one after the other, with an audible thunk. It’s like they were seeing who could last longer. At a certain point, they remove several layers of clothing to go from long sleeved t-shirts, sweatpants, and knee pads to shorts and tank tops. It felt like a symbolic tossing of David and Valda to the corner in order to free their own investigations.

The environmental sounds become a score of sorts: the floor creaking, the sound of a bare foot brushing the wood then slapping the opposite ankle, a hip clunking to the floor. Add to that the shriek of a siren outside on Broadway, a rapper’s voice rising. The audience, on the other hand, is absolutely quiet. The proximity of the dancers has us holding our breath. When Lieber does a forward bend in front of my seat, she’s close enough that I can see the articulation of each knob in her spine. When Cordona stretches out prone, I skootch my feet to make way.

Just as I’m wondering how much longer this will go on, I notice signs the piece is winding down. They finish a section of a great many floor variations. This time, when they stand, they walk as if they were to begin again from the first steps of the evening. Back to David and Valda. They come together side by side, circle in place, whip their heads around as if someone has called their name, then return to center, tipping the head forward to take a modest bow in each of the four directions.