More there certainly is, in the revelation of the unquiet world. As if resting in a space, scooped out among the undergrowth, shrouded in (stage) mist, the sense of more than my eyes can detect, between shadow and substance. In costumes designed by Geoffrey Watson, oversized sheer short-sleeved dresses layered atop a simple black body, the suggestion of the four transparent wings of the cicada’s form, to me, is enhanced. The silhouette—a boxy triangle for a body, two rectangles at the shoulders—reminiscent of a two-dimensional drawing of a dress and yet also ethereal, lends a ghost-like air to the newly hatched beguilement. From first position relevés, Dinh and Coulson tilt to the side, hand in hand, and prove hypnotic. Prime number seven, referenced in the work’s title, informs the rhythmic structure of the various sequences, the number of times a pas de bourée or demi plié is executed, and even, possibly, as Dinh and Coulson trace the stage in unison, the diagonal tail of the number 7 when written as a numeral. Melding fluid movements with articulated, as Dinh explains, “caught up in the sacred repetition of this insistent symbol, this duet unveil[s] itself as a reverent meditation to the number 7.”[1]

Overhead, at the work’s own tail, though the exact location remains hidden, voices are heard throughout the theatre in Tilman Robinson’s composition. In the rumble-mumble aural awareness, ballet joins an upright Irish jig, by way of the art of soccer as two players interweave, in an atmospheric work that appears to vanish as soon as it begun. Seven, be it lucky, be it magnificent, be it Pythagorean numerology’s spiritual, or a synchronised emergence of cicadas on the acoustic horizon. Fleeting and fantastical, the incomprehensible world is made visible.