At the same time, De Keersmaeker dances her response to the emotional power and beauty of the music, as when her chest and head suddenly lift to the ceiling and send her turning toward a new direction with an alternate set movements. Sometimes she simply stops or moves minimally, lying on the floor or sitting off to the side, giving primary attention to the music and the sensitive, textured interpretation by Kolesnikov. 

Most dramatically, De Keersmaeker interacts with the piano and the musician, which she has done in previous works. But here, she innovates some surprising exchanges. At times she holds onto the open side of the instrument like a ballet barre or home base and then pushes away to rejoin her dance. In another encounter, she grips the side of the piano and swings her body beneath it as if seeking refuge from her daunting task. After pausing there, she pushes her body away from the instrument and rolls away, her arm still reaching toward it for a connection. She fluctuates between letting the music carry her and distancing herself from it—like when she chases Kolesnikov off the piano bench to dance for a moment in silence.

On another level, De Keersmaeker makes visible her response to the immensity of the task she has set for herself. She starts out with energetic commitment—her movements crisp, precise, and spritely. Deeper into the piece, we see exhaustion creeping in when she plops down on the corner of the piano bench snatching a moment of rest or when she ends a variation hobbling off, bent forward like an old woman. Poking fun at herself for having the audacity to make this work, she tries a little of everything: whimsical hip wiggles, clumsy scarecrow-like arms, even a John Travolta pose from Saturday Night Fever. Humorous interactions with the piano and Kolesnikov add to the self-irony as when she stops by the piano to check the musical score and gestures the variation number to the audience—reassuring both herself and us where we are in this project. De Keersmaeker again runs through her initial sequence of movements, but now undone by the accumulated exertion, she moves with jerks and tics until she turns toward the piano, holds her arms up, and gestures emphatically to Kolesnikov that she has had enough. Receiving no reprieve from Kolesnikov or Bach, she walks downstage audibly muttering to herself.

In the final reprise of the Goldberg aria, De Keersmaeker returns to her initial movement sequence pivoting around herself and priming her sights with the rectangle held to her eyes. Then she throws in a subtle touch—a quick gesture—stirring a pot while consulting the recipe. And with this, she finds her direction, her north star, and points her arm straight up as the lights go to blackout.