But the allusions to the original source material are apparent, too: Kieran Brown is the naughty cherub with grapes from the many famous Rubens, Caravaggio and Velazquez paintings. This is but one character—he and Jessie Roberts-Smith also reprise their naughty childlike roles which provide a mischievous central motif. They're balletic, and also bouffon, at once elegant and puppet-esque, symbolic of the freewheeling nature of the camera, always watching as they slide, roll and bicker. They even reference the original bawdy British theatrical tradition of the pantomime horse. Matthias Strahm has kitted the duo out in seventeenth century clothes, yet the others look more contemporary—another conscious choice.

It's the solos which feel most traditional: Kai Tomiaka creates gorgeous extensions and Molly Danter's limbs stretch out into statuesque glissade. But there's a minimum of ballet steps- in the main, many dance genres collide, almost imperceptibly.

Shadowplay, mimesis and vaudeville provide comedic interludes. These are court jesters interrupting and interrogating the  pomp and reverence of the Royal Court. A scene featuring several dancers, led by the wonderful Solene Weinachter in a knotty tangle of hair and sweat even feels suggestive, as does Roberts-Smith and her over-enthusiastic kneading of bread at her groin level. They're power crazed court jesters by any other name.

The restless and ever-changing nature of the production is also reinforced by the ways that screens conceal, then reveal. If Velazquez was first to break the fourth wall, as many art historians over the decades have suggested, then Cleville aims to tear down walls altogether. His characters within the company cannot be traduced and smeared in the way of mere muses, stereotypes and ciphers, but rather, flesh and blood people with likeability and stories through lived experience. Like all of the finest works of art, they have agency, and like “the eyes that follow you around the room,” they stare back.