In the layering of opposites, when choreographing this first part, as Guerin described in the Q&A session, she created many small sections and followed each small section with a counter action.[5] The first part, too, retains much of the original choreography. The sound component within the work, so as not to be prescriptive, was added later, thereby ensuring that the movement did not follow the sound, but rather the sound followed the action, in an ongoing, conscious decision to avoid narrative. This was then layered upon the work, and further built, resulting in a composition and sound design by CS + Kreme which sounded like blades sluicing through water, as McCartney and Watson rendered themselves like fans, and the imagined soundscape of a tree being drilled by a woodpecker. And just when I thought I had a grip on things, cinematic movement is drawn in response to a musical composition by none other than Bartók, in the second part, and the loudest sound became the silence, when I was aware that if I moved my arm, the rustle the fabric would make would deafen the audience around me.

While I cannot help but wonder what it would have been like to have ended the work upon impact, upon that single action that tipped the cart, as Guerin at one point intended, in the fallout or freedom of the second part, there is also humour tinged with the futility of glass pieces being swept up, and comfort derived from a sense that if this all falls down, this Earth, there is renewal of some kind. A big boom! And something new to start over, as beautifully, agonisingly conveyed by McCartney ‘swimming’ along the back curtain, like a stone skimming the surface. Her hands pinged the curtain and a ripple of water appeared. In the final, hopeful moments, she appeared as a white dog, inquisitive and gentle, pawing at the earth. Something new had started, and the house lights came on.