Following O'Connor's oldest work was his latest work, “The Lace,” which responds in some ways, movement and structure-wise, to “Construct-a-Guy.” 

“The Lace” is a piece for six dancers with a striking lighting design of glowing Xs marking the outer thirds of the stage by Michael O'Connor. The dancers, in beige, business-casual costumes by Reid Bartelme and Harriet Jung, move in and out of the “X” marks with swimming arm movements.  

The group of six interweave and disperse, transforming into duets, trios, and solos. As in “Construct-a-Guy,” various sound scores fade in and out with prolonged silences in between. 

In his talk, O'Connor mentioned that the “meanings” of his pieces are found not necessarily in individual movements but in the sequences of the movement. In “The Lace,” movements transform as they travel through bodies and space. For example, in one instance, dancers gather closely and gently grab each other's hands, examining each's nails. One dancer begins pulling his hand away so as not to be studied. He twists his upper body as he jerks away. Suddenly, we see this reflexive twist lead into a series of upper body twists that lead into a traveling phrase which changes directions, each twist leading the way to a new spot. 

Before the traveling phrase, the twist was just a human reaction to unsolicited touch. But after the traveling phrase, the twist is revealed to be any number of things: a gust of wind that pushes the dancers across the floor; a door that is flung open into a new portal. 

In “The Lace,” even the dancers seem to be experiencing the movement differently. Some legs are higher or more bent than others in extensions; some arms are tense while others are relaxed in courtly walks. In unison sections where the group faces front, the dancers look around the theater at different places—out and up to the furthest audience rows, to the side, or to individual audience members right in front. In sillier moments—such as the group bursting into vibrating jazz hands—some dancers laughed, while others looked solemn. The last look is together, a sharp turn of the head to stage left followed by a blackout. 

The ending of “The Lace” is abrupt. What were they looking at? the audience wonders. Was there something the audience didn't see? 

You might ask O'Connor, and he'd have some ideas. It's more likely, however, that he'd simply return the question, encouraging reflection in his professorial way: What are you looking at? he might ask. What did you see?