And through it all are these pokerfaced women, working through tightly
circumscribed movement sequences. Ms. Ruszkowski, when not occupied
staring the audience down, lashes out an arm or sinks slowly to the
floor, where she scrapes her fingers on its surface and rises to pick
at her nails. Ms. O’Con walks from one side of the triangle to
another, curling up her toes and closing her eyes. Ms. Parshina devolves
into one writhing collection of tics, scratching at her thigh, crying
out and rubbing her cheek into her shoulder.