Hilary Clark, Matthew Rogers, Daniel Clifton, Heather Olson, and Erin Gerken in Tere O'Connor's "Wrought Iron Fog."

Surrounded on all sides by thick, ripped pieces of fabric, five dancers move as mysterious silhouettes in silent darkness.  As the lights turn on, Hilary Clark, Daniel Clifton, Erin Gerken, Heather Olson, and Matthew Rogers begin to move with the sharp movements which would suck the audience into the long lost world of dreams which is Tere O’Connor’s Wrought Iron Fog.

In a world of blues, purples, and soft, roaming lights of the Dance Theater Workshop stage, O’Conner explores the common theme of his works:  relationships.  By planning his choreography so that the dancers hint to one another what particular dance sequence will occur (O’Conner created about two hours of dance, only half of which would be performed during a performance), the dancers form a dependent relationship.  Without the others, a single dancer would be at a loss.

The dancers twirl and leap to the sound of clanking metal and text from Samuel Beckett’s How It Is, the words, “There, then, more or less, more, less, less, less,” resonating through the air. While some may find the industrial sound “stale,” or perhaps “abrasive,” the soundtrack only seems to enhance the sometimes flowing, other times jointy or aggressive gestures.  It only adds to the dreamlike quality of the world the dancers pull us into, where anything could happen: the dancers may form a square and dance around one another; they may dance as couples, throw one another around, or tackle one another to the ground.  The dancers may leave the floor altogether, but not once are we torn from the fantasy world the dancers have weaved around us. They return, and it’s as if they never left.

At one point, the dancers approach the audience, staring up at us as if wondering, “Are you still there?”  The answer?  Yes, of course.  Why would we leave?