To the deep notes of electronic beats, two performers, a woman and a man, start a slow-motion walk from one side of the stage to the other. Their precise steps and strong core – essential to keep the balance – pair beautifully with the fluidity of their arms. They curve and arch with the resistance they would face if they were immersed in water, whose dripping sound soon comes forth. At times their fingers imitate the wavelike movement of algae in the sea, but they also twitch, like the rest of their bodies, with microscopic movements.

This combination of continuous flux and street dance-like isolation is what immediately impresses in Waterkind, by the Swedish duo Land Before Time. Yet it is the dancers’ intense gaze and their gentle, contactless intertwining which hit me at a deeper level, by bringing to light the kindness the title might hint at.

Marta Buggio

Early in Waterkind, Joanna Holewa Chrona mimes scooping water into her hands. Then, as it slips through her fingers, its ripples suddenly extend to her body. Her arms reach back, swanlike; her feet start shuffling in delicate, curving steps.

The audience isn’t alone in watching her every move. Her partner and co-choreographer, Yared Tilahun Cederlund, kneels quietly, as if in awe of her – before joining in. At times electric jolts break through the calm surface of their dancing, each micro-shift in their posture isolated.

The duo, who are also DJs, mine their street dance background to achieve that arresting mix of articulation and flow, with elements of popping and quasi-jookin’. Yet for all their otherworldly precision, Waterkind never feels cold. Chrona and Cederlund may not touch as they glide side by side, but like twin currents, they are mysteriously aligned.

Laura Cappelle

Music echoes like in a distant club – bass ripples fading. In tandem, Joanna Holewa Chrona, and Yared Tilahun Cederlund reach centre stage: one sinks low, the other shifts left. Water emerges as a concept as Holewa Chrona moves like she’s sculpting currents, fluidity coursing through her.

Later, she joins Tilahun Cederlund in a duet where movements interlock without touch, filling the voids left by the other. Their physicality shifts from rigidity to tense fluidity to soft waves. No acrobatics, only stoic precision in sequences of popping and locking.

Costumes and music suggest Afrofuturism – bodies animated by electricity, not fluids. Disjointed micro-movements evoke machines lacking grace, yet the control is deeply satisfying. Holewa Chrona’s anointment ritual, rooted seemingly in Sabar traditions (if one extrapolates from her research and dance background), breathes layered identity into the work. Even absent drums feel present.

As waves wash the stage from left to right, a memory of rhythm and connection lingers.

Marco Pronovost