“Är det här du föreställer en björk på fjälltoppen?” asks Henrik Skott. Unless you’re Jenny Larsson, it may be a challenge to perform as if you’re a small birch tree on a mountain top. “It’s fairly close to what I had in mind,” she says of her latest work in progress which debuted last Friday during Inkub8‘s (Knight Arts Challenge grantee) open-studio/feedback forum. The night also featured work by fellow artists Becky Flowers, Katie Mehan & Sam Hanson, Marissa Nick, Karen Peterson & Dancers and Pioneer Winter.

Rigid and rooted, Larsson, who graduated from the University of Dance and Circus in Sweden, created a linguistic choreography of mostly static positions on and around a green ladder.

Lights out/lights on and we find Larsson clutching the ladder’s left leg as her feet balance on the first rung. Lights out/lights on again and Larsson stands and salutes the ladder. In awe. She sings. Lights out/lights on again and Larsson lies on the floor and rests her head on the first rung and does a head stand against the ladder’s spine.

Lights out/lights on again and Larsson is standing on top of the ladder, on top of the mountain, and reaches her birch arms toward the black sky. Makes a small gesture and controlled gasps. She climbs up and down the ladder. Sings. Salutes again. Looks across the landscape from multiple perspectives, as if she’s looking for a shipwreck or the light of a ship about to wreck in the dead of night. Each movement is a phrase, a clue to a almost impenetrable but relatable language.

The scratchy soundtrack is (or sounds like) barking dogs muffled and layered over ocean waves, water movements and/or intentionally unidentified ambient sounds, clicks and clacks. Mysterious and organic, the soundtrack provides a contrast to Larsson’s otherwise static, cold-staged world. The only human voice, Larsson’s haunting and emotive rendition of a Swedish lullaby — perhaps a lullaby of longing and loss. Perhaps a lullaby of sadness and/or goodbye forever dedicated to a loved one. Perhaps it’s not Swedish at all. What matters is that it communicates a universal sense of discovery and wonder.

What’s in the quiet distance? Maybe a more complete work that reveals what was unsaid in Larsson’s short work-in-progress. Maybe a work that promises to continue to confound, excite, challenge and prod the audience to re-imagine what dance/theater can be. Or maybe she’ll develop something completely new. Whatever that future may be for Larsson, her charm and strangeness will not forsake those looking for what Larsson seeks.