I saw Piccolo Cor at the 2012 Fringe Festival and it was good then. The 2013 version has evolved and strengthened and is better. The cast of eight have only been working together for six weeks but they have established a camaraderie that draws the audience into the underlying messages in this performance. Miriam and Anna Noonan are sisters and clearly devoted to each other and supportive of each other’s work and practice. They blend their genres effortlessly – Anna’s dance and Miriam’s theatre backgrounds provide neat counterpoints both to each other and to the distinct parts of this performance. They are charming in their sel- effacing manner and in their skill.

There was more colour and potency this time round. The opening sequence, of all eight performers on stage tossing clothes around with abandon was brighter and somehow more than it was last year, and equally, the closing dance was more joyous and light, a series of beautiful leaps – of joy, of faith and of simple pleasure in each other’s dependability.

The overt symbolism inherent in many of the sequences makes this show accessible to a younger audience that would be able to relate to the struggles of self and making your own space in the tangle of humanity. It’s an exploration of roots and connection (drawn literally with tape and a tree with origami that glowed like fairy lights); where do you come from and why are you going in a particular direction – or not? It’s a beautiful message and the spoken segment, with Lyndon Katene struggling against Patrick Meessmann and against his need to please his loved ones while being challenged from the wings, portrays the anxiety so many of this generation feel about the expectations placed – or not placed – on them.

Parts of this performance felt too introspective and were a little long for me. I felt sometimes as though I was intruding on a too personal demonstration of vulnerability and at other times as though I was sitting in on a family occasion that I hadn’t been invited to. The moments of silence and stillness added a flavour of awkwardness that infected the audience at times but they were balanced with the decisive movement and expression that followed.

The lighting seemed crisper and more creative. It’s so fun to go to a performance a second time around and see how its creators are developing as artists and which aspects of their work are finding new means of expression. The music was evocative and varied, with some really good tracks that kept the more emotive aspects of the performance in check.

I couldn’t decide which was my favourite part – the simplicity and vulnerability of the performers rolling across the stage, embracing the solidity of the earth under them, supporting their existence, or what I have now dubbed ‘the frog dance’ with its exuberance and acceptance of human fallibility and need at the end. Ryl Harris was exquisite to watch. Her generosity of movement and perfect awareness of her body, and, by extension, of her own self, was glorious.

The bodies of good dancers and performance artists can be so expressive of the depths and layers of love and tenderness in the human psyche and of their acceptance or rejection. It never fails to make me think about the greater human condition, or to move me.

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