What results is both intimate and, at least initially, stilted. The mirrors heighten the awkwardness; you can’t avoid a gaze. “I’m interested in discomfort, because I think it creates interesting situations when it’s resolved,” Flanigan says. She suggests I choose a small mirror from a row on the wall and hang it on a hook that descends from the ceiling, as previous participants have done. Each mirror is inscribed with a verb: “To Rest,” “To Discover,” “To Listen.” Flanigan remembers visitors by the verbs they’ve chosen, and often shapes her performance around their choice. Pregnant with my first child, I choose “To Create,” and explain why. Flanigan stands behind me, where I can’t see her, and begins, I sense, to move. Eventually her hand comes to rest on the small of my back (“Is this OK?” she asks) and we stand for a time. I feel her hand (elbow? forearm?) intermittently along my back—much like the cryptic movements of the baby kicking within—and other sensations, a tactile dance I strain to visualize. It is a powerful experience, the sort one doesn’t often have with a stranger.