Where has Sarah Michelson been? Every year or so for the first 15 years of this century, the Manchester-bred New Yorker produced elaborate, dread-inducing, plotless epics. Architecture, both found and made, figured largely. At the Kitchen, PS122, the old Whitney, and BAM Harvey, Michelson converted catwalks into sinister balconies; revealed forgotten doorways and windows; and encased floors and walls in a monochrome black or blinding white or in a dizzying pattern of arabesques. In the last decade, though, her output and evident ambition have shrunk. Meanwhile, her status has only grown. In 2019, the MacArthur Foundation awarded her a “genius” grant. In 2023, she joined David Zwirner’s illustrious stable of artists (galleries in London, Paris, L.A., and New York). Rare among choreographers, Michelson is now earning capital, not cash. Where does a choreographer go from there? If the title of her next endeavor is any clue, nowhere—which turns out to be the MoMA atrium, the museum’s rest stop between galleries. However hapless the locale, it couldn’t be an accident. Place, Michelson has said, “is pretty much always my starting point.” —Apollinaire Scherr

Performances during museum hours, every day but Friday