The auditorium is turned sideways. Audience and performers share a long, shallow strip of stage, face to face with a super-wide canvas. On it, 16mm images flare and fade like afterthoughts, while fragments of text settle into a single question: when does an ending begin. The work steps into the small thresholds where separation takes root – the last hot day before autumn, the moment a hand slips from yours, the first time you say to the person you love most, I miss you. 

Movement and film run in parallel, never quite meeting, like ships at night. The dancers cross and re-cross the narrow plane as if tracing fault lines in a relationship, while the screen holds what memory keeps – faces already distant, rooms already emptied, light that took years to reach us. The choreography is precise and restrained, allowing breath, silence, and the grain of the film to carry meaning. 

Made as a tribute to Therese Skauge after 18 years with Carte Blanche, Before Long resists biography and greatest-hits nostalgia. Instead it speaks simply about parting and its quiet recognitions: how loneliness begins, how age announces itself, how even tenderness can foreshadow distance. In this sideways theatre, time stretches, thins, and finally lets go.