"Call Time" is a performative rupture. Neither intermission nor beginning, it is a spotlight cast mid-thought. The figure, lacquered in synthetic joy, holds still beneath an identity still forming. Her limbs speak in the language of direction, but her eyes have yet to learn the role. Satin and nylon cling to skin stripped of living. This is not the aftermath of glamour, nor its quiet preparation, but a calling card. In that breathless interval, where audience precedes performance, the show slips into something closer to exposure.