On seeing Katy Roulaud and the setting for her performance, I was reminded of the long-held generalisation that the French cannot do anything without making it stylish. Perhaps this was some chic apartment in one of the more talked about parts of Paris.

Perhaps I should not be so cynical; careful presentation and window-dressing does not necessarily conceal a lack of content. The performance had content, it was cryptic, but I was happy to live with that. I don't think it was meant to be analysed empirically – it was simply the way Katy wanted it to be.

Structurally the piece was episodic with no obvious development. Instead a set of views, held together by the vulnerable physicality of Katy Roulaud's performance: visceral but also detached. The setting seemed ideally suited to the qualities of the performance space at Chisenhale and it was pleasing to see that space so well arranged.

The spareness of the piece was thrown into relief at the end by the entrance of several other performers who enjoyed (perhaps excessively) their minimal role. But even this incipient disorder was well positioned, coming at the end of this piece controlled by Katy Roulaud's concentration and discipline.