Eva Mohn divides her time between dancing in Minneapolis, Germany, and New York. Her supreme gifts were on view here all too seldom last year, primarily in two works by Uri Sands that she performed with TU Dance. In ...Just Let Go, she flows around Sands's body like molten lava, yet never loses the classical sense of line, shape, and proportion that give her dancing such lucidity and definition. An image of both absolute clarity and impulsiveness, she embodies the kind of freedom few dancers ever achieve. In Sands's full-company work A Subconscious Nowhere, she's a feral creature, creeping and hunching, closing in on herself as if mining what effect compression can have on the body's architecture. As Mohn makes her sinuous way around the margins of the stage, her supple spine has a life of its own, a primal will and intentionality. No matter how grotesque the movement, it never looks distorted on her; it looks inevitable. Mohn's mysterious fusion of fragility and strength, her lack of artifice, her fluid intensity achieve what Merce Cunningham described as "a whipping of the mind and body into an action that is so intense that for the brief moment involved, the mind and the body are one." On one level she's layering the body's systems — skeletal, muscular, neural — into subtle mosaics. On another, she's Yeats's rough beast, slouching toward Bethlehem.