It's probably too easy to make fun of modern dance: yeah, buncha skinny androgynous types all hopping around and "interpreting" and whatever. Really, it's far from dismissable — the good stuff is tough, muscular, soulful storytelling in motion.
The moving human body is a glorious thing. (And no, not just that kind of movement.) We wish cars moved like a good dancer. Isn't that one of the great compliments — to say something dances through a series of corners? The science of balance and flexibility and inertia and reaction mixed with the motivation to express a palette of emotions as big as a horizon and as textured as granite isn't a joke; it's often utterly lovely, and needs to be shared more broadly.
So we need to pay proper attention to the choreographic knowledge and awareness of Ash78, scattered smother covered diced chunked topped, but not capped because mushrooms suck and his observations of a troupe of limber sorts draped all over a new Peugeot in Geneva: