Luis Jacob has been doing a lot of collaborating lately. His brief TIFF installation at MOCCA, Wildflowers of Manitoba, was made with Winnipeg filmmaker Noam Gonick, and was, incidentally, wonderful: a geodesic dome (one of his pet signifiers) onto which a series of Whitmanian nature scenes and boy-on-boy encounters were projected, and under which a live boy made his temporary home. It seems unfair, even, to ascribe Jacob alone the byline to his newest outing at Birch Libralato; “A Luis Jacob Production” might be more appropriate. First, he employs the talents of his younger twin brothers, Miguel and Marco, the former of whom arguably provides the superior half of the show. Miguel is, by trade, a fashion photographer; here, his works – photographs of models encased in stretchy fabric that recall legendary choreographer Alwin Nikolais' piece Noumenon Mobilus – suggest entrapment that is both stylish and chthonic, liberating and conformist. One thinks of Chic or Grace Jones: disco performers whose personae were constructed on the often robotic subsuming of self, both into high artifice (i.e., fashion, trend) and primeval dance ritual. Luis Jacob's video companion to these works is the excellently titled “A Dance for Those of Us Whose Hearts Have Turned to Ice...,” for which Marco designs a collector's box. The video features Keith Cole flailing about nude in the snowy woods in movements inspired by the philosophies of Quebecois artist Francois Sullivan and British sculptor Barbara Hepworth. The piece comes across as more ridiculous than it is probably meant to be; one yearns to be there, to watch Cole baring himself, to feel the poignancy of that freezing moment – to, essentially, be part of the collaboration, too.