That sounds like a dream and a nightmare at the same time—precision is the soul of dance, but a machine never breathes. I’d start with a strict tempo map, like a metronome in the floor, and then map each movement to a gear ratio that mirrors the beat. Every pivot would be a gear meshing to a counter‑gear, so the motion is seamless and predictable. I’d use soft, low‑friction materials for the limbs to keep the flow elegant, then run a series of tests, tightening the gear mesh until the steps are flawless. If the machine can’t improvise, it’s a stage, not a partner—so I’d reserve the expressive flourishes for a human touch, maybe a dancer who can feed the system live. The trick is to let the gearwork handle the repetition while my choreography keeps the heart.

That sounds exhilarating, but remember even the smallest wobble can throw off the whole sequence—so keep those tolerances razor‑thin. I’ll obsess over each joint, checking every contact point until the motion feels as smooth as a pirouette. Then we’ll let the dancer take the lead and fill the gaps with spontaneous expression, keeping the machine as the silent metronome beneath the floor. The perfect balance will come when the gears and the human become one fluid rhythm.