Balanchine once remarked, “We are a silent minority, we only dance.” But Jerome Robbins looked for his inspiration in the non-dancing majority. He often reproduced onstage the ordinary movements that he had seen in the streets and in the studio, introducing a dance vernacular that was declaratively American: the open-palmed swagger of sailors on leave in “Fancy Free,” the jazz-inflected skirmishes of urban youth in “West Side Story Suite.”

“Glass Pieces,” performed Friday night at the New York City Ballet, illustrates that even the most pedestrian gestures can be transformed into powerful statements in dance. The work, set to the Minimalist score of Philip Glass (excerpts from “Glassworks” and his opera “Akhnaten”), applies the same principles of repetition and subtle harmonic development to the simple act of walking.

In the opening section, “Rubric,” a corps of 37 dancers brusquely moves across the stage in their workout clothes. The scene resembles the hustle-and-bustle of a crowd at rush hour, or, more aptly, the foot traffic on the Lincoln Center plaza just before curtain call. As the members of the corps swerve in unison to avoid running into one another, we discover a compositional elegance in the movements of a group.

The surging tempo suggests they could belong to a larger order of phenomena – moving molecules or a school of fish. Their walk becomes increasingly stylized each time they return. They lift their right arms all at once, bringing them down in increments. Eventually the corps breaks off into sections, briskly striding forward with extended arms, then inching backwards, their alternating patterns matching the score’s rhythmic flux. A grid pattern decorates the backdrop, producing a vectorial graph that cuts away at each gesture, reducing it to its bare essentials.

Within this coolly mathematical field, the free and bounding movements of three couples in metallic, full-body leotards startle at first. Rebecca Krohn and Jared Angle leap, then launch into combinations of classical steps at the center of the stage, shattering the monotony. Together with Abi Stafford and Ask la Cour they spin repeatedly, capturing the kaleidoscopic momentum at the close of the section.

“Facades” tones it down with the plangent moan of a saxophone. A good primer for this episode is Mr. Robbins’s own “Passage for Two” in “N.Y. Export: Opus Jazz,” which is being reprised this season but was choreographed 25 years earlier – about three years before “Glass Pieces.”

The melody draws out slowly a procession of women in silhouette. They sway in profile, then face forward, offering a demi-plie in second position. To the quiet insistence of the music, they cast a spellbinding border along the back wall for the slow, contemplative duet between Wendy Whelan and Robert Tewsley.

These two do not dance together so much as explore movements in sync with one another. Wearing Ben Benson’s cinnabar and gunmetal leotards, they stand still for a moment and then drift precisely into thoughtful arabesques. They lean back and reach out to support each other like piers holding up a keystone in an arch. Under the spotlight the couple continues to grow more angular in their reaches, looking particularly weightless, as if they were floating ponderously in the lens of a telescope. Ms. Whelan’s 12 o’- clock extensions appear as faceted, deeply abstract ruminations on the human form.

The final section, “Akhnaten,” explodes with the heavily percussive sounds of tribal drums. Ronald Bates’s lighting erases the grid pattern. The rhythms call an ensemble of men out of the wings. They make heroic gestures. Their arms zigzag like hieroglyphs as they march forward, their hands held tightly in fists. In colorful pastels, they kneel sideways on one knee. More men join, organizing themselves into two panels. They welcome the arrival of the women, who enter in dignified processional.

The women form circles and elaborate heraldic patterns, as opposed to the square and rectilinear patterns of the men. The entire corps joins in a spirited folk dance, excitedly throwing their steps in a unified and celebratory coup jete finale. “Glass Pieces” first premiered only a few days after the death of Balanchine, and the closing moments of the musical excerpt from “Akhnaten” – originally created for a funeral in Mr. Glass’s opera – must have had a rejuvenating impact in a company stunned with the loss of its founder.

“Glass Pieces” will be performed again May 19 at 8 p.m., May 21 at 2 p.m., and May 24 at 7:30 p.m. (Lincoln Center, 212-870-5570).