About the work

The armor was once worn by his great-grandfather in a play put on by the local historical society. He found it in the back of a closet, a forgotten prop, years of dust settled in the links. The decision to put it on, all four of them wrestling with the weight and the stiff, cold metal, was made in a single moment of absurd clarity. They practiced the forms until the sweat stung their eyes, until the chain mail pressed red marks into their skin. They never discussed what the armor was for. What was never said was why they chose the tai chi, in that cramped space, on that particular night.