An octagonal base or arena appears to hover just above the floor supported by a perimeter fence of scorched wooden crutches. The base resembles a porthole for viewing a world far below, resembling a strategic map in a geometric frame whilst at the same time associations with ornamental ponds and formal gardens are obvious.
The seated figure is old, a skinny veteran, an armchair warrior, whose jaded view of the world consists of prejudice and memories of a long time past. His metaphorical saber is rusted in its sheath. His medals clank like sound of ancient tin tea-caddies filled with old copper pennies.
The anatomy of the figure is almost indistinguishable from the chair. A skeleton of furniture parts; all bones no skin…. rooted to the chair.