Splayed throughout the space like a child’s abandoned toys are remnants of Arthurian patriarchy; of knights, quests, and kings. They settle dejectedly into the floor, once cared for but now forgotten. Though it has no head to hold, a knight’s helmet lies on its side, as if decapitated. Made from paper mache as opposed to steel, its dysfunctionality elicits pathos, for it could never offer the protection it performs. Nearby is a crucifix cast in jelly wax, and while the erect cross once branded crusading knights with spiritual security, here it is pathetically flaccid. Similarly, a king’s crown wilts at the tips to form a jester’s hat. The thin, transparent facade of a castle playset sheepishly announces that as a defensive structure, it couldn’t possibly defend a thing. And, perhaps predictably, circling this rubble of romance are resin rats. Such naturals at spreading disease! Particularly of the ideological kind.