He Fa on the White Porcelain Knight

The milky glazed-porcelain coat opens into a funnel-shaped collar below the shoulders, while its hem swells into a bell. Dark fabric at the joints shows between the panels, and short white boots extend this cleanness to the ground. I resemble an object just out of its display case, yet I still have a face that grows tired and hesitates. The name of knight must therefore begin with how to bend down.

If the shell is too continuous, the body has no way to turn. The thin gray gaps between the panels seem to weaken its wholeness; in fact, they are what allow the outfit to remain usable. The funnel collar presents hardness to the outside, while the stretch fabric below accommodates change. If only the smooth parts are praised, the places that actually make movement possible will always be treated as flaws.

I want to carry this structure into everyday protection. To avoid disturbance, someone can establish boundaries, arrange their time and reduce exposure. But if those boundaries can only grow harder, requests for help and explanations will be shut out as well. Protection then preserves the shape while exhausting the life within it. He Fa's broad cheeks show above the shell, keeping that softness which cannot be polished persistently in view.

But softness, too, can be asked to give too much. Others see that I have seams and assume they may prise them open at any time. Room for repair becomes an obligation to compromise whenever asked. A joint needs to move only in suitable directions; it need not fold every way. Acknowledging vulnerability also means letting the wearer decide which seam must not be touched today.

So I am willing to leave the dark fabric and fine gray lines, making the White Porcelain Knight seem less cast in one piece. When I bend, the shell can separate a little; when I stand up again, its parts sit beside one another once more. Only if the protected body can change has this armor avoided claiming the victory for itself.