How might the British museum re-distribute their artefacts across the urban realm, to invite a dialogue about their value, significance, meaning and interpretation?

Over a millennia ago the hardening had begun, bonds forged to last an eternity. Hearing the bellow all through out, no matter the time they would come to me. From a far through the vast land the procession would begin, making one’s way to the destination. Plenty of faces appearing before me, time and time again.

Sometime after I was put away, holding a wealth of wisdom. The hours have changed no longer I had to call they came to see me. Holding this moment of stature, I began to change, not who I really was but what I looked like. Encased in all this ornamentation, one should remember me. But through out time this has all faded, leaving me in a lonesome state to deteriorate. Holding the marking close to me, the tale was to come of my identity, though on whose terms.

Abandoned and unadorned awaiting discovery. Found in a hollow after I’d begun to wallow. What came to follow was unexpected. Vetting those who were misdirected. Oaths have been sworn, lies have been rectified, seeing the deceitful fall at my feet. The harm was unintentional thought it has to be done, so I could bestow the fortune on the right ones. My tales still resonate til this day, even though my beauty fades, the tales of me will never lay away.