History is made of stories. You should tell a few while becoming one yourself.

“Agincourt Homecoming” is installed at the Rourke Art Museum. The last few pieces went up even as guests were arriving for the “Main Event” downstairs — a two-person sculpture show that drew a very different crowd, very few of whom came up to the second floor. Obviously I hung out to see who would climb those twenty steps. Happily I saw some old friends and watched a few new faces engage with too few images and artifacts and far too many words.

There are two problems with mounting a show like “Agincourt.” Several times a day for the past few weeks I’ve recalled the admonition: “Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.” But the most troubling self-awareness is that — despite what actually hangs on walls and sits on pedestals — I’m the only one who knows what could have been. The exhibit is a shadow of what was intended.

There’s another nagging question that will take a while to consider: Who is it for? You tell me, because I haven’t a clue.