On the rooftop, that knight now lies on a dining table amid elements of a feast, with replicas of Persian plates dating back more than 1500 years. A 3-D model of Ms. Galilee snuggles up to him and high-fives one palm. She hoists a sword whose hilt and blade were melded from two different works in the Met’s Arms and Armor gallery.

All the figures and objects were conjoined by “a series of armatures, spines, pins and dowels made of steel or wood,” Mr. Lash explained, made to look seamless before ultimately being covered with a customized paint dust, to suggest that Mr. Villar Rojas’s brand-new artworks were relics of antiquity. (When you see the works in person, it’s tempting to lick your finger and give them a little flick. Don’t. It’s still the Met.)

Mr. Villar Rojas will likely find all this description of his art-making “fetishistic,” one of his favorite words. He is fond of saying that it does not matter what materials or techniques he uses: Days ago, he referred to his artwork in excretory terms. Plus, he likes to leave things unexplained.

But a few days before the completion of his commission, with the trees of Central Park just below beginning to bud, he admitted that the dark anxiety that drove him several years ago, “doesn’t play any role now.”

Maybe these days, for him, the end is not so near.