“Last year he asked me for a new body,” Walker said. She was keeping her project a secret and didn’t get the chance to share it with him.

“My dad would be wondering why I would do something this far away from two-dimensional work,” she said, adding, “I like to think I was his best student, but I also had a mind of my own.”

Thelma Golden, director of the Studio Museum in Harlem, has not yet seen the new piece. But looking back across the trajectory of Walker’s work, she said, “What I marvel at is the way in which Kara is such a profoundly powerful monument and memorial maker.

“The work exists as a way for us to understand collective memory and moves us through many emotions — beauty, a dystopian sense of the world, a view of the real and the imagined.”

David A.M. Goldberg, a lead product designer for Disney, who contributed an essay to the exhibition catalog, said that Walker’s automatons “really hark back to harsh truths about plantation relationships that we first understood from her, through the silhouettes.” Now, through her work with robotics, he added, “She challenges what makes that so uncomfortable. Is it their Blackness? Is it because they’re not fluid, animated figures?”

Walker faced her own fear of technology by enlisting ChatGPT for the first time to write the aphorisms dispensed by Fortuna. She used AI prompts such as “Afro-pessimism” and “liberation struggles.” Yet the results sounded trite. “I was like, ‘No, it has to have fire! It has to have soul!’” She wound up writing 100-plus fortunes herself, proving that a human sensibility was not yet replaceable.

At the Brooklyn Navy Yard, standing alone, Fortuna straightened up, arms by its sides. In the snowfall of fortunes on the floor, one message stood out: “Artists cannot be expected to follow instructions.”