Today I decided to make paper airplanes. A quick reading I did said something about nostalgia and before the sun came up I found myself taking a walk out of frustration. Upon waking feeling a bit oppressed by random what ifs of the day, the week, the year, I shut them down by taking myself out into the world, still quiet for the most part as very few if any humans were moving about. I love this time of the day. 

Anyway, paper airplanes. We often attribute creativity, curiosity and imagination to children as if these things are something adults can no longer and shouldn't bother navigate. In doing so a big important part of healthy living dies. Atrophy is real. Besides being glued to glowing screens for hours on end a lack of this trio is a key reason so many are living like walking dead. Even those whose source of employment stems from creative fields find less and less joy when doing them. A once engaging and exciting occupation is no longer. Creative spirit commodified with limits in time turns to mush and misery. Typically with humans if one channel shuts down there tends to be little to no push back. No seeking of alternatives to the feeling or circumstances. It's over, done. In dramatic fashion, throwing hands up to say there's nothing that can be done. Only to log online to Meta’s Matrix and have the sentiment confirmed and agreed with by a colony of worker bees apathetic about life. To not be susceptible;I'm making planes. 

The most youthful elders mirror many of the normal behaviors of young people. They never stopped. They never subscribed to the madness that's put far too many in a sunken place. They hold the major keys some invisible gatekeeper absconded with. Find your key. 

I made planes random using muscle memory. The act of what some would deem child's play and unserious fused with my ever going system for art making. My database is open, my inner child and the current incarnation of C. collaborate. We together make something that didn't previously exist and couldn't possibly if I took to believing the asinine idea of what a person my age can and can't do. 

Go make a paper plane. Or just fold some paper. Pick up a crayon or what have you. If you've lost that loving feeling you once held dear for the grand trio, elixir of life; find it again. 

C. the Rich artist