Above
"They ask him, "Why the plane, Max?"
With a hint of shyness and unease, he looks down and reminisces about building model airplanes as a child. He's shared with me stories of his childhood — the village, the motorcycle, the scent of gasoline, and tales of his grandfather.
In these stories, I see the purest, most cherished memories of his childhood. I picture him as that young boy, full of joy and dreams, dreams he still harbors. And in this project, he's simply soaring through his art.
I can almost hear his soul whispering to me,
"I yearn to fly. I release my dreams into the air, feeling myself nearly aloft.
They tell me that I need a specially-controlled plane with a remote to truly soar."
But then I counter, "Does a plane fly because it's built to, or because we believe in it?"
"I believe that no barrier is insurmountable. I believe that one can reach their dreams, guided by faith in the future."
"Love lifts us to the heavens.
Love propels everything in this world."
"I close my eyes and take flight.
And someday, I'll open them, jump from a plane with a parachute, and once again, connect with my dream.
Air, flight, an airplane.
Summer, laughter, and sunbeams reflecting in your eyes.
Reach out your hand."
And at some point, I'm unsure who's uttering these words. Could it be you? Are you, looking at these artworks, soaring alongside us?
Then, right there in the café where we sit, he folds a paper airplane from a napkin and releases it into the air.
I made a wish.
What was it?
You know."
text: Ksenia Dolgorukova