Unproductive and Alive

Before opening my print shop, I found myself asking:

How — and to whom — do I even sell my prints?
And do I even have the “qualification” to?

After all, art is subjective to begin with…
And it doesn’t have an obvious utilitarian purpose.

That’s when I noticed myself comparing it to everything I did before.
I made clothes. I sold clothes.
I created content. I sold content.
I worked in a production company. I sold stories, shows, images, sounds.

All of it was easy to frame in terms of usefulness.
Clothes are worn. Shows are watched. Ads are placed. Things are produced. People consume.
The cycle keeps going.

So naturally — or at least what we are taught to believe is natural — the same pattern tried to sneak into my art.

What is the utility of my photographs?
How do I justify their existence — or their worth?

And that question opened a deeper one:
Why do we always measure everything, including ourselves, by our usefulness?

We live in a world that glorifies productivity and consumption.
If you don’t produce, if you don’t serve, if you don’t offer something others can immediately use —
are you even worthy?
Do you even belong?
Or are you quietly erased?

We’ve learned to measure people not by their joy, their wisdom, or their ability to live in harmony —
but by their economic output.
A game where the rules keep shifting,
and where there are no winners at the end.

But when I look at nature, I see something else.

The river doesn’t strive to be useful or reach some kind of goal. It simply flows.

The tree doesn’t question its value. It simply stands, grows, breathes.

And yet, by simply being, they offer shelter, water, oxygen, shade —
without racing.
Without striving.
Without proving anything.

We often say we are part of nature.
But are we?
And what do we actually mean by that?

Because while nature plays and flows, we race.
We hustle.
We compare who’s ahead and who’s falling behind —
but behind who, exactly?
Who created these invisible finish lines?

Why did we start believing that being busy, useful, recognized, or accepted is the same as being happy?
Is it, really?

What if we allowed ourselves to just be — and see what genuinely comes from that space?
What if we created, shared, loved, and played —
not to please, not to serve, not to be useful,
but simply because we are?

Not because we must,
but because we truly want to.

I deeply believe this is where the shift happens —
and where truth begins to emerge.

Just thinking about da Vinci’s inventions…
Einstein’s breakthroughs…
Beethoven’s symphonies…
Van Gogh’s skies…
Did they care about utility or recognition?
I don’t think so.

They simply did what they couldn’t not do —
letting something greater speak through them.

Because the universe itself is playful.
It dances. It creates for the joy of creating.
So maybe we are also meant to play, to have fun, to enjoy —
without a purpose, without a goal.
Just like the river. Just like the tree.
Just like the bird that sings without needing to be recognized.

Life wasn’t meant to be a race toward usefulness.
It also wasn’t meant to be figured out, optimized, or calculated.

Life was meant to be played.
To be lived.
To be enjoyed.
Moment by moment.
Without purpose.
Without utility.
Just because it is.