I hand make Flux cards. Each is a pocket-sized prompt for play. Ten squares. Ten images. Each is a prompt, but for what? Here’s the fun part: you decide what you will do with each one.

Each image is a kind of a nudge. An airplane? Maybe you fly around the room, arms wide, making jet noises. Or you fold a paper plane and see how far it goes. Or you just stare out the window and watch one glide across the sky.

It’s your call. The goal is to spark your imagination.

Don’t get stuck on what the prompt image “means.” It’s a gentle push, a suggestion, not a hard rule. The card gives you a start, but where you take it is totally yours.

You mark each square when you perform it. Mark it with a pen. Or use a hole punch. Or rip it. Whatever. There’s something satisfying about it. Like those hole punches on an old bus pass, it’s proof you did the thing.

In the 1960s, some Fluxus artists mailed “event scores” on postcards to strangers. Simple acts like “Clap once. Wait. Clap again.” Art as everyday action. Your life is the art, your actions are your gallery.

I make each Flux card by hand. I use mini stamps to fill the squares, and I use different ones each time. No two are the same. Each one is its own little weird. Just like what you’ll do with it.

I gave a few of these card to friends. They asked for more. They finished one, then they wanted another. And another. They got it.

The card isn’t the art. You are.