Play is Serious (part one): Chad

One of the big revelations that has been provided to me by parenthood is simply this: play is serious business.  And it bears a fair resemblance to the artistic process, which might lead you to conclude (depending on how you feel about children and/or artists) that a) all children are artists, or b) all artists are children.  Maybe both are true.  When I paint, I feel the same transcendent, focused joy that led me to spend hours creating apartments for mice out of snow drifts, or piling up rocks in a stream to make waterfalls.  The goals and objects of play, while real, are always ephemeral.  So is art.  And the best things happen when you realize that you chose only one of infinite options, that your solution is only a place holder for the next creative act.  

Which brings me to Chad.  Chad stands about 2 inches high, wears a casual (if slightly emo) outfit, and his hands are locked in a steering wheel grip so that he can drive his yellow-orange adventure vehicle. 
Despite his diminutive size and lack of physical mobility, Chad has led an astonishingly adventuresome life since coming to live with David about 2 years back.  Among other things, he has survived being swallowed whole by an enormous Komodo dragon, worked for a time driving a John Deere tractor, and dallied in Cinderella's coach.  
He has flown through the air repeatedly without the aid of even a parachute; has suffered attack by dinosaurs on many occasions; has been buried alive in the wilderness of the backyard. And through it all his face has worn the same blank look that suggests a kind of calm readiness. 
Right now, he's thoroughly wrapped in pink yarn.  That right: Chad has been mummified.  Will he survive?  Will he walk the earth in search of victims?  Will he lay an eternal curse upon all our heads?  Only David knows for sure, and he's not telling.  To my eye, he's the perfect little art object.  A thousand or so more, and I'd have a great installation...all I need now is a title.