A continuation from the textured background series of painting that I’m exploring, this painting came out of a passing melancholic thought. I was thinking about how trees must love to see children swinging, and that not very often do children swing in trees these days. My son decided that he did not want like to play in the tree swing now that he’s older. Sad to hear, as he is only nearly eight years old. I have since taken the tree swing down and passed it on, but there was something about it, suspended there in the winds, that I miss. Has a part of my childhood been passed on, as a result?