Sometimes you start to paint and life is faster than your hands. I look at this painting and it has nothing to do with me! I don't recognize myself in this work. I'm much older now than when I started to paint this swing caroussel a few weeks ago. Years, maybe decades had passed... I fell weak and vulnerable. Why is all those people laughing when even love can make you miserable? Wouldn't be a good idea to cut all the cables?