“We do not stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.”
— George Bernard Shaw
For me, it was the memory of swinging as a child.
The rush of air against my face.
Hair flying wildly in the wind.
The feeling of soaring higher and higher as if gravity itself had loosened its grip for just a moment.
Back then, life was built from first experiences.
The first time your bare feet touched cold grass in the morning.
The first firefly caught in your hands.
The first time you realized music could make you cry.
The first deep laugh that made your stomach hurt.
Children live close to wonder.
A cardboard box becomes a castle.
A puddle becomes an ocean.
A swing becomes flight.
Somewhere along the way, many of us trade wonder for efficiency. We begin measuring life instead of feeling it. Days become tasks to complete instead of moments to experience. We stop looking up. We stop lingering. We stop soaring.
When I painted Joy, I wasn’t simply painting a child on a swing.
I was painting a memory of freedom.
A memory of innocence before the world became complicated.
A reminder that somewhere inside us still lives the person who once believed the sky was reachable.
Maybe that’s why art matters.
Not because it decorates a wall, but because it awakens something sleeping inside us.
This painting asks a quiet question:
When was the last time you felt pure joy without needing a reason?
Not achievement.
Not success.
Not approval.
Just joy.
The kind that arrives unexpectedly and reminds you what it feels like to truly be alive.
Perhaps growing older is not about losing wonder.
Perhaps it’s about remembering how to return to it.
And maybe, just maybe, the child you once were is still waiting for you somewhere midair.
View the original painting here:
https://pforbesart.com/product/joy-original-acrylic-painting/
