The artwork embraced those childhood memories, combining humor and tenderness with a touch of danger. The pink tree stood among a bed of scrolls, delicate and dreamy—but also, in retrospect, fragile. The work had been installed in the gallery’s window for the duration of the exhibition, and when we received it back, the sun had bleached the once-vibrant pink into something far more muted. Still, we didn’t mind. Like memories and bodies, artworks change over time. They age, they fade, and they carry their history with them.