Again, consider the life of the artist who made this loaf. At night he went to the bars to see his other friends, the painters, the authors, the singers and sculptors, and while all complained with boozy brio about the state of the world, the creator of the picture above was probably regarded with silent sullen envy: the only one in the group to be making a living off the fruit of their brush. But the more they drank the more they’d tell theirselves he wasn’t really an artist anymore. The important work, the work that mattered, was being done by the boys with the WPA grants, painting blocky crude socially-aware murals in Post Offices. Work that inspired the people. What did this do, but make them feel hungry for a moment? Well, we’re all hungry, brother. Join the club.