As much as I dislike molds, particularly green ones, this example is exquisitely rendered, and one of the few pieces of actual art found anywhere in the Gallery. This is what happens in a Depression: men or women who might otherwise have had good careers in fine arts are reduced to turning out Jell-O illustrations, adding artistic flourishes where they can. At night they went to the bars to see their 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.