The canvas I will not sell
On the village with no name, the poppies that invite themselves, and why some paintings never leave the attic.
Every so often someone asks to buy the village with the old bridge. I always say no, and I am never quite able to explain why to their satisfaction.
It is not the best thing I have made. But it is the one that comes closest to the Provence I carry rather than the one I can see — the village of no name, the dry-stone bridge, the field gone to gold, and at the front the poppies that invite themselves into every canvas of mine like guests who know they are loved.
A studio needs one painting it will not part with. It keeps the others honest. When I am tempted to finish something too quickly, or to paint what will sell rather than what is true, I look at it, and I begin again.
