33 Greed

Greed is the third of the seven deadly sins, and perhaps the most insidious. Unlike anger or pride, greed rarely announces itself loudly. It works quietly, steadily, accumulating, taking more than is needed and convincing itself that this is reasonable, even necessary. In this painting, Greed, the act appears simple and almost pastoral: a man harvesting apples in an orchard, reaching up for just one more, while beside him a wheelbarrow is already piled impossibly high. The scene is calm, ordered, and beautifully lit, yet the danger lies not in chaos, but in excess.

The orchard should be a place of balance. Trees give fruit, fruit is taken, and the cycle continues. But here, balance has been lost. The wheelbarrow is stacked into a precarious tower, no longer practical, no longer useful. It has passed the point of need and entered the realm of hoarding. Still, the man stretches upward, arm extended, eyes fixed on the next apple. The gesture is telling. There is no glance back at what has already been gathered, no acknowledgement of sufficiency. When there is nothing left, man will want more.

Greed is everywhere. It is present in overfishing, where oceans are stripped faster than they can recover. It is present in the destruction of forests, cleared not for survival but for profit. It is present in the hoarding of wealth and resources by a few, while many go without. The painting speaks to this quietly but firmly. The orchard appears abundant, yet it is finite. Every apple taken reduces what remains. The soft yellow sky and distant green hills suggest a world that is still intact, but only just.

Colour plays a central role in this work. The greens of the trees are deep and lush, evoking fertility and life. Against this, the red apples stand out sharply, symbols of desire, temptation, and reward. Red draws the eye, just as greed draws the mind. The golden tones of the ground and sky suggest warmth and prosperity, but also a warning, as if the scene is suspended in late-afternoon light, a moment before something changes.

The man himself is small within the landscape, yet his actions have outsized consequences. This is another truth about greed: it often begins with individuals, ordinary gestures repeated again and again, until the cumulative effect becomes devastating. Species vanish, waters are poisoned, forests fall. The destruction of our planet rarely happens in one dramatic moment; it happens through countless small acts of taking too much.

Greed does not depict catastrophe. Instead, it shows the moment before. The orchard still stands, the apples still grow, the wheelbarrow has not yet collapsed. That restraint makes the message more powerful. This is a warning, not an aftermath. It asks a simple question: how much is enough? And it reminds us that if we never learn to answer it, there will come a day when there is nothing left to take.

Oil on fine portrait linen: 95 x 178 cm; 37.4 x 70.1 in (sold)