(LEMONS. cat 642. oil on canvas. 18″x16″)

I’ve sold the Lemons. Actually they sold themselves, it wasn’t as if I did anything clever to make the sale but at least I didn’t manage to unsell them.

Ironically the buyer of these lemons is the sister of the woman who tried to buy another painting of lemons years ago, which allows me to tell the little lemons story, again.

I once showed paintings at the house of friends in Islington. My paintings were as a backdrop to their party. The hostess, I’ll call her Janis (because it’s her name) is an very good cook, it was a good party and Janis worked the floor for me. She asked people if they liked the painting they were looking at and if they said that they did she suggested that they buy it and, for the most part, they did.

I was swanning about with a glass of something lovely in my hand, being alternately a bit of a star and a little nervous, talking to people as red dots were being deployed when my sister’s friend Liz told me that she would “like to buy the little painting of the lemons”. “The lemons !” I (allegedly) exclaimed, “Why do you want to buy that one ? It’s the worst painting here” and I led her to it and started to expound about the painting’s faults. Janis had seen and heard the exchange and some time later I felt a hand on my shoulder and her voice in my ear saying “And she didn’t buy the lemons did she.”