Image from here
The peasant woman in the foreground is emptying potatoes from a basket into a sack. If the picture is (as I think) of the end of the day, it’ll be her umpteenth basket. Her back probably ached like hell from stooping, lifting and bending all day. She and her companion would have had hands that were numb with cold and chapped and rough from manual work. The only false note in the painting is that her face is not only beautiful but unmarked by sweat or dirt.
This painting, more than most, tells us about the power of art. Nations may rage and governments rise and fall. Priests will preach and intellectuals pontificate. But for the people who work, work will remain hard and life will mostly be experienced through the surface of their skin. They’re the strongest of all.