This remains my favourite in that genre, a scene of a military camp in Texas during WWII:
The image itself is hauntingly stark, made all the more so because it was painted by my great-uncle. He was only, by quirk of geneology, a couple years older than my dad. His mother, my great-grandmother, was an accomplished painter who moved in the Hudson River crowd before she married. Her talent passed on to him.
He was an excellent artist, in pencil and watercolour for the most part, had an affinity for maps and cartography, and worked for one of the local museums before the war.
The camp he painted here was the one he trained at as a navigator and bombardier. He died in a B29 flying fuel over "The Hump" during the early years of the B29 program when they were flying out of China.
The painting hangs in my front room.