10

"I caution you, youth, not to expect too much of art," you say as you sketch. "An old grayhair told me to see the painting of Gwydiom at the Cathedral of the Holy Sight, that the mere vision of it would transport me from all my troubles. I did just as he said, but was hauled to debtor's prison all the same even after I informed my creditors of my cultural experience."

You shake your head. "Heed my advice. Do not expect art to save you, transform you, or do anything but cover the holes in your walls. The very best you can hope for is that, when you look at a piece on a wall—or plank—that you may see something recognizable of interest peering back."

You step away from your painting and lower the tip of your stick into the grass. The Hutchins children lean forward, and other audience members crane their necks. The child's eyes go wide.

"Is that…a horse riding a porpoise?"

You wink at the child. "You tell me."

Onward