Marty was right on the money when he saw Finn’s talent. Each pencil-shaded picture was more beautiful than the last. A lot of it was clearly classwork—anatomy sketches, still life, that sort of thing. But as he turned pages, Ethan began to see other things. Fantasy pictures of creatures so well designed they nearly looked real. Impression sketches of people Finn either saw on the subway or walking down the road.
Ethan could feel the emotion from the drawing of a lone woman, crying on a night time bench, an empty stroller by her side. Or the joy from the child playing in a park. A sketch of lovers, holding hands on a boardwalk. Page after page, a new feeling sat before him. Ethan had never been much of an art connoisseur, beside the occasional cartoon when he was younger. He never realized
