For all their alleged prestige, the Erythrokeramists are all quite obscure. Anaxa does not think he has met any notable ones apart from you and Madame Socrippe and all the artworks strewn across the Grove as if they themselves do not understand the intentions of their creators any more than he does. The art looks… alright, if you can look past the sheer abstractness of its meaning (which takes up the most of the work anyways; all this chatter about the value of erythrokeramism from that Nodist sage and all there is to their art is impression, expression, and unintentional mirages).

You always tell him that he only thinks that way because ‘he doesn’t understand art’, but he knows for a fact that anything he doesn’t understand is hopeless to feed to you. All your eloquence and profundity amounts to nothing in comparison to your field of knowledge, in his perspective. What use is there to study existence through aesthetic? Even if he does not understand art, there is no more value in investigating souls through artistry than there is in trying to talk sense into Aglaea.

“It looks terrible,” Anaxa remarks without a moment’s hesitation, sounding quite happy that he can insult your artwork freely. You’re in his office, forcibly hanging up some of your paintings in order to supposedly open his mind to the realm of the imagination.