"You may have seen them, but just not realized it," Elias hummed back, the words vague, but true. Galleries and even a magazine once featured his art often enough for a person with that kind of interest to be familiar with it. He just didn't sign with his name. His design. Tilting on his stool, he regarded Barrett as if he might read right into the other man through his eyes. He held that gaze for almost a minute. Then he pulled away with a shake of his head and a smile. "You find something gentle and sad in a painting of the sky? I think you read too far into those theories. After all, some say what you see in a painting is as much a reflection of yourself than the painter. Perhaps more so."

Elias didn't realize the passage of time until his students started to chatter and put the paint supplies back in the center of the room. Some always came and went, but the crux of people were beginning to pack up. His own painting progressed farther than he planned, being egged on by Barrett. Listening to the other's words, he studiously paid attention to packing up himself, not wanting to meet Barrett's gaze. The tone he talked about his favorite painting with was soft and almost longing. So kind. Elias couldn't help the ache in his chest because that artist could be him and yet it surely wasn't. This need to fill the loneliness in a person belonged to that other artist despite the fact that Elias was receiving it now. "...You truly are kind."

With the room empty now, he spoke again. "Perhaps you can show me this artist's paintings some other time?"