๐—ข๐—ธ๐—ฎ๐˜† ๐˜€๐—ผ, Ganz ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐—ฑ๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐˜„๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—ฆ๐—ธ๐˜†๐—ง๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐—ถ๐—ป๐˜€ ๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ ๐—ต๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐—ถ๐—ป-๐—ผ๐—ฏ๐˜€๐—ฒ๐˜€๐˜€๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐˜€๐—ผ๐—ป.

This was supposed to be simple.

Just a quick prompt.

A train. Maybe some tracks.
Like something youโ€™d hand a kid with a box of magic markers.

But Ganz got carried away.

He ran a prompt.
Did a few paintouts.
Started nudging lights, cleaning seams, tweaking fog, adjusting reflections.

Suddenly we had:
๐ŸŒซ๏ธ Industrial haze
๐Ÿšฆ Sodium bounce on wet roads
๐ŸŒ‡ A city that doesnโ€™t exist but feels like it does

This isnโ€™t a real shot.

But it might as well be.

Thatโ€™s what happens when your eye is trained to see what most people miss.

Even when he tries to keep it โ€œbasic,โ€ Ganz canโ€™t help himself.

This was supposed to be a coloring book!

And we got this.

Howโ€™s his son supposed to color over that?