As I understand it, he’s painting some sort of big, important canvas. At the same time, he’s recruiting helpers to sketch the background. They’ll draw the secondary figures along his contours ...
‘I’m not refusing to help,’ I said, ‘but I’m a poor helper. Writing isn’t my calling.’
‘To the contrary, Geiger, I value you because you’re succinct and write simply.’
‘And me,’ Nastya said, ‘what do you value me for?’