We will stipulate at the outset that this is not the finest example of artistic finesse we've ever run across. However, as a token of our man-of-the-people nature (shut up), we agree to speak no more about the quality of the artwork for the duration of this post.
What is worth noting is the pleasure the pig wizard takes in his magical cauldron. He stirs it, knowing that in short order, he will have transformed scraps of dead pigs (that is, "tough cuts of meat") into something good. Something gold.
For that was the goal of alchemy, was it not? The transformation of inert lead into a substance untainted with the practical?
Don't trouble yourself wondering how he could believe that members of his own family—his own children?—weren't good to begin with, that if not for his Dark Arts—and a little death—they would remain mere pigs. (And don't malign the wizard by calling him the Crackpot Alchemist. Believe us, that's nothing but a trap.)
If only the pig wizard could transform himself into a being in love with life, and not death. If only.