Printing day begins early, with Randy going down to the studio before breakfast to prepare the inks. (How much preparation they need depends on how long it’s been since they last printed.) He removes the wax paper from the 15 or so puddles of ink, removes any obvious solid pieces or skin that has formed around the edge, and then awakens them by kneading with a metal spatula and perhaps adding a little plate oil; colors that are low or missing need to be replenished. Each color has its own characteristic feel—from yogurt to butter, velvet to plastic to grit—and personality—yielding or stubborn, ready, retiring, or demanding. The work area prepared, he puts 10 sheets of rag paper in to soak and goes upstairs for breakfast. This part takes about 2 hours.

Gail comes down by noon, dons her nitril gloves and immediately begins painting. She usually works on a couple of plates at the same time, putting one aside when it’s well along to begin another. It might be that the two pieces are in a similar vein and she wants to keep them consistent; or that she wants to get some distance on the first piece or wants the inks to dry a little before going on; or that she doesn’t know how to proceed, or that she’s lost communication with it. Some days she will have several half-finished pieces around for much of the day; other days she finishes them quickly and moves on eagerly and effortlessly. Some days it’s agony, some day’s it’s ecstasy: but in either case, she keeps at it hour after hour.

Usually after 4 or 5 hours of working, the look of the pieces begins to change. For one thing, by then the colors have gotten blended and are thus changed. Also, Gail might have hit upon a technique and gone off in that direction; or she might have gotten tired of working like this, and so started working like that. In any case, by late afternoon and early evening, the momentum of what she has been doing usually overrides the plans and intentions with which she started the day.