An intimacy I did not realize, accumulated over hours and days passed by, as I felt around for the missing piece–sometimes cursing, sometimes crying, sometimes in a quiet joy–listening for the right color or word. Will this wax fuse to this oil? Will this image bond with this substrate? Will I use acrylic and sacrifice the luminosity of wax or use wax and sacrifice the dexterity of acrylic? Each piece took days, weeks–most of them–months, to come together. I have not, do not count the hours spent. They take the time they require.  And through this process the intimacy developed, unbeknownst me.