Seeing inside an artist’s studio is always preferable to me than seeing the art alone on a wall. If I’ve seen the studio, then the piece of art that came from it is like a souvenir of the experience of being allowed to see the private self of the artist. I’m one of those dinosaurs of the art world who seeks refuge in a quiet, lonely studio rather than in collaboration. That’s what painting has always meant to me—a monkish existence in labor for the process and philosophy of making art. In graduate school it was very hard to have only two walls, a curtain for a door, and my ceiling open to my colleagues. I fought a constant battle against conversations, music, and cigarette smoke so I could find a mental place where I could act my art.