He was surrounded by it day to day. It stood by him. Sometimes he did not see it. other times he would embrace it, as it enveloped him. The studio was steadfast and unquestioning in its support. Understanding that it was in fact the wings that he sought. The fuel and the fodder for his quest. The studio did not care about convention and rules and accepted paths. Fierce and potent in its outpouring, a material cause, a texture, a color; ever ready to provide the alchemy he needed. The transformative ritual of making had become his fix, his salve, his need, his haven.