On the dark and light evening streets of San Francisco, Caydance and Griff walked home to her studio (his car was in a parking garage). On the way, she explained the concept of the artist’s studio, how much of her space was taken up by preparation materials for her class, her own work in progress, and the tools that she used. There might be less furniture than he would expect, but there was a comfortable chair, a round oak table and chairs, and a bed with many pillows.

“Sounds good to me”, Griff observed,

When she opened the studio door, out the oriel window the sun was setting on San Francisco Bay, sending a glow of filtered daylight onto the light blue checked tablecloth that covered the round oak table, onto the champagne glasses and French dessert plates on the table, and onto the centerpiece of white daisies in an antique French vase. On the studio table, mingling -- with Arches Paper in various weights and sizes, paint brushes and archival artists pens, assorted toy store objects, tubes of paints, a pile of stencils, Yes paste, and triangular pieces of transparent plastic -- art books were seemingly haphazardly left open. On the walls, Caydance’s drawings on rice paper, hung from library newspaper racks, were translucent in the setting sun.