Artists look at other artists. We hear ourselves across time and on the other sides of walls, working, not working, listening, painting, speaking, not speaking. We watch what we make and how we make it. We search for clues, for substance, for stimulation and connection. When we work out and through each other we tangle our language together and produce new sentences, distinct syntax. Our tendencies and our preferences, our ideas and various ways of placing those ideas, our styles even, seem to need the company of each other. There is a politics to placement, and alignment, and company. And there is a genealogy created out of manifestos, practices and love poems, out of close encounters in our immediate surroundings, and out of a trans-historical crush.2