In early 2006, I spent a lot of time in the studio of my wife, the painter Tatjana Krizmanic, watching her work or talking about art or mundane matters. At one point, I noticed in a new way the used tubes of paint on her side table, rolling cart, and easel. They had so much character. I thought of them as veterans of the studio, bent, disfigured, covered in colors not always their own, marked by the fingers of the artist. They appeared noble, resting in a kind of tired repose, and still incredibly vital, like artworks themselves. I was inspired to photograph them and bit by bit this series emerged.