The images in Wayne Thiebaud's drypoints fill the space around them, carving into it. They are images of mountains. In one, only the mountaintop shows and a gigantic cloud is in the process of expanding into the entire sky. In another there seem to be forest fires; smoke plumes drift from behind a towering rock that rises from a ridge lined with minuscule trees, rooftops, maybe farms. Two images are of precipitous mountainsides, tiny trees holding their own. And one is a whole mountain, solidly angular against a cloud encircling its peak. 'There's nothing really that I've ever found in other lines that is like an etched line--its fidelity, the richness of it, the density you just don't get that any other way.'