One recent weekday morning, the British painter Peter Doig arrived at a bonded warehouse—a cavernous brick building—about a mile south of the River Thames, but not subject to the import taxes of the United Kingdom. He buzzed through security and entered a windowless white room, where he settled in for a long day. Awaiting him were a series of etching prints that had been brought over from the United States to be signed by Doig before being put up for sale. David and Evelyn Lasry, who run the printmaking house Two Palms, in New York, and who had printed the works and brought them over, were there to assist. Thirty-two prints in editions of twenty-eight each. Eight hundred and ninety-six signatures in total. “We think four hours, maybe five,” Evelyn said.
Doig was game. He was wearing aviator-style eyeglasses, brown leather shoes, a denim work shirt, and a gray sweater with sleeves rolled up. The Lasrys’ adult son, Teddy, read out the edition numbers, eraser at the ready. Doig made conversation as he numbered and signed them with a sharp blue pencil. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty—shit! “It’s a bit like chewing gum and scratching your head at the same time,” Doig said.