Now I would like to tell you about the squares because I am up to my shoulders in them again. The first thing I want to tell you about is that I feel very much as though I could go on painting them for the rest of my remaining painting time. They are infinitely compelling to me. But there is so much to tell you about, there is so much feeling I have about them, I find there is too much to tell, and I cannot decide what of that too much I should choose from, after having chosen the first thing. I will say this: They are squares, but they are not squares, for there is never a right angle, but they are squares that appear on the surface to be abstract—not that they are abstract squares, but that they are paintings of squares (that are never squares) which give the appearance of abstraction. (I think.) But they are not abstractions! These are in no sense nonobjective paintings! Perhaps they live in the world as such, but they were not born as such. They are as representational as anything I have painted. I am not saying they are squares (what a very strange word, really, this word, square, I cannot tell if it is Latin in origin or middle English or what) I am representing, I am not painting representational squares, I am painting, I will just tell you now, they began as windows, I am talking here about the Red Eye paintings, but they are becoming REDACT REDACT REDACT REDACT. I really don't want to be talking about this anymore. I should have taken as my subject today the first criticism I ever received as an "artist." It was between that topic and this one when I sat down to write my paragraph a little while ago. The one was vivid and full of story, and I longed to tell it, for it was a true story, while the other, the one I chose, was amorphous and not story-ful at all, but I chose it because I felt I wanted to tell you something that I then discovered in the act of telling you I didn't want to tell you! It is not that I don't wish you to know it, it is only that I don't want to tell my secrets yet, for I am still cupping them in my hand and animating them with my living warmth and encouraging breath, I am still hoping to turn tadpoles into dragons, I am still so deep in the midst of this work, I should not be talking about it. In other words, I am still using my secrets, I cannot give them away yet! I am very unhappy with this paragraph. It is way overcooked.