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1
Speach 
For J.A.C.D
at Mass meeting  April - 1942

A few days ago, that warm day, I sat in my studio looking out over Union Square Park. Buds already on trees. I can even see from a distance a certain soft greenish tint. Crowds gathered coatless--just sitting around the soft warm sun. It was Sunday. I realized it was spring again.

That brought back my memories of other springs:

Apple blossoms silhouetting against the Catskill mountains, painting furiously out in the fields.

A boulevard in Paris, bright-colored awnings on the sidewalk cafes.

Race-time in London. Buying myself a gay necktie on Picadilly.

Last spring, the spring of 1941, to the southwestern states, planning, hoping, dreaming, of painting it, finally coming to reality. It was a fine spring.

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