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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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