I always kept books. I like the privacy of a book. You know, I think, on the bus, did you ever look over anybody’s shoulder and see if they’re reading Steinbeck? You can do very private, very intimate things; you can do loony things, and it’s all your business. I think mine tend to be “diary tic,” like I’m thinking about this, I’ve got an appointment, or I’m going to see the dentist—little notations like that, or money notations. As far as the caricatures, I was literally trying to relearn things. Because I was thinking I was going to insert more of these types of figures in the pieces. I wanted them to be individuated, even though they were parts of a group that were similar. They’re copies of copies. You’re copying and copying. And it was a technique I used when I taught, which is you start with something and you make it 10 times or 20 times or 30 times and see how it metamorphosizes as you make it, copying your own copies. Because I was interested in the way that drawing wasn’t just the paper and the tool, but was a way of containing time, a way of remembering. I think of the sketchbooks as kind of “Proustian.” In the earlier stage, with these drawings that were in pen and ink and pencil, where they were more related to the paintings that I was making then, I think, there was a sense in which they served the paintings, or I could work things out with them, like a shoe style or something. And then later, they became a thing unto themselves because my ability expressively increased, and just, that people change.