I often imagine that Andy Warhol is standing behind the desk where I draw and write, and that he nods now and then, when he sees how my work is progressing, which gives me confidence in what I am doing, although his nodding is, of course, only my estimation, and whether such an estimation would be accurate isn’t clear, though I believe it would be, for I also sometimes imagine that he doesn’t nod, but rather shakes his head, or continues to look on, over my shoulder, while making a dissatisfied noise at the sight of my work, so that I must start again whatever I am doing, and try to fix it.