On my floor, other than those books, which are piled in a corner near the radiator, beneath the window, are some canvases I painted a few years ago and that I have now stacked here and there against the wall, and against my desk, and in the closet, and which I never look at anymore, for they are turned away from me, so that I see, if I happen to glance at them, only the untreated side of the canvas, and the frames to which they have been stapled.