I was made aware of Jeff Koons today, in a film. The professor made him out to be the successor of Andy Warhol. The professor made him out to be the monster machine that all of us younger artists are up against, as if he drew the final line of standard when it comes to the art-making and art-production and art-performance process. Koons has assistants, specialists. These specialists mix colors all day and fill in his paintings for him, like paint-by-numbers. He has "management" that oversee the "specialists" who paint, to make sure they are not "doing their own thing", or "going off in their own trance, forgetting who they are working for, forgetting that they are Jeff Koons, the hands of Jeff Koons."

I was amazed, if that is the right word, I don't know. I was definetely feeling something. Maybe it was the fact that he hitch-hiked from Pittsburge to New York City to become what he has become today. I hear stories like this. Artists hitch-hiking. I think of Bob Dylan. For Jeff Koons to be in the position that he is in now, which is a position that functions like a machine, a new Andy Warhol's Factory, is something to look at and respect. This man conceives of concepts, day and night, referring to the old masters and bohemian modernists in his works. The history of art is crucial to his aesthetic and confidence. I did ask myself one question though. What would he create if there was no history of art? If there was no commercialism? Then I do ask myself, what would I create if there was no train station, or no musicians playing at night, or what if everybody decided to go cold-turkey when it came to cigarette smoking?

I think this is where the intuitive nature and being, spiritual vision and belief, come into the realm of our waking and subconcsious existence. You can tell I've been reading about Existentialism, it has been revealing as well as a scratch to my head.

Maybe if everything disappeared except the human race, maybe we would have many many self-portraits or many many void barren landscapes. Who knows? The fantasy would be born all over again.