A RARE CLASH OF BELLS
The exhibition of David Schoffman’s paintings is an act of benevolence. Highly regarded internationally with a wide rabble of collectors and supporters, Schoffman prefers the unctuous carriage of a buttery mole to the extroverted flamboyance of a lionized genius. The crowds at DCA Fine Art this month recognize this rare opportunity, knowing that David and his work may vanish without a pant for the foreseeable future.
With only a couple of weeks left in the show (Delia Cabral is locked in a ricochet of intensive negotiation trying to extend the exhibition for at least an additional week), the crush of visitors has added an atmosphere of frenzy to the normally quiet gallery.
Careless wanderers mingle with inquisitive art students; swanky westside bon vivants rub elbows with humorless intellectuals: curators, consumed in the uncoiling of Schoffman’s visual puns nestle next to corporate art consultants looking for baubles compatible with Feng Shui.
One thing all have in common is the lamentable knowledge that Schoffman prefers to remain invisible and that if he’s up on the bandstand its best to get up and dance.
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