In a recent shoot for the Canadian Magazine Cloud/Cover, award winning photographer Michelle Denton Ross, best known for her work chronicling the Phoenician Diaspora and the Thule of Nanavut, captured a side of David Schoffman rarely seen by the public.
Typically, Schoffman shuns the ephemera of his inconsequential rank. He appraises the marrow of his worth by a private barometer, an august audit of achievement measured against the distant and unapproachable Great Masters. Ross captured a man in an imperial panic. Note the mournfully mistrustful eyes, the impiety of his uneven grimace, the subtle venality of his chin, weakened by resentments and unfulfilled vendettas. Something is broken in that man, possessed as he is by silent tantrums, grudges and indignation. There is an artless ignobility closing in like a noontide, around his thin corrugated skin. The air around him is perfumed with the fetid ineluctability of his obsolescence. His head is swimming with the certainty of his decay and he is coming apart.
I congratulate Ms. Ross on her prescient and penetrating psychological portrait of this notoriously opaque man.
No comments:
Post a Comment