One could be excused if, after meeting my good friend David Schoffman for the first time, one is left with the impression that he is somewhat disengaged. He specializes in what is called here in France the "purgatory of pleasantries" - the felicitous nods, sympathetic grunts and the occasional 'oh that's interestings', that serve to lubricate our superficial intercourse.
My best advice is not to take this personally. He does this to everyone. It's his way of expressing the shame he feels in being alive.
The unfortunate fact is that only place he truly feels at peace is in his dim, cavernous, Culver City studio.
It is only there where he feels he can successfully exculpate himself from the sins of his past lives. He has persuaded himself that the Lord's mercy is insufficient in its grace. For David purgation can only come through the ritual magic of picture making.
Schoffman is consumed with the dead souls that drift through his consciousness and disrupt his fitful sleep. He has visions of savagery, cupidity and wanton avarice. And though for most artists these qualitites are enviable assets for David they are the ghosts that sap him of his limited strength.
His faith is tested daily and he finds it wanting. After years of drugs and drink he has finally found an imperfect peace through God. But even beneath the canopy of the Almighty's love, Schoffman remains wracked by retroactive guilt.
I'm not sure I believe in this metempsychosis business - or as Molly Bloom would have it "met him pike hoses." It may just be another of Schoffman's many hallucinations.
I do believe however that whatever higher power there is up there, the capacity to wipe the slate clean is an imperfect practice at best. After all, if God's got a big Pink Pearl he's still dealing with a sheet of 100% archival ph neutral rag.
My best advice is not to take this personally. He does this to everyone. It's his way of expressing the shame he feels in being alive.
The unfortunate fact is that only place he truly feels at peace is in his dim, cavernous, Culver City studio.
It is only there where he feels he can successfully exculpate himself from the sins of his past lives. He has persuaded himself that the Lord's mercy is insufficient in its grace. For David purgation can only come through the ritual magic of picture making.
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| The Body is His Book #12, David Schoffman |
Schoffman is consumed with the dead souls that drift through his consciousness and disrupt his fitful sleep. He has visions of savagery, cupidity and wanton avarice. And though for most artists these qualitites are enviable assets for David they are the ghosts that sap him of his limited strength.
His faith is tested daily and he finds it wanting. After years of drugs and drink he has finally found an imperfect peace through God. But even beneath the canopy of the Almighty's love, Schoffman remains wracked by retroactive guilt.
I'm not sure I believe in this metempsychosis business - or as Molly Bloom would have it "met him pike hoses." It may just be another of Schoffman's many hallucinations.
I do believe however that whatever higher power there is up there, the capacity to wipe the slate clean is an imperfect practice at best. After all, if God's got a big Pink Pearl he's still dealing with a sheet of 100% archival ph neutral rag.
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