BOOK REVIEW

My dear friend David Schoffman is a fraud.

Maurice Lanamm, watercolor by Dahlia Danton, undated.

At least that's how the art historian Maurice Lanamm sees it.

In his new discourteous   biography, (Slighted Promise: The Life and Work of David Schoffman), Lanamm paints an unflattering portrait of a man known mostly for his dignified benevolence.

In Lanamm's telling, Schoffman is a pretentious windbag who spends his time painting, teaching and reading long books with complicated sentence structure all in order to manicure his 'brand' and advance his 'career.'

Professor Lanamm is at his worst when he imagines David compiling a list of epigrammatic bullet points and elevator pitches that can be hissed whenever opportunity knocks. 

 " - contemporary art's disruptive pioneer."

" -  formalist torchbearer and thought-leading artisan."

" - monastically hermetic yet democratically demotic ."

" - bespectacled, erudite, intellectual urbanite."

" - refined epicurean and impenitent sybarite."

This ridiculous catalog goes on for pages creating a groaning omnibus of diminishing caricatures.

Lanamm tries to uncover what he sees as the transparent nature of Schoffman's insincerity. He is relentlessly prosecutorial, having thoroughly researched old interviews, unrecorded lectures, critical essays, personal correspondences, emails and text-messages. His critique is particularly stinging in light of the fact that Lanamm was once one of David's star students.

Lucija Candidat

Having been a confidante for so many years gave Lanamm the kind of access most scholars only dream of. He begins the book with an intimate account of Schoffman's first wife, the poet Lucija Candidat. 
Though his indiscreet disclosures are entertaining, Lanamm allows these Page Six aperçus to lead him down dark alleys of pop-psychological speculation.  He tells a story of Lucija wanting to move to a bigger apartment, finding their one-bedroom Manhattan walk-up a bit too cramped and inconvenient. David saw it only as "another new place to be tired in" and delayed the process interminably. Lanamm sees this as a leitmotif for David's entire career, citing "his negative, judgmental élan vital that perpetually denuded his empowerment, decelerated his velocity and denied the possibilities for extraordinary breakthroughs." 

Professor Lanamm's book is full of these silly conjectures. His flat prose and meaningless claptrap seldom get past the academic laugh-test. In his lengthy footnotes he often inserts himself into the story, opining on David's personal life like an omniscient narrator. (At one point he urges Schoffman to leave his current wife, Feydeau McCloyen, move to Paris, find a mistress and devote himself to watercolor!) 

It's unclear what Lanamm's motives are. David is a soft, somewhat inert target who, in his near egoless detachment from his own 'personal development' (could this be Schoffman's true 'brand'?!) remains impervious to any attempt at character assassination.  

Maurice Lanamm is a hack who hides behind dubious credentials and a ramshackle institutional forum that allows flimsy scholarship to go unchallenged.

David Schoffman, on the other hand, is a gentle dreamer whose solid accomplishments and unimpeachable integrity remain punishable offenses in the eyes of those who trade in campy, callous, cultural criticism.

Overall, however, the book is a raucous page-turner with juicy tidbits in every chapter. I highly recommend it!

DO UNTO OTHERS

My dear friend, David Schoffman, lives in a city that discourages walking. If you're traveling by foot in Los Angeles, unless you're with a dog, you look suspicious . The idea of a pedestrian's "right-of-way" is a form of automotive noblesse oblige and should never be taken for granted.

Walking at night presents a series of hazards of even greater complexity and the innocent flâneur is often mistaken for a tramp. 

As a European I find this all very strange. 

Many people believe that the cultivation of true friendship is nearly impossible in L.A. because most personal relationships are predicated upon  mutual self-interest. Some attribute this to the culture of Hollywood but I think it's because of all the driving.

Think about it.

Cars are like sovereign nations vying for position, power and prestige.

For the most part they all get along, not out of affection but out of convenience. The rogue road warrior typically receives his comeuppance through the intervention of a militarized arbitrator with a note pad. This way the peace is maintained and the free flow of individuals and goods remains stable and relatively secure.

In Los Angeles, people behave like their cars and see human interaction as an iteration of traffic. I won't get in your way so long as you agree not to get in my way and if we both exceed the speed limit at approximately the same rate, together we can advance our cause toward mutual satisfaction. 

My eccentric colleague David, however, insists on

strolling and likewise expects more from his acquaintances than mercenary social arbitrage. He doesn't care if people like him, he just doesn't like being seen as a professional asset.

You see, deserving or not, Schoffman is a distinguished artistic eminence. He's something of a southern Californian doyen whose range of endeavors puts him into contact with the powerful and the pretty. As a result, everyone wants to be his buddy.

He wants nothing of that.

Though occasionally he'll make an exception.

Dahlia Danton with David Schoffman. Date unknown