There are few things more degrading for a man of consequence than to be obliged by necessity or consigned by fate to having a day-job.
Such was the case in a prior incarnation for my dear friend David Schoffman.
For years he reported to work and dutifully performed his required tasks like Kafka in Prague. His desk, adorned with adorable photos and knick knacks collected on the occasional vacation, was a landscape of corporate obeisance and respectability. The cubicle was his second home, his first being a bed and the microwave with which he heated his rubbery frozen dinners.
Had he any passion for his work I have no doubt he could have risen to the rank of senior vice-president. But David was one of those listless laborers whose soul was always elsewhere.
Though he never received any formal training he always had a knack for art. Whenever he was sent on a business trip somewhere he would pass the time between meetings making idle drawings on hotel stationary.
I suppose the world of work has a fairly slim margin for what is deemed acceptable behavior - especially for those within the echelons of upper-middle management. What might be considered charming or silly or harmlessly puerile among the creative class is often deemed by Human Resources to be offensive, repugnant, and in the worst cases, downright criminal.
A safe workplace free from sexual coercion and duress is a legally edenic condition scrupulously maintained for reasons of economy and public relations. As soon as David became a liability he was summarily let go with a small severance and a gentle slap on the wrist.
The rest of course is contemporary art history. Schoffman has never looked back ... except for those times when he needed decent health insurance ...
from The Body Is His Book: 100 Paintings |
No comments:
Post a Comment