My good yet flawed friend David Schoffman has an image problem.
On the one hand he wants to present himself as a serious artist - one who is indispensable to "the discourse," but on the other hand he seems determined to sabotage his credibility by attaching his name to any number of dubious projects.
While most artists avoid smiling when photographed, David's slanted adolescent grin often comes off as a cynical grimace. His playful nature typically teases our contemporary taboos, insisting that somehow his Brooklyn provenance provides cover for his blunt insensitivity.
I once heard him blurt out during an unscripted Q and A at one of California's most prestigious art schools that he had no problem with 'cultural appropriation!'
Everyone knows that C.A. is the third rail of artistic halal, but David went feet first into AfroPop's indebtedness to James Brown without the slightest tinge of self-consciousness. (There was an audible gasp later on when he mentioned having a green bagel with a shmear of jalepeño cream cheese on St. Patrick's Day while sipping on a piping hot cup of Masala Chai).
David's many allies in the art world are growing weary of defending him. He refuses to go on an international apology tour claiming the outdated prerogatives of 'artistic freedom.'
Schoffman is definitely rolling the reputational dice.
I fear, however, that his luck may soon run out.
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