A Study in Memory #323 18” x 24”Acrylic, shellac, watercolor, and ballpoint pen on paper.1995currently missing I am in the grip of Holocaust memory. Not the event itself—I did not live through that—but the collected memories of the event. The images, the testimonies, the music, the denials; all these things combined in such a way that I am left stymied. How can I describe a loss I cannot comprehend, yet recognize as real? How can I show the learned horror of tombstones thrown on the ground and used as walkways, puddles forming in the crevices? Indeed, my work does not try to illustrate this or other horrors of that time, but instead the horror I feel towards knowing that it happened. The unrelenting feeling of sadness I have over knowing that I can never do anything to change those events. Faces I can never say I am sorry to, and arms I can not attempt to stop from committing acts I know happened.Growing up in Boston, Massachusetts, I was not sheltered from prejudice and racism; it is unfortunately fairly common in that city. Growing up the son of a military historian, I did not think too much of the Holocaust footage I would sometimes see on the television in our house. To me there was little difference between that and the rest of the “war” footage. As a teen-ager I would spend time with kids whose circles would eventually come into paths with skinheads. By the time I was 18, I found myself arguing with people who firmly believed the Holocasut did not happen. It was not until I moved to Baltimore, Maryland that Holocaust memory took over as fiercely as it does now, and has since. I do not fully know why it did, but it has changed how I view everything I experience. It seems life is now forever seen through the filter of countless pages, and endless footage. Voices of people I have heard but never met. Tears I have watched shed, but can do nothing to stop. I had hoped that in learning more about the Holocaust I would get a better handle on my feelings and what was now becoming the main topic of my art at the time of this series. If anything it brought me further and further into it. The more I learned, the harder it became to stop taking in more information, constantly searching for a conclusion to something I have come to realize has no conclusion to it.

A Study in Memory #323

18” x 24”
Acrylic, shellac, watercolor, and ballpoint pen on paper.
1995

currently missing

I am in the grip of Holocaust memory. Not the event itself—I did not live through that—but the collected memories of the event. The images, the testimonies, the music, the denials; all these things combined in such a way that I am left stymied. How can I describe a loss I cannot comprehend, yet recognize as real? How can I show the learned horror of tombstones thrown on the ground and used as walkways, puddles forming in the crevices? Indeed, my work does not try to illustrate this or other horrors of that time, but instead the horror I feel towards knowing that it happened. The unrelenting feeling of sadness I have over knowing that I can never do anything to change those events. Faces I can never say I am sorry to, and arms I can not attempt to stop from committing acts I know happened.

Growing up in Boston, Massachusetts, I was not sheltered from prejudice and racism; it is unfortunately fairly common in that city. Growing up the son of a military historian, I did not think too much of the Holocaust footage I would sometimes see on the television in our house. To me there was little difference between that and the rest of the “war” footage. As a teen-ager I would spend time with kids whose circles would eventually come into paths with skinheads. By the time I was 18, I found myself arguing with people who firmly believed the Holocasut did not happen. It was not until I moved to Baltimore, Maryland that Holocaust memory took over as fiercely as it does now, and has since. I do not fully know why it did, but it has changed how I view everything I experience. It seems life is now forever seen through the filter of countless pages, and endless footage. Voices of people I have heard but never met. Tears I have watched shed, but can do nothing to stop. I had hoped that in learning more about the Holocaust I would get a better handle on my feelings and what was now becoming the main topic of my art at the time of this series. If anything it brought me further and further into it. The more I learned, the harder it became to stop taking in more information, constantly searching for a conclusion to something I have come to realize has no conclusion to it.



A Study in Memory #323 18” x 24”Acrylic, shellac, watercolor, and ballpoint pen on paper.1995currently missing I am in the grip of Holocaust memory. Not the event itself—I did not live through that—but the collected memories of the event. The images, the testimonies, the music, the denials; all these things combined in such a way that I am left stymied. How can I describe a loss I cannot comprehend, yet recognize as real? How can I show the learned horror of tombstones thrown on the ground and used as walkways, puddles forming in the crevices? Indeed, my work does not try to illustrate this or other horrors of that time, but instead the horror I feel towards knowing that it happened. The unrelenting feeling of sadness I have over knowing that I can never do anything to change those events. Faces I can never say I am sorry to, and arms I can not attempt to stop from committing acts I know happened.Growing up in Boston, Massachusetts, I was not sheltered from prejudice and racism; it is unfortunately fairly common in that city. Growing up the son of a military historian, I did not think too much of the Holocaust footage I would sometimes see on the television in our house. To me there was little difference between that and the rest of the “war” footage. As a teen-ager I would spend time with kids whose circles would eventually come into paths with skinheads. By the time I was 18, I found myself arguing with people who firmly believed the Holocasut did not happen. It was not until I moved to Baltimore, Maryland that Holocaust memory took over as fiercely as it does now, and has since. I do not fully know why it did, but it has changed how I view everything I experience. It seems life is now forever seen through the filter of countless pages, and endless footage. Voices of people I have heard but never met. Tears I have watched shed, but can do nothing to stop. I had hoped that in learning more about the Holocaust I would get a better handle on my feelings and what was now becoming the main topic of my art at the time of this series. If anything it brought me further and further into it. The more I learned, the harder it became to stop taking in more information, constantly searching for a conclusion to something I have come to realize has no conclusion to it.

A Study in Memory #323

18” x 24”
Acrylic, shellac, watercolor, and ballpoint pen on paper.
1995

currently missing

I am in the grip of Holocaust memory. Not the event itself—I did not live through that—but the collected memories of the event. The images, the testimonies, the music, the denials; all these things combined in such a way that I am left stymied. How can I describe a loss I cannot comprehend, yet recognize as real? How can I show the learned horror of tombstones thrown on the ground and used as walkways, puddles forming in the crevices? Indeed, my work does not try to illustrate this or other horrors of that time, but instead the horror I feel towards knowing that it happened. The unrelenting feeling of sadness I have over knowing that I can never do anything to change those events. Faces I can never say I am sorry to, and arms I can not attempt to stop from committing acts I know happened.

Growing up in Boston, Massachusetts, I was not sheltered from prejudice and racism; it is unfortunately fairly common in that city. Growing up the son of a military historian, I did not think too much of the Holocaust footage I would sometimes see on the television in our house. To me there was little difference between that and the rest of the “war” footage. As a teen-ager I would spend time with kids whose circles would eventually come into paths with skinheads. By the time I was 18, I found myself arguing with people who firmly believed the Holocasut did not happen. It was not until I moved to Baltimore, Maryland that Holocaust memory took over as fiercely as it does now, and has since. I do not fully know why it did, but it has changed how I view everything I experience. It seems life is now forever seen through the filter of countless pages, and endless footage. Voices of people I have heard but never met. Tears I have watched shed, but can do nothing to stop. I had hoped that in learning more about the Holocaust I would get a better handle on my feelings and what was now becoming the main topic of my art at the time of this series. If anything it brought me further and further into it. The more I learned, the harder it became to stop taking in more information, constantly searching for a conclusion to something I have come to realize has no conclusion to it.



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  1. boileddove reblogged this from williamschaff and added:
    oh damn will schaff
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