What seems at first glance as the hubris of omnipotent dreams also embodies existential anxiety. We are invited to wander through the drawings and trace the line and stain that remember his past. The delicate drawings of the inferno delineate horror: ghosts look straight out at us from slashed portraits words, smears, and stains are whispered by him and sketch his secrets, guilt, and sin crouching at his door as well as his desire to be redeemed from them. In some of them, he is the hunter, while in others – the hunted. The images in Hirschfeld’s drawings are made of patches of color, almost Rorschach-like blots, like primitive, primordial paintings. These are the memories entreating him to return to the Age of Innocence, of purity and naïveté preceding the bite of the apple. Submissive and obedient, he provides them with contour and body, exposing his forgotten secrets. There is no doubt that they exist they are as inseparable from us as the shadows our bodies cast in daylight. Hirschfeld does not battle his ghosts, but gives himself over to them and takes pleasure in his pain. They whisper our dark, sexual, perverted, and bloodthirsty secrets to us with pleasure and desire. There are ghosts within us, such as the ones that come into being in children’s rooms and playgrounds.
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