In days gone by those lucky enough to possess shoes had them made to measure.
My mother watched the cobbler as he completed his labours on her shoes in the early 1940’s: Her first grown-up shoes. She kept them.
Objects become important, precious, through their association with us. They share our space. They hold our memories.
My shoes in my drawing are more practical and utilitarian than my mother’s. But there is magic in ordinary, everyday things. My shoes responded to my quotidian mundane actions. Drawing them showed me their strange beauty. Drawing is my most personal means of giving my consideration.
I paid attention.
These were my shoes.
The drawing lets me remember who I used to be when I wore these shoes. This has become a portrait of my past life.