Managing your Artistic Image with a

Good Pair of Bad Shoes

"You must remind yourself of what you want, and what you want is pain! Pain!"

12 _; influx? Magazine.) October I999 oo.

by Andrea Nunes

Take a minute and look at your pretty hands. Could you ever cease to be pleased with that topography of cultivated callouses, tributaries of veins emerging from the foothills of your knuckles, those little idiosyncrasies you can’t help but love? Your ragged nails with the one kept long for the nose-picking you secretly enjoy in bathroom stalls. Maybe you have a scar from that time in foundation when you were crocheting a torso from antimacassars and you accidentally grilled your thumb while struggling with the iron transfer nipples. Take a minute and look at your pretty hands, and let it sink in how chokingly beautiful they are. I mean, my god! They are the hands of an artist, an artist - you are an artist.

But lets get down to brass tacks here. Though it does depend on whose disciple you are, incorporating the hand of the artist into your work is optional. Furthermore, creating work is optional. As any ECIAD student knows, it is entirely possible to live a fulfilling life as an artist without producing so much as a dumb lunk of anything. One could even go so far as to say that the struggle to birth other- worldly threads is a hindrance to what is really at stake here: your image.

As part of your image as an artist your hands are expendable. The area to invest in is your feet. Your feet embody the kind of baseness that you want to project. As an artist you are taken for granted. You are overlooked. You are a low down stink and no one is walked on like you are. The foot of the artist is spawned of the dregs in the hybrid ferment of sock rot and trench foot, and so too the artist is of the dregs. It is the only legitimate venue from which to wage your ardent (albeit tacit) deconstructivistic warfare .

Now, we’re sorry, but you can’t get away with lounging on the smoking balcony in a pair of Robson Street platforms. Nor will the orange vinyl loafers do, despite their pretty gunmetal reflective logo that looks like it drooled out of the ass of some counter-counterculture surf robot. These abrade and undermine the beauty and the potential of the extended metaphor with a sort of snub-nosed, cross-eyed decadence. You want a more forthright kind of decay. You want to personify pathos and poverty. And your blue chip investment is a good pair of bad shoes. For an artist and a persona, nothing will do better in your investment portfolio.

What you are looking for in a good pair of bad shoes is something that from the outset is modest. Anything nicer than a pair of canvas allstars and the best look you’ll ever fulfil is weathered. Imitation canvas allstars are perfect. Imitations of imitation allstars are even better. (Keep in mind that the more mediation of imitation you achieve, the more authentic your position as a postmodernist becomes. You want your shoes to come from a long line of appropri- ations.)

Generally, you are seeking lace-ups, though once we saw a well established pair of shredded vinyl penny loafers that almost made the cut. (Vinyl alone is best left eschewed because it does not nurse the kind of organic rot you will wish to nurture. Vinyl or plastic upper, however, is ideal, especially in tandem with cheap terrycloth and/or foam, for together they provide a luscious anaerobic envi- ronment.)

One hazard to note is the lure of the red herring flip-flop. Flip-flops are not what you’re looking for. We’d personally be hard pressed to even classify them as shoes. True, we have known certain members our own student union to flaunt flip-flops. And true, these did gleam with an air of slacker class. But the flaw with flip-flops lies herein: they are too airy, to healthily hostile toward the kind of cul- ture you wish to breed in a shoe.

Moreover, the only thing your flip-flops will ever reek of is modernism. As a cold sort-of utilitarian device, the flip-flop harkens back to a time of form-follows-function

Managing your Artistic Image with a

Good Pair of Bad Shoes

12

“You must remind yourself of what you want, and what you want is pain! Pain!

1 influx? Magazine.) October 1999».

by Andrea Nunes

‘Take a minute and look at your pretty hands. Could you ever cease to be pleased with that topography of cultivated callouses, tributaries of veins emerging from the foothills of your knuckles, those litle idiosyncrasies you ‘can't help but love? Your ragged nails with the one kept long for the nose-picking you secretly enjoy in bathroom stalls. “Maybe you have a sear from that time in foundation when you were crocheting a torso from antimacassars and you ‘accidentally grilled your thumb while struggling with the iron transfer nipples. Take a minute and look at your pretty hhands, and let it sink in how chokingly beautiful they are. I ‘mean, my god! They are the hands of an artist, an artist - you are an artist.

But lets get down to brass tacks here. Though it ddoes depend on whose disciple you are, incorporating the hhand of the artis into your work is optional. Furthermore, ‘teating work is optional. As any ECIAD student knows, it is entirely possible to lve a fulfilling life as an artist without producing so much as a dumb lunk of anything. One could even go 50 far as to say that the struggle to birth other- worldly threads is a hindrance to what is realy at stake here your image.

‘As part of your image as an artist your hands are expendable. The area to invest in is your feet. Your feet ‘embody the kind of baseness that you want to project. AS an artist you are taken for granted. You are overlooked. You are a low down stink and no one is walked on like you are. ‘The foot ofthe artist is spawned of the dregs in the hybrid ferment of sock rot and trench foot, and so too the artist is of the dregs. It is the only legitimate venue from which t0 wage your ardent (albeit tacit) deconstructivistic warfare

‘Now, we're sorry, but you can’t get away with Jounging on the smoking balcony in a pair of Robson Street platforms. Nor will the orange vinyl loafers do, despite their pretty gunmetal reflective logo that looks like it drooled out ‘of the ass of some counter-counterculture surf robot. These sbrade and undermine the beauty and the potential of the extended metaphor with a sort of snub-nosed, cross-eyed decadence. You want a more forthright kind of decay. You want to personify pathos and poverty. And your blue chip investment is a good pair of bad shoes, For an artist and a persona, nothing will do better in your investment portfolio.

What you are looking for in a good pair of bad shoes is something that from the outst is modest. Anything nicer than a pair of canvas allstars and the best look you'll ver full is weathered. Imitation canvas allstars are perfect. Imitations of imitation allstars are even bette. (Keep in ‘mind that the more mediation of imitation you achieve, the ‘more authentic your position as a postmodernist becomes, You want your shoes to come from a long line of appropri- ations.)

Generally, you are seeking lace-ups, though once wwe saw a well established pair of shredded vinyl penny loafers that almost made the cut. (Vinyl alone is best lft ‘eschewed because it does not nurse the kind of organic rot you will wish to nurture. Vinyl or plastic upper, however, is ideal, especially in tandem with cheap terrycloth andlor foam, for together they provide a luscious anaerobic envi- ronment.)

‘One hazard to note is the lure of the red herring Alip-lop. Flip-ops are not what you're looking for, We'd personally be hard pressed to even classify them as shoes. ‘True, we have known certain members our own student ‘union to aunt flip-flops. And true, these did gleam with an air of slacker class. But the flaw with flip-flops lies herein: they are too airy, ro healthily hostile toward the kind of cul- ture you wish to breed in a shoe,

“Moreover, the only thing your flip-flops will ever reck ofs modernism. As a cold sortof utilitarian device, the flip-op harkens back to a time of form-follows-function