Great Things are Afoot

What did the shoe say to the hat?

 

 Foot note: This shoe drawing is a foot long.

"You go on ahead, and I'll follow on foot."

Anyway, about a month ago, my art class was occupying itself with contour drawing. The assignment above was our project for the unit, to make a contour line drawing of a shoe. As you may guess, this was no easy feet.

The drawing is, certainly, recognizable as my own shoe, but it still does not contain all of the characterizing feetures of my actual shoes; the holes near the sides that go straight through the shoe, the scratches, gashes, dirt, etc. Indeed, my real shoe may be on its last leg.

I've got to hand it to myself, though, it's a lot more realistic than the contour hand drawing I was doing earlier. In those, I could hardly handle constructing five fingers; it was a bit out of hand. Hands down, however, all of the practice with contour drawings eventually made me get a grip on the whole concept, I learned it's not that difficult to grasp. I give myself a hand for this one.

There is one thing I want to point out, however: the laces. They're a bit wound up there, but it's for a reason. It's a bit of a tradition for me to tie my shoelaces in ridiculous patterns, and there is a story behind it.

You see, back in 2010, during April fools day, I was watching my step at school, as everybody was. Trying to avoid being tread on by other peoples' tricks. I didn't last very long, though, as I've always been a bit gullible, I was defeeted by somebody telling me my shoes were untied when they weren't.

Next year, April fools day 2011, I was still kicking. But I was still quite laced up from last year, and had created, after some sole-searching, a brilliant plan. I tied my shoes in the most ridiculous way, a way that could not possibly come undone in the next several days; a Gordian knot to boot.

When I went to school that day, I inevitably ran into the person that had so callously waded up to me and told me my shoes were untied last year. This year, again, she could not hold her tongue and told me the same thing: "Hey, your shoes are untied."

I grinned, and without even looking down, replied, "No, they're knot."