A PAEAN TO THE LOWLY FOOT

I know you probably don’t want to think about it, but that appendage at the end of your leg has become big business, both for the fashion and the medical industry.

Jimmy Choo, Ferragamo and Dr. Scholl are coining big bucks off those twinkle toes. From classy six-inch heels to corn plasters, we tender a lot of our hard-earned cash to heal and enhance our feet.

After the first inspection of the baby toes to ensure that all ten are present, we tickle them, play “this little piggy”, and then forget about them, leaving them to fend for themselves.

During our young adulthood, we reach a comforting concinnity with our feet, annointing them, adorning the toes not only with polish, but with tiny rings, hoping they will reach the same level of beauty as the hands. We read phrases such as “her graceful white hands, long tapering fingers, etc.” But your never read such accolades given to the foot. Feet are crammed into too-tight shoes, sloppy flip-flops and expensive athletic shoes and expected to thrive and remain beautiful. Instead, they go their own way.

In their beauty period, while revelling in the toeless barefoot sandal, we carefully trim and clip the toe nails, but when the mature arms can’t quite reach them and older eyes can’t see them we must pay someone to look at those long-gone cute feet and cut the thickened unpolished toenails. I’m not there yet, but I can see it coming some day and it isn’t a pleasant prospect.

Companies such as Dr. Scholl’s supply a myriad of aids for the tired and aching feet. There are supports for flat feet, hammer toes, corns and bunions, toe spacers and even “dropped foot” (although I can’t imagine where they go if you drop them.) Without these palliative aids, bad feet can cause a misalighnment of the spine and other unpleasant problems, not the least of which is having to resort to ugly clunky shoes, canes and walking sticks.

Yes, we take our feet for granted, but try walking around without them.

HOW DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TWENTY YEARS?

While patiently waiting to deliver some of my precious blood at the hospital lab, I noticed a youngish woman watching me for a sign of recognition.  She soon came and sat beside me and asked if I were me, to which I replied that I thought I was.  She had been a student of mine about twenty years ago, so we caught up on the intervening years.

I remembered her as an eager 19 year old who had great dreams of becoming a sculptor.  She had willingly taken on all the dirty jobs in the studio, and frequently stayed behind to work on her project.

She said she rememered my asking the class “How do you see yourself in twenty years?” and had thought without a doubt that her dreams would be a reality by then.  I remembered the question , and the various interesting answers it  produced, including my own answer.  For one thing, it gave an indication of just how serious the student might be.  Were they simply taking the art class for a credit, were they fortunate housewives taking an art course between their early morning tennis game and lunch, or was this the year there were some people who actually wanted this to be their life work?

Would they be willing to tackle the business side of art?  Did they expect to make a lot of money at this job?  Because art is a job just like anything else.  You may make nothing, and will obviously have to have another source of income.  At least enough to put food on the table.  The romantic fallacy is being able to live in solitary splendor just being creative.  You have to be a salesman and convince a gallery that they need what you have to offer.  You have to be willing to take on two or more jobs at the same time.

Seeing her there with two small boys sitting quietly beside her, I asked “So are you still doing your art?”  She shook her head and smiled at her two sons.  “No, I’ve not had the time yet.  Maybe someday.”

It definitely can be done and still have a family,  but it takes real dedication, and a sense of humor to make up for the time you absolutely do not have the time.  A wise woman told me after I said I couldn’t find the time for something: “You will never find time.  You have to take it.”

Seeing my cane and my sling, I was definitely not at my best that day, and she inevitably asked “What about you?”

Well,  I never became famous, I never made a ton of money, and sculpture destroyed my shoulder, jogging destroyed my leg, and I’m twenty years older.  But you know, it’s was a great trade-off.  I have a wonderful husband and family, I can no longer handle 50# of clay at a time, but I plan to finish all the half-finished canvases and begin new paintings, and I still have a sense of humor.