Friday, September 08, 2006

Red shoes

“Once there was a poor motherless child who had no shoes. But the child saved cloth scraps wherever she found them and over time sewed herself a pair of red shoes. They were crude but she loved them. They made her feel rich even though her days were spent gathering food in the thorny woods until far past dark.”

The Red Shoes, retold by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

C. Pinkola Estés, Woman who run with the Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman, Rider, London/Sydney/Auckland/Johannisburg 1992, p. 216

The Red Shoes are a celebration of creativity and the power of imagination, made for dancing, not for walking the line. Fragments are selected and collected – each carrying its own history – and joined together as a material manifestation of a desire. All is fine while you are able to dance to your own tune. Passion is red, but so is danger.

The 'Red Shoes" are no longer with me - only the image and the memory remain. I have been thinking about making another pair of girl's shoes, white shoes with bits of old lace, some torn or burnt at the edges, the fragility of innocence, the delicacy of dreams, fairy princess, child bride.


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