In cities across the world electricity lines lace intricate black lined patterns across the sky, connecting disparate individuals and communities into the the global village.
Long ago, somewhere in America's city streets, some young person stared up at the electric wires, and feeling a little bit alienated, a tad curious, and overwhelmingly anxious to make a mark on the city, the starry-eyed American child tied up some dirty shoelaces and swung them over the lines.
After fifteen attempts, the laces looped over and over in a balancing act between the two weights, and the shoes finally locked in. The youngin's footprints settled into the electric pathways to gingerly sway in the summer zephyrs next to perched birds taking a moment of rest from the long days of hustling for food in the garbage packed gutters.
The critics of my romantic account might tell a more violent story about the birth of the electric shoes phenomenon. It might very well be true that young David Schulim raced hurriedly home to his Lower East Side brick behemoth home in some nasty galoshes (that original gangsta' 1910's style), where he got heisted by the neighborhood hoodlums.
It started hailing real hard, and the kids bred on American ingenuity and battle techniques, quickly churned the idea to make poor little Davey crawl through the muddy snow in his socks, forever remembering his beat downs on the way to school, as the weather torn relic of defeat dangled sadly over the block.
Urban legend and myth abound circling the meaning of the shoes that jostle just underneath the electricity lines. What does it all mean?
Seasoned historians of gangsterism reading this must be growing real upset, pointing vindictive fingers at the all too cliche stories I'm telling about the origin of electric shoes. Surely, they yell while gesticulating wildly, the first appearance of clinking kicks in the sky mark the territory of a nearby drug house. "You didn't know?!" they say with a contemptuous smirk of the lips.
The shoes hang from the wisping wires like a secret code in the hood, understood only by the locals rummaging around for the goods. When one pair rises, others tag along jealously, as the pushermen business grows and reaches a critical mass, billowing into an all out war for territory and money.
My electric shoe fanatics, I assure you that all the stories equally possess the kernel of truth, as we trace along the genealogy of the phenomenon in American history, let us remember that the beginning, no matter what it may be, never ultimately limits the haphazard development of some strange cultural practice.
No story completely holds the end all essence of electric shoes, and in fact, the meanings continue to disperse themselves into the streets. New sagas are being told by elusive neighborhood characters who play with the numerous urban signifiers that constitute our public space. Just look up occasionally and enjoy the stories being told...
1) Woodcut Bird - numerous sightings noticed in Los Angeles around 2006, slowly becoming extinct in the concrete environment. Artist: unknown.
2) Money Bags - recently spotted in Los Angeles. Quite exciting progression of the art form--maybe some motivated electric shoe artist will throw up some pie in the sky soon! Artist: unknown.
3) Above Arrows - Ubiquitous street artist, Above, became infamous a couple years back for his lyrical wordplay painted onto two sides of a woodcut arrow, often making a game of the signs and words of the urban landscape.
4) Converse Shoes - The most direct homage to electric shoes, these colorful woodcuts littered artist friendly neighborhoods throughout California several years ago. Took this photo in Balmy Alley off 24th in the Mission in 2004. Artist: unknown.
Do any of my three loyal readers know these artists? Anyone know some local contributions in Frisc Town to this growing tradition?
And then, there's this.
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