Goody Two Red Shoes
© 1995-96 Ginger Henry Geyer
glazed porcelain with platinum
5 parts, Shoes each 2 ½” x 2 ½” x 7”
Adaptation from Juan Sanchez Cotan, Quince, Cabbage, Melon, and Cucumber
At age six, I hounded my mother to buy me some red shoes. Maybe this desire came from the Wizard of Oz or some other story. I'm not even sure we found any in our small town. The only store at the time was Rich's Shoes, a quiet shop owned by a humble man who must have been acutely aware of being the only non-WASP in that section of the Ozarks. I presume that Mr. Rich suffered from our small-mindedness and polite intolerance, but he handled us well. I don't know that he hung shoes in his window, and I don't know why this connected with one of my favorite paintings, but I painted it on the shoebox long after making the ceramic pieces. It shows suspended fruits and vegetables---a composition of wild simplicity. Sanchez Cotan's duality of sober realism and ecstasy must have triggered my combination of objects and text. The poem (painted inside the box lid) is staggered with images of Mr. Rich, the still life, and Oz:
Goody Two Red Shoes
Reality was on display
in Mr. Rich's window
in the sumptuous silence
of Spanish still lifes
where riches hang like cabbages,
an offering to the dark.
He was the only Jew in town,
a gentle man
who held small feet
and assured them
that sequins grow on shiny shoes,
sure as a poppy field.
Red shoes were necessary
to fend off overripe melons
and yellow bricks
that shattered store windows.
They smiled like stars on Saturdays
while he drove mountainous hours to worship.
He knew that if the box fit, we'd wear it,
tie our tongues
until the other shoe dropped
into its hard tissue.
When we searched for quince and cucumber
at the corner grocery,
Rich's Shoes would hold a Red Tag Sale
And all the goodies in my small town
will bring their unsung notes,
try them on
and click their heels three times.
