All posts by hamishcraig

Shoes

Buying Shoes in Return To Seoul

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I finally watched Return To Seoul the other day. It will stay with me for a long time. As if this was Ji-Min Park’s debut acting appearance.

Similar to a scene in Paris, Texas by Wim Wenders where the protagonist has a line of shoes sat on a wall after having polished them because of his insomnia.

This scene involves the main character’s (Freddie) father offering to buy her a pair of shoes from the village market from his childhood. There’s a deep connection when buying someone footwear, especially when it comes to your child.

Here, the father takes the opportunity to protect his daughter’s feet, a role he would have enjoyed filling if he had not regrettably given her up for adoption decades ago. His longing for connection is a feeling we encounter throughout the film’s runtime, achieved here in a minor way through this simple act.

Growing up in a catholic school, you would often hear about Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. A symbolic act, this idea was referred to many a time, its meaning something I still have yet to fully appreciate to this day.

The symbolism in this scene can go amiss, it’s only fleeting afterall – yet its moments like this where director Davy Chou has gradually painted a portrait which feels so very real.

If I ever create a book about footwear then best believe this moment will be printed in amongst the pages.

Couldn’t recommend this film more, especially if you’re in your mid 20s.

Sidenote – I do actually rate Ballet shoes

Poetry

January Poetry: The Workyard Boat

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I had rarely felt.
Just as a boat stuck in a work yard would feel.

Rust,
small puddles
all randomly collected on this
long forgotten vessel.
It had once begun its life existing among the seas.
The Sea was real.
It was almost certain of it.
Yet,
spatterings were the only whispers it had ever
heard of its existence.
Distant memories only scribed onto its keel,
faded paint its own cave drawings.


The other boats had been and gone.
News of their voyage
lost against the shores,
where the sand would lap up various tales,
keeping it all unto itself.
The beach was good at holding on.

The boat would sit there suspended for many moons to come,
or at least that's what it had thought.

(Inspired by Late – Nils Frahm)

Poetry

December Poetry: last day on the job

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He'd hung up his boots,
unsure of where he fit against
the modern world.
Damn, he's not sure when he'd last felt one with it.
Time had a funny way of seeming real slow
but real fast all at once.
A puzzle piece led astray,
too far for whoever was putting together
the big picture
to lean over and grab.
He didn't mind the outskirts though,
where people were less,
fewer objects to fall into 
and even less things to eat you alive.

A hat and pistol,
two items that'd sure stuck by him
the last few decades,
and he by them.
Late nights spent cleaning out the barrel,
polishing the chambers,
yet he hadn't shot anything more than a rattle snake
since he'd first wrapped his fingers round it.
Even timid Tom down at station 302
had shot a mountain lion.
"Better to have it and not use it than the other way around" his daddy use to told him.
Suppose the old man was right.
He'd be smiling up there knowing so.

This lowly trash can seemed like the right place
to leave the two,
a whole heap a nothing
since he'd handed in his badge.
Not a tear in his eye,
he wasn't one for big feelings,
wasn't big on anything in particular
if he was being honest.
Life had all but drained away,
just in time to spend his retirement years.
Life was funny like that some times.
Days ahead were for sipping on a cold one
in the sun
with nothing else on his mind.
At least that was the plan.
He didn't know what to make of it all,
but that didn't bother him,
he'd have plenty time to dwell on it.

As he walked away,
the floor beneath him felt lighter as
a single tear started to form in his eye.
A childhood spent playing
cowboys and Indians
was his sole thought in that moment.

Just like that,
a drink on his porch didn't sound too bad after all.
Poetry

December Poetry: Sandy Wings

Leave a comment 
A bird stood in sand
is a confused creature.
Unsure of the waves ahead,
too tired to explore the grass beyond.
A sort of limbo.
Resting
while grains of sand 
slowly mount on its webbed feet.
A subtle weight that goes 
unnoticed,
yet soon becomes 
irritating.
Over time the bird would grow to hate the substance.

Its head doesn't twitch.
Unbothered by the wind
it could gently handle,
deciding to greet it's impact instead.
Peace was no longer part of its life,
a distant memory of it's nest days.
Even flight was lost.
Not a freedom,
but a disdain for vast heights
and even bigger drops.

The bird stood in the sand,
unmoving.
Music Explored

Weekend Finds + Favourites: 04/11/23

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An oldschool UK underground classic which I recently came across during the Channel U Documentary on YouTube. A sound I missed out on when I first moved to the UK in the early 00s. This sound would eventually break it onto the mainstream via tracks like Green Light by Roll Deep and Skepta’s Amnesia and Rescue Me, where kids outside of London would finally get a taste of what the UK underground had to offer. Although, if you ask a lot of artists today about that mainstream period, you’ll be sure to get mixed reviews.

The skit at the end of the track is also gold, spelling out the awkwardness of teenage experience that many have undoubtedly been through.

Another Oldschool Grime remix from Oakland, which is also on Sportify unlike many of the bootleg edits of today. A smooth RnB take on JME, Bossman Birdie and Big H’s infamous clip. Unlike the WIZE Edit version, this track takes the lyrics down a more relaxed route, not to take anything away from WIZE’s energetic take.

A track I just stumbled across, packing an absolute tonne of energy. Putting a HIP HOP spin on Headie One’s Drill classic, Golden Boot, it’s certainly one for any fans of the original. I’ll be waiting for the day this hits Spotify. Uploaded over a year ago, lets hope this rework gets the recognition it truly deserves.

Poetry

October Poetry: Tunisian Waters

Leave a comment 
The surface
was a series of small
mountain tops,
each less summitable
than the other.
A brief moment of existence,
a collection of fleeting moments.
The sun translated onto
a rippled ocean floor
where fish would embrace
the flashes of the big light in the sky.
Humans would try and mimic this,
falling short of truly acknowledging
it's power.
Stood in the shallow waters,
instead of swimming out
to where the earth's pull
became less obvious,
unable to enjoy
the feeling of flight.
Music Explored

Weekend Finds: 15/10/23

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Given we’re aproaching the anniversary of Virgil Abloh’s passing, I found myself heading back to a number of the many DJ sets he left with us to enjoy. I often find myself listening back to one of his talks throughout the year, finding it an immense source of inspiration as I try to understand the brilliant human he was. This track was from one of his Televised Radio sets, a series that he began during the first lockdown, livestreaming his mixes from IG live where he could be found spinning on a translcuent Pioneer deck sat atop a heavy canvas piece designed by Denim Tears. I will always find it sad that I never got to meet him or even witness one of his many live sets, a feeling I’m sure that many have felt and will continue to feel for decades to come. Regardless, we must be greatful for the all the “Free Game” he left behind.

This was a beautifully atmospheric track that he queued towards the beginning of his set. However his version featured a heart felt poem from Sonny Hall, an individual who a friend had put me onto a few months prior. Sadly, I cannot find that particular version anywhere, believing it to be one of Virgil’s personal editions. If you fancy giving it a listen then head to track 09 on this set at around 35:20 and you’ll understand what I’m on about. It’s also worth acknowledging Ryuichi Sakamoto’s piano playing throughout, another genius talent we lost to cancer.

Another producer steps onto the Grime instrumental clip scene in the form of 808mystic. Placing a different spin on Skepta’s famous Westwood session, this one provides an alternative energy to the Wize edits but still one worth adding to the playlist.

Probably one of the most human pieces I’ve heard in a long time. Well worth the 11 minute + run time, especially when you give yourself the chance to recognise how simple yet profound Simone’s lyrics were and still are.

Before I forget, here’s a track my 2018 Bristol-living self would have loved back in the day.
Poetry

October Poetry: The Human Towel

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Borrowing someone's towel is as human as it gets,
Each other's basic recognition that sleeping wet is simply no fun, 
Not to mention getting your clothes wet.
A premonition between the two that an intimacy will be shared.
The Human Towel exchange is a magical thing, 
Sparsely shared,
Especially now-a-days.
When I'm older I want my towel handovers to be fun. 
A nice moment shared when grabbing a 1998 Wimbledon towel from the other person,
A simple chuckle as they read the year on the frilly textile,
Before rubbing it all over their naked bodies like the bar of soap before it.
Share more towels,
If you can
Although not too many
As there are nasty things floating about.
Music Explored, Shoes

Weekend Finds + Favourites: 07/10/23

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The following are just a few tracks and images that I recently came across. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

This one I found from a “Moog Board” playlist on Spotify. It gets quite cinematic towards the middle, something I can definitely imagine myself using later on in life if I ever get round to creating a montage of happy memories. Until then it can just remain a fun track.

This one’s a little more on the nose but delivers that feeling of being on the Brazilian coastline. No doubt a classic over there and one I hope to encounter while sipping my morning coffee at my future favourite spot.

Stumbling across this light jazz number towards the end of listening session, a favourite from the Japanese Jazz playlist I had great fun delving into.

Nike Fuelband, patent leather Air Force 1s and two Yeezy’s off of Virgil’s old blog, an era dripping in nostalgia. One day I hope to drop a Bobbito-style book with my life’s take on footwear but for now, a small dump on the website will have to do.

Uncategorized

September Poetry: Dishwasher

Leave a comment 
I was
in that moment,
	more conscious of being alone.
No one to
	share a to-and-fro with,
merely a gentle breeze
	as my companion,
one that ad been there for
	quite some time,
	walking hand-in-hand
consoling many a sole 
that spent its time on earth
as one.
	This was and is a
moment that people will share 
when letting others into
their home.
	Happy to have guests
	but less inclined to enjoy
	washing the dishes after
they’ve left.
Although that’s what dishwashers are
for.