Cut & Slow

Gone but not forgotten.

2009-04-09T07:30:00.001-07:00

Home again, home again. Got back last night to a waiting Lady Friend, some delicious tacos and a North Carolina Spring. Gonna go and ride my bike now.

Here Today. Gone Tomorrow.

2009-04-07T11:48:00.001-07:00

Finished the Chukah's today. English Stitch and all. Didn't get to spend as much time on the finishing as I would have liked to, but I need to pack.

Wish I were better with the words, as to convey the full level of appreciation I have for Marcell for teaching me. Thank you for putting the craft in my head, heart and hands. You and Ya-Ya(I know that is the incorrect spelling...sorry), please keep my seat at the workbench warm until I get back for whatever is next in this path. I will be back. Love to you both.

Craig and Ana- Good luck over the next few weeks. I'll miss you guys.

And I'm out.

Level 2.7

2009-04-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

I'm drunk and sleepy so I'll keep it short. I graduated Koronya Shoe Making School this evening as a Level 2 almost Level 3( out of 10) Shoemaker. I'm coming back for that Level 10. Believe that. Holler.

"Oh My God"

2009-04-05T12:07:00.000-07:00

"Oh my God! Ana, what are you doing?" I don't know how many times I heard that one, during the making of these shoes. They are a full brogue, english-stitch that Ana designed and made from beginning to end. Impressive. In fact I find Ana to be an impressive individual all round. I am always taken with people that decide what they want and go for it, regardless of what other folks may say or think. Ana is one of these people. She's here after completing Law School ... I think she might be ducking the bar a little bit. Even so, she decided she wanted to learn how to makes shoes and here she is in Budapest learning how to make shoes. I count myself lucky to have a met and forged a friendship with her, and by friendship I mean "shit talking" and humorous banter across the workbench. I'll miss that. I hope she comes to visit Kim and I in the states sometime.

You know the name Ana to the Santana, aint a damn thing changed.

Lions, Tigers, but no Mangalica

2009-04-04T12:59:00.000-07:00

What a day, what a day. Started off with fried dough covered with cheese at the flea market where I tried to buy a prosthetic leg for my Uncle Liam, but to no avail, the vendor disappeared. Oh well, wasn't really sure how I was gonna get it home and the idea of explaining to customs... Ana bought herself some shiny new brass knuckles, not sure what for, but one Gypsy vendors trash is another Brazilian girls treasure.

We made a trip to the zoo, specifically to see these. Hairy Pigs! Kim and I have been talking about getting pig for a while, and whether or not it actually happens, the idea of it has gotten some mileage in conversation. We have gone so far as to visit a farm in NC that raises Guinea Hogs, a heritage breed originally from Africa. In fact, we dragged another couple with us, so needless to say, I was thinking about you Kim, Nathan, and Elizabeth. Unfortunately, there were no pigs to be seen in the "Traditional Hungarian Barnyard" area. Perhaps they ended up in the concession area? Bummer. So instead you get this photo a link to a youtube video of the Budapest Zoo. They did have an unsettling number of Rhino's though. Maybe they could trade some of those Rhinos, which aren't nearly as delicious as pigs, or so I am told, for a couple of Mangalica hogs.

This is the look Ana makes right before she reaches in her purse for the brass knuckles, to knuckle dust you.

As promised. Welted, even if it is a day late.

Auntie Shju-Shja.

2009-04-03T14:07:00.000-07:00

I need to make a correction. Marcell's upper makers name is Susan, not Eva, as I had previously posted. It's pronounced Shju-Shja, or something close to that. Man.... she is a bad-ass. I spent the day learning about upper making, which she had been doing for like 30 years. She owns the the post-bed sewing machine, which if you have ever used one, is not an easy thing to do well. She also reads leather like a book. Even though we don't speak the same language, I still know the look of "You didn't do that right and you know it" when I see it. I think it's universal and especially poignant when it comes from the older lady aunt-like figure. Being the charming young man that I am, I jokingly blew her some kisses as she left the shop and she called me "A flower in the dirt".... I think that's what she said. Which I gather is an endearing expression used to describe children doing child like things.

Cutting uppers.

Beginning of the english-sewn welt. Gonna be a little bit of a time crunch to finish it before I leave, but I'm up for it. Makes me sad that I'll be leaving my Koronya Crew next week. I have gotten really attached to them all. They're kind and generous folks but most importantly they make me laugh. Good peoples.

2009-04-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

Chukah of my design. Lasted today, welted tomorrow.

Tool. For scraping out the stitching channel, before you sew the outsole on. I photographed a bunch of random tools today so my friend Dan can help me make some when I get home. That's about it. I like this song.

For my little sister.

2009-04-01T11:38:00.000-07:00

You know the name, Ion to Escu, aint a damn thing changed.

This post as is indicated by the title is for my little sister, but I'll give a brief history for context. My sister and I, both share the last name Ionescu, which by international standards isn't that unusual of a name. Unfortunately we were not raised in an area that subscribes to international standards, we were raised in rural southeastern USA- think tobacco fields, tractors, three wheelers( notice I wrote three, because where we were brought up four wheelers were for the faint of heart and the well to do), long-like a mile long driveways, hunting, fishing, church on Sunday, and so on. Now these things can be found in almost any rural setting, and there is nothing unusual about them, in fact I hope to return to this setting at some point or another, but what can't be found there is the last name Ionescu. The name was like a plague. On the first day of school, I would usually sink down in my seat and wait while the Teacher, a presumably educated individual possibly familiar with the famous playwright Ionescu, would like a slow death, get to the I's and inevitably butcher our name if they even attempted it at all. Usually, I would just wait for the pause and raise my hand to show attendance. Or the time I won the spelling bee, the fucking spelling bee and they misspelled my name on the trophy, a little like my GED diploma, which maybe a bit more deserving of the misspelling than the trophy was. Long story short, it made fitting in particularly difficult and I can only hope that I softened the blow for my sister by being a couple of years ahead of her. All of this was made exponentially more unbearable by our Father. Our Dad was really into our Romanian heritage. He claimed that we came from some royal lineage and had various medals and coats of arms to prove it. For all I know he bought the Medals at auction or a flea market and made the shit up, and even if he hadn't what he was so proud of basically equated to "I'm Duke Whogivesafuck from the land of Nobodygivesadamn". Now, even though he was basically a weirdo- what I wouldn't give to hear his, I've been smoking camel filters for fifty years, hoarse, deep bellied laugh right now if he knew I was in Romania today.

The picture above is me setting foot in the motherland.

I really had no idea what to expect, other than people having the same last name, which I didn't miss any opportunity to bring up. Romania is a developing country, and more like how I would picture South or Central America than Europe. On the way in, the border guard came to the car to return our passports and in a questioning/authoritative voice said "Ionescu"? I nearly exploded with an enthusiastic shout of YEAH- thats me. From that point on I basically just showed my passport to everyone unsolicited to let people know that I was one of them. They were not the teachers from the first day of school, they were "my people". Man, I lived it up. For the most part it seemed pretty poor. Un-cooped chickens, horse and buggies, lots of mangy three legged dogs, which Ana tried to take home, random trash fires, abandoned buildings, gypsy kids selling flowers, questionable smells, etc. I loved it... rough around the edges.

Sarah- these could be relatives?

The reason for the trip was to visit a last maker. That part was super informative/cool. Neat to think that sixty years ago my Grandfather fled the country, and I can't really blame him for that, Royalty or not, there didn't seem to be a lot of opportunity there, only for his grandson to return on his shoemaking quest to visit a last manufacturer. I don't know if it was the name or not, but while boyish charm may not translate to Hungarian(probably because it's not one of the Romantic languages), it definitely translates to Romanian.

Sarah- I know I look kind of disconcerted but rest assured that is the look of joy in its purest form. Fucking Ionescu Street!

Broken Awls. Broken Hearts.

2009-03-31T11:49:00.000-07:00

Chukah boot, in various pieces. Support your local upper maker, cause its not easy to be so exact.

Crack! That's what it sounds like when you break a sewing awl, not dissimilar to the sound of a heart breaking. I've broken three, sewing awls- not hearts, during the course. They all snapped in about fifteen minutes of each other, and one of them had been in Marcell's possession since he was a student! Sorry about that. To boot, Ana broke his Grandfathers awl today. Adding insult to injury, it broke as Marcell was telling her to watch what she was doing, and her playful response of "How many have I broken so far?", distracted her from what she was doing and Crack! Again, sorry about that. The only other Crack! from the workshop today was actually the sound of a heart breaking. Mine, when I got the news my grandfather had passed. I would trade all the broken awls in the world to sit through one of his stories or songs or stories with songs. Mom, Tom, Linda, Nick Sr. and Jr., Katy Cousin and Lady friend, Liam Sr. and Jr., Jennifer, Niall, Carla, Sarah, and especially Mor Mor(a cultural appropriation by my family of the Danish "Mother's Mother" for grandmother)- I am thinking of you all.

Goodbye Love, Hello Workweek, and Fuck Online Translators

2009-03-30T11:11:00.000-07:00

As was noted earlier, Kim came to visit me this weekend. It was unbelievably nice to have her around. We did the usual- eating, drinking, museums, and wandering around. Saturday morning we went to the Market, and amongst other things tried on ridiculous hats(pictured). I miss her already, but I'll be home soon.

Its back to the shop, and back to the Chukah Boots. I will hopefully make the uppers tomorrow, get them lasted and constructed "English Sewn" style by the time I leave.

In the hostel tonight there are a couple of Italian guys. They are a little bit of an odd couple as they are not related, but there is a huge age difference between them. The younger of the pair introduced the older as "My Crazy Friend". Crazy friend" indeed, they guy while talking at me, not to me, in Italian kept grabbing his balls, which was exacerbated by the fact he had his shirt tucked into some very ill fitting sweatpants. In between the talking and "genital framing" he kept patting me on the shoulder, they way a boxing coach does in between rounds. Even with this display of affection(?), I found them both to be very charming. I just finished eating with them, which "Crazy Friend" insisted upon, even though I had just finished eating the dinner I had prepared for myself(which he watched me cook and eat). I thought the pain of overeating would be far less than the pain of being rude and turning down his offer. While he was cooking I was using babelfish, an online translator, to try and explain my visit. When I typed in "I'm learning to make shoes" and hit translate from English to Italian, they both looked bewildered than began to tease me. Apparently, the direct translation for shoe is "Ice Skates".

The devil's in the details.

2009-03-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

Traditional bottom decoration. Sanding leaves something to be desired though.

I said it was "Not Bad".

2009-03-26T12:51:00.001-07:00

After each stage of work, Marcell thoroughly inspects and tells you what's good and what's not. In the case of being a novice, generally it's more of the "what's not". But today, I got a "not bad", which to my ears is a huge compliment. Thanks Marcell. Above- Finished Product, with a detail shot of the goiser stitch. Not Bad.

These are my peoples. I love them.

I was made in Durham, North Carolina, but I am not an Eastern European sewing machine.

Kimber gets here in about an hour, I may not post for a couple days. Enjoy your respective weekends.

You have time.

2009-03-25T11:04:00.000-07:00

Shoemaking is one of the most difficult yet rewarding things I have ever undertaken. It is time consuming and detail oriented. There is no room for mistakes. Ana and I are lucky to have the opportunity to be shown what real quality is, and what real quality means. Marcell lives and breathes for perfection, which can be overwhelming but the result is always worthwhile. It will be nice to return to the States with his voice in my head, telling me that my knifes not sharp enough or the lines aren't clean enough, because this is what makes good shoemakers. Always pushing yourself, never settling for less than perfection, taking pride in what you do. You have time.

On that note, these are far from perfect, but I am eager to move on to the next pair, if for no other reason than to do a better job than I did on these. They will be finished tomorrow.

The plot thickens.

2009-03-23T14:19:00.000-07:00

My stomach is bothering me, probably not as much as reading the minutia of my day is bothering you but... I bought some "cold cuts" at the market, and being the adventurous type, I decided to try something new. This would have been fine, except the meat I bought was intended to be cooked, and I made a sandwich with it. Hmmm, come to think of it it was hovering awfully close to where the bacon and other various raw meats were hanging out. I suppose that should have been some kind of indicator. Live and learn.

We visited Heroes Square today. Why, you ask? Because we are heroes. As you can kind of see in the picture, there are a bunch of statues in a vast open space. It is actually, really amazing. Being that I get us lost all the time, I'm pretty sure that in the context of Ana I play the sidekick. This is further reenforced when she asks people(gentlemen in uniforms) for directions, and they look at her, then they look at me, then they look at her again, only to finish with one more look at me that can only be interpreted as "you useless asshole". What can I say, directions are not my strong suit. Anyway, as the sidekick on this adventure, I thought it my duty to try and embarrass Ana by skipping back an forth across the vast open space mentioned earlier. She wasn't really amused, as I would have expected from a hero. As an aside if the three of us, Ana, Marcell and I, were a supergroup of superheroes this would be our theme music, as it is consistently played in the shop.

Spinning goiser in effect. Shit yeah! As I have expressed in various posts, I am extremely excited about learning these techniques from Marcell, even if I am not perfect with them yet... If you picture a curve that took ten lines to draw, that is what it is like to look at my work. Now picture that same curve, but drawn with one flawless movement, that is what it is like to look at a Master's work. Nice to have something to shoot for.

Stitching channel. Now you see it.

Now you don't, or less anyway. Pretty neat.

As the title of this post is "The plot thickens", I thought I would mention that I will be adding to the cast of characters. We have another American Maker coming to study, starting tomorrow. His name is Craig, not sure how to spell the last name but I'll find out. He makes women's shoes(I Think) and is from the Northwest.

More importantly to me, my lovely and amazing, girlfriend Kimber Elena Bullock, will be joining us on Thursday. Lovely and amazing doesn't really do her justice, so something better than lovely and amazing. I will say though, while "lovely and amazing" falls short in the accuracy department, "makes tacos like she's had formal training" does not. Can't wait to see her.

No rest for the wicked.

2009-03-22T10:09:00.001-07:00

Yet another shot from the bench. Spent the day, the Lords day to be exact, putting the midsole and outsole on my Chelsea boots. Should be finished sometime in the middle of next week. This is what the shoe looks like before the the sole is attached. There is always some empty space, so you use cork and leather to fill that space, as well as to hold the shank iron in place.

Heating the shank iron. This must be done before hammering it to the correct shape in order for the iron to fit the last correctly.

Sewing the midsole on, before attaching the outsole.

All built up. Ready for the final stitch and then on to shaping and finishing.

Gotta stay fresh.

In the spirit of the boots I'm making, I'll leave you with this song. It reminds me of my friend, Kate.

Rio.

2009-03-21T10:04:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a package from Ana's Mom, Val, arrived in Budapest. She sent a little bag filled with candies(pictured above), coffee and cashews for us. Thanks Val. The cashews I ate at approximately two in the morning last night. In addition to the snacks, she sent Ana a letter which I asked Ana to read to me over dinner. In the letter, she noted that Ana looked thin and maybe the reason for this was that she was skipping lunch like the "American". Val, I assure you no such thing is happening. If I were to skip any meal it would be breakfast. Anyway, I asked to hear the letter because I am missing my Family and Friends, and nothing assuages that like a little Motherly Love. I know that my mom is reading this and she would have happily sent me a "Motherly Love" letter as well, but I have been avoiding giving her the address as to feel more "grown up". And by feeling more "grown up", I really mean looking more "grown up" by not actually getting physical letters, but receiving very nice emails instead.

Here is a pair of ballet flats that Ana completed today. Note the little bows. Very nice indeed.

Home sweet home.

Chelsea.

2009-03-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

First sewn welt. Chelsea boot. I am so stoked on this right now, it's exactly what I came here to learn. Hopefully will have a pair by tomorrow. I am rather slow.

Room for error.

2009-03-19T11:54:00.000-07:00

This photo isn't as I clear as I would like so I'll narrate- Its a knife fashioned from a worn out rasp and a tree branch, held together with wire. If you look closely or click on the photo you can see the lines from the where the rasp used to be. How bad ass is that? MacGyver even. Shoemakers are a resourceful bunch.

The knife in the above photo came from this bunch old tools that Marcell won on Ebay. It was full of tools like that, including the guys straight razor for shaving, which still had an edge on it! I've also been poking around the European Ebay's for tools, in fact I won a couple of irons but haven't figured out how to pay for them, as it was the German Ebay. Oops.

Final mock up of my Chukah boot. It took four iterations of the pattern but I'm really happy with the final version.

There are hundreds of steps involved in making a shoe. Even more if you count the tanning as part of the process. Each step has hundreds of movements, where a single wrong one can ruin your work. So, in order to achieve a perfect handmade shoe you must literally make thousands of movements flawlessly. Crazy... I can't do that yet.

Another shot from the bench. Setting up the sole on a pair of Chelsea Boots for a Goiser stiched technology. This is how it is done. Compliments of the Master.

Wien.

2009-03-18T11:51:00.000-07:00

Today we travelled to Vienna. I slept most of the way there and most of the way back, but the sense that I got during my conscious hours was that it is a gorgeous city. Full of castles, statues, and cobblestone streets. We didn't get to spend too much time in the city proper as the objective of the outing was to visit some leather shops, as is pictured below.

I have used the magic of photoshop to point out the questionable things in this image, besides the fact I have a hide on my head. The first one being the eye holes left in this hide after tanning. The second being the mysterious hand throwing up what would appear to be the "westside" symbol, although in this case I believe it is representative of "wienside".

Through some detective work conducted during my awake hours, I have narrowed the culprits in the above picture down to these two suspects.

Hide House.

Wandering around. I leave you with this.

Riding High.

2009-03-17T12:29:00.000-07:00

Deep thoughts. Not really. Mostly just practicing the drawing of a full brogued shoe. I skyped with my ladyfriend this evening, so I am feeling particularly good. "Riding High" as it were.

Ana's first pair! Fucking nice-Right? She has never made a shoe before. For this one she utilized the cement construction, which I gather is common in women's footwear because of weight issues. Even though this isn't a women's shoe, I think the idea was to train her in the technology. They aren't even in her size... bummer. I tried to talk her into putting them on and doing a little dance, but no luck.

Very old shoemakers wax. Product used to be so thoughtful, so beautiful, not like today where they just shit out what ever is most cost effective.

Silliness in the workshop.

Poppin Off.

2009-03-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution. Ana and I were warned not to go into the City, as I guess things have been pretty hairy in the past. I looked at the news in the evening and there did appear to be a bunch of really scary right winger's roaming the town. Glad I sat that one out.

I have exciting news, and it comes in the form of a name. "Beansoup Guy's" name to be exact-Petei. Sounds like Petcha. And actually he didn't even have bean soup tonight, instead he kindly shared some of his homemade vittles with me. Not sure exactly what it was, but it definitely contained a starch and some sausage. Delicious.

Above- A trial fit Chukah Boot I made today. Needs some adjustment, but once it's right, I think it will be nice. It was a really fun exercise, combination of fitting, pattern making, upper construction and lasting. One thing that I really appreciate about the way Marcell teaches is that he lets nothing less than perfect pass. It can be frustrating at times when you are not good enough yet to achieve perfection, but way better that sugar coating mediocrity. Practice, practice, practice.

Upper ready to be lasted. I cut my finger on this one making a sloppy movement. Amateur. Try not to let that happen again. I think we go to Vienna on Wednesday.

From Rags to Gypsy Princes.

2009-03-14T10:39:00.000-07:00

I didn't post yesterday. We got kind of lost and didn't get back until late. During our adventure, we decided that our motley looking crew was something like the cast of a bad sitcom. The premise of each show would be that I get us lost and thereafter hilarious calamity ensues (cue studio clap machine). Our show would be aptly titled "Where Are We Going". During the twenty two minutes of airtime we would receive from a Major Network, I'm not naming any names, but it's safe to say that the show is definitely gonna be on this fall, we would wander aimlessly around a new city each week. Ryuta would take the role of the polite Japanese character who said very little, but facial expressions were more poignant than words could ever be. Ana would play the culturally adept Brazilian, who with her worldliness would eventually get us found again. I would play the bumbling American, who got us lost at the beginning and end of each show, thereby setting up the next episode. In conjunction with this my first and final lines would always be, "Where are we going". The moral of the first season, as we haven't been guaranteed a second, is that if you don't have anywhere to go then you can't really be lost.

Gargoyles like sugar too. Actually, this one let us past the gates after we bribed it with candy.

First pair down. Sadly, I can't claim making the uppers on these, but everything else I did. I haven't taken them off yet. Seriously- sleeping, eating, showering, they stay on everywhere.

Detail on the sole. Apparently it is patently a Hungarian shoe makers detail. Not perfect, but the next pair will be better.

And they fit! Marcell and Ana laughed at the dress shoes and lumberjack get up, but I have definitely worn stranger. I really like the sound of the leather soles and nails on the cobblestone streets. It makes me feel like I'm in a Soviet era Hungarian novel. Ana claims that the shoes made me act different, which may very well be true. My father, who was to say the least, a little eccentric made wild claims that we had came from a Royal lineage in Romania. I joked before leaving that I was going to visit there and reclaim the throne. Now, this may have been a sketchy proposition up until yesterday but in fancy new dress shoes I don't think that anyone, not even the King ( does Romania have a King?) is gonna refute my claim to the throne of Gypsy Prince. My people, I have returned.

2009-03-12T12:53:00.000-07:00

Sole press. Old style.

New guest in the Hostel tonight, Ryuta. Ana cooked, and we three cobbled together a conversation over dinner. The picture above is of the notebook used to write down a back and forth communication with Ryuta. Mostly, we wrote about music. Here is one of his favorites

Budapest- hollr back.

Speak very, very slooowly.

2009-03-11T12:45:00.000-07:00

Tonight's homework was to list, from memory, everything thus far required to make a shoe. Thought I would post it as well. I divided it into processes, but the necessities are in no particular order. Here goes.

Pegged Construction

Measuring the Foot- Measuring tape, Paper, Pen, Feet

Pattern- Last, Masking Tape (depending on you technique), Pencil, Compass, Heavy Paper, Clicking Knife

Upper- Thread, Sewing machine with appropriate needle, Upper Leather, Liner Leather, Glue, Skiving Knife, Clicking Knife, Hole punch, Brogueing and Gimping Tools (both are optional depending on your pattern, Interfacing Tape

Lasting- Lasts,Heel Counters, Toe Puffs, Stiffeners, Synthetic Glue, Paste, Nails, Wooden Pegs (a lot of them), Coad, Heavy Twine, Shank, Needles, Cork, Lasting Pliers, Nail Puller, Sewing and Pegging Awl, Hammer, Rasp, Knife (kept very sharp), Sharpening Stone, Bowl of Water, Vegetable Tan Leather for the Sole and Heel, Apron, Marble to skive on, Laptstone, Bone Knife, Edging and Gouging Knives (pretty sure that these are not the technical names), Welt, Broken Glass, and Belt. I am surely forgetting something.

Monday through Friday at the Hostel is for the most part predictable. For instance, I can always count on this one guest, a Gentlemen, to take his dinner around six. Every night the same thing, a can of some bean based soup. And after dinner, like clockwork he hops on the computer to teleconference with what I assume is his family( I can make out a small child's voice coming from the computer and his tone is one a Father might take with his kids). He doesn't speak English, but my hypothesis is that he lives far away and comes to Budapest to work during the week. While he is here he stays in the Hostel because it is cheap. This is only a guess though. As for his character, he is super friendly and routinely offers me cookies, which I all too happily accept. (Right now as I am sitting on the computer in the kitchen trying to post this he is offering me food, Cheetos this time). I wish I spoke Hungarian.

The exercise for today was to move forward with the pegged construction. I am really into this technique and almost finished with my first pair. All I have left to do is build the heels. Ana spent the day with Marcell's upper maker. Ana only knows a few words in Hungarian and the Upper Maker doesn't know any English, but by the end of the day they seem to be communicating like old friends. The upper maker, despite only speaking Hungarian, decided that if she spoke very, very slowly and enunciated everything perfectly then maybe, just maybe Ana might understand. On the other side of the coin, Ana decided if she supplemented her few words with sound effects it might help the conversation along, i.e. tst, tst, tst represented the sound of the sewing machine. Perhaps if I speak very, very slowly to the bean soup guy, and he supplements his end of the conversation with a few sound effects, we could learn a little bit about one another.

A new machine.

2009-03-10T10:50:00.001-07:00

A wooden pegged welt, almost completed. I have been wanting to learn this technique for quite some time now. I can't wait to get into my shop and practice it. It is appropriate for boot construction. I think that is is one of the oldest ways of attaching the upper to the sole. Interestingly, it doesn't require any synthetic glues, only paste to hold the toe puff, heel counter and stiffeners in place.

Walked to the shop today, as Marcell had an errand to run in the AM. As you might have guessed we got lost on my account... a number of times. Luckily, Ana knew how to ask for directions to the street the shop is on.

The result of Marcells errand. A clicker machine. It is a hydraulic press that you place a cutting die and leather in to "click" out the pattern pieces. Oddly enough it came from the ballet shoe making shop were Marcell had his first shoe making job. There they used it to cut the satin, as it is too fine to cut with a knife. The machine weighs about one ton and is evident in the photo it took quite a few of us to wrestle it inside.

A Man and His Shoes.

2009-03-09T12:01:00.000-07:00

A Man and His Shoes

How much a man is like his shoes!

For instance both a sole may lose.

Both have been tanned; are left and right.

Both sometimes, are a little tight.

Both need a mate to be complete.

And both are made to go on feet.

They both need healing; oft are sold,

And both in time will turn to mold.

With shoes the last is first, with men

The first shall be the last, and when

The shoes wear out they're mended new,

When men wear out they're men dead, too.

They both are trod upon, and both

Will tread on others, nothing loath.

Both have their ties, and both incline,

When polished in the world to shine.

And both peg out. Now, would you choose

To be a man or be his shoes?

This is in a book about the history of the shoemaking that I am reading. The author is unknown, but it sounds like something my Grandfather would recite around the dinner table.

Ana Santana.

2009-03-08T10:38:00.001-07:00

Today, I am going to hand off the posting responsibilities to Ana. She has not been able to get pictures and words to her family and friends due to the lack of a computer. On a side note, she has three sisters and they all are named Ana. Without further ado.

Here Kieran and I were by the side of the river Dan, the Pest side, near the Central Market.

Got lost on my own bag, it happens quite frequently...

Seventh.

2009-03-07T15:11:00.000-08:00

End of the first week. This evening Marcell and his girlfriend took Ana and myself out for dinner and a movie. They are very generous host... to both teach us all day and then entertain us on the weekend. I am thankful for that. I find it fascinating to just listen to the three aforementioned people talk. There upbringings, world views, and sensibilities are so different than mine. The world is a large place full of interesting people. Full of interesting thoughts. It is late and I am tired, but I feel a compulsion to post, as it helps me feel connected to my people back home. Tomorrow we have off, so we will wander around Budapest a little. Until then.

Bulgaria.

2009-03-06T12:18:00.000-08:00

Drunk is the universal language, the cultural Rosetta stone. Actually, in tonight's case english was the universal language, but that's fine too . In the evenings I usually work transferring my notes from the day, drawing diagrams, making lists etc. And thus far that routine has been par for the course. As I was partaking in said ritual, I could hear the proprietor of the Hostel and a potential patron conversing in broken english. Post that conversation, my par for the course evening was interrupted by what I thought to be an extremely large family, something in the neighborhood of twelve people. Like magic, one of the two tables in the kitchen was covered in a cloth and set with homemade bread, pickles, liquor, and cabbage rolls(which were meat free for lent). A laptop was set up to play crazy sounding music, manned by a gentlemen taking his role as DJ very seriously. Children were running around. People were laughing and talking. All I could think was- WOW, who travels with a table cloth? After the table was set, it became apparent that there was not nearly enough seats or table space for everyone. I offered to go and work in my room, and my offer was returned with another offer... Maybe you will drink with us? When in Budapest. I was fed Bulgarian grape brandy made by someone's aunt, bread baked by someone's uncle, pickles made by someone's mother, cabbage rolls made by the lady sitting across from me and so on. Delicious. They turned out to be a group of loosely associated Bulgarians on their way to the Alps to go skiing. Who would have guessed.

Knife must stay sharp. Knife must stay sharp. Knife must stay sharp.

Master going through the motions of inserting the toe puff, heel counter and stiffeners into the upper before lasting.

Preparing the insole for lasting. I loved this part.

Practicing the universal language.

If the shoe.

2009-03-05T11:25:00.000-08:00

Ahhh Pasta, the great cultural equalizer. It transcends race, creed, and class. It knows no borders and heeds no mans laws.

Nothing will tell you more about a dwelling then it's larder. Rooting through the kitchen at the Hostel tonight I noticed a few things. For one, there must have been twenty partially eaten packages of spaghetti squirreled away in the cabinetry. Another thing that occurred to me while rifling around, was that if you could find the Shangri-La of missing socks, I bet the bordering township would be the El Dorado of tupperware tops. Where the hell do they all go? It's like an epidemic. In addition there was a lot of paprika.

This morning and afternoon were spent skiving the leather for toe and heel counters. Went over how to measure the foot and modify the last.

Patterns. Patterns. Patterns.

More patterns. Marcell has been making shoes since he was fourteen. He spent three years, full time, in a school dedicated to teaching the craft and his subsequent years to master it.

He explained to Ana and I, that before shoe making ended up in factories, it was the largest of all the guilds. I guess there were a lot of feet to shod. One would think that with a statistic like that one, the tools and knowledge associated with the trade would be relatively easy to locate. Quite the opposite though; it is next to impossible to find the tools and if you do, the number of people qualified to teach in the world is very small and getting smaller. It breaks my heart that we have lost our revere for craft-or that the idea of what craft is has changed faces.

Dinner.

Heel.

2009-03-04T10:50:00.000-08:00

Study, study, study. Practice, practice, practice. This is how you improve.

1. Last the upper, using cement technology

2. Make a sole of cork

3. Make heel unit of cork and mold to desired style

4. Rip heel unit off and start again, but with a different style objective

5. Repeat

Studying a craft, whatever that may be, under a Master of that craft is truly humbling. An important life experience. Learn the rules. Break the rules. Put the rules back together again.

This is Eva. She makes the uppers for Koronya. Her sewing is impeccable, something to see. She called me the paparazzi when I snapped her photo.

Hostel living. I ate dinner with my partner in crime, Ana, tonight. She brought cashews from Brazil. They tasted different than the ones I buy in the states. Tastier somehow, like they were fresh. I think she might get her mom to send some more. My girlfriend left for Guatemala this morning, which means she is even farther away than she was. I miss her.

Thirds.

2009-03-03T11:11:00.001-08:00

Lunch was delicious. Some sort of cured hog, bread, and orange "juice" (I use the descriptor juice lightly). Also, I had some cookies, but they got eaten before the photo. Ana, being much more prepared on the cultural difference front, carries around with her a list of phrases in Hungarian. Simple phrases- "Thanks", "How Much", etc. Tonight, when I neglected to weigh the vegetables before taking them to the checkout, and the clerk wasn't having any boyish charm (either in English or Hungarian), those phrases saved what little foreign face I had left to save, with a slew of really poorly pronounced "Im Sorries".

This is a photo depicting the use of scrap sole leather used to both- make a sole with pegged construction, as well as practice building and shaping the heel. As unprofessional as this looks, it is the best heel I have ever built. This was a portion of the construction that I was really struggling with back home. The ninja in the background is my teacher, Marcell. He has asked his photo not go on the internet.

Above, Marcell is mixing up a batch of coad. Coad is a shoemakers wax used to strengthen thread. This recipe for this one contains beeswax, paraffin, and tree pitch. Each shoemaker has his/her own version of the recipe. There are entire message boards devoted to it.

At the end of the workday, we practiced lasting with a wholecut upper. I made the pattern for this one and it fit the last pretty well. Again, this course is really something. More tomorrow.

Class begins.

2009-03-02T10:42:00.001-08:00

Wake. Work. Rest.

Practiced some lasting techniques.

Practiced some more.

Peg and awl.

The one that looks like a castle.

2009-03-01T11:17:00.001-08:00

Oh you're going to NYC? Did you know it was an island? Useless information that will have no bearing on your trip. That's a little how I felt when I told people I was going to Budapest. Did you know it's two cities, divided by a river? No. But I do now. Thanks for that. Who does that? Why can't it just be one city, with a river running through it. It doesn't feel like two cities. It doesn't look like two cities. They don't have two currencies or speak two languages. I have to say, it has been extremely disappointing on that front. Also, I just spellchecked this for the first time and apparently I am on Blogger ala Hungarian, because every word is spelled wrong and there isn't a suggestion for any of them. Shit. Did you know that Hungarian is as hard to learn as Arabic or Japanese? They pride themselves on it. No, but thanks for that. Again.

This morning, Ana (the other student here to learn shoemaking) and I got dropped off in the middle of town to walk around, see some things etc.. We decided to walk up the hill, that is kind of pictured above, to see the statues as well as a Castle that supposedly rests at the top. Let me just preface this by saying that my sense of direction is terrible. Really terrible. So terrible that it is only surpassed in it's ability to inflict frustration onto others by my indifference to being lost. With that said you probably shouldn't ever ask me for directions. Especially when what we are looking for is "the one that looks like a castle"(insert indifferent shoulder shrug right about here). I am from Durham, NC- they all look like fucking castles... every last one of them. Here's an idea, maybe they could have put all the castles on one side of the river and all the not obviously castles on the other side. Needless to say no castle was found. We did however have a nice hike up the hill that I described earlier to see the statues. Wow.

This guy. I love this guy. I think perhaps he is the kind of "swindler" the tour guides warn you about, but who actually reads the tour books anyway. I just look at the pictures and pretend to understand the maps. About halfway up the mountain, he was sitting on the bench separating people from their money. It was amazing to watch. I think most people know how this game is played. There is an item placed under one of those blue caps, he shuffles them around and you guess which cap it is under. Now what kind of foreign hubris makes you think you're gonna win. This is all this guys does. All day. It is his career and yet there is always some Dude, generally with a girl who thinks he can win. It serves him right for losing his money. I didn't play, in case that was in question.

I lied. This is actually more like the halfway point. This holy man and myself are casting all the evil out of Buda, which is the side of the city we are currently on. Presumably all the evil we have just cast will end up on the Pest side and not be able to get back over because they are separated by a river. That's those city planners using their think boxes. I am sure every cornball tourist that has ever been here has this photo in a box somewhere. Now I do too.

Definitely out of breath at this point. This is the top. The statue holding the leaf is the one you can see in the photo at the top of this post. It is visible from a large part of the city, and is truly awe inspiring. The other statue is a very strong man beating up some demons. They look to be of the reptilian meets phoenix variety. He is really wailing on them. Maybe they took his money in front of a princess with the "cup shuffle" game. So here we are at the top, winded, surrounded by history that runs centuries deep, craftsmanship not achievable today even with advances in technology... really all in all, a sight to behold. We mosey around the corner and CONGRATAFUCKINLATIONS! You made to the top now we're gonna try and sell you some shit. Awesome. Isn't there a law against that or something?