I find this high doesn’t last long however, and like any good junkie, I quickly start looking for the next hit – that next project that was as exciting and energizing as the one just passed.  When they don’t come along for a while, I get restless.

It makes me a good artisan and a questionable businessman.  Don’t get me wrong – I do pretty well at it for a guy who had no interest whatsoever in running his own business.  But given the choice, I will always chase the mechanical rabbit around the track, hoping to catch it eventually.  Once a project is created – unless it is something that is particularly challenging to recreate – I tend to lose interest in it.  That’s why I like to surround myself with talented craftspeople – those who will pay more attention to the details of recreating while I look for the next potential high.

I don’t do what I do for the money (there are way easier ways to earn a living, trust).  I simply have a deep yearning to create.  Shoemaking has proven to be a great outlet for that urge.  There are so many huge challenges on both the technical / biomechanical and the aesthetic / artistic fronts.  These challenges are rarely straightforward, but often rewarding.

Some days you hit the lows.  I wish I could say that I just shake them off and get on with it, but that wouldn’t be entirely honest.  Usually, I’ll get angry.  Then down on myself.  Then I shake it off.  And, most importantly, I learn what went wrong and swear I’ll never to whatever mistake again.  Then I forget that and get on with it.

Today is not one of those days, however.  I’m really close to getting a new and exciting project completed – so damn close to that high – that I’ll be spending the day convincing myself not to rush it.  I need to remember to enjoy it while I can.  The high is fleeting and I’ll be looking for that next elusive hit soon enough.

It goes back 10 years ago, which astounds me to think about – it certainly doesn’t seem that long ago.  I was living in a small Ontario town working for a large Shakespearean theatre company.  It was a pretty sweet gig for the 5 or 6 months a year – working with shoes at a reasonably relaxed paced (compared to these days, anyway….seemed much busier at the time…) and surrounded by some quite talented theatre folk.  A good job, but the town didn’t do much for me.  But did I mention that I was paid hourly?  That seems like a lifetime ago…  Anyway, it was the end of the 2002 season and not a particular highlight in the ebbs of flows of my life.  I won’t bore you with the details, but small town life was starting to make me a little nuts.  And then, one day, I decided I just needed to get away for a while.  So, I took my meagre savings and did something completely out of character – I booked a flight to Europe with a three month stay and no real plan.  Looking back, I wonder what the hell I was thinking – I wasn’t in the best of health those days.  All I knew was I had to get away from everything for a while.

I started my trip in Amsterdam where I was able to reconnect with a dear friend I hadn’t seen in years.  Then, I started on an adventure that took me through part of Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, Italy and France.  I was using shoes as a theme for the trip – I would stop anywhere that had an interesting looking shoe museum, or shoe person I could meet with.  It was a difficult trip – I had never done anything like that before.  I describe it as two of the worst months of my life followed by one of the best.  Somewhere along the way I fell in to the groove of traveling on my own (Florence, Italy, to be precise).  Anyway, somewhere along the line, I had the song Jitterbug Boy going through my head.  It kind of became a big part of my internal soundtrack as I bounced along from town to town.

The trip ended where it began – in Amsterdam.  I remember getting up really early to catch my flight.  I was walking to Centraal Station, the streets were completely empty and steam was rising off the canals.  Still, this tune was playing through my head.  I decided that if I ever started on my own, I’d name the company Jitterbug Boy.

Several years passed before this company actually came to fruition.  I got back from Europe and decided that I was putting the past behind me and was ready to jump back in to small town life.  And then, two weeks later, I received a call from Cirque du Soleil – they wanted me as Assistant Head of Wardrobe for the Alegrìa tour.  I left a few weeks later and never looked back.  I spent two years on tour – traveling throughout the US and Canada, as well as Japan.  During my time with the show, I was eventually promoted to Head of Wardrobe.  I was in negotiations to transfer to another tour when I decided that I was missing the creative work and decided instead to give up touring life and moving back to Toronto to see if I could make a go of it as a shoemaker.  I need to work with my hands again.  However, the Toronto plan was also sidelined when I received a call completely out of the blue from Dragone in Belgium, asking if I was interested in being head shoemaker for an upcoming production in Las Vegas (the show that would eventually become Le Rêve at Wynn Las Vegas).  I put my Toronto plans on hold and spent most of the next year between living outside of Brussels and living right in the heart of Vegas.

Eventually, the show opened and I took that opportunity to finally make my return to Toronto and started Jitterbug Boy.  That was almost seven years ago.  It hasn’t been an easy go, but it’s worked out way better than I could have ever expected.  Few days go by when I don’t feel thankful to be doing what I’m doing – even on the crappy days…

Everyone once in a while, Jitterbug Boy pops up on the iPod.  It always makes me smile.

“Well I’m a Jitterbug Boy, by the shoeshine
Resting on my laurels and my hardies, too
Life of Riley on the swingshift, gear follow my drift
Once upon a time I was in show biz too”

One thing I’ve found rather interesting (and at times frustrating) is the difference between tradition in shoemaking and innovation.  I feel that I fall in the latter category – more by circumstance than anything, due to the specific field in which I find myself working.  I however feel there is an art to both traditional and innovative shoemaking (SMALL RANT: yes, I use the word art very intentionally.  It is my belief that shoemaking is an art, not simply a craft.  Anyone viewing this type of work as a craft is destined to not produce anything very creative or interesting, in my opinion.  Latch-hook is a craft.  Shoemaking is an art.  If you need the differences spelled out for you, talk to Funk & Wagnall).

Following the centuries old traditions of shoemaking is an amazing thing.  Personally, I don’t think I have the patience for it.  Nor the knowledge base.  I could also never make a living at it – certainly not working in the arts.  I have enough trouble convincing people to pay my prices for custom made footwear – I couldn’t imagine tacking on an extra 20 or so hours per pair of shoes.  However, I digress.  Perfecting techniques of traditional shoemaking is a fine and commendable artform.  And there are some true artists out there in this field.  I’m amazed by the number of such artists that I have been introduced to in the past couple weeks.

I will say, however, that equally as important to the traditionalists are those who innovate.  The ability to take traditional techniques and to push them in a new direction is not only essential in the line of work that I do, but a true art unto itself.  You can read all of the historical accounts of shoemaking you want, and I promise you that none of them will tell you how to make a pair of 6 inch red patent platformed mary-janes for a drag queen.  You have to be inventive.  You need to push the limits of what you know is possible and find something that will work – not only in the short term, but something that can be worn 10 shows a week for an infinite run.  You need to invent.

Traditionalists have my unending respect.  As do the true innovators.  Two sides of the same artistic coin.  Or, to quote Tom Stoppard, “as there are so many of us, perhaps we should say the same side of many coins.”  I love that movie.

One thing I do take a bit of exception to is the definition that some traditionalists will give to the term handmade.  While I understand where this is coming from (there is a ridiculous amount of factory made footwear that is adopting the moniker of handmade – it pisses me off as much as anyway.  I’m looking at you, Mr Prada) I do find some traditional definitions of what is and is not handmade a little, well, insulting.  For each and every piece of footwear that comes out of my shop, the lasts are custom modified (or occasionally even made from scratch); all materials are hand cut; sewn by humans (using industrial sewing machines); hand lasted; soled and finished.  Yes, we use some industrial-aged technology to aid in the process, so as not to add days to the timeline of each project.  And other technology intended to prolong our life expectancy.  Am I making things traditionally?  No, I am not.  I make things in the manner of an essentially self-taught artisan of the first quarter of the 21st century.  And in doing so – to be uncharacteristically egotistical for a half-second – I make some things that have never been seen before (perhaps not all good, but still…).  All made by hand – either mine or the very talented hands I surround myself with (or a combination there of).  Period.

Stick 400 monkeys in a room together and you’ll probably get 4 or 5 opinions of what actually qualifies as a banana.  There are those who would not consider yours truly as a true shoemaker.  Or claim that my shoes are not actually handmade. You know what I say? Shoe ‘em.

I will usually call myself a shoemaker, which I don’t think is completely accurate (technically yes, I do make shoes for a living, but….).  The job entails so much more.  Shoe designer never sits right either, as often I am not the one to actually come up with the original vision of the footwear – rather, I bring someone else’s ideas into fruition.  Developer sounds too much like I sit at a computer. Shoe engineer? Um, no.

One thing you should never call me is a cobbler.  It’s a stupid pet peeve to have, but it’s one that I can call my own.  I am not a cobbler.

Historically, cobblers were people who worked with shoes but were, in general, unable to afford to buy their own leather.  Thus, they would take apart unwearable shoes and use the bits and pieces – sort of Dr Frankenstein style – to create a new “thing.”  Much like Robert di Niro in that ill-fated Kenneth Brannaugh film, though without his charm.  Hence the term “cobbled together”.  We do a lot of things in my atelier on any given day, but we never ever cobble.

I know what you’re thinking – if, historically, there was a word for those who cobbled, then naturally there must be a word for those who made shoes from scratch.  And yes, you are completely correct.  ”Cordwainer” was this word.  I shit you not.  And there is a long and detailed explanation as to the origins of this word that somehow relates to Spain and cordovan leather.  If you’re that interested, check it out on wikipedia.  For me, “Cordwainer” is a word that just sounds a little too pretentious to sit right.  While a fascinating topic of conversation to bring up in a fitting or at a party, I feel like I would have to start showing up to work in slippers and a smoking jacket, pipe firmly planted between lips and mumbling in a clever accent in order to call myself Cordwainer.

So.  Call me what you will.  I’ve always liked the ring of “Jitterbug Boy”.  Just don’t call me a cobbler.

(DISCLAIMER – In re-reading this post, it may come off that I’m speaking ill of cobblers.  That is by no means my intention.  I know many very talented cobblers, many of whom do work that I certainly could not do myself.  It’s just a question of nomenclature.  It’s like calling a politician a “decent human being.”  It’s just plain wrong.)

I first became aware of Eiko when I was a teenager.  I remember going to see Bram Stoker’s Dracula in the cinema.  I thought the costumes were amazing – unlike anything I’d ever seen.  Looking back, I think the image of the Vlad the Impaler’s armour was one of the first elements to push me to pursue a career in design.  I remember even buying a book of the costume designs for the film.

And then, many years later, I watched Tarsem Singh’s beautiful film The Fall, also designed by Eiko.  Another beautifully designed film.  She had amazing talent for the beautifully surreal.

A few years ago, I was asked by a friend to collaborate on the shoe portion for a suit of armour for the upcoming Spiderman musical.  This soon lead to more conversations about other possible shoe work on the show and to my first meeting with Eiko.  She came by my shop with her assistant.  I think I played it pretty cool at the time, but it was pretty exciting.  We had a good chat about costumes and then a bunch of us went out for dinner.  It was a pretty surreal day.

And then, last year, I was contacted about making shoes for Tarsem’s latest film – Mirror Mirror.  I, of course, said I was interested.  In a fitting room in NYC, I met Eiko again.  This time we were working through some fairly complex ideas.  I still have a bunch of sketches for a certain pair of boots scribbled over some notes in the notebook I carry around all the time.  We sat on a chaise, figuring out how these boots were going to work.  She had a pencil, I had a prototype boot that I was cutting apart and taping back together.  It was a pretty wild process.

That film project pushed me to make work that surpassed anything I had ever done.  It changed the way I approach pretty well everything since.  The film – Eiko’s last – opens at the end of March.

I was really looking forward to working with her again.

At the start of the year, my goal was to find a better work / life balance than I have achieved in the past.  While I still have a ways to go on this, it certainly improved this year.  Sure, I worked way too many weekends.  But I can say, looking back, that the time was spent on some really interesting projects.  Every year, the business grows, but this year, I feel like I grew as a craftsperson – as an artist.  I worked on many projects that pushed me way beyond my comfort range and I’m pretty happy with the results.

We started to get a foothold in the film world this year.  I entered into it tentatively, as I’ve had bad film experiences in the past.  I’m happy to report that such was not the case this year.  I really enjoyed the film projects we took on this year.  They filled a creative gap that I’ve been missing lately.  The whole approach to film shoes is very different from other forms and I felt it really kicked my work up a notch – it’s changed how I look at the other work as well.  Here’s hoping that trajectory continues into next year.

The original plan was to just keep status quo for the year and see what happened.  2010 was a brutally busy year and I was hoping to just focus in on the shows we have in operations for a while.   That didn’t last long and we started to get a flattering number of calls for new and different work.  Beyond the handful of films we worked on, we were also hired to make shoes for shows in two countries that we’ve never worked in before – Italy and Brazil (Brazil pushes the tally up to 9 countries and 4 continents that we have made shoes for).

I was introduced to some pretty fantastic people throughout 2011 as well.  I was able to meet and work for two of my all-time favourite directors this year, which was pretty wild.  I had the opportunity to reconnect with a costume designer who I’ve admired since highschool.  And I was introduced to some pretty amazing and inspiring new designers (new to me, that is).  And, of course, a tonne of great costume folk and some pretty fantastic actors.

Right now, I have no idea what 2012 has in store, but if it’s anything like this past year, I’ll be a happy little Jitterbug Boy.  If I could get a couple more Saturdays off….even better…

Just as inspiring was the city of Montreal itself.  There is such an artistic vein to this city.  In such a capitalistic time in human history, it is wonderfully refreshing to see a city that puts such an emphasis on the cultivation of the arts.  It’s especially poignant coming from Toronto - a rich and beautiful city with such a deep and important artistic heritage  that is presently being torn to pieces due to personal greed, selfishness and divisiveness.  Toronto is my home and that is why it is so sad to see what is happening here these days.

Not just here in Toronto, but across the majority of Canada, the arts are viewed an unimportant.  Artists are perceived as being parasites on the economic system.  When did this happen?  How did this happen?  When did society’s priorities get knocked so completely out of whack?

As an artist and a Canadian, I can say with pride that I have never taken a government handout.  Everything I have, I have earned with my own sweat, blood and brains.  And I can say without hesitation that, as an artist, I put more back into my community than the vast majority of selfish, tax-fearing capitalists.  And I am by no means the exception to any rule.

The rest of Canada needs to take a lesson from Montreal.  They need to realize what the cultivation of the arts can bring to a city.  Nobody goes to Montreal to see how low their tax-rate is or how many potholes have been filled.  There are things that are simply more important.

We’re almost three quarters of the way through 2011 and I have to admit it’s been a pretty stellar year.  Ups and downs, as always, but all-told, pretty great.  I feel like I’ve grown this year – I look at things differently and I’m starting to figure out which gigs are the ones I get joy out of.

After a particularly brutal 2010, I decided that I would just go with the flow this year and see what happens.  I had no new shows lined up and no real new direction to head in.  I figured we would just stay the course – try to get caught up on all of our regular gigs and see what comes up.  Looking back, it was a great choice.  It’s cliché, but it really is amazing the things that come up when you’re not looking for them.

In the past 9 or so months I have had some incredible challenges and amazing opportunities.  I’ve had the chance to work on films of two of my all time favourite directors and to work with two of my absolutely favourite costume designers.  And I’ve met a lot of really great people on the way.  I feel more confident in what I do – I’ve even said no to a couple things (although, in hindsight, not quite often enough…).

It’s easy to lose track of these things during the day-to-day craziness of shoemaking, coordinating, deadlines and having to be a boss, but on a Saturday morning, coffee in hand, it’s a pretty ideal time to look back and get a bit of perspective.  Now…where is that To-Do list anyways….