the shoes that built ghost studio

There is a certain beauty in the timelessness of simple things. The discarded treasure scooped at an estate sale, the perfectly broken-in t-shirt that now has more holes than threads, and the film camera from the early 1900s that probably belongs in a museum. It’s fascinating to watch how time shapes things, adding layers of character, softening edges, and revealing past lives beneath the surface. What many might overlook or discard as “ruined” is often where the best stories live.

These Vans turned out to be one of the unexpected heroes during the Ghost studio rebuild. Designed to give just enough stability while still letting you feel a skateboard, they made climbing to the top of ladders and balancing on rafters feel steady. Not exactly work boots, and thankfully I made it through the whole project without incident.

Every day their character grew. Paint splatters, grease, plaster dust, wood shavings, old adhesive. Layer after layer of the studio’s evolution. Gradually they faded from black to a patina’d grey. Reliably resilient. Unexpectedly tough.

Eventually, the Vans had to call it quits. They had become a symbol of progress for me during that time and I had gained an emotional attachment to them. So to be able to allow myself to let them go while also living on in more than just memory, I decided that they deserved to be commemorated, frozen in time through imagery. Their ironic sturdiness, the quiet strength of an unassuming canvas shoe that endured more than anyone would expect, made them one of the most memorable characters of the rebuild.

I’m not suggesting anyone wear these types of shoes on a construction site. But I am suggesting we pause more often and appreciate how time, wear & tear, and grit can add beauty to the simple things. What most people toss out for being too worn isn’t always ruined. And sometimes it’s the smallest, most reliable things that make the biggest impact in getting the job done.