We use them to give our feet expression or maybe just blister prevention, sort of like a way to ensure that sweat will get absorbed or just for warmth. Though it’s truly amazing, the journey this article of clothing takes to get to the part of our bodies that holds us up, moves us along, and keeps us stable. Or even the road into oblivion, away from hands, and out of sight.
The moment leading to the initial inspection through a drawer full of possibilities becomes the most imperative. Eyes wonder as it is almost a game of which pair will complement the rest of our attire. Depending on how they’re folded, it’s almost too hard to tell what they actually are. You get a glimpse of what you could be getting into, but it becomes more clear once they’re open, revealing what truly will be surrounding your toes.
What if the political message or the knock knock joke embroidered along the side shows? Will people actually read what they say? When was the last time you read someone’s? Of what are you more afraid: expression or suppression?
Maybe the pattern is asymmetrical to the opposite pair or the days of the week remind the wearer when to take out the garbage. If reassurance is necessary, a right and left sock seem to be in order. Could the differences be mistaken for aberration?
What if you open the pair and realize that twins have been torn apart? They become the ghosts of socks past. Will they ever return to one another? What has been created through unintentional mischief? Or was it the inevitable separation due to the deep abyss of spinning machinery? How could this have spun so out of control that with distance, only came greater distance?
Purposefully finding beauty in switching with others; seemingly comfortable as a lost soul, shows a whole new side of the spectrum. At least happiness is found in the confusion because maybe it isn’t even confusing. Each casing, actively engaging in the daily life as if no one will be left behind. On the contrary, opposing socks of the torn pairs sit lonely at the top of the drawer, awaiting a reaching hand while the others are destined for the fate of the foot, serving for each side. It is as if the difference in pattern collide, coincide with each other, and reside independently, together.
Danger can be found in the artistic decision of such disengagement. To where did the lone article disappear? It is as if your denial of limbs encouraged the growth of its own, moving faster and further into oblivion than you can recall its last location. Money could’ve bet that it was laying on the top of the drawer. Have you offended, maybe even broken something that would've been, could've lasted?
Well, maybe this is just an interpretation of a concept that doesn’t call for a lingering mind in a matter of a covering that simply gets covered.
