Leading up to his 4-week residency at Practice Studios, Joseph Botica created 10 bespoke pairs of leather shoes. Upon entering the space, the artist only had the scrap materials from these projects at his disposal. The potential of remnants became the conceptual framework which informed the Practice residency, and the work presented in What Remains. Moving beyond the shoe as the primary object and end goal in making, and realising the potential of offcuts as equally valuable contributions to the creative process.

The remnant's potential for knowledge generation is dependent on our recognising the vitality intrinsic to all matter. Expanding our conception of certain materials beyond the binary of ‘useful’ and ‘useless’, and understanding the innate power of their materiality, which is in fact stable. What Remains is an experiment in reconceptualising the role and value of discarded material in the creative process of making. Remnants are reimagined as part of a generative cycle alongside the primary Object, with the ability to influence its conception and execution.

Shoe-making is a craft that balances rules with flexibility:
Specific materials are compulsory; leather, lace, thread.
Specific shapes are compulsory; which come together to properly house a foot.

Cutting is the primary method in the materialisation of the shoe, and emerges as a cross-dimensional process. Geometric outlines become a set of physical pattern pieces, which become a wearable object. The line is liberated from the surface. Cutting becomes a form of mark-making across three-dimensional space.

The scissor traverses the surface of the leather, mapping a pathway across its undulating landscape. The variations in each cut - thickness, imperfections, tanning irregularities and unique shapes, necessitate a complex, individualised process of construction. Pieces appear like topographic formations, carved away from the larger plane. This process creates two simultaneous expressions of form – deliberate and incidental. A secondary set of shapes is left behind, produced by negative space; a collection of remnants.

The remnant is like an echo, a monument to the joy of making.
Our instinct when we encounter remnants is to work backwards within a linear model of production. A collection of left-overs might be inspected to make inferences about the final result. Their shapes are clues for imagining the primary pieces. We are typically more engaged with the symbolism of what is missing, than the intrinsic value of the discards themselves. That each piece is imbued with its own power.

Under this model, Object and Remnant are placed in opposition, instead of conversation. They form two discrete categories, understood as either ‘useful’ or ‘useless’. Rather than positioning the Object and Remnant in a linear relationship, they should be imagined as two points within a generative cycle. Creative practice thrives in the gaps between the two categories, their reflexive interactions. New ways of constructing the primary object can be learnt through observing, and working with remnants.

The sculptural leather work in What Remains takes form through combining various geometric shapes originally cut from shoe patterns. When I left it made me shiver uses a left-over pattern piece from a pair of grey shoes, enclosed by silver and navy discards to form a jumbled object. A dissonance is felt through the combination of textures and shapes. Uneven edges are brought together in a state of sculptural tension. Bulbous gathers, billows and ruffles emerge through rough stitching, exploring the malleability of leather alongside its ability to retain its structural integrity. The folds and crevices of the work have an organic, fleshy quality, reminding us that the material first existed as skin. The worn, silver treatment gleams under the light, illuminating the texture of the surface, as well as the history of material transformations the leather has undergone and its resilience as a medium.

If I stood and watched shows a collection of found keys attached to a wooden block. The piece has a suburban sense of familiarity, an uncanny representation of a scene from the home. The scene is abstracted through the keys arrangement, as they sit permanently nailed onto the block. A single shoelace hangs delicately, as if retired to the mantle after a long day. The original utility of the objects becomes secondary to their raw materiality. Their assemblage shows how objects are all imbued with an intrinsic vitality, irrespective of whether they are put to use or discarded.

The surface in To walk and walk and wonder where you’ve ended up was traced identically from a skin of leather purchased for upcoming shoe orders. The piece was discounted due to damage spanning across large sections. Working with leather often involves a complex approach to construction, as the landscape of each piece is embedded with unique irregularities. By replicating this shape in flat, woven fabric, To walk and walk engages with a kind of topographical mark-making. Soft, airbrushed layers of paint remap the landmarks and details from the original skin. This expanded cartography captures the value of leather as a material sourced from a living animal, which has stretched and flexed through the movement of muscles beneath it. The true vitality of leather is honoured through this process. The work becomes an exercise in remembering the histories embedded in all materials, which inform and enliven the objects they create.