Justyn Harkin

In November 2008, I asked Chicagoans along the nearly 20-mile Ashland 9 bus route to recite Kevin Coval’s “Shoeshine on the Ashland 9.” I wanted to create public art, and since I think the act of reading aloud is very powerful, I tried to capture that act on film. The main events here are the readers and Kevin Coval’s poem. My filmmaking skills are total rubbish.

 

Shoeshine on the Ashland 9

By Kevin Coval

the attentive hands

of a copper hulled man

fold in his lap like birds.

brown pants muddied yellow

shirt sleeves rolled to elbows

hair combed over with pomade

slick as his mustache.

 

the red box at his feet

blacked from wear.

a scrub brush, cloths

pulled taut and furious

over winged tips and

squared toes, a small

red stool for stability.

 

fingertips the color of coal

will soon push an apartment

open in Little Village, on the sunset

side of Cook County’s incarcerated.