The crossroads of Chicago and Lake in south Minneapolis hasn't much to recommend it in the way of visual stimulation, except the iconic Roberts Shoe Store sign — "Hardly a foot we can't fit." But if you looked closely up Chicago Avenue you'd notice a window of the store that is filled not with Red Wing boots or T-strap dancing slippers, but art — paintings, drawings, small sculptures, multimedia conceptual pieces.
This is the aptly named Shoebox Gallery, conceived and curated for the past 11 years by photographer and performance artist Sean Smuda, who occupies a third-floor studio above the store.
Now that the 77-year-old Roberts store is closing for good around Thanksgiving, a casualty of megamall and online shopping trends, so must the 11-by-8-by-2-foot Shoebox.
For its final exhibit, titled "Closing/Opening," Smuda has displayed works by 33 mostly local artists, after putting out an open call to anyone who had previously shown in the micro-museum. The exhibit is coming down on Black Friday, Nov. 28. The final day includes a special show in Smuda's studio from 3 to 8 p.m.
"It's a great note to leave on," Smuda said. "I'm calling it the end of an aura."
U of M art professor Diane Katsiaficas chose to show two different works using actual footwear — boots and sling-back heels — as their base. Painter Justine Di Fiore, who contributed an oil portrait of her grandfather, said that her family used to buy their shoes at Roberts. Smuda connected with Shauna Pineiros, whose mixed-media piece is called "E, Green Line," in a novel way.
"I was looking out my window and saw her, dressed head to toe in black like Charlie Chaplin with a bowler hat, picking up trash next to the mural on the side of the Latino cellphone store," he said. "I thought: Should I go talk to that woman? Yeah."
Art in storefronts is a common sight now, with the Made Here project adorning empty downtown spaces and its precursor doing likewise in the nearby Whittier neighborhood. But back in the early 2000s, the Shoebox was a pioneer, bearing silent witness to the neighborhood's partial transformation from a haunt of rampant drug dealing and drunken stumblebums to the somewhat spruced-up home of Midtown Global Market in the old Sears tower.