In Roman tradition, guests walk into the hall with their right foot for good luck. Either out of conscience or sheer superstition, I took up this habit. On October 11, when I stepped into the exhibition celebrating the pre-opening of the Bigger Splash venue, I did exactly that. I sought to synchronise my walk so that I could enter First Step with the right foot. And, indeed, I do recognise a pleasantness that stems from the seamless connection between my first step, the exhibition title, and what it proposes: a ‘first step’ in building a showcase devoted to design and contemporary art.

Under David Lopes and Joana Pinheiro’s mentorship, the Bigger Splash project started with a large group exhibition. Invited by curator Pedro Valdez Cardoso, 64 artists from different generations designed a more or less realistic depiction of a pair of shoes. From Andy Wharhol’s Diamond Dust Shoes (1980) to Vincent van Gogh’s A Pair of Shoes (1886) and Salvador Dalí’s Surrealist object functioning symbolically (1931/73), the subject of shoes features prominently in modern and contemporary art. Shoes have long stopped being just a functional object. They have become aesthetic artefacts: objects of contemplation and collection; a mirror of subversive movements of class, gender and racial identity. This is not, then, an original motif. Nevertheless, its revival in this exhibition is still relevant. This thematic definition emphasises the crossover between the realms of design and contemporary art. Artistic creation is most fruitful when working with constraint.

In First Step, multiple responses are woven into the same proposal. First of all, the artists elaborate an iconic representation of a shoe pair. The pieces they present are made in the likeness of the object to which they refer. Some examples of this – among others that would be impossible to list extensively – are the pieces by Felix Vong, Alice Geirinhas, Dave and Tony and Pedro Cabrita Paiva. This is followed by artists who, while retaining a contract of similarity with reality, rehearse narratives of what a shoe might be. They use ready-mades, unusual materials and ornamental elements, working with scale distortions. For instance, Ana Vidigal suggests that the shoes are Pantufinhas, dinosaur feet made of green plastic. In Just Keep Walking (if you can), João Motta Guedes uses two granite blocks to build a kind of prehistoric slipper, heavy and thoroughly unfit for walking. Meanwhile, Mané Pacheco stands out for using unusual and whimsical decorative elements. Following on from her cross-disciplinary body of work, exploring biological aspects, the artist has made a pair of ballet shoes adorned with teeth. These take us back to an endless fictional endeavour: To whom do they belong? Are they living shoes or lost shoes straight out of the folk myth of the tooth fairy?

The final example is that of artists who favour an indicative representation. Without being a physical and faithful depiction of the shoe, their works build a causal relationship or physical contiguity with the object they represent. Every shoe is potentially a footprint and will eventually be marked by the foot that wore it. This is the logic underlying Vítor Serrano’s Pé Descalço and Diogo Pimentão’s Naked (path). The footprint, an indicator of the shoe or the foot that left its mark, is enough for us to speculate. This reasoning can be extended to Kuril Chto’s Balenciaga Shoes. We cannot recognise a pair of shoes in this piece, but rather the box that allegedly contains them. The box contents then seem insignificant for the purposes of representation. The experience already hints at what is inside. And that is enough.

The examples are numerous and diverse. I only use those that allow me to clarify and group – although in a reductive way – different types of representation. Now, if the curatorship of this exhibition is made simpler by its aggregating theme, this plethora of approaches urges the drafting of a highly careful exhibition language.

Pedro Valdez Cardoso has opted for a massive use of the gallery grounds. Spread out over the floor, the works form a labyrinthine path and, at the same time, usher in a perspective that is typical of archaeological research. This exhibition triggers a mechanism of downward approach through curiosity. Similar to the way we look at a fallen object, we turn our eyes down, get closer and only then do we notice details that were previously invisible. Eventually, this shift in our vision will make our own shoes an object of contemplation. João Ferro Martins’ piece, consisting of two small mirrors, makes them a component element of the work. Likewise, the other pieces – exhibited without any protective apparatus – are (con)fused with the surrounding shoes. A graphic stain is formed: unique, indecipherable and ever-changing. The limits between art and the body that was alien to it are diluted, in a delicate relationship that finally seems to epitomise the aim of this new project.

Curated by Pedro Valdez Cardoso, First Step is on view until November 9, at Bigger Spash, in Lisbon.