The shoe went in because it was finished
A sectioned chimney breast with one worn-through shoe sealed into the brickwork beside the flue, and a dotted outline where the matching one should be.

A chimney breast drawn in section, white line on washed black. Courses of brick, hatching where the masonry is cut, the throat of the flue traced in one red line, tick marks down the right edge.
Low in the wall there is a sealed rectangular void. One leather shoe lies in it on its side, toe to the left, stacked heel, worn clean through at the ball of the foot.
Beside it, a dotted outline of the same shoe, containing nothing.
The pair is drawn and it is not there, and the drawing declines to explain the gap.
Why is a chimney drawn cut in half?
Because the thing inside it was bricked up, and a section is the one view in which a bricked-up thing can be looked at.
Nobody standing in that room ever saw this. The person who put the shoe in saw it for an afternoon and then covered it over; everybody since has seen a flat plastered breast with a fire under it. A section is a draughtsman's convention — slice the building on a plane, hatch what the plane cuts, draw the rest in plain line — and here it grants a view that was cancelled on purpose.
The red line is the flue, the passage from the fire up through the stack, and the only colour in the print. It comes down the throat and stops short of the void.
Why is it one shoe and not a pair?
Because one went in, and the design says so with an outline rather than a caption.
A dotted line in a technical drawing means a thing that is present but not visible in this view — hidden behind, or sitting above, or removed. Used here it reports an absence with the same flat authority the rest of the drawing uses for brick. There is no note, no arrow, no asterisk explaining that the second shoe was kept. The outline is the same size, the same shape, drawn to the same standard, and empty.
That restraint is what stops the print becoming a story about a missing shoe. It is a record of what the cavity holds, and what it holds is one.
Why would anybody wall up a shoe already worn through?
Because the wear was the qualification, not a defect in it.
The hole at the ball of the foot is the largest single piece of information in the drawing. A shoe gets that hole by being walked in until the leather gave out under the part of the foot that takes the push-off. By the time it opened, that shoe had been shaped by one person's gait for years — the upper creased across the same line, the heel worn off-square, the sole thinned exactly where the weight went. What went into the wall was the object in the house that had most thoroughly taken the form of a body.
A new shoe would have been worth more and carried none of that. The choice reads clearly in the drawing, which is why the hole is drawn as a hole and not tidied into a shadow.
What does the brickwork above the void tell you?
That the same hands that laid the shoe in laid the courses that shut it.
Above the void the courses run on level and unbroken, the same bond as the rest of the breast, with none of the ragged toothing you get where somebody has opened a finished wall and made good afterwards. It was built in, in sequence, by a bricklayer who paused, put something in the gap and carried on to the next course. One job, one afternoon.
That sequencing is why these things sit where they do. A cavity beside a flue, a hollow under a threshold, a gap over a lintel: the openings are where the work went, and the solid wall between them carries nothing at all.
Does anybody own a drawing of a shoe in a wall?
No. A section through masonry is a drawing convention, a worn shoe is a worn shoe, and neither has an author to ask.
What does have an owner is a particular record of a particular find: a photograph of a museum object, a published survey drawing, a transcription of a real building's inscription. Those belong to whoever made them, and licensing one is ordinary and doable if a specific documented example is the point. This design has no such source behind it — the breast, the bond, the shoe and its wear pattern were all drawn for the print, which is also why it reads as one person's work rather than a reproduction of somebody else's. Style has no owner. A work does.
Does the same drawing work for something other than a shoe?
Yes, and the section is the part doing the work, so the contents can change.
The same three moves — cut the fabric, hatch it, put one solid object in a void — hold for a hollow under a doorstep, a gap behind a skirting, a space above a lintel. What has to survive the swap is the object being specific and used. A stoppered jar behaves quite differently in the same cavity, because a jar can be drawn cut open and counted and a shoe cannot. Under the lowest course of stone the choice changes again, since the ground has no elevation to show you.
Isn't a technical section a cold thing to wear?
The drawing is cold and the shoe in it is not, and the print is built on that difference.
Everything else in the frame is thin, even, ruled line — regular courses, mechanical hatching, tick marks laid off at intervals. The shoe is the single filled shape in the composition, stippled and shaded until it has weight, sitting in the middle of all that draughtsmanship like something that fell into it. It reads first as a diagram and second as an object, and the second reading is the one that stays.
Does it print well?
Yes. This is essentially a line drawing, which is the friendliest thing artwork can be to fabric.
Two inks: white for the section, one red for the flue. Courses and hatching want to be drawn coarser and further apart than a real drawing would set them, because rules finer than the weave fill in and turn a hatched zone into a grey smear. The shoe's stipple is the place to keep the marks few and large. Washed black or dark charcoal gives the white line its brightness, and the artwork wants no frame around it — the outer edge of the masonry is already an irregular silhouette, which is what keeps it a drawing on the shirt rather than a sticker.
How do I get one made?
Describe the wall at JustOG — what is cut through, what is in the void, and what is drawn dotted beside it. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.
Designs other people have published are in the shop.
The courses above it are level and the plaster went on flat, and from the room it was a wall.